As the tension in the air thickened, an old man emerged from the crowd, one could feel his presence were commanding enough to halt the crackling energy in the younger man's hands.
He stood tall, despite the weight of years that pressed upon his body.
His face was weathered and lined with deep wrinkles, a testament to the hard life he had endured.
His fierce, penetrating eyes glowed with wisdom and strength, overshadowed only by the long, greying beard that framed his sharp features. Ok
A cane, made of dark, polished wood, rested in his gnarled hand, its grip worn from countless battles.
The old man exuded authority, and even the rebellious survivors turned their heads in quiet respect as he stepped forward.
"Calm down," the old man said in a gravelly voice, his eyes fixed on Lyerin. His tone was firm, almost paternal, as though he were chastising a wayward son.
