The brutal unification of The Cradle had the intended effect. Work became unnervingly efficient. The cat-crafters produced tools and intricate metalwork with a silent, desperate excellence. The humans cooperated with sullen, fearful diligence. The air still crackled with unspoken tensions, but they were buried deep, channeled into productivity under the ever-watchful gaze of Kaela's hunters, Talon's soaring patrols, and the chilling, silent presence of Valerius.
Nicolas's power grew denser, fed by the absolute submission of his growing domain. He felt it coalescing, not just as a weapon or a binder, but as a tangible atmosphere a field of controlled will that hung over The Cradle like an invisible crown.
Lyra's time was near. Her belly was a ripe, heavy curve, and a new, profound stillness had settled over her. The frantic energy of preparation was gone, replaced by a deep, watchful calm.
She spent hours in the quiet of their chamber or walking the inner courtyard, her hand always on the swell of her child, communicating with it in a way Nicolas could only observe through the bond a private, sacred dialogue between mother and the future.
It was during one of these quiet walks, with Kaela a respectful ten paces behind, that Nicolas found her staring not at the ground or the sky, but at the eastern pass. The route that led, eventually, to the Solid Country of the dog-folk.
"You think of the next stone for our wall," she said, not turning. Her voice was softer now, rounded by her condition.
"A kingdom needs more than warriors, spies, and sorcerers," Nicolas replied, coming to stand beside her. "It needs a solid core. Unquestioning loyalty. A guard that does not think, only obeys."
"The dog-folk," she nodded. "Their clans are insular, but they are renowned as the most loyal soldiers and guards in Saturn when their allegiance is won. Their sense of 'pack' is absolute."
"Then we will make them part of a new pack," Nicolas said. "With a single Alpha."
A plan formed, colder and more direct than the seduction of Talon or the intellectual conquest of Valerius. The dog-folk valued strength, hierarchy, and tangible proof of power. Nicolas would give them a demonstration they could not ignore.
He left The Cradle three days later. His party was small: himself, Kaela, and Valerius. Talon soared high above as their unseen scout. Lyra remained behind, the glacial fortress and its now-obedient populace her protective shell.
The farewell was wordless a deep, searching look and the press of his hand against the taut skin of her belly, feeling the strong, impatient movements within.
They traveled for a week, descending from the frozen peaks into the rocky, pine-clad foothills that marked the border of the Solid Country. The air grew heavier, smelling of damp earth and pine resin. Talon's reports, delivered in hushed, reverent tones when he landed, spoke of a nearby dog-folk settlement a clan called the Stone-Mane, known for their resilience and their prowess as trackers and sentinels.
Nicolas did not approach the settlement. Instead, he had Valerius locate a dominant, high-traffic game trail a mile from their territory. There, Nicolas ordered a camp to be made, not hidden, but blatant. A fire was lit. Meat was roasted. It was a challenge, an intrusion deliberately smeared on their border.
The response was swift. By dusk of the second day, a patrol of five dog-folk warriors emerged from the trees. They were imposing figures, broad-shouldered and muscular, with thick, bristling fur in shades of grey and brown, and intelligent, wary eyes.
They wore practical leathers and carried heavy spears and axes. Their leader, a massive brute with a scar across his muzzle, stepped forward, his voice a low, gravelly bark.
"You are in Stone-Mane hunting grounds, strangers. Turn back. Now."
Nicolas stood from the fire. He did not reach for his sword. He simply looked at the leader. "I am Nicolas. And these grounds are now of interest to me. I am in need of loyal guards."
The dog-warriors stared, then let out gruff barks of disbelief. "You? A scrawny human? You need a nursemaid, not a guard," the leader sneered. "Leave, or we will drag you back to our kennels as a curiosity."
Kaela stepped forward, her own wolfish aura radiating challenge. "You will speak to my Master with respect, cur."
The tension spiked. The dog-folk's eyes flickered to Kaela, recognizing a fellow predator but of a rival clan. The pack mentality solidified against the external threat.
Nicolas sighed, a sound of profound annoyance. He had hoped for a simpler submission. It seemed a more direct lesson was required.
He pointed at the leader. "You. What is your name?"
The dog-man snarled. "I am Borak, son of Grak, Alpha of the Stone-Mane patrol! And you are"
"You are about to be an example, Borak," Nicolas interrupted.
He unleashed his power. But not the bonding warmth, nor the soul-crushing command he used on Niva. This was something raw, a pure blast of dominating 'presence'. It was the essence of the Alpha, amplified a thousandfold and stripped of all warmth, all negotiation. It was the psychic equivalent of a bite to the neck.
He aimed it solely at Borak.
The effect was instantaneous and shocking to the dog-folk. Borak, mid-snarl, choked. His eyes went wide, then glazed. His body stiffened, every muscle locking. A low, involuntary whine escaped his throat the sound of a pup submitting to a dominant elder. He dropped to all fours, his spear falling from nerveless fingers, his head lowering until his snout touched the dirt.
He trembled violently, overwhelmed by a will so absolute it rewrote his fundamental understanding of hierarchy.
The other four warriors recoiled, their aggression replaced by primal confusion and fear. They saw their strong, proud leader reduced to a quivering state of total submission in a heartbeat by a human who hadn't even moved.
Nicolas walked forward, his boots crunching on the frosty pine needles. He stopped in front of the prostrate Borak. "Look at me."
With immense effort, Borak raised his head. His eyes were no longer wary or arrogant. They held the dazed, absolute devotion of a dog that has found its one true master.
"You are of the Stone-Mane no longer," Nicolas decreed, his voice the law of the world. "Your pack is mine. Your loyalty is to me. Your strength will guard my den. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes… Master," Borak whimpered, the title feeling more natural to him than his own name.
Nicolas then turned his gaze on the other four. He didn't crush them. He simply let the lingering echo of his dominance, and the shocking sight of their broken leader, work on their pack-minded instincts. "You have a choice. Follow him," he pointed to Borak, "into a stronger pack, with a true Alpha. Or return to your clan and tell them what happens to those who bark at a king."
They looked at Borak, then at the terrifyingly calm human, then at the fierce wolf-woman and the robed sorcerer who watched with cold interest.
The pack instinct to follow the strongest leader warred with clan loyalty. In the end, the evidence before them was undeniable. One by one, they lowered their weapons. One, then another, mimicked Borak's submissive posture.
Nicolas nodded. It was a start. A small, solid core.
"Bring them," he said to Kaela. "We return to The Cradle. We have new guards for the nursery."
As they turned their new acquisitions towards home, Nicolas felt no particular triumph, only a sense of correct acquisition.
The dog-folk's loyalty, once given, was unshakable. They would be the steadfast, unimaginative foundation upon which the more volatile elements of his kingdom could rest.
They would guard Lyra and the heir with a devotion that needed no magic to sustain it only the ongoing, overwhelming presence of their Master.
The Cradle's walls now had living, breathing bulwarks. And the heir, soon to enter the world, would have its first true, four-legged protectors.