Greyhaven slept, but not in peace.
The city moved as one under the invisible hand of the Wolf, each heartbeat, each whisper, each shadow aligned with his dominion.
Aren stood on the cathedral's highest tower, cloak billowing, eyes sharp as the winter wind.
"The kingdom is mine," he murmured, voice low and cold.
"Not by sword. Not by law. Not by crowns or banners.
By whispers, fear, inevitability… and shadows that never fade."
Lysa and Caelis approached silently.
"The provinces bend. The lords obey. The east fractures quietly. Greyhaven bows," Lysa said.
"Yes," Aren replied. "The Wolf's reach is complete. And yet…"
He paused, gaze sweeping the horizon, "control is never static. Shadows must be eternal. Vigilance must be endless. Fear must remain alive in hearts, even as obedience thrives."
Even Rowan, trapped in the Silent Throne's shadow, realized the depth of his defeat.
The crown he wore was meaningless. His armies were tools of the Wolf. His allies were shadows themselves.
The prince was no longer a ruler—only a witness to the Wolf's dominion.
Aren's hand rested lightly on the cathedral parapet.
"The Wolf's legacy," he said, voice steady and inevitable, "is not measured in crowns, lands, or blood.
It is measured in obedience.
In fear.
In shadows eternal."
The wind whispered through Greyhaven.
Every alley, every street, every tower carried the presence of the Wolf.
The kingdom's pulse had shifted.
And its heartbeat… was no longer its own.
Aren turned to Lysa and Caelis, eyes glimmering in the moonlight:
"The Wolf endures. The kingdom bends.
And the shadows… are eternal."