The death of Kendris ended the battle for the Conclave.

Seeing their prophet slain before their eyes had torn the heart out of the Savage Fire cult. While a small number tried to keep fighting, most just stopped, too stunned to process what had happened. That shock cost them their lives.

The wolfkin took no prisoners. It was a massacre.

With the Conclave secure, the chase moved out into the city itself. Packs of loyalist wolfkin under Morta's command purged the Silk and beyond, rooting out the final vestiges of Kendris' pernicious influence.

Illando felt a strange sense of deja vu. Not so long ago he'd been the one out there cleaning up the mess; picking up the pieces of another attempt to upend Wildhearth's world order. Victory still tasted bitter in his mouth.

Beyond the window of the room, dawn broke over a city trembling with the aftershocks. A light drizzle of rain mingled with the sun. A perversely out-of-place rainbow crawled across the sky as the blood of the attempted coup was washed away.

In a tertiary tower branching off from the upper levels, this part of the Conclave had been far enough from main chamber to be spared the worst of the fighting. In it, Illando sat with the surviving loyalist leaders as they tried to process the world that today would bring.

Anvaal sat at the unassuming desk, a large bottle of longcask lasher in front of him. Half the brassy-gold liquid had been decanted into crystal glasses and distributed to the gathering. The deerkin had come through the ordeal without serious injury – a testament to the skills of Nassavick's security detail. He'd cleaned up and changed into a fresh set of clothes, though the scratches on his antlers and the assortment of visible cuts on his face and arms cracked the illusion of normalcy.

"A toast," Anvaal said quietly, raising his glass. "To the defenders of the Conclave."

"To the defenders of the Conclave," the others echoed in a weary murmur.

Gathered in the room were Hezif – the felkin nursing a broken arm – the deerkin designate, Merwe; Cephia and her new second-in-command, Tayge; the mountainous presence of Nassavick; Noelle and Illando representing the enforcer contingent. Off to one side looking more than a little uneasy were Jett and Karno, summoned at the whim of their old acquaintance. Anvaal regarded them with a wry smile and nod.

They both drained their lasher with the speed of nerves.

This motley group who now found themselves responsible for whatever came next.

Illando sipped at his lasher and winced, trying to get comfortable in the chair. The wounds Kendris left on his back made it almost impossible to sit or lie down without some level of pain. It would fade in time, but right now it was a grim reminder of the price they'd paid to keep the city safe.

Almost a third of the enforcers that accompanied him in the assault on the Conclave would not see the dawn again. The toll on the Conclave security ranks had been worse; between those who turned traitor and the murdered loyalists Cephia could barely account for a quarter of their original number. Bronco and the other watchguard commanders spread their troops thin to try and maintain a fragile, shell-shocked peace.

Secluded in this little designate office, high in the Conclave towers, you could almost pretend it wasn't happening.

He took another drink. Sprawling awkwardly in a chair beside him, Cephia winced, her hip bulging with a wad of bandages where the bolt had struck her. The cut on her face remained angry, despite the neat stitchwork by the enforcer medicaries. She caught his eye and managed a weak smile, still exhausted from the battle.

"Well, we're still here," Noelle said, turning glass of lasher contemplatively between her claws. "For what it's worth, eh?"

"Worth more than this fancy shine," Karno put in, helping himself to another measure of lasher. Anvaal eyed the wolfkin disapprovingly but said nothing.

"We stopped Kendris," Cephia said, her voice soft but etched with residual pain. "That's what matters."

"It's not all that matters," Anvaal replied. He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Guard-Leader, but there is much still to be done."

"I know that." She huffed and took a gulp of lasher. "And I'm not on duty right now, so just use my name."

"My people will deal with what's left of the Savage Fire," Illando said.

"It's not them that concern me. Without Kendris they are not a threat. It's what they've left behind. The outer districts are in chaos; the kin are terrified. Your friend in the watchguards has a lot to deal with."

"If anyone can keep a lid on that pot," Jett interjected. "It's big Bronco. You're lucky to have him clawing for your side." She looked around. Illando examined the foxkin tech-breaker with a critical eye, feeling every molecule of her unease. Her eyes flickered left and right, still waiting for something to jump out at her. The Conclave was not a place that she felt safe, that much was obvious.

"I think he can handle it," Illando said. And he meant it. Without the vulkin he wouldn't have been sitting here. "There aren't that many people we're going to be able to rely on for the next little while, but he's one of them."

"So what about the rest?" Noelle piped up. "Even if Bronco's people can keep a lid on this, that ain't going to fix the mess Kendris left behind."

"We need to get the city running again," Cephia answered, making a vague gesture to the window with one paw. "Trade, district funding, law enforcement, agriculture, infrastructure – all of it needs to get up and running or the whole of Wildhearth's going to grind to a halt."

Merwe nodded. "We're still trying to assess the losses among the administrators and technical aids. Once we've established our numbers we can allocate our resources appropriately."

"This is all little more than a stop gap," Anvaal sighed, resignedly packing his pipe with fresh leaf and lighting it. "We have lost two High Alphas in the space of a year. The designates, the guard, the enforcers, they were all compromised by this cult. Someone needs to regain the trust of the kin out there. Wildhearth needs a leader."

Smoke puffed around him in a morose cloud. Around the group heads dipped and voices muttered agreement. The deerkin hadn't said anything they weren't already thinking. The question was, who? Who would want it? Who would want to confront the gauntlet of leading Wildhearth through the next tumultuous chapter of its history?

"Well, that's my queue to leave," Jett said, shattering the silence. She seemed unconcerned, dumping her glass down unceremoniously on Anvaal's table.

"Jett, we could use your-,"

"NO!"

The leap in volume was so sharp Illando thought it might shatter the class of the window. Everyone flinched; Jett's shrill bark echoed around them and he could see her hackles prickling, tail curling at her back. She trembled and her eyes flashed to Karno. The wolfkin gave a gentle nod of his head, a sad smile on his face.

Sighing heavily, he drained his second glass of lasher and placed it down beside hers. He cast an apologetic glance towards Noelle.

"Don't think you really need the two of us for this."

"We need your skills," Hezif interjected sharply. "The infiltration the cult achieved-,"

"Is not our problem," Jett snapped, twisting to face him. "I've been through enough. I've done enough for this skid-stain of a city. I'm just a bloody hacker from Palharr. I never want to stick a claw into any of this. You want to rebuild Wildhearth, you can do it without me." Her gaze snapped to Karno. "Without us."

"You really not gonna stay?" Noelle asked, her voice almost plaintive.

Karno shrugged. "I'm with her on this one, El. Seen enough and given enough to last me a lifetime. I'm no enforcer. I didn't sign up to defend the whole bloody world."

"Neither of us did," Jett muttered, her gaze drifting from Anvaal over to the others, stiffening as she considered the wolfkin.

Illando could see the memories rising in her eyes. He barely knew this foxkin hacker and her hanger-on – it made no odds to him if they wanted to fling themselves over the nearest horizon. They had helped, but press-ganging them into further danger would be a recipe for disaster. So he gave her a nod of understanding.

"No-one's going to force you to do anything," he said quietly, indicating the door with his glass of lasher. "If you want to go, go. This was never your responsibility."

Jett's muzzle twitched. She regarded him coldly for a moment, then nudged Karno with an elbow. "Peace, I need a holiday. Let's get out of here." A dismissive paw flailed in the air as she strode towards the door. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Then she was gone, Karno slouching wearily along in her wake. The door banged shut behind them, leaving the others in the uncertain quiet of the pair's departure. Glances flitted back and forth, none of them quiet sure what to say.

"Alright, so we need a leader," Cephia ventured after a moment, looking pointedly at Anvaal. "What about you?"

Anvaal turned a dubious stare on her. "Excuse me?"

"What about you?" she repeated.

"You think I should become High Alpha?"

"You'd have my vote."

"And mine," Hezif agreed, raising his glass.

"It's not so simple," the deerkin protested. "Wildhearth is a democracy. We do not anoint our leaders like the warlords of old."

"Then put it to a vote if you really must," the felkin designate shot back. "But I think you're the only sane choice left. The Conclave will back you, at least those who are still alive to do so."

Illando cast a sidelong look at Hezif. It would be some time before they could truly know just how many designates had been lost, either from murder, turning traitor, or fleeing. Anvaal considered that for a moment, smoke hazing in front of his face.

"I have never held office," he said, speaking with great care. "I do not have the experience."

"I think you've experienced plenty," Tayge cut in around a mouthful of lasher. "I don't much care for politicians, but you've got your head screwed on right."

"Thank you for that ringing endorsement."

"He's right, Anvaal," Cephia said. "Experience isn't the problem. We need someone who wants to do the right thing. The last thing Wildhearth needs is another power-hungry snake at the helm. That leaves you."

For the first time, Illando could sense worry in Anvaal. The deerkin was very sure of himself in the role of a belligerent outsider, but this? This was a different beast entirely. More smoke billowed as he drew deeply on the pipe, his breath filling the silence.

"I see your point," he said eventually. "But I don't have the right to just claim the seat of government. There are plenty of loyal kin who could do the job. They should be given the chance." He shifted his gaze to Cephia. "How long before you expect to have an accurate headcount of the surviving designates?"

She shrugged, wincing in pain. "They're still putting the Urban Pack-Net back together after the attack. Once our systems are up and running we'll need to try and trace any designates who went to ground. After that, we need to figure out if any of them were working with the Savage Fire. It could be a while before we know who's alive that can be trusted."

Illando banged his glass down on the table. "We don't have time-,"

"No!" Anvaal roared suddenly, causing everyone in the room to jerk in surprise. Illando stiffened, straightening in his seat as he felt his hackles rise. The deerkin held his stare, the echo of his powerful voice still ebbing in the air.

"If we are going to do this, it will be done the right way," he continued, speaking slowly and firmly. "You will bring me a full list of all surviving designates who are willing and able to carry out their duties. Once we have this, I will give any of them who wish it the opportunity to run against me. We will then have a vote." The Anvaal's eyes were like forged iron as he looked at each of them in turn. "If I win the nomination, an interim government will be formed, and our first act will be to hold fresh elections, to replace the designates we lost.

"Then – and only then – when the Conclave of Accord has been returned to some semblance of order, will we look to dictate the laws of this city once more. Do I make myself abundantly clear?"

Illando considered arguing. He thought about it for three excruciating seconds, his mind churning. The sooner they restored order, the better. He didn't want to wait around gathering lists and trying to pretend that the clunky wheels of Wildhearth's democracy could just keep on turning without a halt.

But looking at Anvaal, he could see there were no words he could say that would change the deerkin's mind. He would never claim to lead the city unless he knew his peers wanted him there. So instead of disagreeing, Illando turned in his seat.

"Noelle?" He pivoted awkwardly to face her. "I think you'd better get down to the Pack-Net and help them get that place back up and running. Track down those designates, and make bloody sure they don't miss anybody."

Noelle gave him a thin smile. "Right now?"

"I think you can finish your drink."

The smile broadened into a grin, and she downed the last of her lasher with relish. Then, stretching fitfully, Noelle stood up and tapped two claws to her brow in salute. "I'll have them back to business before the day's out, boss." Inclining her head respectfully to Anvaal, the wolfkin technician loped from the room.

The others soon followed. Hezif and Merwe set out to try and get the basic building blocks of government running again. Nassavick trundled out of the room to see to the Conclave's current security arrangements with Tayge on his heels. Cephia went limping after them, but stopped long enough at Illando's side to bring her face down, nuzzling her cheek against his.

"I'll see you later," she said softly.

Illando breathed deep, letting her musk settle over him like a balm. He closed his eyes, pushing himself against her, his nose brushing the base of her ear for an instant before she straightened up. His eyes opened again and found her smiling down, angelic in the breaking dawn. A gentle paw pressed briefly on his shoulder, then she was gone, hobbling off to carry out her duty, injuries be damned.

"You're a lucky wolf, Illando," Anvaal commented once she was out of earshot, rising out of his chair and stumping over to the window. He spoke around the pipe clamped between his teeth. "She's a fine soldier."

"That she is." Illando let out a faint grunt of pain as he levered himself upright. "I'd best get back to the enforcers; check on the situation out there."

"Before you go, may I have a word?"

He stopped, exhaled a weary breath through his nose, and then stumped over to join Anvaal at the window. They stood there for a moment, just looking out over the city. It looked normal from up here – no fires, no bodies.

"If I understand things correctly," Anvaal said at last. "The new High Alpha has the right to appoint the leader of the enforcers upon entering office."

"That confident you'll get the job?" Illando chuckled.

"No-one else is going to run," the deerkin snorted unhappily. "If I put my name forward, I'll be the one who has to see this through. No-one else is foolish enough to take on the task."

"That's probably true."

"And if it is going to be me, I'd like you by my side."

Illando let the lasher burn on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. "You'd keep me?"

"Yes."

"Anvaal," he said, shaking his head, "I didn't want the job when the last High Alpha gave it to me. Now..."

"I think I know exactly how you feel, Illando," Anvaal replied, a wry smile cracking his stern expression. "But you said it yourself. There aren't a lot of people we can trust right now. You've proved yourself to be one of them."

"I'm loyal to Wildhearth – you know that – but I just don't know if I'm the person you want for this. Oslarra put me in charge and look at what happened." He pointed at the door. "Kendris almost succeeded. They were inches from seizing this city. Oslarra is dead and it was my fault. I had a traitor staring me in the face and I didn't see it."

"We were all deceived." Anvaal turned to face him square on. "All of us. I understand what you're saying, Illando, and I have no wish to force anything you. Once we have a new government in place and have replenished our losses, you can do whatever you think is best, but until then, I am asking for your help."

Illando gulped down the last of the lasher and put the glass down on the window sill. No matter how much uncertainty and self doubt he felt roiling in his gut, he knew he couldn't refuse. Just as it had been when he walked into the Conclave to meet Oslarra, this was a lot bigger than him.

"You'll have it," he said.

And then shook Anvaal by the paw.