The first weeks after Obsidian Wing takes a provisional seat are not explosive.
They are quiet.
And quiet, Aurora has learned, is more dangerous than fire.
There are no village burnings. No siege lines reforming on the western ridge. No coordinated sabotage of supply routes.
Instead
There are long meetings.
Cold glances.
Measured votes.
And the constant, low hum of a web testing new weight.
The Obsidian delegate, Kael Varrin, younger than Aurora expected, with sharp eyes and a voice that rarely rises, sits two seats to her left at council sessions.
He does not provoke.
He does not posture.
He listens.
And that unsettles everyone more than shouting ever did.
"You don't trust him," Kade says one evening as they walk along the lake's edge.
"No," Aurora replies.
"Then why does he bother you more when he's quiet?"
"Because ideologues shout," she says softly. "Strategists wait."
The bond hums, not strained, but alert.
The web is not tearing.
But it is shifting.
