I find Mira waiting at the estate’s entrance, leaning against a low stone wall. She glances over her shoulder, relief lighting her face when she sees me. She steps forward, face half-lit bythe sun, the shadow beneath her eyes a testament to sleepless nights. Yet her posture brims with energy, as if each dawn breath is a promise of a new beginning.
“You’re up,” she says softly, scanning me for signs of pain. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to walk so soon.”
I nod, pressing a palm to my bandaged thigh. “I’ll manage. A Freedman courier says Ortem wants me at the Senate. Likely some formal resolution for Vaelen’s trial.”
Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t protest. “Then let’s go. Freedmen want to see you there. Besides,” she adds, eyes sparking with gentle amusement, “I’d like to hear them squirm when they realize Freedmen aren’t bowing to them anymore.”
A small laugh escapes me. “Yes. Let’s see how the Senate scrambles now that orcs fled and their conspirators face trial.” I offer my arm, and she tucks her hand against it, mindful of my injury. Together, we depart the estate, Freedmen parting with quiet cheers and well-wishes. The city’s roads stretch before us, full of purposeful activity rather than lurking dread. Word spread that Vaelen’s betrayal was unmasked; crafters greet Freedmen as equals, exchanging half-smiles and thanks.
We walk carefully, each step nudging my wounded leg. Mira glances at me with a flicker of concern, but I press forward, determined to see this final chapter through. As we near the Senate’s grand forum, the hum of voices rises, a crowd of commoners thronging the marble steps. Freedmen, city guard, and crafters gather in a sea of color, an unspoken alliance bridging old class divides. Where once haughty Vakkak used to glare down upon Freedmen, now Freedmen stand tall, armed with the moral victory that cast out Vaelen’s twisted schemes.
Mira squeezes my arm. “Look. They’re waiting for you.” Her tone is hushed, equal parts pride and trepidation.
I follow her gaze to see Ortem near the forum’s top steps, flanked by a small cluster of senators, some wearing uneasyexpressions. Guards line the columns, but Freedmen approach them with no sign of fear, engaged in low conversation. My chest swells with a complicated swirl of relief, satisfaction, and an edge of bitterness at how easily the Senate tries to reclaim normalcy after nearly destroying the city. Yet I sense a shift: Freedmen are no longer second-class on these steps. They stand as rightful voices.
We climb the broad stairs, Freedmen parted to let us pass, many patting my shoulder or bowing to Mira. She acknowledges them with quiet warmth. My side throbs, but I refuse to limp. Ortem steps forward to meet us, voice subdued. “Remanos, Mira. Thank you for coming. The city calls for clarity after recent turmoil.”
I raise a brow. “Clarity is good. Freedmen want more than words, though. They want assurance they’ll never face another Vaelen.”
He winces, fiddling with the edges of his senatorial robe. “I know. We let him manipulate the Senate. We… failed Milthar. Now we stand ready to right some of these wrongs.”
A hush falls as more senators circle around. The crowd below watches, murmuring anxiously. Freedmen cross their arms, waiting. Ortem glances at me, then addresses the crowd in a measured voice. “Citizens of Milthar, your Senate convenes to address the aftermath of Vaelen’s treachery. Through Freedmen’s courage and Remanos’s unwavering defense, the orc infiltration was repelled, and the traitors arrested. We owe Freedmen our gratitude.”
A smattering of applause rises, mostly Freedmen and crafters who stand proud. The city guard, also present, nod in agreement. Ortem gestures for me to step forward, and I do so, ignoring the twinge in my thigh. Senators part, allowing me space at the top of the steps. I can see the entire forum stretched out—once I stood here as champion, a symbol of might. Now Istand simply as Remanos, Freedman in spirit, and the city’s self-appointed defender.
Ortem’s voice carries: “Remanos, you once wore the champion’s mantle. You lost it by defying the Senate’s command to surrender Mira. Yet Freedmen, crafters, and guards acknowledge your leadership. In light of new evidence, we’d offer to reinstate your champion rank, or even propose you to the Senate’s upper echelons. We believe your strength and moral compass could guide us away from corruption.”
A ripple of excitement travels through the crowd. Freedmen watch with hopeful eyes. Some crafters murmur in approval. But a tug of sorrow and conviction settles in my chest. I glance at Mira, who squeezes my hand, silently supporting me. She knows I never sought power for its own sake.
Steadying my breath, I lift my head, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “I am honored by the Senate’s offer. But I cannot accept a seat among you. My role as champion ended when I refused to condemn Mira as a spoil. I stand by that choice. Freedmen taught me that real honor lies in defending the powerless, not parading under a title that serves the Senate’s illusions.”
Murmurs of surprise spread. I raise a hand, continuing, “Milthar doesn’t need a single champion with a hammered crest. Milthar needs Freedmen, crafters, and loyal guards to share power equally, forging laws that protect everyone. I’d rather remain among them, a Freedman who fights for truth. No seat in the Senate can compare to that bond.”
A hush grips the forum. Some senators blink in astonishment. Freedmen break into quiet cheers. Ortem’s shoulders slump, half relief, half resignation. He nods, seemingly comprehending the finality of my stance. Before the silence can suffocate me, I beckon Mira forward. She steps up, cheeks coloring under the crowd’s collective gaze.
Taking her hand, I turn to the mass of onlookers. “Mira is not a spoil. She is no trophy to appease orcs or placate the Senate’s politics. She is my equal, my partner, the one who exposed Vaelen’s conspiracy, the reason Freedmen believed we could stand for ourselves. I will not let any outdated tradition label her as property again. She stands beside me as a free woman, recognized by all Freedmen who followed our cause.”
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 guardwave 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.”
