II. Words from Friar

When Father Tai entered the Hall of the Three Thrones, it seemed to grow narrower, as though even the stones leaned in to hear or to judge. He was not a tall man, nor heavily arrayed, yet the quiet certainty in his bearing made the Wolves at his back seem shadows of his own making.

Tai bowed. “May the sons of Kum grow as straight as ash spears and as constant as the old oath-stones.”

Ivan bowed in return, shyly formal.

Vana stepped forward. “Friar’s Oathbind claims mutual defense, shared authority over rogue magic, and the right of Wolves and Kum’s wardens to judge together.”

Tai’s brow tightened as though her words were cloth pulled too taut.

“And the Choir’s murmurings?” he asked, letting the title fall like a stone into a well.

“That matter,” Vana answered, “rests in law, not rumor.”

Tai unrolled the scroll. Lines of black and herb-green ink lay across its surface, neat and uncompromising. Four proofs were listed: bone, wood, herb, and water.

“And if these proofs are broken?” Vlad asked with quiet courage.

“Then the Wolves are unleashed,” Tai said, as one who speaks of the rising of dawn or the fall of leaves.

The kings shivered, though not from cold.

And so the pact was laid between them, bright as steel on the surface, dark as deep water beneath.

Next Chapter, Next Monday!