The holy convocation was called at sunrise.
Not with horns.
Not with runners.
With bells.
Their sound rolled across the land in slow, solemn waves—deep tones meant to steady hearts, to remind listeners that order still existed. The Lunarch Order knew exactly what it was doing. Bells calmed fear. Bells sanctified judgment.
Aria stood at the edge of the clearing where the convocation gathered, watching acolytes arrange white stones in precise circles. Candles were placed at measured intervals, flames shielded from the wind as if even fire had been instructed to behave.
"This isn't a trial," Ronan said quietly beside her.
"No," Aria agreed. "It's a performance."
Eamon adjusted his grip on his staff. "And performances decide public memory."
Ashveil wolves gathered cautiously, keeping distance from the Order's inner circle. Frostfall stood firm behind Ronan. Others—travelers, minor packs, wanderers—filtered in, drawn by bells and certainty.
Fear with a schedule.
The woman in white—High Seer Calyra—stepped into the center.
"Let the convocation begin," she intoned.
The bells fell silent.
⸻
Sanctified Accusation
Calyra lifted her hands, palms outward.
"We gather not to condemn," she said serenely, "but to preserve balance."
Aria almost smiled.
Calyra continued, "The one called Moonbreaker has altered ancient forces without consecration. She has disrupted packs, unsettled traditions, and invited chaos under the banner of choice."
Murmurs rippled.
"She stands accused," Calyra said gently, "of destabilization through unsanctioned influence."
Ronan growled low. "Influence isn't a crime."
Calyra's gaze slid to him calmly. "All power is a crime without oversight, Alpha."
Aria stepped forward.
"I'm here," she said clearly. "Speak to me, not about me."
The bells chimed softly—approval or warning, impossible to tell.
Calyra inclined her head. "Then stand within the witness circle."
Ronan's body tensed. "No."
Aria touched his arm lightly.
"If I don't," she said quietly, "they'll say I'm afraid of scrutiny."
He clenched his jaw. "And if you do, they'll say you submitted."
She met his eyes through the bond—steady, unyielding.
"Let them see what standing looks like."
She stepped into the circle.
The stones hummed faintly—not magic, but attention.
⸻
The Choice of Distance
Calyra raised her voice again. "Let witnesses speak."
One by one, voices rose.
A Silver Coast envoy spoke of unease.
An Ashveil wolf spoke of loss.
A wandering pack leader spoke of confusion.
Not lies.
Fragments.
Fear stitched into testimony.
Then Calyra turned to Ronan.
"Alpha of Frostfall," she said calmly. "Will you speak?"
Ronan stepped forward instantly.
Aria felt the bond tighten—not painfully, but urgently.
Calyra lifted one finger.
"From where you stand," she added.
Meaning: outside the circle.
Ronan froze.
Aria understood immediately.
If he crossed into the circle, they would call it intimidation.
If he spoke from outside, they would call it bias.
Calyra's eyes held his, unreadable.
"This is her witness," Calyra said. "Not yours."
The Devourer whispered softly, delighted.
Let him shield you.
Prove their point.
Aria turned slightly, meeting Ronan's gaze.
Don't, she sent through the bond. Not like this.
His chest rose sharply. "Aria—"
I need to do this, she insisted. If you step in now, they won't hear me.
His fists clenched. The instinct to protect warred violently with trust.
Slowly—agonizingly—he stepped back.
The distance felt wrong.
But intentional.
Calyra smiled faintly.
⸻
Aria Speaks
"You accuse me of destabilization," Aria said calmly, voice carrying across the clearing. "So let me be precise."
She turned slowly, meeting the eyes of those gathered.
"I bound the Devourer because it fed on fear you mistook for order. I didn't remove fear. I removed its authority."
Calyra interjected smoothly, "And packs fractured."
"Because fear was doing the work of leadership," Aria replied evenly. "When it was gone, responsibility had to take its place."
A murmur rose—uneasy, thoughtful.
Calyra folded her hands. "And who decides responsibility, Moonbreaker?"
Aria met her gaze. "The people living with its consequences."
A few nods. A few scowls.
Calyra's voice softened. "You offer freedom without guidance."
"I offer guidance without coercion," Aria corrected.
She gestured gently to the circle. "I stood unguarded in Ashveil. I could have dominated. I didn't."
Calyra's eyes sharpened. "Because you chose restraint."
"Yes," Aria agreed. "And I choose it again."
The Devourer hissed, irritated.
They want certainty.
Aria continued, "You fear me because I don't promise safety. I promise accountability."
Silence fell.
⸻
The Knife of Belief
Calyra stepped closer.
"You speak well," she said softly. "But words don't protect children from chaos."
Aria's throat tightened. "Fear doesn't protect them either."
Calyra raised her voice. "Then swear it."
A ripple of tension passed through the crowd.
"Swear," Calyra continued, "that you will submit to the Order's oversight. That your actions will be reviewed, sanctioned, and—if necessary—restricted."
There it was.
Containment dressed as care.
Ronan took an involuntary step forward.
Aria felt it—and lifted her chin.
"If I swear that," she said slowly, "then fear becomes holy again."
Calyra's gaze hardened. "You refuse accountability."
"No," Aria said. "I refuse monopoly."
She looked at the gathered packs.
"If you want oversight," she said clearly, "then make it plural. Packs, elders, witnesses. Not one Order. Not one voice."
A stir ran through the crowd.
Calyra's calm fractured—just slightly.
"That is… impractical," she said.
"So is blind faith," Aria replied gently.
The Devourer recoiled, anger sharpening.
They will turn on you.
⸻
Ronan's Silence
Ronan said nothing.
Every instinct screamed to pull her out, to bare his claws, to end the charade.
But he stayed still.
And that—Aria felt—mattered more than any defense.
The crowd noticed too.
The Alpha did not dominate the space.
He trusted her to hold it.
⸻
The Verdict Deferred
Calyra exhaled slowly.
"The Order will deliberate," she said finally. "Until then, the Moonbreaker is advised to refrain from further intervention."
Advised.
Not commanded.
A small victory.
Aria nodded once. "I hear your advice."
Calyra studied her. "You are dangerous," she said quietly. "Not because of power. Because people listen."
Aria met her gaze steadily. "That's what scares fear the most."
The bells rang again—ending the convocation.
⸻
After
As the crowd dispersed, Ronan crossed the space in three long strides and pulled Aria into his arms.
She trembled only once before steadying.
"You okay?" he murmured.
She nodded against his chest. "Thank you… for trusting me."
His voice was rough. "Hardest thing I've ever done."
Eamon joined them, eyes grave but proud. "You shifted the narrative today."
Aria exhaled slowly. "And painted a target on my back."
"Yes," Eamon agreed. "But it's a clearer one."
Far away, beneath stone and seal, the Devourer writhed—not triumphant, not defeated.
Because belief had been challenged.
And belief, once questioned, never returned whole.