Greyhaven trembled under an unseen weight.
Not walls. Not armies. Not siege engines.
But fear.
And the knowledge that Valewood controlled it.
Aren walked the streets with Lysa and Caelis.
No banners. No trumpets.
Just quiet authority.
Merchants whispered his name.
Soldiers avoided his gaze.
Nobles shivered behind curtains.
Rowan paced the throne room.
His hands shook.
Every report brought panic.
Every rumor gnawed at loyalty.
Aren's spies were everywhere.
Taverns. Markets. Sewers. Chambers.
Every move of Rowan's council noted.
Every whisper cataloged.
"Your city is full of traitors," Aren said quietly to Lysa as they watched the palace from the cliffs.
"Some," she replied, "but fear is the rest."
A secret meeting took place in the old cathedral.
Minor lords and merchants pledged allegiance openly for the first time.
The Shadow Army had allies inside the city.
Rowan could see it but could not stop it.
Letters and false reports had eroded trust.
Even his closest advisors hesitated.
Every council meeting ended in suspicion.
Aren sent a messenger to the palace gates.
One simple message:
We are here. Choose fear or loyalty.
By nightfall, torches burned along the northern walls.
The Shadow Army patrolled silently.
The city slept uneasily.
Aren stood on the cliffs.
Greyhaven below him, trapped by invisible chains.
"The throne is shadowed," he said.
"And soon," Lysa added, "he will see who truly holds the power."