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I clench my teeth, recalling Ortem’s warnings.

“Honest senators, if any remain, are overshadowed by Vaelen’s faction.

We need a plan that draws the commoners to our side—someone in the city’s ranks who can’t be bought.

Allies in the merchant guilds, maybe. My public favor from the arena, if it still holds. ”

She arches a brow. “Merchants… That might help, especially those fed up with orc raids. If we show them Vaelen is fueling orc aggression for profit, they’ll rage. Once the merchants protest, the Senate can’t dismiss it as easily.”

I nod slowly, letting hope kindle. “That’s a start. The shipping logs, the ledger with Vaelen’s seal—if we share them with key guild leaders, maybe they’ll muster a public outcry.”

Her hand remains on my arm, a gentle weight that stokes a swirl of warmth behind my ribs.

The courtyard hushes around us, the vines swaying gently.

A longing to erase our predicament wells in me, to hold her again in that secret hush we found last night.

But guilt tugs: if we’re discovered, it might confirm Vaelen’s claims that she manipulates me with seduction.

The unstoppable tension is still there, though, a current that thrums every time we stand close.

Mira exhales, voice quiet. “I hate seeing you torn apart by these politics. You wear champion scars, but it’s the Senate’s cunning that wounds you.”

My throat constricts. “I chose this path, Mira. The arena, the champion’s mantle. I never thought it would become a cage. Not until you…” My voice falters. “Not until you showed me how twisted the system truly is.”

Emotion floods her eyes. “I never intended to force this realization on you.”

I swallow thickly. “I know. But I’m grateful, even if it tears me in two. Because now I see the Senate for what it is.”

She offers a faint, sad smile. “Then let’s tear it down where it’s rotten.”

A rush of fierce admiration courses through me. “Yes. Together.”

Despite the vow, uncertainty gnaws at me.

The Senate might move faster than we can rally allies.

They hold the power to label me a failed champion, cast me aside, and slip Mira into orc hands.

My chest tightens with dread for her safety—and for the city.

If I lose my champion rank, who will protect Milthar from the next orc threat?

Still, her presence emboldens me. I realize I’m gently cupping her chin, tilting her face up.

She allows it, dark lashes fluttering. My chest tightens with yearning, remembering the heat we shared.

But a guard’s discreet cough from the archway jars me.

We can’t risk rumors. I release her, stepping back.

She nods, reading my unspoken caution. “I’ll gather the shipping logs, cross-reference them with known merchant guild leaders. Maybe we can set up a discreet meeting.”

Grateful for her practicality, I exhale. “Do it. I’ll see if Ortem might be swayed to open a formal inquiry. He’s not allied with Vaelen, but he’s risk-averse.”

We exchange a final, loaded glance, then she slips away, footprints echoing softly on the stone. The guard near the archway pretends not to notice the lingering tension. I stand in the courtyard, chest heaving as if after a brutal arena bout.

Moments later, Tarek, my senior guard, reappears, gaze wary. “Champion… I overheard that the Senate convenes tomorrow for a preliminary hearing about your champion status. They might demand you place Mira under official city watch until then.”

My pulse surges. “They want to separate her from me, put her in Senate custody?”

He dips his head. “Yes. The rumor is Vaelen will push for it. If you refuse, they’ll brand you in violation of the Senate’s authority.”

A shiver of dread crawls along my spine. If Mira is forced into Senate custody, Vaelen has a direct line to sabotage or send her away. My tail whips, tension roiling. “Let them brand me,” I say grimly. “They won’t lay a hoof on her while I draw breath.”

Tarek bows, uncertain but loyal. I storm off to the training yard, needing to exorcise the roiling fury.

My staff knows to steer clear when I’m in such a mood.

Grabbing a practice blade from the rack, I stride to a straw dummy.

Without preamble, I swing, slashing the dummy’s midsection.

Another blow tears the straw wide. My side twinges in protest, the old orc duel wound never fully healed, but I ignore it.

Again and again, I slice at the dummy, each strike an outlet for my frustration.

The yard resounds with the thwap of the blade hitting straw.

Anger floods every muscle—at the Senate for its hypocrisy, at Vaelen for his cunning manipulations, at myself for letting Mira become entangled in my cursed champion’s role.

My chest burns as I pummel the dummy until straw and dust swirl in the air.

Eventually, I lower the weapon, panting.

Remorse for the battered dummy hits me, though it’s a lesser sacrifice than any we’ve made.

My shoulders slump, sweat beading under my fur.

The sense of futility creeps in again. Even if we gather evidence, will the Senate ignore us?

Will the city break under Vaelen’s schemes?

In that moment, I sense a presence behind me Mira stands at the yard’s edge, watching, caution in her stance.

My heart jolts, shame creeping in that she witnessed my violent outburst. She steps forward, voice subdued: “You’re bleeding again.

” Her gaze flicks to my side, where a thin line of red soaks through the cloth from the old orc wound.

I grunt, dropping the blade. “It’s nothing. A scratch that doesn’t heal.” The double meaning weighs on me.

She approaches, gently pressing a cloth to the seeping spot. Her brow furrows with concern. “You need to rest, Remanos. If the hearing is tomorrow, you need your strength—and a clear head.”

I exhale, closing my eyes briefly at her soft touch. “My head is a storm. No rest will calm it.”

She sighs. “Let me at least bandage you properly.”

I want to protest, but her calm resolve tugs at me.

We move to a nearby bench, where she fetches a small healing kit from the yard’s storeroom.

I sit, letting her lift the fabric of my tunic.

She dabs the wound with gentle precision.

Despite the sting, a sense of peace descends, overshadowing my turmoil for a fleeting moment. Her presence is a balm I can’t deny.

She speaks softly as she works. “I gathered more data on shipping schedules. There’s a group of merchants who suspect their shipments were tampered with. We can arrange a meeting tonight, off the main roads.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, letting the warmth of her nearness settle some of my anger. “I’ll come with you. We must be careful—it could be a trap if Vaelen’s spies lurk.”

She nods, finishing the bandage. Then she lifts her gaze to mine. “We won’t survive this alone. We need allies to speak up, force a formal inquiry that Vaelen can’t squash.”

I meet her eyes, my heart pounding for a different reason now. “Yes.” Quiet gratitude pulses through me. She’s unwavering, even with the Senate breathing down her neck. I place my hand over hers, gently. “Thank you for standing by me.”

Emotion flickers across her face. “We stand by each other, remember?”

The honesty in her voice stirs a fresh wave of protectiveness.

I squeeze her hand once, then force myself to let go, mindful that any staff could see and fuel rumors.

She steps back, eyes reflecting an unspoken understanding.

We share a silent vow to keep forging ahead, no matter the Senate’s threats.

She helps me to my feet, and I sense the weight of the next day’s hearing pressing on us. If I refuse to hand her over, if I continue supporting her investigations, the Senate may well strip me of my rank. Yet to do anything else would be unthinkable.

We leave the training yard, side by side.

My chest still aches, but not just from the wound—it’s the dread that tomorrow’s hearing might tear me from everything I’ve built.

The only certainty is that I can’t betray Mira, can’t let the Senate break her spirit or hand her to orcs.

The cost to my champion’s title is irrelevant compared to that.

She’s become more than a passing cause. She’s a spark that ignites a longing for something better than the Senate’s hypocrisy.

Nightfall arrives far too quickly, and with it, the knowledge that our meeting with merchants might be the last chance to gather the critical mass needed to challenge Vaelen.

My mind churns with contingency plans. If I lose my seat, if the city turns on me, if orcs reemerge—so many ifs.

But one truth anchors me: I’ll stand in the fray, with Mira at my side, no matter how violently the Senate rages.

Tomorrow, Vaelen will demand my compliance.

I’ll give him none. Let him try to dethrone me.

The champion’s mantle was meant to protect Milthar’s people, not facilitate corruption.

If I must choose between my rank and doing what’s right, I choose what’s right.

Mira’s faith in me has rekindled that determination.

If that seals our fate, I’ll face it with steel in my spine.

For now, I muster the flicker of hope that our merchant allies might tip the balance.

My chest still flutters with the memory of her gentle hands on my wound, the unwavering conviction in her voice.

Whatever the Senate tries next, we’ll fight it.

And if we fall, we’ll fall together—two souls bound by a fragile alliance that might yet save Milthar from the darkness creeping at its core.