The Great Hall of Shadow Ridge was a fortress within a fortress, its stone walls built to withstand both siege and treachery. Tonight, its soaring rafters flickered with the light of hundreds of torches, their flames battling the lingering damp chill from the storm outside.
Elara entered at the head of her warriors, her cloak still heavy with rain. Kael and Ravynn flanked her like twin shadows, silent and vigilant. Every step she took echoed off the ancient stones, a steady drumbeat that demanded attention.
At the far end of the hall stood the messengers.
Two figures waited beneath the iron crest of Shadow Ridge: a broad-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and fierce, piercing eyes—the emissary from Ironfang—and a woman clad in silver-dappled leathers, her smile sharp and unreadable, representing Silverclaw.
Their faces revealed nothing of their intent.
Elara moved to the center of the hall, standing before them with all the authority the night's battle had carved into her soul.
"You bring words," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "Speak them."
The Ironfang envoy stepped forward first, his voice rough as gravel. "Ironfang recognizes the strength you've shown tonight, Moonborn. We see a leader worth following." He paused, then added, "But loyalty demands more than a single night's victory. We seek assurances that you can protect what you claim."
Before Elara could answer, the woman from Silverclaw lifted a hand. Her voice was softer, more dangerous. "And we seek something else entirely. We seek promises—of freedom, of choice. No ruler who trades one tyrant for another will earn Silverclaw's allegiance."
The hall went still. Around the edges, warriors listened closely, their hands resting on blades.
Elara felt the weight of their gazes, of every expectation resting on her shoulders.
She drew a slow breath. "I will not rule by fear. I will not demand obedience like Vael. I fight for the right of every pack, every wolf, to choose their fate."
The Silverclaw envoy's lips curved into a small smile. Approval, perhaps—or maybe just amusement.
"And if we choose not to follow?" the Ironfang emissary challenged.
Elara's voice dropped, low and unyielding. "Then you'll stand aside. Or you'll stand against me—and be treated as enemies."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
The Ironfang messenger studied her for a long, tense moment, then gave a curt nod. "You have Ironfang's allegiance—on the condition that you keep your promises."
The Silverclaw woman simply bowed her head, her silver hair catching the torchlight like a crown. "Silverclaw will watch... and decide soon."
As the messengers withdrew, Kael leaned in close, murmuring in Elara's ear. "One step closer. But the road ahead is still treacherous."
Elara's jaw set with quiet determination.
The hall was filled with shadows—but she would walk through every one of them if it meant bringing her people to the light.