LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The man's voice was smooth, almost too smooth, as he assured Lyerin that his mother was safe.

The words rolled off his tongue with an ease that set off alarm bells in Lyerin's mind.

He had anticipated this—these people were masters of deception, and he knew better than to take their words at face value.

'Of course, he's saying that,' Lyerin thought, a sneer forming in his mind. 'They'd say anything to keep me compliant.' The name "Freddie Borgias" wasn't even registered in any of their records, a fact that made this entire charade even more absurd. But he kept his face neutral, nodding as if he were relieved by the man's words.

Before he could respond, the door behind him creaked open, and a doctor entered the room.

Lyerin had sensed the doctor's presence long before he made his appearance, the faint scent of antiseptic and the quiet, measured footsteps giving him away.

The doctor was a tall, gaunt man with thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and he held a small case in his hands.

"We'll need to take a blood sample," the man said, his tone polite but firm. "Just to confirm everything."

Lyerin nodded, rolling up his sleeve without protest. He had expected this as well.

Blood was a powerful tool in this world—one that could confirm lineage, reveal secrets, and bind people to oaths. As the doctor prepared the syringe, Lyerin kept his breathing steady, his heart calm.

The prick of the needle was barely a sensation to him, and he watched dispassionately as the doctor drew the blood into a small vial.

The testing process took longer than Lyerin anticipated.

The doctor worked in silence, running the sample through various machines, each one emitting a soft hum or a series of beeps.

The man, who had introduced himself as Commander Hale, watched the doctor with a stern expression, occasionally glancing at Lyerin as if to gauge his reaction.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor looked up, nodding to Commander Hale. "It's confirmed," he said. "He has Borgias blood."

Commander Hale's expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good," he said, turning back to Lyerin. "You're free to go. You can do anything you want inside now."

Lyerin gave a respectful nod, hiding the triumphant smirk that threatened to surface.

They were convinced, at least for now. But he knew better than to let his guard down.

These people might have accepted him, but they would be watching his every move.

Before leaving, Lyerin decided to play his part a little further. He furrowed his brow, pretending to be curious. "Why do they call us Halflings?" he asked, his tone innocent, almost naive.

Commander Hale paused, the smile fading from his face. He looked at Lyerin for a moment, as if considering how much to reveal. "You'll understand once you're inside the city," he said finally, his voice carrying a note of finality.

Lyerin feigned confusion but didn't press further.

Instead, he simply nodded and followed the man's orders to leave.

As he exited the building, he was handed a bracelet with a red stripe down the middle.

The soldier who gave it to him explained that it was his identity bracelet, a mark that would allow him to find work and receive daily supplies.

Lyerin accepted the bracelet, pretending to examine it closely before nodding respectfully.

He then turned and began to walk away, his pace slow and measured.

Every step he took was deliberate, every movement calculated to appear natural and unhurried. But as soon as he was clear of the building, he allowed his gaze to wander, discreetly scanning the surroundings.

That's when he saw it—a small, almost imperceptible glint in the sky. It was barely noticeable, but Lyerin's sharp eyes caught it immediately.

A flying camera, hovering silently above, tracking his movements.

His mind raced, but he made sure to keep his expression neutral, only stealing a brief glance at the device before looking away.

'So they're watching me,' he thought, his mind already working on a plan. He had to avoid being tracked, but he needed to be clever about it. Anything too obvious would raise suspicion.

As he continued walking, his thoughts churned, weighing his options. 'I could try to find a blind spot,' he considered, picturing the narrow alleyways and shadowed corners of the city. But he quickly dismissed the idea. 'Too risky. They might have more cameras or other ways to track me.'

'What if I create a distraction?' he thought next, envisioning a chaotic scene where he could slip away unnoticed. But he shook his head again. 'No, that would draw too much attention. They'd be on high alert, and it could backfire.'

Another idea formed in his mind—'Maybe I could find someone else to impersonate, someone they wouldn't suspect.' But this plan had its flaws too. 'They might have records of everyone here. If I'm caught impersonating someone, it could be the end.'

Finally, he considered simply going underground, using his abilities to disappear entirely. 'I could blend into the shadows, stay out of sight until I'm ready to strike.' But even this had its risks. 'They might detect the use of my powers, or they could have ways to track me that I'm not aware of.'

Each option seemed to lead to a dead end, each plan fraught with potential dangers. Lyerin's mind whirled, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. But he couldn't afford to make a mistake. One wrong move could expose him, could jeopardize everything he had worked for.

'I need more information,' he realized. 'I need to understand how this place operates, what their weaknesses are.'

Just as he was about to delve deeper into his thoughts, a loud crash shattered the relative silence of the city.

Lyerin's head snapped towards the source of the sound—a store window had been broken, glass shards scattered across the pavement.

A figure darted out of the store, clutching something in their arms.

The person was quick, their movements frantic and desperate.

Lyerin's eyes narrowed, immediately assessing the situation. Seeing another motorcycle coming slowly with a man in a black uniform, he smiled.

'This is it.'

The thief was young, likely a teenager, their face twisted in fear and determination.

Lyerin watched the teenager break the glass with an odd detachment.

He was too aware of the chaos in the city, the desperation that had driven people to do things they would never have considered before. He approached the young thief with an even tone, "Hey, you don't steal. It's bad, kid."

The teenager spun around, his eyes wild and unfocused, ready to flee or fight. But when he saw the red bracelet on Lyerin's wrist, his expression hardened with disdain. "Heh, watch your back, Halfling," the boy sneered.

Lyerin barely had time to react before he felt the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed against his side.

The teenager's friend or companion pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The shot echoed through the empty street, a dull thud as the bullet hit Lyerin, sending him collapsing to the ground.

The boy stood over him, a smirk playing on his lips as he spat, "Heh! A halfling!" before sprinting away.

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