The kingdom quivered under an invisible weight.
Every village, every fortress, every court whispered of the Wolf.
Fear had spread faster than armies.
Aren moved through the southern roads with Lysa, Caelis, and Tom.
Silent patrols. Hidden eyes. Every movement cataloged.
No banners. No trumpets.
Only the shadow of control.
Reports arrived from Frosthold and other northern strongholds:
Allies obedient. Rebels silenced. Merchants and lords careful in every word.
The north was secure.
Aren examined a map of the southern provinces.
Three strongholds remained unconquered.
Three lords still hesitant.
"Let whispers reach them first," Aren instructed.
"Fear will open the gates before steel does. Panic before swords. Loyalty before battle."
Lysa glanced at the map.
"They suspect something. Their scouts move cautiously. They know we are near."
"Good," Aren said. "Let them anticipate us. Let hesitation grow inside their hearts. That is the most powerful weapon."
By nightfall, the Shadow Army had moved unseen into the valleys and forests.
Villages began to pledge loyalty quietly.
Fortresses found themselves undermined from within.
Even Draven sympathizers hesitated.
Rowan, still trapped in Greyhaven, received word of the south.
The prince paled.
Aren's influence now stretched across the north and reached toward the south.
The kingdom trembled silently, knowing the Wolf's shadow was everywhere.
Aren stood atop a ridge, eyes on the flickering lights below.
"The web tightens," he said softly.
"And soon, every lord, every village, every castle will bend… to the Wolf among kings."