For a moment, they were just people—survivors reveling in the sweet taste of victory.
Some of the men even slung their arms around each other, their faces beaming with camaraderie as they reveled in the thrill of triumph.
But above the jubilant cries and laughter, Lyerin's voice suddenly boomed, sharp and unyielding. "Hold your cheers! Do not lower your guard!"
The laughter faltered, and the men's gazes snapped back to him, eyes wide and senses heightened.
They looked around, as if realizing for the first time that something was wrong, that the air had shifted once again.
"This was only the first wave," Lyerin warned, his tone as cold as iron. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, a distant point in the sky, his eyes narrowing as he watched something in the distance.
And then, as if in response to his words, the sky began to darken. A low rumble echoed from above, a sound not of thunder but of something even more ominous.
