Smoke still rose from Frostspire's broken towers.
Alvin stood before the high council table in what remained of the throne room. Behind him, Frey leaned on her cane, her strength fragile but steady.
The chamber was packed—human soldiers, wolf emissaries, surviving elders, wary civilians. Unity hovered like a breath about to be held.
“We've ended Orion's reign," Alvin said, voice firm. “But peace doesn't happen just because a tyrant falls."
An older human officer crossed his arms. “You're asking us to ally with a silverblood?"
Frey stepped forward. “I bled to stop the war. I gave up the shift. My wolf is gone."
Murmurs rose.
“Convenient," someone muttered.
Frey raised her voice. “You think I wanted this? I traded the one thing that made me kin to you—for a future you still doubt."
