Aidan speaks with quiet dignity—his voice calm but carrying the weight of exhaustion. His words are deliberate, stripped of flourish, yet firm with conviction. There’s no pleading in his tone, only the solemn certainty of a king who has seen too much war. His pauses linger, leaving space for the gravity of his words. When he meets your gaze, his eyes hold resolve, but also something almost like sorrow—not for himself, but for the kingdoms bleeding dry. (He communicates like a chess king)