The central square of the tribe was vast, surrounded by towering stone structures adorned with intricate carvings of symbols and ancient scripts that seemed to writhe and shimmer in the dim torchlight.
The ground was marked with an enormous, complex circle of glyphs etched with painstaking precision.
Lyerin stood at the center of this geometric masterpiece, his tall, imposing figure bathed in the golden-orange glow of the surrounding flames.
Around him, the soldiers formed a silent, motionless perimeter, their expressions a mixture of reverence and apprehension as they watched the scene unfold.
Donovan, Theran, Miriam, Mikhail, and the Younger Woman knelt at the edge of the ritual circle, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and fear.
Their breaths came in shallow gasps, and though their minds screamed at them to flee, their instincts knew better.
Lyerin's presence alone was enough to freeze them in place.
