The manor fell quiet after the envoys departed—quiet in a way battlefields never knew, quiet in a way that made the weight of victory feel heavier than steel.
Smoke still curled from distant ruins where holdouts continued to resist against occupation.
The scent of ash clung to the walls.
Outside the shattered capital, the banners of Romanus snapped sharply in the spring winds.
But for the first time in years…
There was no enemy marching toward me.
No siege to break.
No campaign to plan.
Just the aftermath—ugly, necessary, and finally finished.
I inhaled deeply.
Francia was ours.
Brittania was satisfied.
Germania had taken a knee.
And far below this manor—beneath stone, torchlight, and the cold hum of Root—another battle had just ended.
A more personal one.
A quieter one.
But perhaps the most important one I had fought since this strange new life began.
~
The stairs down to the dungeon felt longer this time.
The stone under my boots colder.
The air thicker.
