Chapter 30: Children of Freedom
442words
At the foot of the mountain, near the old pass of Shadowfang Ridge, stood a stone tablet.
No noble crest.
No gilded leaves.
Only three simple words, carved by hand:
Valley of Freedom.
A little boy came tumbling up the slope, swinging a wooden sword.
“I’m gonna be the next boss!”
A twin-tailed girl ran after him, rolling her eyes.
“You can’t even catch a rabbit, keep dreaming!”
The two wrestled mid-run, sending a basket of wild berries flying in every direction.
I walked over and crouched down, picking up the scattered fruit.
“If you want to lead, you’d better have the strength to carry lunch first.”
The kids giggled and ran off again.
I watched their backs for a moment.
Then whispered:
“How beautiful.”
Turning away, I walked back toward the valley gates.
The settlement was no longer a patchwork of tents.
Stone houses stood in neat rows.
At the market, there were leatherworkers, blacksmiths, and even an old woman who sold sweet cakes from a wooden stall.
The slaves were now people with names.
With homes, with families, with dreams.
No numbers.
No whips.
We even had a council now—though most meetings ended in arguments and flying chairs.
Killian was named "External Liaison"—the smooth talker of the bunch.
But his favorite routine was knocking on my door with breakfast in hand.
“Daphne, I dreamt you climbed over the wall to steal fruit again.”
“I never steal,” I would mutter.
“I confiscate, in broad daylight.”
One day, a messenger from the central lands came to visit.
The high council was holding a ceremony, they said.
To “commemorate the end of the Shadowfang Civil War.”
I declined.
“They ended a war, yes. But not the shame that fed it.”
“And what we’ve built here—isn’t a dream of peace.
It’s a land that belongs to no one.”
That night, I sat on the stone steps of Freedom Valley, the stars blanketing the ridgeline.
Tai leapt down from the rooftop.
“Boss, we taking the new folks to see the well tomorrow?”
I nodded.
Then he asked, almost cautiously:
“You planning to stay boss forever?”
I thought for a moment, then smiled.
“Being ‘boss’ isn’t a title.
It’s a promise.”
“As long as this land breathes—
As long as someone remembers the dungeon nights—
I’ll be here.”
The wind passed through the valley like a lullaby.
And I whispered:
“Mother, you gave me birth. You gave me death.”
“But my rebirth—I gave to myself.”
“And this land too.”
Then I stood, and walked down the mountain.
Toward the glow of a thousand fires.
Fires that would never go out again.
THE END
