Page 52

A roar of approval erupts, Freedmen chanting Mira’s name.

She exhales, blinking tears. The crafters hoist tools in the air, and city guards salute.

My heart clenches with emotion, recalling the day the Senate declared her a spoil.

How different the city’s acceptance is now.

Freedmen push forward, eager to see us up close, but keep respectful distance.

Mira’s voice emerges steady. “Milthar, let’s never again treat any living being as a trophy or spoil. Freedmen and crafters, you proved your worth in defending this city. Let’s make it official: no more forced tributes, no more illusions dividing classes.”

The crowd cheers louder. Ortem steps aside as senators exchange glances.

Some, still uneasy, but many vigorously nod, evidently shaken out of old arrogance by Freedmen’s unwavering might.

I sense a wave of momentum shifting this city’s soul.

The dais behind Ortem stands vacant aside from battered seats—the place Vaelen once orchestrated lies empty now.

Freedmen can fill that vacuum or create something new, forging real representation.

Breathing heavily, I pivot back to face the crowd.

“With the conspirators marched off to trial, with the orcs driven out, we can rebuild. Freedmen don’t need my champion’s rank or Senate seat.

We need your courage. Let each of us—crafters, Freedmen, city guards, senators of conscience—shape Milthar into a fairer place. ”

A thunderous ovation follows, Freedmen chanting, crafters banging metal implements in rhythmic applause.

The city guard wave their spears. I see tears shining on some older Freedmen’s faces, those who once wore the burden of second-class existence.

Now they see themselves recognized by the entire forum.

Ortem approaches softly, voice audible only to me and Mira, “We will hold a formal assembly soon to pass new charters, ensuring Freedmen representation. I hope you’ll guide them, even if not from an official seat. The city owes you both a debt.”

I nod, shoulders loosening. “We’ll stand by Freedmen, show them no Senate can overshadow their rights.” A jolt of gratitude flickers—once Ortem was timid, complicit in Senate politics. Now, seeing Freedmen’s unstoppable resolve, he’s changed. The city might change with him.

The moment swells as Freedmen part to allow city watch to escort Vaelen’s conspirators off in chains.

Some crafters jeer, but Freedmen keep the peace.

A sense of closure radiates: our victory stands, the city’s corrupt core exposed, and a path to genuine unity laid bare.

My chest tightens with relief. I shift my weight, wincing at the pain in my thigh.

Freedmen notice, a few murmuring for me to sit.

But I want to remain upright in this final ceremony of sorts.

Mira grips my hand. “We’ve come so far. Are you sure you want no seat in the Senate? They might even let you pass laws safeguarding Freedmen.”

I manage a soft laugh. “I prefer to live among Freedmen, be part of them. Laws from a marble dais never truly protected us. Freedmen’s strength comes from unity, not ranks.

” My heart flickers with the knowledge that I once yearned for champion’s glory, but now I’d rather remain a Freedman and stand at Mira’s side.

Her lips curve, eyes shining with pride. “Then let’s keep forging the city from the streets up.”

I nod, blinking tears. The crowd’s roar fades to a hush, Freedmen bowing their heads in respect, crafters doffing hats, city guards saluting once more.

Mira and I stand at the forum’s peak, a battered pair who risked everything.

The final conflict is done. The future beckons, uncertain but brimming with promise.

With a gesture, I invite Freedmen up the steps, letting them fill the dais that used to be reserved for high senators.

They surge forward, tentatively climbing, eyes wide at the symbolic reversal.

The crowd breaks into applause at the sight: Freedmen occupying the very space from which they’d been barred.

My heart stirs with a deep sense of rightness.

They deserve this moment, the city witnessing their rightful place in shaping Milthar’s destiny.

Ortem cedes the dais gracefully. Senators shuffle aside, some clapping uncertainly. Freedmen carefully stand there, not to proclaim dominion, but to represent the people who’ve long been silenced. The image sears into my mind as a new dawn for Milthar—no more illusions.

A Freedman elder steps forward, voice trembling with emotion, “We vow not to repeat the Senate’s arrogance. We’ll hear crafters, city guards, all who call Milthar home. This city belongs to all, not just a privileged few.”

The crowd roars in agreement, crafters raising fists, city watch thumping spear butts on the ground. My chest floods with pride. I see tears in Mira’s eyes. She leans against me. “You did this,” she whispers, voice thick. “You gave Freedmen the courage to stand as equals.”

I bow my head, feeling unworthy of such credit. “Mira, you’re the heart of it, too. You refused to bow when they called you a spoil. Freedmen saw your defiance, realized their own power.”

She brushes a tear from her cheek, eyes never leaving Freedmen on the dais. “Then we both built this, champion.”

My breath hitches at her calling me champion.

I let it stand, not as an official title but an intimate recognition of what we fought for.

The forum remains electric with conversation, Freedmen greeting crafters, city watchers exchanging laughs about how no champion seat can overshadow Freedmen’s unity.

Senators ring the edges, some contrite, others relieved they survived Vaelen’s downfall.

Slowly, Freedmen approach us, hands extended in thanks.

We exchange embraces, respectful bows. Some crafters break out clay flasks of celebratory drink, passing them around.

The murmur of relief, exhaustion, and newborn hope ripples through the crowd like a gentle tide.

I sense my battered body nearing its limit, the wounds pounding. But my spirit soars.

Eventually, with the official business concluded—Vaelen’s conspirators hauled off, Freedmen recognized in public, orc infiltration staved off Mira and I slip away from the crowd.

Freedmen happily let us pass, promising to send a detail of watchers with me.

But I wave them off gently, craving a private moment of reflection with her.

We move through the forum’s colonnade, the columns adorned with fresh garlands from crafters celebrating Freedmen’s victory.

The city hums behind us, abuzz with the knowledge that no single seat can control it now.

We emerge onto a quieter side street, leading to a marble walkway overlooking the harbor.

The sea breeze tangles Mira’s hair; she inhales the salt air with a sigh.

I limp slightly, ignoring the dull burn in my thigh.

She notices, guiding me to a low bench near an ornate balustrade.

We settle side by side, hearts still racing from the morning’s resolution.

She turns, face laden with relief and warmth. “Your vow to remain Freedman, rather than rejoin the Senate, took courage.”

I exhale slowly. “Titles cost me everything once. Freedmen’s respect, forged in truth, is worth more than champion’s rank.” My voice wavers, recalling the day they stripped me of my hammer. Yet Freedmen’s acceptance overshadowed that blow, giving me a deeper purpose.

She rests a hand on my knee, gaze tender. “You never needed a seat of power to lead. You only needed your principles.”

For a moment, I bask in her admiration, letting the hush of the harbor envelop us.

Milthar’s skyline rises to our left, columns and spires reflecting new unity.

Freedmen bustle in the distance, likely preparing for a city meeting that will rewrite the old laws.

I can almost feel the city’s heartbeat, steady and strong.

I swallow past a tangle of emotions. “Mira, thank you for never letting them break you. If you hadn’t fought their attempts to brand you a spoil, Freedmen might never have found their voice.”

Her cheeks color faintly, eyes bright. “Truth is, I found my strength in you. In Freedmen’s unwavering conviction. Part of me thought I was alone, but you showed me otherwise.”

My chest tightens. I long to pull her close, confess every tangled thread of devotion.

We overcame so many obstacles: orc captivity, Senate betrayal, forced “spoils,” political manipulations.

Standing here, battered but victorious, I can’t help but reflect on how essential she’s become, how I can’t imagine a future without her by my side.

She senses my tension. Her hand moves to my cheek, gentle. “You’re free now. Freedmen, the city, even the Senate can’t command you. What do you want next?”

The question echoes with quiet weight. Once, I wanted champion’s glory.

Then, I wanted to save Freedmen from Vaelen’s tyranny.

We’ve done that. The orc threat recedes.

Freedmen stand recognized. The city merges into a mosaic of new possibilities.

I meet her gaze, voice husky. “I want to stand with you, build a future that’s ours. Freed from illusions, bound by choice.”

A shiver passes through her. She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine. “Then let’s do it together. Milthar or beyond. Wherever Freedmen need us.”

My heart thrums with the magnitude of her trust. I brush a tentative kiss across her brow, feeling her breath hitch.

The city recedes around us as we share a long, quiet embrace, hearts pounding in relief, love, and possibilities.

The breeze carries a faint tang of ocean brine, stirring memories of how we once battled in an arena, how I nearly lost everything to keep her free.