LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The silence that followed Lyerin's words was deafening.

It was as though the entire camp had been plunged into an abyss, where sound and time ceased to exist.

For a moment, no one dared to move.

The soldiers stood frozen in place, their expressions a mix of confusion, disbelief, and a rising sense of dread.

The festive energy that had saturated the air mere moments ago now evaporated like mist under the midday sun, leaving behind a hollow, suffocating void.

The wind carried the faint crackle of the portal's energy through the camp, its unnatural hum the only sound that dared to intrude upon the stillness.

Soldiers who had been laughing and singing now exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale and their hands trembling as they gripped the hilts of their weapons or clutched at the hems of their cloaks.

Their eyes darted from Lyerin to the portal and back again, as though searching for an answer—some reassurance that this was all a joke, a misunderstanding.

But there was no humor in Lyerin's face, no flicker of mercy or mischief. Only that infuriating smile, cold and enigmatic, lingering on his lips.

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Finally, one of the soldiers—a grizzled man with streaks of gray in his hair and the hardened posture of someone who had survived countless battles—found his voice.

It was hoarse and trembling, a shadow of the man's usual commanding tone.

"What… what do you mean, Chief?" he stammered, his eyes narrowing as though trying to decode Lyerin's inscrutable words. "You opened the portal. You made this. We're… we're going home, aren't we?"

A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd, low and anxious. Others began speaking, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of desperation and confusion.

"Yeah, that's right! Why else would you open a portal like this?"

"You said it yourself—it leads to Earth!"Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"We've been waiting for this, Chief. We've trusted you!"

"Are you saying… you're not taking us back?"

A younger soldier, barely out of his teens, stepped forward, his face flushed and his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"You're messing with us again, aren't you?" His voice cracked, wavering between defiance and fear. "You've always been like this, playing your games. But this is different. This… this is our chance to go home! You can't take that away from us!"

More voices rose now, louder and more frantic.

Soldiers who had, just moments ago, wept with joy and embraced their comrades now spoke with panic sharp in their tones.

Their words tumbled over one another in a flood, crashing like waves against the unyielding rock that was Lyerin's silent, smiling presence.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Are you saying this isn't for us?"

"What's the point of opening a portal if not to send us back?"

"You can't leave us here, Lyerin! We can't stay in this cursed place!"

Their desperation spilled out of them, raw and unfiltered. Some soldiers took a step back, as though the very air around Lyerin had become dangerous to breathe.

Others pressed forward, their hands shaking, their eyes wide with desperation as they searched his face for answers he seemed unwilling to give.

It was as if their entire world—a world they had been rebuilding out of scraps of hope and determination—was crumbling right before their eyes.

Another voice rose, this one full of bitterness. "Is this another one of your sick games, Lyerin?"

The speaker, a burly woman with a scar cutting across her cheek, glared at him with a mixture of rage and fear.

"We're not your toys! We've done everything you've asked of us. We've bled for this tribe. We've fought. We've survived! You owe us this!"

More voices joined hers, louder and angrier now, building like the rumble of a storm on the horizon.

"You can't keep us here forever!"

"We've earned our way out!"

"Take us back! You owe us that much!"

"What are you playing at, Lyerin?!"

The crowd grew restless. Feet shifted uneasily on the dirt-packed ground.

Hands hovered near weapons, though no one was foolish enough to draw.

There was an undercurrent of something dangerous now, something volatile that threatened to boil over.

For all their fear of him—and it was a deep, visceral fear—they were men and women at the edge of their endurance, clutching desperately at the first glimmer of salvation they had seen in years. And that salvation, it seemed, was being torn away from them.

Lyerin, for his part, remained still and composed, his head tilted ever so slightly as he regarded the soldiers before him.

If the rising tension unsettled him, he gave no sign.

His crimson eyes seemed to pierce through their frantic questions, as though he could see past their words and into the hearts that beat wildly within their chests.

The weight of his silence was unbearable, like the shadow of a blade hanging overhead.

Finally, another soldier—a middle-aged man with a deep, ragged voice—stepped forward, his face a mask of barely controlled desperation.

"Please," he said, his voice cracking on the word. "Please, Chief. We've followed you. We've trusted you. Don't do this to us."

He sank to his knees, his hands clutched together as though in prayer. "I have a family waiting for me. A wife. Children. I haven't seen them in years. Don't let us die here. Not after everything we've been through."

The sight of the man kneeling broke something in the crowd. Others began to plead as well, their voices quivering with desperation. Soldiers who had once been hardened warriors now looked like lost, frightened children, their hopes slipping through their fingers like sand.

"I have a daughter back home. She doesn't even remember my face…"

"I promised my brother I'd come back. I promised him!"

"Take us back, Chief. I'm begging you."

"Please… don't leave us here."

The pleas grew louder, more frantic. The crowd was a cacophony of anguish, the collective sound of men and women teetering on the edge of despair.

The portal crackled and hummed behind Lyerin, its light spilling across the ground like a taunt, a cruel promise just out of reach. And still, Lyerin said nothing.

Finally, when the noise seemed ready to collapse under its own weight, Lyerin raised a single hand.

The camp fell silent instantly, as though he had snuffed out their voices with a flick of his wrist.

His expression had not changed, but there was something new in his gaze now—something colder, sharper, like a blade drawn in the dark.

He let the silence stretch again, drawing out their agony as though savoring the moment.

Then, in a voice that was low and steady, yet cut through the air like a whip, he said, "I do not recall ever promising to take you back to Earth."

The words hit the soldiers like a physical blow.

Some staggered back, their faces pale and stricken.

Others simply stared at him, their mouths agape, as though their minds could not comprehend what he had just said.

"What…" someone whispered, their voice barely audible. "What are you saying…?"

Lyerin's smile widened ever so slightly, but his eyes remained hard and unyielding. "I opened the portal, yes," he said, his tone calm and deliberate, as though speaking to children. "But what makes you think it was for you?"

The soldiers were silent now, too stunned to speak, too afraid to move.

Their gazes darted back and forth between the portal and the man who stood before them, his presence like a dark shadow cast over their hopes.

And then, as though to twist the knife deeper, Lyerin added softly, "Whoever said I would take you back?"

The silence that followed was the heaviest it had ever been.