"Who the hell are you?" Geralt demanded, his voice laced with a sharp edge of suspicion that cut through the heavy silence, as he forced himself to regain composure after those few disorienting seconds spent staring at the mysterious stranger who had materialized before him like a specter from the void.
"I'm Aaron Highborn," the man responded with an air of unshakeable authority, his tone steady and commanding, like the unyielding force of a tidal wave held in check. "And it appears to me that you are obstructing the path of my directives." His gaze, sharp and assessing, finally fixed upon Geralt only after he had thoroughly scanned Edmond's condition—the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the pallor of his skin drained by exertion, and the faint sheen of sweat that betrayed the toll of recent battles.
