The wind changed before the letters came.
SilverCrest had always been isolated, wrapped in its own bitter politics and rigid bloodlines. But now, something rippled outward—like a howl carried on the mountain air. Aria felt it even before the first raven landed on her windowsill, talons clinking against stone.
The letter it carried was sealed with wax the color of lapis. A sigil she hadn’t seen in years.
Zara took it with wide eyes. “That’s from the Eyrie.”
Aria’s breath caught.
The Eyrie Pack—mountain-born, battle-hardened, and notoriously loyal to no one but their own. They hadn’t attended a council in five winters. Their Alpha, Brynn Thorne, was known for silence, neutrality, and a fierce protective streak.
The letter was short.
“We heard you bled. We heard you won. We’re coming.”
Zara looked up. “They’re siding with you?”
“I don’t know,” Aria said. “But they’re watching.”
And that alone meant everything was about to change.
By midday, three more ravens had arrived—each bearing the mark of a different outlying pack: the river-cloaked BriarClaw, the desert-forged Ashfang, and even the half-feral Red Hollow.
Each message was different in tone. Some were cautious, others cryptic, but the message beneath them all was clear:
The packs were listening.
Some were stirring.
“They’re seeing what the council tried to silence,” Zara said as she helped Aria sort the scrolls. “And they’re realizing you’re not alone.”
Aria nodded, but a weight settled on her shoulders. “They’re also calculating their odds. If I fall, they’ll retreat. If I rise—”
“They’ll follow,” Zara said. “But first, they need proof you can hold the line.”
That proof arrived on the back of a wind-beaten horse.
The rider dismounted before the gates of SilverCrest, removing his hood to reveal silver-streaked braids and sharp violet eyes. Brynn Thorne.
He was not as Aria remembered from her youth. Older now. Sterner. But the fire behind his gaze had not dimmed.
“You carry Lunaris blood,” he said without greeting.
Aria inclined her head. “And I don’t intend to hide it.”
He studied her, then nodded once. “That name burned bright before the purge. My mother was healed by a Lunaris weaver. Saved from bond decay.”
Aria blinked. “Then you believe me.”
“I believe the council would rather burn a forest than share its roots,” he said. “But fire spreads. And what they fear most… is the forest regrowing.”
Zara stepped forward. “You’ll support Aria?”
Brynn folded his arms. “We don’t bend knee. But we protect those who bleed honestly.”
Aria met his gaze. “Then stand with me when the next challenge comes.”
Brynn’s smile was slight but true. “We’ve already begun marching.”
Outside the walls of SilverCrest, a second rider approached.
Behind him, banners rippled in the wind.
The packs were gathering.
That night, the council halls remained lit, burning oil well past moonrise.
Inside, the Elders argued in hushed tones, their power slipping by the hour.
Outside, Aria stood on the battlements with Zara, watching the horizon shift.
Faint lights moved through the forest trails—torches, riders, banners.
Zara exhaled. “I never thought I’d see this. The great houses, stirred to life again.”
“Neither did they,” Aria said. “That’s why they’re afraid.”
She ran her hand over her belly. The child stirred.
“You feel that?” she whispered. “They’re not just coming for me. They’re coming for the future.”
Zara leaned against the stone. “Do you think they’ll stay?”
“Some will,” Aria said. “Some will flee. But I don’t need all of them. Just enough.”
Far below, the gates creaked open.
The first of the allies had arrived.
And war was no longer a question of if—but when.
