The Minotaur statue stood silent for a moment, its stone surface bathed in the soft, pulsating glow of the captured creatures. The soldiers, battered and exhausted, gathered at a safe distance, their breath caught in their throats as they watched Lyerin at work. He stood at the base of the statue, hands raised high, chanting in a tongue that felt ancient and powerful, vibrating through the very marrow of their bones.
At first, the hum was faint, more like a gentle vibration that tickled their feet through the ground. A few soldiers exchanged wary glances, unsure if they were imagining it. But as Lyerin's chant deepened, growing louder and more commanding, the hum grew in intensity. It wasn't just heard—it was felt.
One soldier grabbed his chest, gasping. "It's in my ribs!"
"Mine too," another muttered, clutching the hilt of his weapon as if it would anchor him to reality.
