Page 51

REMANOS

I wake to beams of pale light falling across the courtyard’s stones.

My shoulders ache, my bandaged thigh throbs, but there’s a curious weight lifted from my heart—like the hush after a roaring storm.

Guards wearing Freedman colors pace the perimeter, heads held high, no longer hunted by a corrupt Senate.

The entire estate hums with subdued triumph: Vaelen, the traitor, stands imprisoned alongside his co-conspirators.

Orcish threats have slunk back to whatever holes they crept from.

The city faces a new day, uncertain yet brimming with possibilities.

A Freedman courier spots me at the threshold of the estate’s main hall. He rushes forward, chest puffed with nervous excitement. “Remanos,” he says, voice pitched low, “the Senate demands an audience. Ortem insisted you come. He claims the future of Freedmen hinges on your presence.”

I grunt quietly, sliding my injured leg forward with care. The thought of facing the Senate once more churns my gut, but Freedmen deserve clarity after all they’ve risked. “Thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll be there.”

He bows, relief crossing his features. I watch him disappear through the courtyard’s rear gate, weaving between newly placed banners and a cluster of Freedmen sparring lightly in the morning sun.

For a heartbeat, I merely stand, letting the warmth of day soak my battered body.

So much has changed since I was forcibly dethroned as champion: Freedmen and crafters have taken up the mantle of the city’s guardians.

Mira and I led them to unearth Vaelen’s conspiracies and drive out the orc infiltration.

The old illusions of my champion’s seat, the Senate’s illusions of “purity” and “honor,” lie in tatters.

Yet the city survived.

A wave of gratitude washes through me as I recall Mira’s unwavering presence, how she faced threats at my side, how she rallied Freedmen to defend our walls when the Senate faltered.

She insisted on standing with me, never once letting the Senate’s cruelty break her spirit.

I push a breath through my nose, calming the flicker of awe that surges whenever I think of her.

The city calls her a foreigner, but in truth, no one else belongs here more.

I carefully traverse the courtyard, Freedmen saluting me with bright eyes.

They address me as “Remanos,” or sometimes slip and say “Champion,” a title no longer official but pressed upon me by their respect.

Tiro, a young Freedman who scouted for me, waves from across a line of newly repaired columns.

I wave back, forcing a small smile. Everything feels raw yet alive: Freedmen guard the estate gates not out of fear but pride; crafters bustle along corridors discussing new trade routes free from orc meddling; city watchers in battered uniforms murmur that maybe the Senate can’t disregard Freedmen’s voice anymore.

I find Mira waiting at the estate’s entrance, leaning against a low stone wall.

She glances over her shoulder, relief lighting her face when she sees me.

She steps forward, face half-lit by the sun, the shadow beneath her eyes a testament to sleepless nights.

Yet her posture brims with energy, as if each dawn breath is a promise of a new beginning.

“You’re up,” she says softly, scanning me for signs of pain. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to walk so soon.”

I nod, pressing a palm to my bandaged thigh. “I’ll manage. A Freedman courier says Ortem wants me at the Senate. Likely some formal resolution for Vaelen’s trial.”

Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t protest. “Then let’s go. Freedmen want to see you there. Besides,” she adds, eyes sparking with gentle amusement, “I’d like to hear them squirm when they realize Freedmen aren’t bowing to them anymore.”

A small laugh escapes me. “Yes. Let’s see how the Senate scrambles now that orcs fled and their conspirators face trial.

” I offer my arm, and she tucks her hand against it, mindful of my injury.

Together, we depart the estate, Freedmen parting with quiet cheers and well-wishes.

The city’s roads stretch before us, full of purposeful activity rather than lurking dread.

Word spread that Vaelen’s betrayal was unmasked; crafters greet Freedmen as equals, exchanging half-smiles and thanks.

We walk carefully, each step nudging my wounded leg.

Mira glances at me with a flicker of concern, but I press forward, determined to see this final chapter through.

As we near the Senate’s grand forum, the hum of voices rises, a crowd of commoners thronging the marble steps.

Freedmen, city guard, and crafters gather in a sea of color, an unspoken alliance bridging old class divides.

Where once haughty Vakkak used to glare down upon Freedmen, now Freedmen stand tall, armed with the moral victory that cast out Vaelen’s twisted schemes.

Mira squeezes my arm. “Look. They’re waiting for you.” Her tone is hushed, equal parts pride and trepidation.

I follow her gaze to see Ortem near the forum’s top steps, flanked by a small cluster of senators, some wearing uneasy expressions.

Guards line the columns, but Freedmen approach them with no sign of fear, engaged in low conversation.

My chest swells with a complicated swirl of relief, satisfaction, and an edge of bitterness at how easily the Senate tries to reclaim normalcy after nearly destroying the city.

Yet I sense a shift: Freedmen are no longer second-class on these steps. They stand as rightful voices.

We climb the broad stairs, Freedmen parted to let us pass, many patting my shoulder or bowing to Mira.

She acknowledges them with quiet warmth.

My side throbs, but I refuse to limp. Ortem steps forward to meet us, voice subdued.

“Remanos, Mira. Thank you for coming. The city calls for clarity after recent turmoil.”

I raise a brow. “Clarity is good. Freedmen want more than words, though. They want assurance they’ll never face another Vaelen.”

He winces, fiddling with the edges of his senatorial robe. “I know. We let him manipulate the Senate. We… failed Milthar. Now we stand ready to right some of these wrongs.”

A hush falls as more senators circle around.

The crowd below watches, murmuring anxiously.

Freedmen cross their arms, waiting. Ortem glances at me, then addresses the crowd in a measured voice.

“Citizens of Milthar, your Senate convenes to address the aftermath of Vaelen’s treachery.

Through Freedmen’s courage and Remanos’s unwavering defense, the orc infiltration was repelled, and the traitors arrested. We owe Freedmen our gratitude.”

A smattering of applause rises, mostly Freedmen and crafters who stand proud.

The city guard, also present, nod in agreement.

Ortem gestures for me to step forward, and I do so, ignoring the twinge in my thigh.

Senators part, allowing me space at the top of the steps.

I can see the entire forum stretched out—once I stood here as champion, a symbol of might.

Now I stand simply as Remanos, Freedman in spirit, and the city’s self-appointed defender.

Ortem’s voice carries: “Remanos, you once wore the champion’s mantle.

You lost it by defying the Senate’s command to surrender Mira.

Yet Freedmen, crafters, and guards acknowledge your leadership.

In light of new evidence, we’d offer to reinstate your champion rank, or even propose you to the Senate’s upper echelons.

We believe your strength and moral compass could guide us away from corruption. ”

A ripple of excitement travels through the crowd. Freedmen watch with hopeful eyes. Some crafters murmur in approval. But a tug of sorrow and conviction settles in my chest. I glance at Mira, who squeezes my hand, silently supporting me. She knows I never sought power for its own sake.

Steadying my breath, I lift my head, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I am honored by the Senate’s offer. But I cannot accept a seat among you.

My role as champion ended when I refused to condemn Mira as a spoil.

I stand by that choice. Freedmen taught me that real honor lies in defending the powerless, not parading under a title that serves the Senate’s illusions. ”

Murmurs of surprise spread. I raise a hand, continuing, “Milthar doesn’t need a single champion with a hammered crest. Milthar needs Freedmen, crafters, and loyal guards to share power equally, forging laws that protect everyone.

I’d rather remain among them, a Freedman who fights for truth.

No seat in the Senate can compare to that bond. ”

A hush grips the forum. Some senators blink in astonishment.

Freedmen break into quiet cheers. Ortem’s shoulders slump, half relief, half resignation.

He nods, seemingly comprehending the finality of my stance.

Before the silence can suffocate me, I beckon Mira forward.

She steps up, cheeks coloring under the crowd’s collective gaze.

Taking her hand, I turn to the mass of onlookers.

“Mira is not a spoil. She is no trophy to appease orcs or placate the Senate’s politics.

She is my equal, my partner, the one who exposed Vaelen’s conspiracy, the reason Freedmen believed we could stand for ourselves.

I will not let any outdated tradition label her as property again.

She stands beside me as a free woman, recognized by all Freedmen who followed our cause. ”