The weirwood tree, now a colossal sentinel seven hundred meters tall, its red leaves a canopy blotting the sky, sent shockwaves through the free folk who glimpsed it from afar.
Tribes of wildlings—hardy hunters in ragged furs, their spears tipped with bone—froze in terror, dropping to their knees, convinced the old gods had descended in wrath. "The gods walk!" a chieftain cried, his voice trembling as he prostrated himself in the snow.
Prayers rose like mist, chants in the Old Tongue pleading for mercy, offerings of carved bones and hunted game laid at the forest's edge. Word spread like wildfire through the Haunted Forest and Frostfangs, drawing clans closer, their eyes wide with awe and fear, moving toward the tree as if summoned by divine will.
Alaric Stark, satisfied with the weirwood's growth, turned to fortify the site. Using Earth Style jutsu, he raised another concentric wall around the tree, this one ten kilometers out from the inner barrier, enclosing a vast area for settlement.
The wall was thick enough for two carts to pass abreast, its surface smooth. Towers rose at equal intervals, their heights offering vantage points over the rivers and mountains.
Archways pierced the wall in four directions—north, south, east, west—grand portals for entry.
Alaric couldn't summon the entire wall at once, his chakra reserves vast but not infinite, so he divided the task into sections, channeling earth and stone in waves.
It took two hours, the ground rumbling as barriers rose, the giants and Children watching in silence, their earlier shock deepening.
Next, Alaric dug channels for sewage, his hands forming seals as earth parted like water, creating a network of tunnels and drains leading to the nearby rivers, ensuring the future kingdom wouldn't drown in waste.
With infrastructure laid, he began building houses for the giants. Using Wood Style, he shaped homes in a style reminiscent of ancient Skyrim holds—sturdy longhouses with sloped roofs for snow, but scaled up for giants' size, each room vast as a Northern hall.
The wood was sturdy and provided insulation, trapping heat like a bear's den. He built fifty such houses, between the two walls, their doors wide as gates, hearths large enough to roast mammoths.
For the Children of the Forest, Alaric created a mini-forest around the weirwood's base—a grove of diverse trees, grown from saplings and seeds the giants and Children had gathered during the week.
Pines, oaks, apples, and a few weirwoods sprouted under his chakra, forming a lush enclave where the Children could dwell in harmony with nature.
The whole process—walls, sewage, houses, grove—took Alaric a week, his sage mode sustaining him through fatigue.
During this time, Leaf and her kin scouted nearby tribes using wargs—ravens, wolves, and eagles—spotting different clans and cave people circling the site, drawn by the weirwood's magic.
"They're wary," Leaf reported, her voice soft. "They've never seen such power, nor us walking openly with men."
Alaric nodded, his eyes on the horizon. "Don't bother them yet. I will call them when the time is near."
The free folk, peering from treelines, were indeed terrified—whispers of "old gods' wrath" and "giant from the trees" spreading. They kept distance, but curiosity gnawed, their scouts edging closer each day.
After a week, with the settlement's bones in place, Alaric decided to address the gathering tribes. He climbed the outer wall's ramparts, his voice amplified by chakra, booming across the plains like thunder. "Free folk of the North! I am Alaric Stark! I come not to harm, but to build! I swear by the old gods, the weirwood that stands here, I will not strike you unless you harm me or my folk first! Come to the tree, speak with me—let us talk of a future without raids, without hunger!"
The free folk, hidden in copses and hills, startled at his voice, their spears trembling. Tribe leaders—hardened chieftains—exchanged glances, debating in hushed tones. "He swears on the weirwood," one grunted. "He raised that tree-god, grew walls from nothing. He's a kneeler, not a freefolk. But let's hear him."
After deliberation, the leaders agreed, gathering a few trusted tribesmen—twenty in all—and approached the archway, their eyes wary but intrigued.