Aren summoned his captains and allies to the cathedral.
The moonlight cut through shattered windows, illuminating maps, weapons, and waiting faces.
"This city is ours, but not yet secure," Aren said.
"Greyhaven fears us. That is power—but fear can turn. Loyalty must follow."
Lysa sharpened arrows at his side.
"Do we strike next?" she asked.
"Not yet," Aren replied. "We consolidate. We root out spies, disloyal lords, and anyone who whispers against us."
Caelis pointed to a map of the city.
"Some districts are loyal, some cautious, some openly resistant. The resistance hides in the northern quarter."
"Good," Aren said. "We will make them see that resistance is meaningless."
Edric, once a hesitant ally, now spoke boldly.
"We can use the fear in the northern quarter to lure them. Remove their leaders quietly. No open battle."
"Perfect," Aren nodded. "Silent control. Shadows in their hearts. That is how a kingdom bends without breaking."
Tom, still young but sharper every day, recorded every plan.
"Do they ever suspect us?" he asked.
"They suspect shadows," Aren said. "But shadows cannot be caught."
The council moved into action.
Merchants and spies fed false information.
Traps were laid in streets and alleys.
Every loyalist counted.
Every threat neutralized before it could act.
By nightfall, the first council of shadows had reorganized Greyhaven.
Not as a city of men.
But as a city of controlled whispers, invisible power, and fear made solid.
Aren stood at the cathedral balcony.
The city sprawled below him.
Silent. Watching. Obedient.
"The throne is not here," he said quietly.
"It is everywhere."