The kingdom trembled, though few could see why.
From north to south, from Greyhaven to Riverwatch, the Wolf's shadow had spread quietly, invisibly, and irrevocably.
Aren stood on a ridge overlooking the eastern provinces.
The towns were small, but the whispers were mighty.
Fear, carefully applied, had begun to crack loyalties before armies even arrived.
Lysa and Caelis flanked him, watching the trade routes.
"The east is beginning to bend," Lysa said.
"Yes," Aren replied. "But bending alone is not enough. They must fear, obey, and believe they are helpless to resist."
The Shadow Army moved like ghosts, slipping through forests, rivers, and hidden passes.
Couriers, merchants, and spies became unwilling instruments.
No city could act freely, no lord could trust his neighbor.
Rowan, trapped in Greyhaven, read reports of quiet surrenders across the kingdom.
Panic grew in his veins.
Allies vanished without battle. Strongholds yielded without a fight.
Even the eastern resistance—long considered the last hope—was beginning to crumble.
Aren's eyes swept the valleys below.
"The Wolf does not chase armies," he said softly.
"He bends kingdoms before the first sword is drawn. And soon… every corner of this land will be under shadow, willingly or not."
The sun rose over the eastern plains.
Quietly.
Silently.
The kingdom's web had expanded, stronger than any crown, heavier than any army.