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We share a gentle kiss, relief washing through me.

The city stands on the cusp of renewal, Freedmen forging a new era.

I kneel in the hush, mindful of my wound, pulling her onto my lap with care, ignoring the ache if only for a moment of closeness.

She laughs softly against my chest, pressing her cheek to my fur.

The weight of the day’s events finally slips from my shoulders.

Freedmen handle official matters, trial for the conspirators proceeds, the city’s new future dawns.

I can rest in the knowledge that I’m no longer champion in name, but Freedmen’s trust means more than any hammered crest. Mira is safe, Freedmen are free, the conspirators undone, the orcs forced to depart with no gold or foothold.

A Freedman guard passes the doorway, glimpses us, and retreats with a small grin. We remain in the lounge, letting the swirl of city bustle fade. My breath steadies, her presence comforting. “We did it,” I murmur, voice laced with awe. “Truly ended Vaelen’s legacy.”

She buries her face against my chest, voice muffled. “Yes. Now we start something better.”

We linger in that quiet embrace, the estate’s sunshine draping over us, Freedmen’s happy chatter drifting from outside.

No illusions bind me to a champion’s role.

My vow belongs to Freedmen and to Mira, forging a life shaped by free will rather than Senate mandates.

My heart pulses with contentment, battered but at peace.

Tomorrow we might plan travels, or help Freedmen reorganize the city.

But for now, we embrace the calm of victory.

Eventually, she lifts her head, lips curving in a teasing smile. “I assume you’re not letting that leg hamper you too long. We can explore this city to see Freedmen’s laws in action.”

I chuckle, pressing a fond kiss to her forehead. “I’ll mend quickly. Then I’ll walk every street with you, showing Freedmen we trust them to lead, not overshadow them with some grand champion flair.”

Her warm laugh echoes. “You never lost that flair completely.”

My tail flicks in amusement. “Maybe a smidge remains,” I concede. “But Freedmen’s unity outshines any champion theatrics.”

She snuggles closer, contentment shimmering through the hush.

My chest feels full, throbbing with an almost giddy sense of relief.

I hold her gently, letting the estate’s gentle hush cradle us.

Freedmen handle the city’s affairs, orcs no longer threaten, the conspirators face justice.

The future belongs to Freedmen, crafters, and city watchers forging a joint council.

My burdens slip away, replaced by simple gratitude that we survived and triumphed.

A Freedman voice calls from the courtyard, announcing that the conspirators are officially marched off for trial in the open forum. Applause follows, echoing between columns. We exchange a joyful look. The final thread of Vaelen’s hold is undone.

I ease her from my lap with a soft kiss, swallowing the flicker of pain in my leg.

Taking her hand, I pull us upright. She helps me remain steady.

The hush of the lounge wraps around us, but the estate’s door stands open, sunlight beckoning.

Freedmen pass by, arms loaded with supplies for the city, each pausing to grin or wave.

This is no champion’s palace, but Freedmen’s stronghold, brimming with real camaraderie.

I speak quietly, voice hoarse with emotion, “Let’s greet them, show them we stand for them, not above them.”

Mira’s smile is radiant. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

We move together toward the open door, a new day shining beyond the threshold.

Freedmen’s footsteps mingle with crafters’ banter in the courtyard, city watchers greet us with salutes that feel genuine rather than forced.

I glance at Mira, my heart brimming with more than I can express.

Then we step outside, arms linked, meeting Freedmen’s bright expressions.

A hush falls momentarily, then Freedmen applaud spontaneously, crafters whistling, city watchers clapping spear shafts on stone.

Some approach to embrace us, others bow or grin.

The courtyard fills with warmth and unity.

This is the resolution we fought for: Freedmen recognized, no illusions, no spoils, no orc deals, no champion enthroned above them. Just a city claiming its soul.

I clear my throat, lifting my free arm to quiet the applause. “We are Freedmen among Freedmen,” I say, voice trembling with gratitude. “Let’s move forward together. The city belongs to all of us.”

Cheering swells, echoing off the estate’s columns, fluttering the new Freedmen banners overhead. Mira leans into me, eyes shining. My chest tightens with a calm certainty that no old illusions remain.

The conspirators are gone, the orcs repulsed, Freedmen stand victorious, and I am free—free to live and love as I choose, not bound by Senate demands.

As the day unfolds around us, bright with promise, Mira’s glance brushes mine.

It’s a glance that brims with unspoken tenderness: we’ll face tomorrow’s challenges hand in hand, forging new paths for Freedmen, crafters, city watchers, and all who call Milthar home.

There’s nothing left to chain us. We stand as equals, Freedmen among Freedmen, forging a new dawn.

And in that moment, with the city singing around us and Mira’s hand clasped in mine, I know I’ve truly won my greatest battle—not the duel in the arena, but the right to live free, guided by love and integrity rather than a hollow champion’s mantle.