Greyhaven's towers gleamed in the pale moonlight, but the city no longer felt alive.
It breathed quietly, obediently, under the Wolf's shadow.
Aren walked through the palace corridors with Lysa and Caelis.
The crown sat in the throne room, untouched, yet heavy with meaning.
Rowan had tried to rally the kingdom once more.
Letters, alliances, threats—each plan collapsed quietly, like sand slipping through fingers.
Even his closest allies no longer dared speak openly.
Aren stopped before the crown, hands folded.
"The crown does not grant power," he said softly.
"Obedience grants power. Fear grants power. Shadows grant power.
The crown is nothing without them."
Lysa tilted her head.
"And what of the cost?"
Aren's eyes darkened.
"Every kingdom demands a price.
Fear has taken the innocent. Betrayal has claimed the guilty.
Every soul bound in shadow has paid… willingly or not.
This is the crown's true price."
Caelis looked toward the city streets.
"They obey now. Even the prince… he is trapped in his own palace."
"Yes," Aren said, voice low and steady.
"Greyhaven bends. The north obeys. The east fractures. The south kneels quietly.
The kingdom is ours.
But the price is heavier than any crown, heavier than any blade."
Outside, Greyhaven slept in silence.
The Wolf had claimed the kingdom, but in doing so, had bound it with whispers, shadows, and fear.
The true weight of the crown was not in gold or title—but in the shadows of every heart.