Greyhaven awoke to a quiet so complete it was almost unnatural.
The markets opened, the guards marched, and the courtiers moved—but all did so under the invisible leash of the Wolf.
Aren stood upon the highest cathedral tower, watching the kingdom breathe beneath him.
Every province, every lord, every city—bound.
Not by chains, not by law, not by armies.
But by fear, whispers, and inevitability.
Lysa approached from the shadows.
"They obey," she said softly. "Every corner bends. The east fractures quietly, the south kneels, the north whispers loyalty…"
"Yes," Aren replied. "And each act of obedience strengthens the web. Every doubt, every secret, every hesitation weaves it tighter."
In the palace, Rowan moved like a ghost.
He had no army, no allies, no power.
Every command he gave was filtered, delayed, or outright ignored.
The crown sat on its pedestal—useless, hollow, a relic of a kingdom no longer his.
Aren's hand rested lightly on the Silent Throne.
"True dominion," he murmured, "is not taken by force. It is earned through inevitability. Through the quiet shaping of hearts and minds.
The kingdom is bound—not by swords, not by gold, but by shadows, fear, and obedience that cannot be undone."
Even the rivers seemed to bend silently beneath his gaze.
The winds whispered his presence to every city.
The forests and valleys trembled quietly, carrying the pulse of the Wolf's dominion to the farthest reaches.
Aren looked to the horizon, voice low, unwavering:
"The kingdom bends. Every lord, every soldier, every citizen.
The Wolf does not merely rule… he exists in every shadow, every fear, every whispered thought.
And now, the kingdom is bound. Forever."