Weeks later, Dawnspire hosted not a war council, but a peace council. Representatives came, tentatively: Varikdar merchant lords (seeing new business opportunities), Brute chieftains, Ciel elders, Grott miners, and even a newly formed council of freed Vakhas from across the continent.
Skodar stood before them, not on a podium, but on the level ground. Makosra and Sukodar stood with him. Vaktari's luminous presence was a silent witness.
"We are not here to form a new empire," Skodar said, his voice carrying the quiet authority of hard-won truth. "We are here to make a pact. The old ways are dead in the sky. On the ground, we choose new ones. We choose trade, not tribute. We choose alliance, not allegiance. We choose to remember our pasts, but not be prisoners to them."
He looked at the Varikdar. "No more slaves. Your economy will adapt, or it will die. We will help you find a new way."
He looked at the gathered species."The Singing Canyons are scarred, but they can heal. They will be a neutral zone, a place of meeting, not of control."
He looked at his own people."The Awakening will continue. Slowly, safely. Our power will not be a weapon for conquest, but a tool for healing, for building, for protecting this world we have all shed blood for."
It was the Arthoje Concordat. A fragile, hesitant agreement to try. It was built not on trust, but on mutual exhaustion and the shared memory of a gun pointed at all their heads.
It was a start.