The morning after the procession dawned clear and bright, the Amber Aegis humming with a contented energy that seemed to vibrate in harmony with the bustling activity within. The Conclave was no longer a single clan in a fortress; it was a nascent nation, and the air crackled with the palpable tension of creation.
Thorzen stood on the ramparts, looking down at the organized chaos. The temporary camps for the new clans were already being broken down, not in a frantic scramble, but according to a plan Zek had drafted overnight. His first order of the day had been a simple, profound one.
"Zek," Thorzen had said, finding the kobold steward surrounded by a mountain of scrolls and chittering assistants. "The Void Realm. It's time. Select one hundred of our most promising craftsmen, artisans, and dedicated legionaries. They will be the first permanent residents. They will have one week—our time—to establish workshops, barracks, and living quarters. Under the time dilation, that gives them nearly two months of uninterrupted work."
Zek's eyes had widened, then narrowed with calculating glee. "The advantage... it is staggering, Chief. We can out-produce, out-train, and out-research any foe. I have the lists prepared. They are ready."
Now, a line of kobolds, goblins, and orcs, each carrying tools, personal effects, and a look of determined awe, filed towards the newly enlarged and stabilized Teleportation Gate in the main courtyard. Prime stood sentinel beside it, managing the flow. Each individual touched the gate and vanished in a soft pulse of light, bound for the accelerated timeline within.
This was the true beginning. The Aethelgard Conclave was now operating on two temporal fronts.
His next meeting was in the Great Hall, which had been hastily converted into a war room of a different kind. The central table was buried under the Sylvan architectural texts, rolls of fresh vellum, charcoal sticks, and an array of colored stones representing different clans and functions. Seated around it were his core leadership: Zek, Rosa, Hector, and the newly integrated clan chieftains—Borg of the Broken Tusk, Rikka of the Red Hand, and Grak of the Mossback kobolds. High Elf Laeronis and one of his mage-attendants were also present, observing with academic interest.
"We have a territory," Thorzen began, his voice cutting through the low murmurs. "We have people. Now, we need a city. Not a fortress, not a camp. A city that reflects who we are and who we will become."
He gestured to the map. "The central fortress, Aethelgard, will remain the administrative and spiritual heart. The War Memorial and the Core Vault are here. It is our unbreakable core."
Using a black stone, he marked the fortress. Then, he took other stones.
"A green stone for the Broken Tusk. You will have the eastern plains, Borg. Ample space for your warriors to train, and the soil is good for the large, hardy grains your people prefer." He placed the stone, and Borg grunted in approval, a flicker of genuine satisfaction in his eyes.
"A red stone for the Red Hand. The southern crags and forest edge, Rikka. Your people are agile. Use the terrain. The caves there can be expanded for your... specialized projects." Rikka, a sharp-toothed grin on her face, nodded swiftly. She was already sketching a crude map of trap-lines and hidden watchposts.
"A brown stone for the Mossback. The northern foothills, Grak. Your delvers have already found promising mineral seams there. That will be your district. You will be the chief providers of stone and metal for the entire Conclave." The Mossback chieftain, a kobold whose scales were the color of dried earth, puffed out his chest with pride.
He placed a blue stone near the fortress. "This is for the Legion's primary barracks and training grounds. It will be neutral ground, where all clans serve together." Hector gave a firm nod, his gaze sweeping over the other chieftains, a silent reminder of the new chain of command.
Finally, he placed a white stone in the very center, between all the districts. "And this... this will be the Grand Forum. A place for trade, for meeting, for justice. A place where a kobold, an orc, a goblin, and a human can stand as equals under the law of the Conclave."
The room was silent, the chieftains staring at the simple arrangement of colored stones that represented their future. It was one thing to be told they were part of something new; it was another to see it laid out so clearly, with their own lands, their own purpose, integrated into a greater whole.
Laeronis finally spoke, his voice filled with a note of genuine admiration. "A tripartite design, with a central unifying axis. Geomantically sound. It promotes both specialization and unity. You have an instinct for this, Chief Thorzen. These plans... they are not merely functional. They are visionary."
"We have the vision," Thorzen said, turning to the elf. "But we lack the refined knowledge to execute it with the grace and permanence it deserves. Your texts speak of foundational runes that strengthen stone, of aqueducts that purify water, of sewers that prevent plague. This is the knowledge we need. Will you provide it?"
Laeronis met his gaze. "The first scrolls on geomatic reinforcement and hydraulic engineering will be delivered to your stewards before dusk. Consider it the first installment of our... foundation."
As the meeting broke up, the chieftains leaving with a new, purposeful energy, Thorzen felt a shift. He was no longer just managing a clan; he was governing. The quest A Name Forged in Steel pulsed in his awareness, its progress tangible.
Later, he found Torac and the newly forged Torax in the Legion's training yard. The two metallic orcs were a study in contrasts. Torac moved with a seasoned warrior's efficient grace, while Torax was a force of pure, direct power. They were sparring, not with weapons, but in a test of raw strength, their hands locked as they strained against one another, the ground cracking under their feet.
Nearby, the massive guardian, Lineage, stood immobile, its presence a steady, calming anchor. A few of the Broken Tusk orcs, who had been watching the new Sentinel with a mixture of fear and awe, seemed to stand a little taller, their postures less defensive when they were near it.
Thorzen watched as Torax, with a final surge, forced Torac back a step. Instead of pressing the advantage, he immediately released his brother and stepped back, his amber gaze calm.
"You are stronger," Torac stated, not with resentment, but with factual analysis.
"I am purpose-built for it," Torax replied. "My strength is a pillar for the clan. Yours is the blade that strikes its enemies. We are different facets of the same stone."
The words were not those of the fanatical warrior he had been. They were the words of a Sentinel, understanding his role in the greater system. Thorzen approached.
"The clan accepts you?" he asked.
Torax turned his head. "They are wary. But they see I am not a ghost. I am a monument. And monuments remind us of what is important. Borg has asked me to lead the vanguard of the Broken Tusk contingent within the Legion. I have accepted."
It was a perfect fit. Torax would be the bridge, his very existence proving that service to the Conclave was not an erasure of their orcish identity, but its redemption.
As dusk began to settle, Thorzen retreated to the Void Realm. Stepping through the gate was like entering a different world. What had been a largely empty, twilight-hued landscape was now a hive of activity. The 7:1 time dilation had granted his pioneers the equivalent of three full days already.
A foundation for a longhouse was already laid, its outlines marked by glowing runes courtesy of a kobold rune-smith who was working under Fan's direction. The sound of hammers on anvils rang from a temporary forge that had been set up near Zeus's Manor. A squad of legionaries, their movements slightly sped up from Thorzen's perspective, were drilling in the Coliseum, their instructor barking corrections.
He found Zek near the Seed Garden, consulting with a goblin architect.
"The progress is acceptable," Zek reported, his tail twitching with excitement. "The initial barracks will be habitable in two more days, our time. The forges will be operational tomorrow. The time, Chief... the time we are saving... it is our greatest weapon."
Thorzen felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was the engine that would power the Conclave's rise. While their enemies planned for the next season, the Conclave would have trained for years, built vast stockpiles, and developed new technologies.
He was in the Soul Forge, examining the synthesized Knowledge Seed of the Bloody Sun Shaman—a dense, angry-looking thing pulsing with concepts of [Fire], [Fanaticism], and [Blood Rites]—when a subtle chime echoed in his mind. It was an alert from the Amber Aegis.
He focused his consciousness, merging with the Core's perception. At the very edge of its western sensory range, where the Conclave's territory met the Sylvan Dominion, a presence had triggered a passive ward. It wasn't hostile. It was... formal. A single figure, clad in gleaming, sun-touched steel, rode a powerful charger. They flew a banner he had only seen in Xx'orth's memories: a blazing sun over a mountain range.
The Solar Imperium. Their envoy had arrived.
Thorzen withdrew his awareness. The calm was over. The next test was here. He wasn't a wary chieftain anymore, dealing with a curious elf. He was the leader of a recognized power, and a representative of a human empire was at his gate.
He sent a mental command to Prime to prepare the honor guard, and another to Zek and Laeronis, informing them. As he strode from the Void Realm back into the twilight of the main fortress, his expression was not one of anxiety, but of focused readiness. The foundations had been laid in stone and soul. Now, it was time to see if they would hold against the scrutiny of an empire.