By the time the first frost came again, the Northern Lands were no longer the Crown's.
It hadn't been won in a single battle. There were no grand banners raised or citadels stormed.
It was won village by village, word by word, lesson by lesson.
The Quiet Conquest
Fifteen hundred villages.Three cities once loyal to Baron Rask.Dozens of hidden schools.Hundreds of flintlock workshops now buried beneath barns, behind taverns, under old shrines.
In one city, a group of young blacksmiths declared themselves "Independent Craftsmen of the Union." In another, an entire town guard defected after the local Union teacher held a funeral for a burned library.
The Crown's presence had shrunk to a few trembling forts — isolated, resupplied by skyship once a month, hated by the land that once feared them.
The Northern Lands now whispered Emil's name like myth — but among the villages, he was simply Comrade Emil.
The Mountain Fortress
With the Baron's power reduced to little more than empty threats, Emil set his eyes higher — quite literally.
The Frosthorn Range had always been impassable. A broken spine of stone and snow, separating the North from the Empire's heartlands. But within its peaks lay shelter, isolation, and old magic.
With help from three retired mages — once royal scholars turned rogue — Emil carved out a new capital within the mountain's side. They called it:
Dünrath — The Hollow Hall.
Tunnels were cut with quiet spells. Wind barriers cast to hide construction. Inside the mountain, a chamber was carved from obsidian and limestone, wide enough to seat five hundred, lit with enchanted braziers and adorned with a crude but proud sigil: the red gear on a black field.
The First Revolutionary Congress
When it was complete, Emil sent messengers across the North.
"To every chief, elder, teacher, and leader of the people —You are no longer alone.Come to the Hall of the Union.We will decide together.No more decrees. Only discussion.No more kings. Only delegates."
And they came.
Old women with wolf pelts on their shoulders. Young smiths with burn scars and worn boots. Hunters from the marshes. Former sergeants. Fisherfolk. Former outlaws turned protectors. The North had never gathered like this.
Over 700 attended.Each representing dozens of villages.Each with one voice.
The Session
The great chamber roared with sound — accents from every corner of the North mixing as they argued, debated, laughed, and shouted.
Emil didn't sit above them.He sat among them.
He listened more than he spoke.
Topics ranged from:
How to prepare for winter shortages, now that royal supply chains had collapsed.
What to do with Crown loyalists living quietly among them.
Whether or not to draft a formal charter of rights and duties.
And how to defend themselves when — not if — the Empire struck back.
The hall had no throne.Only a speaker's circle in the middle — where anyone could stand and be heard.
That alone was revolution.
The Resolution
At the end of the third day, the Congress passed its first motion — by raised hands and signed tallies.
"The North shall govern itself.All free villages shall be united under the Common Union of the Northern People.No chief shall hold permanent power.And no man shall rule without the consent of the village he claims to serve."
The mountain shook with applause.
For the first time in known history, peasants had a government.
After The Congress
Emil stood outside the hall at dawn, watching the rising sun hit the snow-covered peaks.
Doren joined him, rubbing his arms.
"You did it, Emil. You turned farmers into founders."
Emil didn't smile. He looked south.
"No. We're not done. The Empire will see this as treason. They'll come."
Doren raised an eyebrow. "Then what do we do?"
Emil's eyes narrowed.
"We become more than a rebellion."
"We become a nation."