Banishing night's chill, dawn light caressed the combined forces: 44 spearmen, 24 Ember-spears, 60 former Ironborn infantry, Rootbound mixed evenly, and watchers at every tower. Ashmaw roamed peacefully among them.
Riku stood atop the gate platform, observing the courtyard animation below.
In full council, Riku addressed both tribes.
"Once, we stood guardians of root and valley. Now we stand as one people — rooted and hardened in iron."
Karun came forward, offerings in hand: an Ironforge hammer, shield fragments, and an Ironborn banner.
"A symbol of union," he proclaimed.
Riku accepted, tapped root-hammers to the banner, and caused living vines to spiral around it — merging traditions in silent ritual.
Underneath the city stairs, Rootbinders planted quadrant flags into deep rootbeds—one for Lorian, one for Ironborn. Nilo hammered them into anchored iron binding.
Riku spoke, "This territory is ours — claimed with blood, root, and forge."
Ashmaw barked once. The crowd cheered, subdued.
Riku ordered compassionate interment: Ironborn who surrendered were assigned Landwatch duties; helming integration teams; building new walls.
Their weapons were refashioned into root-iron talismans, blessing new alliances.
Late that night, Riku lit a great Mourning brazier atop the holdfast. It burned bright and red, watched by Rootbound guards and Ironborn veterans alike.
He alone watched the sky.
System check:
Next Blood Moon: 12 Hours, 45 Minutes
He exhaled. Tightened grip on his obsidian dagger, now etched with shared crest.
When dawn came, the valley bathed in crimson light—the Moon passed in silence. No beasts came. No rival wave crashed.
But victory remained.
They'd ended the story of conflict, absorbed a tribe, and expanded the root-bound domain beyond imagination.