The warfires had hardly gone cold. There lingered smoke on the mountain passes where previously the goblin empire had stretched, rough but persistent. Ashes, ruins, and silence there now remained. But on the other continent, the tidings of goblin eradication did not merely sow terror—it compelled contemplation. And thus, as had been vowed, the great powers met once more, called upon by the imperative to rebuild and by the necessity to weigh fear against cooperation.
The Summit of Rebirth, so it came to be known by later historians, opened under the brilliant crystal dome of Darsha's Grand Assembly Hall. The room, large enough for an army, shone with magic: golden light bounced from floating orbs, and living vines—presents from the elves—scaled the gleaming marble pillars. The dwarves had braced the hall with rune-bound stone, and beastmen banners hung along with Darsha's. It was something no one would have thought possible a generation before.
Sharath stood at the center platform, the faint red glow of war still evident in his eyes. But his voice, as it rang out through the hall, was subdued and measured.
"Friends. Allies. The goblins are gone. Their cruelty is at an end, their threat vanquished. But we will not be carried forward by destruction alone. We stand now at the threshold of something greater—a future where our peoples work together, no longer in fear, but in unity. And it starts with rebuilding what was lost."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered rulers. Emperor Mercel of the dwarves leaned on his staff, the braids of his silver beard swaying slightly. His eyes narrowed, then softened. "Sharath… you've done what had to be done. But no ruler rebuilds alone. If you'll have us, my masons, my miners, my engineers—we'll lend them to shape the bones of a new city where the goblins once stood."
The elf queen, Elanora, her emerald crown shining like starlight, nodded. "And my people will provide the trees, the groves, the voice of living wood. A city of many peoples cannot be stone and steel—it must live, it must take root in nature, or it will be another ruin."
Even the scarred, savage beastman chief, Korvak, spoke with unusual gravitas. "The beastmen… we will provide our labor, our power, our oil. We are familiar with rails. We are familiar with caravans. Our claws will dig, and our oil will run, to power this multi-racial kingdom. You need only request."
Sharath said nothing for a moment. He looked at them all—faces etched with fear, curiosity, and a wondrous hope. His lips compressed into a line, then curled, the smallest of smiles shattering his normal calm.
"I thank you," he said finally. "It will cost time. It will cost sweat, coin, and cunning. But I will take your aid. Because this is not my dream. This is the future we can all create together. A multi-race realm, born of four empires. Humans, dwarves, elves, beastmen—living together. Ruled not by victory, but by cooperation."
The room burst into hesitant applause. Some ambassadors nodded vigorously; others cast nervous glances. But none had the courage to dispute the notion outright, not since the memory of the ruins of the goblins.
Sharath waved a hand, and attendants brought forth a huge stack of parchments tied in steel frames. With another wave of his hand, the pages spread out into shining illusions in the air: maps of subways serpenting under the ground, rivers cleaned by magical filtering, drainage and sewerage networks which would drive disease away, lines of houses designed in meticulous alignment, and great stations where trains would split in all directions like veins on a living body.
This," Sharath said, "is the blueprint. A city not just to accommodate, but to last. The best subways below, the purest water above, the most efficient sanitation systems we can think of, and housing for all races. I've made four blueprints of this. Each one is yours.
The governors hunched forward as the blueprints drifted closer, glowing with mystical accuracy. Mercel's keen eyes went wide, and he whispered, "By the Stone-Father… these blueprints are years beyond our reach."
Queen Elanora's lips parted in awe as she followed the curving lines of the waterways. "A city teeming with innocence… this is no human drawing. This is art.
Korvak, less lyrical but no less awed, growled. "You considered toilets for beastmen too? Hah! Humans always overlook the essentials. But this. this I approve of."
The hall erupted in rumblings once more, but one query cut through. Mercel held up his staff and asked: "And what about your own empire, Sharath? Surely you intend to construct such a marvel for yourself first? Why share these blueprints so freely?
Sharath's eyes ran over them all. His voice was steady and firm, and it reached each extremity of the hall. "Because this kingdom is not mine. It is yours. I will not rule it. I will not construct it for myself. I will give you the blueprints and the capital—my treasuries are more than ample. But it will be ruled by you. All of you. Four emperors, one city. That is the only way it will succeed."
The rulers sat in shocked silence. Ambition, greed, maybe even a claim of mastery they had been expecting. But Sharath relinquished the crown jewel of human ingenuity without demanding tribute or throne.
It was Elanora who first broke the silence, rising gracefully. She bowed, deeply, not as queen to king but as ally to equal. "Then history will remember you as more than conqueror. As builder."
Mercel nodded solemnly after her. "Aye. The dwarves do see this. A kingdom of multiple races, to demonstrate to the world that cooperation can prevail where conquest does not."
Not even Korvak uncrossed his arms or unclenched his teeth to offer a dissenting word. "Hah. Madman. Spared madman. But the beastmen will keep this agreement."
For the first time, unity truly seemed within reach.
The remainder of the summit focused on matters of pressing progress. For while the goblins were no more, there was still another specter over them: stagnation.
"Technology," Mercel growled, "has ebbed. Our tracks are laid, our tube tunnels constructed, our oil runs, our forests expand. But what next? What innovation defines the epoch, as rails did?"
Sharath foreleaned, fingers interlaced. "I have pondered long on this. Maybe airships, powered by your oils and directed by elven breezes. Or great libraries infused with magic, holding knowledge for everyone. Or robot guards, half machine, half magic. But. none of these are prepared. None can support themselves yet.
Elanora proposed her vision: cities among living trees, run on light and music. Mercel spoke of clockwork machines, reaching deeper than the ground. Korvak proposed war-beasts bred for work, dragging caravans and plows both.
Conceptions poured forth, sparks leaping from one imagination to another. But each one, upon closer inspection, fell apart. Resources too scarce. Magic too capricious. Biology too fallible. As if progress itself had run into a wall.
Finally, Sharath sighed, relaxing back. "Then perhaps. it is not yet time. Let us construct the city. Let us make unity stronger. And at the next gathering, we bring only what can best endure. No dreams halfway born. Only inventions good enough for a new age."
The rulers nodded in assent, though grudgingly. They had watched too many flimsy dreams crumble. Wiser to wait, wiser to lay foundations deep.
As the summit concluded, Sharath strolled alone into the palace courtyard. The stars twinkled overhead, sharp and infinite. At his side, imperceptible to everyone but him, 🐧NeuroBoop spoke up with wry humor.
"Good, that went well. You didn't frighten anyone this time. Improvement!"
Sharath smiled weakly. "You think?"
Oh, definitely. Multi-race kingdom? That's history-book material. Courtesy of blueprints and cash? Very chivalrous. Of course, they'll all squabble about toilets down the line, but not my concern."
Sharath smiled warmly, eyes rising to the heavens. "It will be chaos. But perhaps. good chaos. The kind that creates something lasting."
"Until the next summit," 🐧NeuroBoop joked, "where you all bicker over flying whale-machines or something equally absurd.
Sharath's laughter rang out into the night. The war was behind them, the goblins were defeated, and although technology had slowed, the dream of unity now burned hotter than ever before.
For the first time in centuries, the continent did not move with fear, but hope.