The summit was called at dawn.
Not announced with banners or horns, but with runners and sealed marks pressed into wax—urgent, unmistakable. Every major pack would gather on neutral ground at the Stone Expanse within three nights. No weapons beyond claws. No private guards. No illusions of safety.
Aria felt the weight of it settle into her bones as the messages left the Broken Shoals in every direction.
"This is a mistake," Ronan said for the third time, pacing the chamber Kaelor had given them. "Summits are where enemies smile and knives hide."
"And staying still makes us targets," Aria replied calmly, though her fingers trembled faintly as she tightened the strap of her bracer. "At least this way, the lies come into the open."
Eamon stood near the window, watching gulls wheel over the sea. "Both of you are correct," he said. "Which is why this summit will decide more than politics."
Ronan shot him a look. "That's comforting."
Eamon didn't smile. "It will decide whether fear continues to rule by proxy."
Aria closed her eyes briefly. The Devourer stirred—not pushing, not whispering. Waiting.
⸻
Preparation and Fractures
The Broken Shoals buzzed with restless energy as preparations began. Wolves argued openly now, lines forming where none had existed before. Some sharpened blades they were not supposed to bring. Others avoided Aria's gaze entirely.
Eryndor pulled Ronan aside near the armory. "There's dissent," he said quietly. "Not loud—but organized."
Ronan's expression darkened. "From where?"
"Everywhere," Eryndor admitted. "Some believe Aria draws danger. Others think she doesn't go far enough."
Ronan snorted. "That's usually how it starts."
Aria overheard them and stepped closer. "If they're afraid, let them speak."
Eryndor hesitated. "One of Kaelor's lieutenants has been meeting with off-coast envoys. Late nights."
Ronan's jaw clenched. "Names."
"Serik," Eryndor said. "He lost family in the Tide Wars. He trusts order more than mercy."
Aria felt a flicker of sadness. "Then the Devourer already knows his wound."
Ronan growled softly. "I'll deal with him."
"No," Aria said gently. "Let him come to the summit. Exposing fear matters more than punishing it."
Ronan looked at her like he wanted to argue—then exhaled. "You're asking a lot."
She smiled faintly. "I know."
⸻
The Devourer's Closest Reach
That night, Aria dreamed.
Not of shadow.
Of structure.
She stood in a vast hall made of mirrored stone—endless reflections of herself stretching in every direction. Each reflection wore a different expression: confident, exhausted, ruthless, afraid.
The Devourer stood behind her reflection—not touching, not looming.
Observing.
You are surrounded by fracture, it said quietly. I could teach you how to organize it.
Aria crossed her arms. "You mean control."
I mean efficiency, it corrected. Fear is a tool. You are choosing chaos.
She turned to face it. "I'm choosing responsibility."
The Devourer tilted its head. Responsibility is slower.
"Then it lasts longer," she replied.
The mirrors cracked—not shattering, but altering—showing futures where Aria ruled openly, where packs obeyed, where fear was contained instead of denied.
This could be bloodless, the Devourer murmured. If you let me guide the shape.
Aria felt the temptation—not power, but relief. The exhaustion of carrying everyone's expectations pressed hard.
Ronan's presence surged through the bond.
You're not alone, he reminded her.
She inhaled sharply and the mirrors dissolved.
She woke with a gasp.
Ronan was instantly awake, sitting up beside her. "Dream?"
She nodded. "It's changing tactics."
His hand closed around hers. "So are we."
⸻
Betrayal in Plain Sight
The betrayal came sooner than expected.
On the second evening, as the final delegates prepared to depart, Serik confronted Aria publicly in the council square.
"You speak of responsibility," he said, voice sharp and carrying, "but you hold power without oversight."
Murmurs spread.
Aria faced him calmly. "That's why we're attending the summit."
Serik's eyes burned. "Summits don't stop disasters. They legitimize them."
Kaelor stepped forward angrily. "You overstep."
"No," Serik snapped. "I speak for those afraid to."
He turned back to Aria. "If you truly stand for choice, then swear it. Swear you will never interfere beyond Frostfall and the Shoals. Swear you will not rewrite another ancient law."
The Devourer leaned in close within Aria's mind.
Say yes, it whispered. End the conflict.
The square held its breath.
Ronan stepped forward. "She owes you nothing."
Aria lifted her hand slightly—asking him to wait.
She looked at Serik, really looked at him.
"I won't swear that," she said quietly.
Gasps rippled.
"Because the world doesn't break along territorial lines," Aria continued. "Fear doesn't stop at borders. And neither will responsibility."
Serik's expression hardened. "Then you admit you will impose your will."
"No," Aria said. "I admit I will respond."
Serik laughed bitterly. "That's the same thing."
Before anyone could react—
A pulse rippled through the square.
Not darkness.
Panic.
Two wolves collapsed simultaneously, clutching their chests, gasping as dread overwhelmed them.
The Devourer struck through the crowd.
Shouts erupted.
Aria moved instantly, anchoring the bond outward—not to suppress, but to stabilize. The panic receded, leaving the wolves shaken but alive.
She staggered slightly.
Ronan caught her.
Serik stared at her in horror. "You did this."
"No," Aria said hoarsely. "But you gave it an opening."
Silence fell.
Kaelor turned on Serik, fury blazing. "You endangered my pack."
Serik stepped back, realization dawning. "I didn't—"
Eamon's voice cut through sharply. "The Devourer feeds on division. You don't have to serve it to help it."
Serik looked at Aria then—not with hatred, but fear. "You're standing between us and something we don't understand."
Aria met his gaze, exhausted but steady. "So stand with me and learn."
⸻
The Path Forward
That night, as they prepared to leave for the Stone Expanse, the atmosphere shifted.
The dissent didn't vanish—but it quieted.
Ronan tightened his armor straps. "They'll try again at the summit."
Aria nodded. "I know."
Eamon approached, face grave. "There will be an attempt to strip you of legitimacy. Possibly worse."
Ronan's eyes flashed. "Then we won't let them."
Aria looked toward the dark horizon where the road awaited.
"They're afraid of the unknown," she said softly. "So we make it known."
The Devourer listened, patient.
It could not break the bond.
It could not command her.
But it could still wait—for a moment of exhaustion, a slip of doubt.
And the summit would be full of both.