The city did not panic when the banners appeared.
It stilled.
Rhen felt it through the stone beneath his boots—a subtle tightening, like a breath held just long enough to decide whether to scream or speak. From the highest watch-bridge, he saw them crest the ice road in perfect formation: white coral standards of the High Tides Council gleaming against the snow, flanked by moon-etched sigils of the Moonbound Elders.
They had come together.
"That's new," Rhen muttered.
Nymera stood beside him, cloak snapping in the wind. Her face was calm, but the bond told the truth—her pulse was steady only because she forced it to be.
"They're afraid of losing control more than they hate each other," she said. "That makes them dangerous."
Below, the city gathered without being told.
Merfolk took the canals. Wolves lined the bridges. Humans clustered near the stone bowl at the city's heart. No one shouted. No one ran.
The beacons burned steady.
Skelda joined them, expression grim. "They requested parley."
Rhen barked a humorless laugh. "They marched an army to ask politely?"
"They want witnesses," Skelda replied. "Whatever happens next, they want it seen."
Nymera nodded slowly. "Then we give them truth in daylight."
The delegation entered the city with measured steps.
From the sea came Archon Vael, draped in living coral, eyes cold and ancient. From the land came Elder Morcant, Moonbound High Judge, his presence heavy with ritual authority.
They stopped at the edge of the bowl.
Vael's gaze swept the city with thinly veiled disdain. "You defy erasure," he said to Nymera. "You stand in a place that should not exist."
Nymera stepped forward. "So do your Councils."
Murmurs rippled.
Morcant lifted a staff carved with lunar runes. "This city violates ancient accords. The Bridge destabilizes the balance. We demand surrender and separation."
Rhen moved beside Nymera. "You tried separation before. It ended in genocide."
Morcant's eyes hardened. "And unchecked convergence ends in extinction."
Nymera inhaled, then did something unexpected.
She lowered her hands.
"No displays," she said quietly. "No power. Just truth."
The city hummed, approving.
"We are not asking permission to exist," she continued. "We are offering a choice you've never allowed before: shared stewardship."
Vael scoffed. "You offer chaos wrapped in poetry."
Rhen met his gaze steadily. "No. We offer restraint—something you've never trusted anyone else to hold."
Silence stretched.
Then the water in the canals shifted—not violently, but deliberately. The city redistributed pressure, proof without spectacle.
Morcant's staff trembled. He felt it. They all did.
"This place holds," he whispered.
Nymera's voice softened. "Because it was built to listen."
Vael's expression cracked—just slightly. "If we allow this… power will change hands."
"Yes," Nymera said. "Including yours."
The admission landed like a blade.
The Councils withdrew a pace—not retreating, but recalculating.
"This is not over," Morcant said finally. "But neither… is it war. Not today."
They turned and left—armies following, uneasy, divided.
Rhen exhaled only when the last banner vanished beyond the ice road.
"That went better than expected," he said.
Nymera leaned into him, exhausted. "They didn't say yes."
"They didn't say no," Skelda replied. "For Councils like that, it's a crack in the wall."
That night, as the city settled, Rhen stood alone at the bowl.
He closed his eyes.
Where the wolf's voice had once been, something new stirred—not instinct, not rage.
Judgment.
Calm. Heavy. Human.
He opened his eyes, startled.
Nymera watched him from the bridge, sensing it through the bond. "What is it?"
Rhen swallowed. "I don't think the Bridge only took."
She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"I think it's… changing what I become."
Above them, the moon shifted—not pulling, not commanding.
Observing