Greyhaven trembled quietly under the Shadow Army's control.
No banners flew. No speeches proclaimed victory.
Only fear.
Aren moved through the city's streets.
Each step deliberate.
Every alley watched.
The people whispered, but none dared speak aloud.
Rowan was confined to the palace.
Guarded. Isolated. Humiliated.
He realized now that survival alone was meaningless without control.
Aren convened his captains in the ruined cathedral.
"Control is power," he said. "And power has a price."
The price was fear.
The price was loyalty earned, not given.
The price was endless vigilance.
Lysa sharpened her arrows silently.
"People whisper about rebellion," she said.
"They fear what they cannot see. That is enough."
Caelis added quietly, "We are shadows now. Every move is watched. Every slip punished."
Aren nodded.
"Yes. But shadows cannot fall. Not if we stay vigilant."
Tom, growing older, younger only in appearance, whispered, "Will it always be like this?"
"Yes," Aren said softly. "Until the kingdom remembers what it means to fear me… or follow me."
In the following days, Greyhaven's walls remained unbroken.
Its gates open, but empty.
Merchants whispered loyalty.
Soldiers obeyed out of caution.
And nobles… nobles calculated every word.
Aren climbed the highest tower of the cathedral.
The city lay below, silent, tense.
He thought of the boy he once was.
The exile.
The hunted.
And now…
A ruler born of shadows.
The first price had been paid.
And more would come.