Page 59

Mira releases a pent-up breath, scanning the rigging. “This craft is lovely. Freedmen’s craftsmanship never ceases to amaze me.”

I nod, testing the wheel. “No illusions, only honest skill.”

The volunteer crew sets to work, untying lines, loosening sails.

Freedmen on the docks throw off the last mooring ropes, hollering final farewells.

A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins as the sail catches a gentle breeze, the sloop gliding away from Milthar’s pier.

The city’s coastline unfurls in a magnificent panorama of arches and columns, Freedmen’s banners fluttering on the upper towers.

Mira’s right beside me, cloak ruffling in the wind. She leans over the railing, watching Freedmen recede. “It’s surreal,” she whispers. “No champion’s duty, no Senate chain, just the sea ahead.”

I reach out, resting a reassuring palm on her shoulder. “We earned this freedom. Freedmen are safe, orcs driven out, conspirators tried. We can choose our next chapter.”

Her eyes gleam with tears that never quite fall. “And we’ll write our own laws along the way,” she murmurs, half to herself.

A jolt of warmth flickers in my chest. “Yes,” I echo softly. “No illusions can bind us now.”

The sloop’s hull cleaves through calm waves, picking up speed.

The city shrinks behind us, Freedmen’s cheers fading into a gentle hum.

The volunteer crew hums sea shanties while adjusting rigging, content to let us drift along.

Mira and I share a private smile, leaning over the deck rail.

The salt air stings my nose, reminiscent of new beginnings.

After a time, she exhales and meets my gaze. “Remember how you once had everything: champion’s seat, Senate favor, a hammered crest? Did you ever imagine throwing it all away for a single woman?”

I huff a soft laugh, half incredulous at the memory.

“Never. But I realize none of it was real. Freedmen’s acceptance is real, your love is real.

” I brush her cheek with my knuckles, marveling at how easily she closes her eyes to the touch.

“II’d choose this to stand here again, free from illusions. ”

She cups my jaw in return, voice going husky. “And I’d endure every scrap of scorn or captivity to find this moment with you. But I’m glad we can leave that behind. No more forced tributes. No more orc hunts.”

A silent vow passes between us, acknowledgment that though we overcame the worst, we remain vigilant. But for now, let the sea carry us. The wind picks up, sails billowing. Our volunteer Freedmen grin, calling instructions to each other, guiding the sloop skillfully out of Milthar’s harbor.

The open ocean beckons—a shimmering expanse of possibilities.

The waves swirl, foam cresting in pale green arcs.

I shift slightly, leaning on the railing, letting the wind brush my horns.

My wounded leg protests but no longer hinders me.

The tang of salt, the rhythmic roll of the deck, and the knowledge that we are truly free from champion’s edicts lifts me to a serene state I never knew I craved.

Mira stands close, hip grazing mine in companionable silence. Then, with a sidelong grin, she murmurs, “You realize Freedmen will keep building their city without you. They might rename it Freedman’s Haven or something equally grand.”

I chuckle. “They might. And I’ll come back one day to see them thriving. But I suspect they’ll keep the name Milthar—honoring the place we’ve all fought to reclaim. Freedmen don’t hold grudges against a city’s name, just the illusions that once choked it.”

She hums in agreement. “True. They overcame illusions. And so did we. Hard to believe how we once circled each other, me cursing you as a mere champion, you resenting me as a forced spoil. Now we sail side by side.”

I shift closer, letting my tail curl around her waist in a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps it was a messy path, but it led us here. That’s enough.”

She laughs, low and musical, pressing her shoulder to mine.

For a time, we stand like that, content to watch the ocean stretch out.

The Freedmen crew behind us chatters, marveling at calm seas and the bright horizon.

I overhear one mention how good it is to sail for themselves, not for Senate errands.

My chest warms. The final bits of old champion pride evaporate, replaced by something stronger: Freedmen’s bond and Mira’s unwavering acceptance.

At last, the coastline recedes to a mere line in the distance, the city’s towers faint silhouettes.

We near open waters, the sloop rocking gently.

Mira looks over her shoulder at me, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Ready for whatever awaits across the sea, champion?” she teases, well aware champion is no longer official but a private nickname between us.

I smirk, stepping forward so our bodies align from chest to thigh. “I’m ready if you stand beside me, lifemate,” I say, letting the last word roll off my tongue with quiet reverence. She beams, pink blooming across her cheeks. My heart flips at that sight.

She slides her arms around my middle, ignoring the Freedmen crew’s kindly glances.

“Then we’ll face it together,” she murmurs, pressing her mouth gently to my collarbone.

The sensation lances pleasure through me, reminiscent of the raw passion we shared at the ceremony.

I exhale shakily, savoring her closeness.

Over the next hours, we sail steadily out to sea, Freedmen alternating shifts at the helm and rigging.

Mira and I gather with them occasionally, sharing water and fruit, discussing possible routes.

They mention rumors of human outposts or minotaur enclaves distant from Milthar’s politics.

My mind stirs with excitement. We can chart new territory, forging alliances Freedmen might benefit from eventually.

As dusk approaches, the horizon glows in a molten blaze of orange and pink.

The Freedmen crew respectfully retreats to the bow, giving us the stern’s quiet.

We settle on a small bench built against the railing, side by side, letting the breeze ruffle our hair and fur.

A hush blankets the sea, waves rolling in a gentle lull.

Mira laces her fingers with mine, her gaze fixed on the last sliver of sun dipping into the water. “All those illusions, champion’s rank, Senate demands—they feel like a distant dream now,” she says, voice hushed.

I nod, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “We overcame them, not letting them define us. Freedmen overcame illusions, we overcame illusions, and we found each other along the way.”

She turns, eyes gleaming with emotion. “I’d endure every clash, every sabotage, if it means standing here with you, free to shape my life.”

My throat tightens. “Likewise, lifemate.” I press a soft kiss to her temple. The word lifemate still sends a thrill through me, a reminder of the vow we sealed beneath swirling veils and a priestess’s blessing. Freed from illusions, indeed.

Night settles gently, stars blinking into view.

One Freedman from the crew lights a lantern near the helm.

The water around us shimmers in the moon’s reflection, a pale path leading us onward.

Mira leans her head on my shoulder, content sigh brushing my fur.

My tail coils around her waist in a subtle embrace.

We don’t speak for a while, letting the ocean’s hush lull us.

At length, she shifts, turning those bright eyes on me. “So,” she whispers, a teasing smile flickering, “any final words for the city we left behind? Anything you regret not telling Freedmen?”

I shake my head slowly. “No regrets. I said all that needed saying. Freedmen know they hold Milthar’s future. I trust them. As for us, we walk our own path now.”

She nods in satisfaction. The Freedmen crew in the bow breaks into soft laughter, exchanging stories about how they once labored under the Senate’s oppressive rules. My chest warms, remembering how they volunteered for this journey specifically because they yearned for the open sea. Freed indeed.

Mira straightens, her tone turning playful. “We might soon write a new story for Freedmen if we find uncharted enclaves. Maybe we’ll come back with trade agreements or knowledge that shapes Milthar further.”

I grin, tail flicking in anticipation. “Yes, or we might find nothing but open water. Either way, we do it free from illusions.”

She hums in agreement, shifting so she straddles my lap, arms looping around my neck. My breath catches, her sudden closeness igniting that familiar spark. “And if we find only open water,” she murmurs, lips inches from mine, “then we’ll sail on to the next horizon, forging our own law.”

My heart thuds, recalling the vow we made: no illusions, no old rank, forging new truths together. I curve my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. “We write our own laws now,” I echo, voice a low rumble.

A flicker of heat lights her gaze. “Then let them fear the pen more than the blade,” she counters softly, quoting the very phrase we joked about days earlier.

A wave of warmth surges through me. In that single line, we frame our future: not champion’s duels, but shared knowledge, Freedmen alliances, forging a fairer world.

I close the distance, capturing her mouth in a slow, tender kiss, the sea wind tousling my mane.

Freedmen in the bow discreetly look away, letting us share this private moment.

My chest brims with a fierce love that overshadowed every trial behind us.

And with that, the final illusions of champion’s rank or Senate oversight slip away, leaving only the luminous promise of new beginnings.

We remain locked in that gentle kiss for a timeless interval, the sloop cutting across moonlit waters, Freedmen softly humming at the bow. When at last we separate, breath mingling, I hold her gaze, heart pounding. The echo of her words resonates in my mind: We write our own laws now.

The sails overhead billow, the rigging creaking in the hush.

Mira shifts off my lap, tucking herself against my side, her head on my shoulder.

We stare at the silver path across the ocean, a horizon beckoning us with open arms. Freed from illusions, we set forth as lifemates, Freedmen in spirit, forging a story no Senate can rewrite.

In that hush, the final lines ring clear in my mind, echoing the vow we share, the city we leave behind, and the future we dare to embrace.