Snow blanketed the northern roads.
Greyhaven disappeared behind them, a city of whispers and fear.
Aren led the Shadow Army into the wilds beyond the mountains.
The northern lords had resisted the crown for decades.
Strongholds hidden in forests. Villages fortified. Armies ready.
But none had faced shadows like these.
Lysa scouted ahead, arrows at the ready.
Every path. Every ridge. Every potential ambush mapped.
Caelis and the captains moved silently behind.
The army dispersed into smaller units.
A network, not a column.
A web of control spreading through the north.
Aren paused on a ridge overlooking Blackpine Pass.
The memory of their first strike there months ago lingered.
"Draven's men were careless," he said softly.
"Fear will teach the rest."
Tom, now hardened and alert, handed him a scroll.
"Reports from northern villages. Many want to pledge loyalty. Fear spreads faster than snow."
"Good," Aren said. "But loyalty without control is useless. We take their strongholds quietly. Their fear will bind them before battle."
By nightfall, the first northern outpost was surrounded.
Silent. Unseen. Undetected.
The defenders awoke to find their gates open, their allies already pledged, and their village under Aren's control.
No fighting. No bloodshed.
Just obedience.
From the ridge, Aren watched.
The northern campaign had begun.
Not with clashing armies, not with cries of war…
But with the quiet patience of shadows.
And the Wolf among kings had only just begun to stretch his claws.