They left Frostfall at first light.
Not as conquerors.
Not as supplicants.
But as a procession carefully shaped to look like diplomacy.
Ronan walked at the front beside Aria, his presence unmistakable—Alpha in bearing even without a crown. Eamon followed half a step behind, staff tapping softly against stone with every measured stride. The wolves fanned out around them, alert but disciplined, their movements restrained by the thin veneer of "peaceful escort."
The Silver Coast guards flanked them at a distance.
Too polite.
Too watchful.
Aria felt it immediately—the way eyes tracked her every movement, the subtle tension beneath casual conversation. The bond hummed softly, a warning note she'd learned not to ignore.
"They're afraid," she murmured to Ronan without moving her lips.
He snorted quietly. "Good."
"Not of me," she corrected. "Of what I represent."
"That's worse," he said grimly.
The road curved southward, descending from mountain forest into rocky lowlands where salt began to sting the air. The Broken Shoals lay ahead—jagged cliffs and shattered coastlines where waves crashed endlessly against black stone. A place shaped by erosion and loss.
A fitting destination.
⸻
Courtesy with an Edge
Lyessa rode near the front today, her posture immaculate, her tone light.
"You adapt quickly," she remarked to Aria as they walked side by side for a stretch. "Many would have resisted our request more fiercely."
Aria didn't look at her. "I don't confuse resistance with refusal."
Lyessa smiled faintly. "A dangerous distinction."
"Only if you intend to push," Aria replied.
Lyessa's gaze sharpened. "You don't fear consequences."
"I understand them," Aria said calmly. "Fear doesn't help with that."
They walked in silence for a moment.
Then Lyessa spoke again. "Do you know what the Broken Shoals were before the Tide Wars?"
Aria shook her head.
"A sanctuary," Lyessa said. "Neutral ground. Then politics arrived."
Ronan muttered, "Politics usually do."
Lyessa glanced at him coolly. "You distrust us."
"I distrust anyone who smiles while counting leverage," Ronan replied.
Lyessa's smile thinned. "Wise."
Eamon, listening quietly, frowned. "We're being paced."
Lyessa turned slightly. "Excuse me?"
"Your guards," Eamon said mildly. "They're adjusting formation. Not defensively—positionally."
Ronan's shoulders tightened. "Meaning?"
Eamon's voice lowered. "Meaning if something happened… they'd be ready to control the narrative."
Aria felt the Devourer stir faintly, like a distant echo laughing without sound.
Politics, it whispered.
⸻
The First Attempt
The ambush came at midday.
Not from the front.
Not from the flanks.
From within.
A Silver Coast guard stumbled suddenly, crying out as he fell to his knees. Blood darkened his tunic near the ribs.
"Assassin!" someone shouted.
Chaos erupted.
Wolves surged forward. Steel flashed. Shouts collided.
Ronan was already moving, pulling Aria back instinctively.
But Aria felt it.
Not an attacker.
A manipulation.
"Stop!" she shouted.
Too late.
A blade whistled past her shoulder.
Ronan caught the attacker mid-lunge, slamming him into the ground with bone-crushing force. The man snarled—not in pain, but fury twisted too tightly.
"Traitor," Lyessa hissed, drawing her weapon.
The attacker laughed, eyes too bright, veins darkening beneath his skin.
"You think I came alone?" he rasped.
Aria froze.
She felt the fracture in him—small, precise.
The Devourer had not possessed him.
It had nudged.
Given fear a direction.
Ronan raised his claws. "Aria, get back."
"No," she said firmly. "If I kill him, the Devourer learns nothing. If I reach him—"
Eamon shouted, "Aria—careful!"
The attacker convulsed, dark energy spiraling around his chest.
Aria stepped forward anyway.
She reached—not with power—but with the architecture of the binding.
She spoke quietly. "You're afraid."
The man screamed. "I saw what she becomes! I saw wolves bow to a human! I saw packs burn!"
Aria met his gaze. "You saw a possibility. Not a promise."
She pressed her hand to his sternum.
The darkness recoiled violently—but didn't vanish.
It fought.
Aria gritted her teeth, sweat breaking across her brow.
The Devourer whispered:
They will never accept you.
Let him prove it.
Ronan growled low, terrified. "Aria—enough."
She shook her head. "I can't close this door by force."
She changed tactics.
She opened the fracture.
Let the fear drain outward—into the air, into the ground—where it dissipated harmlessly against the binding's far reach.
The man collapsed, unconscious.
Alive.
The clearing went deathly quiet.
Lyessa stared, stunned. "You could have let him die."
Aria stood slowly, hands shaking. "And taught everyone fear is the answer?"
Eamon exhaled. "That was deliberate."
Ronan rounded on Lyessa. "Your people brought a knife into my territory under false banners."
Lyessa's face hardened. "He acted alone."
"No," Aria said softly. "He was encouraged."
She looked past Lyessa—toward the road ahead.
"The Devourer didn't want me dead," Aria continued. "It wanted to show doubt spreads faster than power."
Lyessa swallowed. "Then we proceed more carefully."
Ronan snarled. "You're lucky we proceed at all."
⸻
Nightfall and Secrets
They made camp under strained silence.
Extra guards posted. Wolves rotating watch. No laughter.
Aria sat by the fire, exhaustion settling into her bones like lead. Ronan crouched beside her, his presence grounding but tense.
"You pushed too hard," he murmured.
"I know," she admitted. "But if I don't learn its limits, it will."
Eamon approached quietly. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Aria nodded. "It's testing reactions. Not strength."
Eamon's voice dropped. "Then it's preparing to influence leaders."
Ronan's eyes darkened. "Like Lyessa."
Aria hesitated. "Not her. Not yet."
"But others will listen to fear dressed as logic," Eamon said.
Aria stared into the fire. "Then we need allies who choose differently."
Ronan reached for her hand. "You already have me."
She squeezed his fingers. "That's not enough."
He smiled grimly. "Then we make it enough."
⸻
A Whisper Across the Sea
Far away, beneath stone and seal, the Devourer shifted.
It could not move.
It could not strike.
But it could speak.
Across land and sea, into dreams and doubts, it whispered not of destruction—but of order.
Of safety.
Of a world without unpredictable Moonbreakers.
And somewhere beyond the Broken Shoals, someone listened.