As the soldiers dropped to the cavern floor, their bodies trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline, Lyerin stood before them, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
The phosphorescent glow of the cavern walls cast deep shadows across his face, giving him an almost spectral presence.
He folded his arms, his gaze sweeping over the battered and bloodied group.
The silence stretched out, oppressive and heavy, until Lyerin finally spoke.
"You think you fought well, do you?" he began, his tone devoid of warmth. "You think you survived by some great feat of strength or skill?" He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"You survived by the barest margin. And only because I allowed it."
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably.
Some avoided his gaze, staring down at their bloodied hands.
Others clenched their jaws, their pride stinging.
