Lyerin's eyes gleamed with a cold, knowing light as he stepped closer, his dark robes billowing slightly in the faint, otherworldly wind that seemed to course through the cavern.
He regarded the towering, newly-revived soldier for a moment, his expression inscrutable.
The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until at last, Lyerin spoke.
His voice was low but carried the weight of authority, each word carefully enunciated, as if savoring every syllable.
"It would seem," he began, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips, "that you've tasted one of the Stonehooves Tribe's greatest blessings."
The soldier, now towering over everyone, stared down at him, his massive chest still heaving from the aftermath of panic and confusion.
Around him, the other soldiers hung on every word, their breath caught in their throats.