Page 58

REMANOS

I stroll through the winding streets of Milthar’s bustling heart, the sun shining down on me in a way that feels gentler now—no tension thrumming in the air, no watchful guard in the corner scanning my every move.

It’s as if the city itself breathes easier.

Freedmen have claimed the forum, forging committees and councils to shape new laws.

Crafters hawk fresh wares, newly confident that trade can flourish without orc extortion or Senate meddling.

Passing them, I sense an undercurrent of excitement crackling through the streets, an awareness that real change is here at last.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a polished metal tray set out by a merchant.

The face staring back is battered but alive with a kind of peace I never thought I’d find.

My horns, once polished for champion’s appearances, are unadorned—just rough bone, scuffed from my last battles.

The city doesn’t mind. They see me for what I truly am: a Freedman among Freedmen, a minotaur who refused to let illusions rule him.

And that knowledge alone feels lighter than any crown of laurels the Senate could’ve placed on my head.

The sweet scents of orchard blooms linger in the morning breeze.

Many Freedmen decorate their stalls with garlands, celebrating the city’s rebirth.

Children dart between them, shrieking in playful banter.

Every corner of Milthar brims with renewed life.

I notice Freedmen guards patrolling, not under Senate orders but at the request of local merchants who trust Freedmen more than the old watchmen.

The entire power structure has shifted, though carefully, to something fairer.

A few Freedmen pause their chatter, noticing me.

One or two wave, calling out, “Remanos, safe travels!” My chest squeezes with a rush of gratitude.

News spread quickly that Mira and I plan to leave soon, to sail beyond Milthar’s shores.

Freedmen appear both proud and wistful about our decision, aware we’ve chosen the freedom we helped them secure.

I dip my head in acknowledgment, continuing down a lane that leads to the harbor. My thigh aches faintly from the old injury, but the wound no longer cripples me. Each step is a reminder I survived the orc clashes, Vaelen’s conspiracies, the forced champion’s rank. Freed from illusions, indeed.

The harbor opens up before me in a wash of sunlit water.

Dozens of ships bob at the piers, sails fluttering in a gentle breeze.

Dockworkers labor with renewed vigor, hauling crates for future trade.

Freedmen with rolled parchments negotiate shipping routes—crafters adding color-coded stamps to boxes, ensuring clarity.

The entire place buzzes with possibilities. I exhale, taking it all in.

At the edge of the docks, an elegant yet sturdy craft awaits, no lavish decoration or Senate crest, just solid wood that can handle long voyages.

The Freedmen council insisted on gifting us a vessel, but we refused anything too grand.

This simpler sloop suits me better. I run a hand over the smooth railing, checking the rigging.

The Freedmen crafters who built it did fine work—my tail swishes in quiet satisfaction.

Footsteps approach behind me. I check behind me to find Mira, hands clasped together, eyes bright with the same anticipation stirring in my veins.

She’s dressed in travel leathers, a light cloak draped around her shoulders.

Just yesterday, she wore the layered veils for our lifemate ceremony.

My heart warms at the memory. No illusions, no forced stance.

Now, she’s simply my partner, about to embark on a shared journey.

She smiles when she sees me examining the boat. “You seem pleased,” she notes, stepping close enough for me to feel the gentle brush of her hip against mine.

I nod, tail giving a slow flick. “It’s a good vessel.

Freedmen crafters poured skill into its design, and it’s small enough for us to manage with a minimal crew.

” The mere thought of drifting on open waters, exploring beyond Milthar’s coast, sends a ripple of excitement through my chest. “Where shall we sail first?” I ask softly, meeting her gaze.

She tilts her head, eyes drifting to the horizon. “There are rumors of new human enclaves across the sea—some free from orc raids. Or we could head toward minotaur outposts rumored to trade with humans more peacefully. It’s all open to us, truly.”

I can’t suppress a small grin. “You’re the wanderer by nature. I’ll follow wherever you feel drawn.”

Her expression softens. “We’ll decide together. The world is big, and we’re free of Senate obligations.” She lifts her face, scanning the busy harbor. “Though Freedmen might protest our departure. They admire you.”

An affectionate sigh escapes me. “The city has Freedmen councils now. They don’t need a single champion or Senate figurehead. Our departure is a testament to that—they can stand without illusions of a leader.”

Mira nods, brushing her fingers lightly across my forearm.

A quiet moment passes between us, filled with the hum of dockworkers and the call of gulls overhead.

I gather her hand in mine, pressing a tender kiss to her palm.

She arches a brow, half teasing. “Still in that gentle mode after last night’s union? ”

A rush of heat floods my cheeks, recalling the intensity of our ceremony. “Hard to forget,” I murmur, a playful gleam in my eye. “You accepted me in every sense. I’ll probably stay in that mood for a while.”

She laughs softly, leaning closer. “I approve.”

Before I can respond, the rhythmic sound of Freedmen footsteps nears.

Tiro and Tila approach, grinning wide. Tiro calls out, “Remanos, Mira—the Freedmen council awaits near the pier. They’d like to give you a formal send-off.

” He gestures to a small gathering of Freedmen wearing sashes in different colors, symbolic of their roles.

Our eyes meet in silent understanding, hearts thudding with mingled affection and reluctance.

We cross the docks, weaving between piles of crates and coiled ropes, until we reach the group.

They number about a dozen, a mix of crafters, ex-city guards, and Freedmen who once labored under forced contracts.

The instant they see us, their faces light with respect.

A Freedman elder steps forward, the same broad-shouldered bull who presided over some of the city’s new governance.

His muzzle twitches in a friendly smile.

“Remanos, Mira,” he says, voice carrying.

“Before you set sail, we offer our gratitude. The city stands on a new horizon, Freedmen forging laws that respect all. You gifted us the spark to realize we never needed the Senate’s illusions. ”

I swallow emotion, recalling the day Freedmen stormed the arena to defend Mira from orcs, how they overcame Vaelen’s manipulations. “You overcame everything yourselves,” I say, voice tight. “All I did was show you a path. Freedmen walked it.”

He dips his head. “Perhaps, but we’d have stumbled longer without your example.

And Mira’s unwavering spirit.” He steps back, letting Tila approach.

She holds a small wooden plaque, carved with Freedmen’s new emblem—a stylized bull’s horn entwined with a crafters’ hammer, representing unity. Tila offers it to us.

My eyes find Mira, who nods, eyes shining. I accept the plaque, running a thumb over the delicate carving. “Thank you,” I murmur, chest constricting with pride. “We’ll keep it aboard, a reminder that Freedmen’s bravery once saved us all.”

The elder Freedman nods. “And if you ever return, we’d welcome you both as honored kin. The city’s gates remain open, Freedman to Freedman.”

My tail flicks a bit more enthusiastically than usual. “We’ll come back,” I promise, “if only to see how the city flourishes under your new council.”

Mira squeezes my hand. Her gaze roves over the watchers, a wave of affection shining in her face. “Guard the city well, and guard each other. We trust you.”

Tiro steps forward, offering a short salute. “We have watchers posted along every gate, crafters forging alliances with neighboring enclaves, and a new Freedman-led legislative group. We’ll do more than guard. We’ll grow.”

My chest warms. A hush falls as Tila calls out, “Let’s give them a Freedman’s farewell.

” Freedmen around us raise their fists or bows, letting out a resonant cry that echoes over the water.

My throat tightens, tears prickling behind my eyes.

To be accepted so fully—once I was champion with forced illusions, now just Remanos the Freedman, beloved by the city.

With quiet nods, Mira and I retreat from the group, making our way back to the waiting sloop. Freedmen linger, presumably wanting to see us off. A few crafters holler last-minute well-wishes. Tila tosses Mira a small pouch of dried fruit for the journey. Laughter mingles with tears.

At the sloop’s gangplank, I turn, letting my gaze sweep the harbor one last time.

Freedmen, crafters, watchers—everyone stands in an unspoken unity that wouldn’t have been possible months before.

My battered heart brims with awe. I feel Mira’s hand slide into mine, fingers twining.

Slowly, we step onto the deck, Freedmen cheering from the pier’s edge.

Tiro calls out, “Smooth winds, champion!” His grin reveals he’s aware champion is no longer an official title but a heartfelt acknowledgment.

Freedmen wave, crafters wave their hats.

Mira and I wave back, the sloop rocking gently beneath us.

Then we turn to see a small volunteer crew Freedmen insisted on sending to help sail us out of the harbor.

Perhaps half a dozen minotaurs and humans, some city watchers bored with old duties, now eager for a taste of open water.