Orvek's hand rested firmly on Zovar's shoulder as he met her sorrowful gaze. His voice, though gruff, softened with a rare gentleness. "Your people stood for all of us," he said, his scarred face reflecting the weight of the battle. "Their sacrifice won't be forgotten. Tonight, we celebrate their lives and the strength they gave us. Come, Zovar. Let's honor them together."
Arika nodded in agreement, her sharp eyes softening as she stepped beside Zovar. "The Katula warriors were the shield that held the goblins at bay," she said firmly. "Because of them, we all stand here now. Let's make sure their courage is remembered as it should be—with joy, not just grief."
Zovar hesitated, the weight of her losses visible in her posture. But after a moment, she exhaled deeply, drawing strength from the words of her fellow chiefs. "You're right," she said quietly. "They would want us to celebrate the victory they helped win."
With that, the three chiefs led her toward the heart of the camp, where the celebration had already begun.
The camp was alive with energy, a stark contrast to the somber mood of the battlefield hours before. Fires blazed in a wide circle, their golden light casting dancing shadows across the gathered tribes. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the rhythmic thud of dancing feet on the packed earth.
Near the largest fire, Rice was in his element, surrounded by makeshift cooking stations that seemed to buzz with activity. Warriors and children alike crowded around him, their mouths watering as the rich aromas of his creations filled the air.
He stirred a massive pot of stew, the bubbling liquid a deep, inviting amber dotted with chunks of tender meat and wild vegetables. Over an open flame, skewers of spiced fish and game sizzled, the fat dripping onto the coals and sending up tantalizing wisps of smoke.
"Alright, alright, hold your horses!" Rice called out, grinning as he flipped a perfectly charred skewer. "There's enough for everyone, I promise. But if you drop any ima kill you"
He tossed a handful of finely chopped herbs into the pot, the vibrant green flecks brightening the dish as he gave it a final stir. The crowd around him cheered when he lifted a ladle and began serving, each bowl greeted with wide eyes and eager hands.
On the opposite side of the camp, Ryden stood with a group of warriors, his deep, melodic voice weaving through the night air. He was singing a song of bravery, a tale of the alliance's triumph, his words painting vivid images of the battles fought and the heroes crowned.
The warriors around him clapped in time with the rhythm, their voices joining in for the chorus. Children sat cross-legged at their feet, their eyes wide with wonder as they listened to the tales of Naren the Beastbane, Kalon the Tidebreaker, and Mira the Goblinbane as they proudly displayed the new titles above their heads. The new title bearers had learned to display their newfound titles as text hovering above their heads. While many tribespeople couldn't understand the words, they all recognized them as the newly granted titles.
Ryden gestured toward the warriors beside him, grinning as they took turns embellishing the verses with their own heroic accounts. The music swelled, and soon the entire camp was clapping and singing along, their voices rising together in a joyful chorus.
In a quieter corner of the camp, Darius sat with a group of craftsmen and artisans, his hands gesturing animatedly as he shared ideas for improvements to their tools and weapons.
"We can use the iron from the goblin crown," he said, holding up a fragment of the strange metal. "It's stronger than anything we've worked with before. Imagine what we could forge with it—better weapons, stronger tools, even armor."
The craftsmen nodded eagerly, their eyes lighting up with inspiration. One of them pulled out a sketch of a new spear design, and Darius leaned over it, his excitement contagious. "Yes, exactly! If we shape the blade this way, it'll cut cleaner and hold its edge longer."
Around them, other artisans worked on repairing damaged weapons and shields, their determination a reflection of the alliance's newfound unity.
When the three chiefs entered the circle of celebration, they were greeted with cheers and applause. Orvek grinned broadly, clasping hands with warriors and laughing heartily as they recounted the battle.
Arika, though more reserved, couldn't hide the faint smile that tugged at her lips as children ran up to show her their wooden spears, mimicking the warriors they so admired. She knelt to speak to them, her tone gentle but firm as she encouraged their enthusiasm.
Zovar, though still carrying the weight of her losses, allowed herself a small smile as warriors approached her to express their gratitude and respect. When one of the children handed her a simple flower, she tucked it behind her ear, her ocean-blue eyes softening.
The newly crowned title bearers—Naren, Kalon, and Mira—moved through the crowd, their auras still faintly glowing with the powers bestowed upon them.
Naren demonstrated his strength by lifting a fallen tree trunk that would have required several men to move, the golden glow of his Beastbane title shimmering around him. Warriors clapped and cheered as he set it down with ease.
Kalon, his movements almost unnaturally fluid, challenged a group of warriors to a race. He darted through the camp with the agility of a creature born of water, the blue light of his Tidebreaker title leaving a faint trail in the air.
Mira, her fiery red aura crackling faintly, sparred with a group of young warriors. Each strike of her wooden practice blade sent a ripple of energy through the air, and her opponents couldn't help but falter slightly in the face of her newfound presence.
The celebration stretched late into the night, the boundaries between the three tribes melting away in the warmth of shared joy. Warriors danced around the fires, their movements wild and free as music filled the air. Children chased each other through the crowd, their laughter ringing like bells.
Elders sat together, sharing stories of the past and marveling at the strength and unity of the alliance. The battlefield seemed a distant memory as the Great Plains came alive with hope and camaraderie.
As the chiefs sat together, sharing a rare moment of levity, they looked out over the crowd. For the first time in memory, the tribes were united not by necessity, but by choice.