Lyerin's gaze swept across the cavern, taking in the desperation etched on every face.
Blood stained the ground, and the air was heavy with the stench of death and sweat.
The titanic soldiers stood battered, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Clawed wounds crisscrossed their massive forms, and their eyes—wide and fearful—flicked nervously between the countless trilobites advancing upon them.
"If only you would listen to me," Lyerin said, his voice low but carrying above the chaos with an authority that cut through their panic.
The soldiers exchanged glances, their expressions wavering between skepticism and desperate hope.
The din of battle had reduced them to the edge of despair, but Lyerin's words hung heavy in the air.
They had no choice but to grab at whatever lifeline was thrown their way.
