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Three weeks after the door sealed shut, the realm began to settle into itself - not the tense, watchful quiet of a truce, but the soft, steady rhythm of a world that no longer fears tomorrow. Councils met without hidden agendas. Messengers travelled without armed escorts. Farmers planted crops they expected to harvest. But for the first time in generations, politics moved slowly, openly, and without shadow.

The final session of the High Assembly was held in the great hall of Blackwood Stronghold, its doors thrown open to representatives from every pack, every clan, every hold that had chosen to stand together. The air was warm with late summer...