LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Lyerin knew the truth—had lived it.

The Borgias Family cared only about their pureblood members, their true heirs.

Halflings like him, born of mixed blood, were nothing more than tools or pawns, tolerated only as long as they served a purpose.

The idea that any of these people's fathers or mothers were truly safe was a cruel joke. More likely, they were dead or dying, victims of the same chaos that had engulfed the world.

He felt a pang of bitterness in his chest, the old wounds reopening as memories of his own mother surfaced.

She had loved him, or at least she had pretended to. But Lyerin had always known, deep down, that her affection was tainted by resentment, by the shame of having given birth to a halfling.

He remembered the way she would look at him when she thought he wasn't watching—the sadness in her eyes, the bitterness that marred her smile.

She had loved him, but she had also hated him, and that truth had been a knife in his heart for as long as he could remember.

The conversation around him shifted, pulling him back to the present. The others were still talking about their parents, sharing their own stories, their own suspicions.

"There's something off about the way they're handling this," Talia was saying, her voice tinged with unease.

"My father… before everything went bad, he told me something strange. He said he didn't love me, that he was being forced to stay with us. He said the Borgias Family didn't care about us, that they were just using us for something. I didn't understand what he meant at the time, but now… I don't know. It feels like there's more to this."

Mira nodded, her expression darkening.

"My mother was the same way. She would be so cold one day, like she hated me, and then the next day she'd act like nothing was wrong, like she loved me more than anything. It never made sense to me, but maybe… maybe they were under some kind of pressure, like your father."

Jonah grunted in agreement, his eyes narrowing. "I've heard similar stories from others. It's like the Borgias Family is trying to keep us close but also keep us away, but there's something they're not telling us. Something big."

Lyerin's heart ached as he listened to them.

Their words resonated with his own experiences, bringing back the pain of his own fractured relationship with his mother.

Before the apocalypse happened in his past life and now, they are not okay.

He had spent years trying to reconcile the love he had felt for her with the hatred she had harbored for him in his past life and in this life. And now, listening to these strangers, he knew that they were all trapped in the same web of lies and manipulation.

He looked away from the group, his gaze hardening as he tried to suppress the emotions welling up inside him.

He had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let himself be consumed by old wounds. But the sadness, the pain, was there, lurking beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm him.

'Maybe it's time to face it,' he thought, the idea forming in his mind like a whisper in the dark. 'Maybe it's time to confront the truth—to see it with my own eyes.'

The idea terrified him, but it also filled him with a grim determination.

He needed to know the truth, needed to see if his mother had truly felt the way he had always suspected.

Lyerin hoped that his mother really liked him or else…

His personality that was honed for countless years in his past life will come back.

He didn't want that!

This is a new life!

New beginning!

New him!

He still has hope for his mother.

Shaking his head, Lyerin decided not to think about it.

It was a dangerous path, one that could lead to more pain, more loss.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, the warehouse's loudspeaker crackled to life again. This time, the voice that came through was different—sharp, commanding, with an edge of impatience.

"Freddie Borgias," the voice announced, echoing through the vast space. "Report to the gate immediately."

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Lyerin.

For a moment, he was frozen, the sound of his assumed name ringing in his ears. Then, slowly, he nodded to the others, forcing a small smile onto his face.

"Looks like it's my turn," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "I'll catch up with you all later."

The others nodded, offering words of encouragement and good luck. But as Lyerin turned to leave, he could feel their eyes on him, their curiosity and suspicion simmering beneath the surface.

He made his way through the warehouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

The weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him, a heavy burden that threatened to crush him if he let it. But Lyerin was stronger than that. He had to be.

As he approached the exit, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had come this far, had taken on this identity, all in the name of his mission. Now, he had to see it through, no matter the cost.

The old soldier from before was waiting for him at the gate, his expression unreadable as he gestured for Lyerin to follow him.

Together, they walked through the winding corridors, the silence between them thick with tension.

They arrived at a smaller, more secluded section of the outpost—a place that felt removed from the rest of the compound, more isolated. The soldier stopped in front of a heavy metal door, turning to Lyerin with a serious expression.

"Inside," he said, his voice low and firm. "The commander wants to speak with you."

Lyerin nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he reached for the door handle. He could feel the soldier's eyes on him, watching his every move, judging him. But Lyerin couldn't afford to falter now. He had to stay in character, had to play his part until the very end.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room beyond was small, dimly lit, and sparsely furnished—a stark contrast to the bustling, chaotic atmosphere of the warehouse. In the center of the room stood a single figure, his back turned to the door as he examined a series of maps spread out on a metal table.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. He didn't look up as Lyerin entered, his focus entirely on the maps in front of him. But Lyerin could feel the power radiating from him, the unmistakable presence of a high-ranking Borgias Family member.

For a moment, Lyerin hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. But then, the man spoke, his voice cold and commanding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"So," the man said, finally turning to face him, his piercing gaze locking onto Lyerin. "You're Freddie Borgias. The halfling."

Lyerin swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. "That's me."

However, inside he would mumble, 'Really didn't even bother to hide that I'm a halfling.'

The man studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile curled at the corners of his mouth—a smile that sent a chill down Lyerin's spine.

"Good," the man said, his voice low and dangerous. "Because I have good news for you."

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