The horns sounded at dawn.
Not the alarm call.
Not the hunt signal.
The arrival horn.
Ronan was on his feet instantly, boots hitting stone as the sound echoed through Frostfall territory. Aria stirred from sleep, the bond flaring awake with him.
"What is it?" she asked, already sitting up.
"Visitors," Ronan said grimly. "And not ones who asked permission."
They stepped onto the balcony overlooking the lower courtyard. Wolves poured from buildings and forest paths, forming loose defensive rings. At the outer gate, three figures waited beneath the pack's banners—flanked by guards who wore unfamiliar sigils.
Foreign sigils.
Aria felt it immediately.
Pressure.
Curiosity sharpened into intent.
"They're watching me," she murmured.
Ronan followed her gaze. "Let them."
⸻
The Silver Coast Arrives
The lead emissary stepped forward—a woman with pale hair braided in ceremonial knots, her cloak stitched with silver thread. She carried herself with polished confidence, chin lifted, eyes sharp.
"Ronan Hale, Alpha of Frostfall," she called. "I am Lyessa of the Silver Coast. We request audience."
Ronan's lip curled slightly. "You're standing in my territory. That's your audience."
A murmur rippled through the gathered wolves.
Lyessa smiled thinly. "Straightforward. As expected."
Her gaze slid—deliberately—to Aria.
"And you must be the Moonbreaker."
The word carried weight.
Not reverence.
Measurement.
Aria stepped forward half a pace. Ronan didn't stop her.
"I am Aria Hale," she said evenly. "State your purpose."
Lyessa's brows rose a fraction. "Bold."
"I don't have time for polite circling," Aria replied. "Neither do you."
That earned a flicker of amusement.
Lyessa gestured behind her. "The binding of the Devourer was felt across the northern territories. Storm patterns shifted. Nightmares ceased abruptly. Ancient wards recalibrated."
She looked back at Aria. "Such changes require explanation."
Eamon appeared at Ronan's shoulder, staff grounded. "You do not speak to her as if she is a resource."
Lyessa inclined her head slightly. "I speak to her as a catalyst."
That word made Ronan growl low in his chest.
Lyessa continued calmly. "The Silver Coast recognizes the necessity of what was done. However—binding an entity of that magnitude without council consensus is… destabilizing."
Aria's eyes narrowed. "You didn't ask for consensus when your ports enslaved coastal packs during the Tide Wars."
The courtyard went silent.
Lyessa stiffened. "Careful."
"Truth usually is," Aria said.
Ronan hid a smile.
⸻
A Challenge Wrapped in Courtesy
Lyessa recovered quickly. "We are not here to accuse," she said. "We are here to evaluate."
"Evaluate what?" Ronan snapped.
Lyessa turned fully toward Aria. "Her."
The word landed like a gauntlet.
"If the Moonbreaker's binding holds," Lyessa continued, "then she has altered the balance of power. That cannot remain untested."
Aria felt the Devourer stir faintly in its chains—attention sharpening.
"I don't answer to you," she said.
"No," Lyessa agreed. "But the consequences of your choice affect us all."
Eamon spoke quietly. "What are you proposing?"
Lyessa smiled.
"A trial."
Ronan's claws slid free with a metallic rasp. "Absolutely not."
Aria's pulse quickened—not with fear, but calculation.
"What kind of trial?" she asked.
Ronan turned sharply. "Aria."
She met his gaze through the bond—steady, reassuring.
"Say it," Aria repeated.
Lyessa's eyes gleamed. "A binding test. Supervised. Controlled. We bring a corrupted territory—one already influenced by residual Devourer whispers. If she truly severed its access, she should be able to stabilize the pack without bloodshed."
Ronan barked a laugh. "You want her to walk into another Devourer nest."
Lyessa shrugged lightly. "If she is what the legends claim, she will succeed."
"And if she fails?" Aria asked.
Lyessa didn't hesitate. "Then we know the binding is flawed."
The courtyard erupted in angry snarls.
Eryndor stepped forward, furious. "You would gamble lives to satisfy politics?"
Lyessa's gaze hardened. "Lives are already being gambled. We simply acknowledge it."
Aria closed her eyes briefly.
She could feel the truth in it. Other packs were struggling—conflict simmering without the Devourer's familiar pressure, fear turning inward.
Ronan grabbed her wrist. "No."
She looked at him. "If I refuse, they'll do this without me. And then they'll blame Frostfall."
His jaw worked. "I don't care."
"I do," she said softly.
⸻
The Devourer Tests the Edges
Before anyone could speak again—
A howl split the air.
Not Frostfall.
Foreign.
Agony-laced.
Every wolf went rigid.
From the treeline, a figure staggered into view—bloodied, half-shifted, eyes wild with terror.
Lyessa's guards reacted instantly. "That's one of ours—"
The wolf collapsed, convulsing.
Dark veins crawled beneath his skin.
Eamon swore. "Residual influence."
The Devourer pushed.
Not power—
Suggestion.
Fear rippled through the gathered packs, sharp and contagious.
"He's corrupted!" someone shouted.
"Put him down!"
"Before it spreads!"
Aria moved.
She knelt beside the fallen wolf, ignoring Lyessa's shouted warning.
"Aria!" Ronan barked.
"I need to try," she said.
She placed her hand over the wolf's chest.
Not light.
Not force.
She reached through the bond structure she had rewritten—feeling for fractures, for echoes.
The Devourer whispered faintly:
Too soon…
Aria gritted her teeth. "Not your choice."
She didn't pull the corruption out.
She redirected it.
Fed it into the binding pathway—forcing it to dissipate harmlessly against the Cradle's distant seal.
The dark veins receded.
The wolf gasped—and stilled.
Alive.
The courtyard froze.
Lyessa stared. "You didn't purge him."
"No," Aria said, standing slowly. "I closed the door it was using."
The Devourer recoiled, furious.
Ronan exhaled sharply. "You okay?"
Aria nodded, though sweat beaded at her temple. "It tried to slip past. It can't—not like before."
Eamon looked at Lyessa. "That answers your question."
Lyessa swallowed.
Then inclined her head deeply.
"Then the Silver Coast accepts the binding as valid," she said. "But this only begins the reckoning."
Aria met her gaze. "I know."
⸻
Terms and Threats
Lyessa straightened. "You will accompany us to the Broken Shoals in three days' time. The affected pack waits there."
Ronan snapped, "She's not your envoy."
"She's a stabilizing force," Lyessa replied. "And if she refuses, others will force the issue less… respectfully."
Ronan bristled.
Aria touched his arm. "We'll set terms."
Lyessa arched a brow. "You presume leverage."
Aria smiled faintly. "You just watched me save your wolf."
Silence.
Lyessa nodded once. "Name them."
"I go willingly," Aria said. "Ronan comes with me. Eamon advises. No coercion. No political theatre. And if this becomes a spectacle, we leave."
Lyessa studied her, then nodded again. "Agreed."
Ronan leaned close, voice low. "We'll prepare."
Aria murmured back, "We'll survive."
⸻
Aftermath
As the emissaries withdrew to their camp, the Frostfall wolves gathered around Ronan and Aria.
Eryndor looked torn between pride and fear. "You're walking into their games."
Aria met his eyes. "I'm changing the rules."
Ronan squeezed her hand. "And anyone who forgets that answers to me."
Eamon watched the horizon, troubled. "The Devourer is adapting. It cannot act directly—but it will exploit doubt, ambition, old grudges."
Aria nodded. "Then we don't give it room."
She felt the bond pulse—steady, unyielding.
Far away, beneath stone and seal, the Devourer listened.
Not to Aria's power.
But to the world's reaction to her existence.
And it smiled.