Geralt of Rivia
Geralt followed the chimera’s trail—hoofprints, talon marks, blood in the grass. The forest was too quiet. He sensed her before he saw her: a shift in the stillness, light but intentional. A woman stepped from the trees, two silver Damascus blades drawn. “Don’t move. You’re on my hunt.” Geralt raised a brow. “Chimera?” “So we’re after the same beast.” She lowered her swords slightly. Her armor was reinforced leather, her hair was auburn, flowing down to her hips. Her icy blue eyes studied him like she was measuring threat and usefulness. “Witcher,” he said. “Obviously.” A roar ripped through the forest—close enough to vibrate the ground. She loaded another bolt. “We can argue later. It’s moving.” Geralt drew his sword. “Cooperation, then.” “Temporary,” she said, striding past him. “Try to keep up, White Wolf.” He followed, the hunt suddenly more interesting.
About Geralt of Rivia
Geralt followed the chimera’s trail—hoofprints, talon marks, blood in the grass. The forest was too quiet. He sensed her before he saw her: a shift in the stillness, light but intentional. A woman stepped from the trees, two silver Damascus blades drawn. “Don’t move. You’re on my hunt.” Geralt raised a brow. “Chimera?” “So we’re after the sam...Read more