Prologue - The Storm Misread
There was once a man who believed a wolf could be tamed with silence.
He watched her burn and thought the fire was grief.
He didn’t know it was legacy.
When he ordered her broken, he believed it would be the end.
It was only the beginning.
Even the oldest books misread the storm.
They didn’t see him coming.
That was the brilliance of it.
Storms were easy to fear. Wolves who bled, who howled, who challenged openly, those could be fought.
But he wasn’t a storm.
He was the voice after. The calm. The plan. The path lined with language instead of teeth.
Let them cry over lost warriors. Let them claw at grief.
He would walk into the Elders’ Hall with clean hands and ancient logic.
And they would follow. Not because he was right. But because he sounded like safety and belonging.
