Page 53

She pulls back, voice soft. “The city expects us to help guide Freedmen’s new place. But that doesn’t mean we must remain anchored to politics. Some Freedmen might unify well without a single champion.”

I nod, letting my hand rest atop hers. “We can watch from within the city, ensure Freedmen and crafters shape laws fairly. If we sense it drifting, we nudge them back. But maybe we belong on the roads, forging alliances with other enclaves. The world is vast, and Freedmen’s example might spread.”

She beams, tears pricking her eyes. “That’s exactly what I hoped we’d do. Travel as free souls, building bridges but never letting illusions claim us again.”

Warmth surges, overshadowing the pain in my leg.

Freed from champion’s rank, from Senate mandates, we can carve our own path.

Freedmen are strong enough to stand on their own now.

The city acknowledges them. Perhaps it’s time for Mira and me to taste the open seas Milthar is famed for, forging a fresh start.

My heart leaps at the prospect of exploring new lands with her, returning to Milthar when needed.

A slight cough behind us startles me. Tila stands at a polite distance, Freedman spear in hand. She dips her head. “Remanos, Mira—the crowd still lingers, hoping you’ll address them once more before we disperse. Some crafters talk about forming a Freedmen’s council. They want your blessing.”

Mira and I look at each other with amused, fond looks. I chuckle, patting Tila’s arm. “We’ll come. Freedmen can lead themselves, but if they want a final word from us, I can’t deny them.”

She grins. “We’ll gather them in the forum.” Then Tila hurries off.

I stand slowly, ignoring the stab of pain.

Mira steadies me with a hand at my elbow.

“Let’s do this.” She smiles, helping me limp back through the winding alley toward the forum.

As we approach, Freedmen greet us with spontaneous cheers, guiding us to a makeshift dais set amid the crowd.

The dais is a simple wooden platform crafters threw together, decorated with fresh garlands.

Senators stand aside, overshadowed by Freedmen’s presence—a living sign that the old order kneels to the new.

I climb the dais, heart pounding, Mira at my side.

Freedmen hush, crafters and city guards pressed close, waiting.

I search their faces: expectant, relieved, still shining with the euphoria of recent victory.

Tila gestures for me to speak. My mouth feels dry, but I recall every battered Freedman who died or bled to free the city from Vaelen’s chains. I owe them closure.

I raise my voice, letting quiet reign first. “Freedmen, crafters, city watchers. Today we stand as equals, no illusions of who is lesser or greater. Vaelen’s conspiracies are undone, the orcs have retreated.

This city is safe from that threat. And we have a chance to rebuild from within, forging laws that reflect Freedmen’s rights. ”

A wave of applause surges. I catch Mira’s gaze, her silent encouragement spurring me on.

“But you don’t need me as your champion.

That time is past. Freedmen soared on their own wings, crafters stood with them, city guards joined them.

All I ask is that you hold onto this unity, never letting a corrupt few divide you again. ”

Cheering erupts, Freedmen chanting. City watchers call, “Yes!” from the back. Some older Freedmen weep, recalling lifetimes of subjugation. Senators watch with solemn faces, a few bowing in acknowledgment. Tila tries to stifle tears.

I exhale, continuing, voice gentler, “I renounce any seat in the Senate, for my place is with Freedmen. We will stand by you as you shape this new era. Milthar belongs to those who love it, protect it, not to those who claim rank.”

More cheers, the dais trembling under the stomping hooves of Freedmen. Joy glints in every eye. An older Freedman with scars across his muzzle calls out, “We’ll carry this city forward, champion, never forgetting your example!”

A flush warms my neck. “I’m no champion. But if you must call me one, let it be in spirit only.” I step aside, letting Mira approach. The hush regathers, the crowd aware of her crucial role.

She speaks, voice resonant, “I was once a captive orc spoil. Then the Senate declared me a trophy. You Freedmen refused to let them define me. That solidarity saved Milthar. I ask you: save your city from repeating such cruelty. No more trophies, no more forced subjugations. Make that a bedrock of your new governance.”

Freedmen erupt in agreement. My heart pounds with pride at her fierce command, a woman who once was powerless but stands now as a guiding flame. She finishes, “Trust yourselves. Trade with integrity. Defend each other. This city’s destiny is in your hands.”

The thunderous applause resonates, Freedmen hugging crafters, city watchers nodding resolutely. I clasp her hand. She looks at me, tears shimmering. The forum rings with Freedmen chanting both our names, the massed crowd echoing with unbridled gratitude.

At last, Tila and a few Freedman elders approach, smiling. The elder, a broad-shouldered minotaur with a chest full of scars, speaks formally, “We vow Freedmen’s new council will never replicate the Senate’s corruption. We stand for equality, forging laws from the ground up.”

I rest a hand on his shoulder, voice soft but carrying, “Good. The city looks to you. May Freedmen lead with compassion where the Senate led with fear.”

He inclines his head, stepping back. Freedmen begin to disperse, some returning to normal tasks, others swirling around the dais, eager to discuss new charters.

Senators remain, apologetic but overshadowed by Freedmen’s enthusiasm.

I share a glance with Mira, reading her relief.

The final hurdle is crossed. Freedmen have claimed the city’s heart.

She leans in close, voice hushed so only I hear, “Ready to leave the forum? You look like you need rest.”

I exhale, the throbbing in my thigh intensifying now that the adrenaline fades. “Yes. Let Freedmen lead. We’ve done our part. I need to mend.”

We slip from the dais, Freedmen parting with applause and bowed heads.

Ortem calls a goodbye, but we vanish into the bustling streets.

Mira steadies me as I limp, grateful for her sturdy presence.

The city hums with life, crafters hammering away, Freedmen greeting each other with newly discovered pride.

Overhead, gulls circle, calling out as though celebrating our success.

We take a winding route back to the estate, avoiding the thickest crowds.

I pause near a small orchard, letting my leg rest. Mira’s beside me, pressing a cool waterskin to my lips.

I sip gratefully, mind swirling with the day’s events.

The orchard leaves rustle, reminiscent of the orchard where we once fended off orcs.

Now, no threat lurks there. The city can breathe again.

Mira exhales. “I can’t believe how drastically things changed. Freedmen controlling the dais, orcs gone, conspirators marched off. It’s… surreal.”

A gentle smile tugs at my muzzle. “We faced the worst illusions of power. Freedmen overcame them with pure unity. That’s real strength.”

She nods, slipping her hand in mine. The orchard’s dappled light falls across her face, stirring a pang of tenderness.

Before, we were forced together by a cruel tradition, me labeled a champion, her a spoil.

Now, we stand as equals by choice, forging a new life.

The city and Freedmen see it, accept it. My chest warms with gratitude.

Eventually, we continue on, Freedmen giving respectful space.

Once we reach the estate’s courtyard, Tiro and a few watchers greet us.

They nod, letting us pass into the main hall, smiling knowingly.

I sense they want to give us privacy. We slip inside, where the hush of midday quiet reigns.

The tension that once filled these corridors has receded.

Freedmen move freely, no Senate watchers lurking.

Mira guides me to a side chamber—a spacious lounge with soft cushions along the walls. I sink onto a cushion, leg throbbing. She kneels beside me, skilled fingers unwinding the bandage. My breath hitches at the ache, but her touch is gentle, patient.

She murmurs, “You’re pushing too hard. Let me help.”

I release a shuddering breath, letting her check the wound.

Blood soaks the cloth, though the cut’s not gaping.

She retrieves fresh linen from a chest in the corner, pressing it carefully.

Warmth spreads through my chest at her unwavering care.

Freedmen’s low conversation drifts in from the courtyard, a comforting background.

When she finishes re-bandaging, I catch her hand, pressing it against my heart. “Thank you—for everything. For freeing me from illusions I once clung to. For insisting I see Freedmen as partners, not subjects.”

Her cheeks flush. “You freed me too—taught me I’m not alone. That I deserve more than to be a spoil. We freed each other, champion.”

I close my eyes at her calling me champion. The title once weighed me down, but in her voice, it’s an endearment brimming with love. I draw her closer, ignoring the sting in my thigh, letting her settle beside me on the cushion. Our foreheads meet, breath mingling, everything else receding.

Softly, I confess, “Mira, no matter what Freedmen build or how the Senate reforms, I choose this life with you. A life forged in honesty, not Senate decrees.” My voice trembles.

“I want to walk the city’s streets, help Freedmen unify, maybe sail to distant lands if it calls us, but always return here with you. ”

Her eyes shine with tears, a trembling smile curving her lips. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want: forging new paths, returning when Freedmen need us, writing our own story.”