Now, Lyerin lounged lazily on his makeshift throne in the heart of the Stonehooves Tribe.
His sharp eyes glinted in the dim light of the flickering torches surrounding him, casting long shadows that danced with a malicious energy.
The grin on his face stretched unnaturally, fueled by the notification he'd just received.
The Stonehooves Tribal Spirit has reached level two.
His laughter had echoed ominously through the camp.
There was no joy in it, just a cold, vicious satisfaction that filled the air with tension.
The silence that followed was thick, stifling, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Corora, Sophia, and the others watched from a distance, their faces pale, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
They had grown used to Lyerin's unpredictability, but now?
Now, there was something else.
A cold finality in his voice.
As if a promise of destruction.
