Suddenly, a voice echoed in the air, almost distant, yet sharp enough to pierce through the chaos of the moment.
"Be careful…"
The world around Lyerin seemed to slow. His smirk faded as the very fabric of reality shifted, and everything around him began to decelerate.
The air thickened, as if time itself had been stretched thin.
The movement of his Pig Orcs became sluggish, their heavy feet dragging against the earth like they were submerged in molasses.
The members of his tribe, their panicked faces and frantic gestures, turned into exaggerated, dream-like motions.
Every breath Lyerin took felt elongated, the coolness of the air entering his lungs much slower than usual, filling his chest with an odd clarity.
He could feel each gust of wind pass through his hair, and even the smallest particles of dust floating in the air became visible, suspended in time.
The atmosphere shifted too.