The Gathering of Wolves

Location: Oslo Keep – High Council Chamber

Time: Day 373 After Alec's Arrival

The light in the council chamber was gray — not from cloud, but from dust. The stained-glass windows had been cleaned for the first time in years, their colored panes finally admitting daylight into the heart of Oslo's governance. It cast strange, fragmented patterns across the cold floor, as if judgment itself had been broken into pieces.

Elira stood at the head of the table. Dressed in deep blue with a silver clasp at her collar, her shoulders were square, her hair drawn into a twist that left her throat bare. Not vulnerable. Exposed by choice.

Beside her, Alec stood in silence. No armor. No cape. Just a fitted coat of near-black with minimalist embroidery — not to impress, but to warn. He held no parchment, no notes. He needed none.

The door opened.

One by one, they entered.

Lord Halren was first — round-shouldered, sweating slightly despite the cool air. He bowed with a wet, awkward bend.

Lady Vesch arrived second — tall, thin, with lines carved deep into her mouth from decades of habitual scorn. She did not bow. She sat.

Lord Irden came last — younger than the others, with a knight's bearing and a merchant's greed. He wore three rings and a smile too polished to trust.

There were no greetings.

There was only the sound of chairs scraping across stone.

Elira waited until they were seated.

"This chamber has been silent too long," she said. Her voice was level. Clear. "Today, we change that."

Vesch snorted faintly. "Indeed. With what army, my lady?"

Alec stepped forward.

"With structure. With steel. With streets that don't flood, and guards that don't faint from hunger."

Irden raised a brow. "And who is this?"

"Lord Alec Alenia," Elira said. "Advisor to the Duchess. Strategist and Overseer of the Midgard Company. The man who increased Midgard's grain output by sixty percent in under a year."

"Ah," Irden said with an oily grin. "The foreigner."

Alec didn't flinch. "Foreign to you, perhaps. But not to progress."

Halren cleared his throat. "With respect, my lady… we've ruled these regions for generations. Outsiders don't know our terrain. Our trade."

"And yet," Alec said, "you can't pave a single market road without it turning to sludge in the rains."

Vesch snapped, "You presume much."

"No," Alec said. "I measure much. Presumption is for those who fail to record inventory. Like you."

The chamber stilled.

Elira stepped back. Not to yield. To frame Alec.

"Lord Alenia has prepared a series of reform measures. We will discuss them one by one. But let us begin with what you fear most."

"Which is?" Irden asked.

"Your loss of control," Alec answered.

He placed three scrolls on the table.

One: the new road grid, connecting every baronial estate to the capital, reducing toll privatization.

Two: the sanitation reform — public latrines, rotating maintenance, fines for obstruction.

Three: the levy reform. Tithe standardization. No more self-declared harvest reports.

Halren's face paled. "That will gut our grain profits."

"No," Alec replied. "It will expose how much grain you've been hiding."

Vesch stood. "You accuse—"

"I prove," Alec interrupted. "Quartermaster logs. Merchant testimonies. Crop yield ratios. I brought them. Shall I read aloud?"

Irden raised a hand. "Let's not descend to threats—"

"It's not a threat," Elira said, voice cold. "It's a decision."

She stepped forward now. Took her place beside Alec again.

"You have two options," she said. "Adapt. Or dissolve. I will not let Oslo rot from within because of nostalgia."

Vesch's jaw clenched. "You're making a mistake."

Alec smiled — faint, almost sympathetic.

"So did the men who ignored fire until it reached their front gates."

Halren sputtered. "And if we refuse to comply?"

Alec said nothing.

Elira stepped forward again. "Then I revoke your titles, seize your lands under emergency code, and install Midgard-appointed magistrates until loyal heirs emerge."

Irden blinked. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The room crackled with silence.

Then Vesch spoke again. "You will face rebellion."

"I've faced siege," Elira replied. "I buried my husband, raised a child alone, and kept this county breathing while you siphoned its blood."

Her voice didn't rise.

But it didn't need to.

Alec stepped to her side, voice calm again.

"You are not being displaced. You are being offered relevance. Refuse it, and you will be forgotten."

Irden leaned back. "We'll need time."

Elira nodded. "Three days. Then we move forward — with you. Or over you."

The meeting ended with no farewells.

Just three nobles retreating from a room that had never felt so small.

Alec turned to Elira as the last door shut.

"You didn't flinch."

"I've been flinching too long."

He said nothing. But he watched her as if seeing a weapon being forged in real time.

And she, in turn, glanced at him — wondering just how many battles they'd yet to win.

(To be continued)