Lyerin's eyes softened, the intensity of his gaze shifting into something more controlled, almost fatherly, as he took in the exhausted, battered soldiers.
Their faces were pale, streaked with sweat, dust, and splatters of blood.
Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their bodies trembling from both adrenaline and fear.
Weapons clutched tightly in their hands trembled with the effort of staying upright, and their eyes—wide with the memory of what they had just endured—betrayed their exhaustion and lingering terror.
He raised a hand, signaling for calm. "Rest," he said, his voice low and steady, yet it carried through the cavern with authority. "Rest while you still can."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, like marionettes suddenly cut from their strings, the soldiers collapsed.
Some dropped to their knees, others sat heavily on the rough stone floor, weapons clanging beside them.
