Years had passed since the Wolf had risen, and Greyhaven had changed beyond recognition.
The city's towers gleamed under the sun, but life within them moved quietly, carefully, as though each breath and step were measured against invisible rules.
Aren stood on the cathedral tower, older now but unchanged. His cloak no longer whipped violently in the wind; it hung steady, like the calm of inevitability itself.
Below, the lords bowed at his presence—not because he demanded it, but because their lives had been shaped to obey the unseen rhythm of the Wolf.
The Wolf's dominion was no longer enforced—it had become natural.
Rowan, once prince of Greyhaven, now lived quietly in the palace's shadowed halls.
He had survived, not by resisting, but by bending carefully to the inevitable.
The crown sat atop its pedestal, gleaming and meaningless, a relic of a kingdom that had learned to thrive under fear and shadows.
In the provinces:
The north thrived quietly, loyal but wary.
The south prospered, its obedience enforced through subtle whispers rather than armies.
The east, fractured long ago, had united under cautious, fearful governance, each city's leaders quietly acknowledging the Wolf's supremacy.
Every corner of the kingdom moved in harmony with the Wolf's invisible hand, a silent symphony of control, loyalty, and fear.
Lysa and Caelis, ever at Aren's side, watched as the city below moved like clockwork.
"Does it ever tire you?" Lysa asked, her voice soft.
"Of what?" Aren replied, eyes glinting.
"Of maintaining it… of holding the kingdom in shadows?"
Aren's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
"The Wolf does not tire. Shadows do not fade. Fear is eternal when nurtured carefully.
This is not control. This is inevitability. This is legacy."
Even the people had adapted.
Children grew up knowing obedience was safer than defiance. Merchants whispered carefully in markets. Soldiers carried out orders without question, believing their own hesitation was dangerous.
The kingdom had internalized the Wolf's will. Fear had become law, shadows had become guidance, and inevitability had become culture.
Aren gazed toward the horizon.
The sun rose over Greyhaven, casting long shadows across the city's towers.
The kingdom's heartbeat was no longer its own.
It belonged to the Wolf.
It belonged to the shadows.
And it would endure for generations.
The Wolf's reign was complete.
His dominion eternal.
And the legacy of shadows… everlasting.