Velrik perched stiffly in the back of the rattling wagon, his ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound. The road beneath them had deteriorated from smooth cobblestones to rough, uneven dirt, jostling the travelers with each rut and stone that cut through the rolling landscape. The air hung heavy with the rich scent of damp earth and fresh-cut hay, mingling with the sharper, foreign tang of distant city life.

  Elisa occupied the space beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her gaze focused resolutely on the horizon. Joren leaned comfortably against the side of the wagon, whistling a carefree tune under his breath, while Mira absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve, her usual exuberance dimmed. Ever-watchful Dain kept a firm hand on the edge of the wagon, scanning the vast fields that unfolded around them. Together, they had lived their lives confined behind stone walls and iron bars. Now, the open world yawned before them, vast and uncertain.

  It was Lucien Dreymont who had offered them this chance—though the cost of his intervention remained cloaked in ambiguity. The half-elf had deftly pulled strings, whispered to the authorities, and ensured their release as "free individuals" rather than mere possessions to be dealt away. Still, Velrik couldn’t shake the echo of Lucien’s parting words resonating in his mind. “Freedom isn’t the end of this road. It’s just another step to becoming an independent person.”

  He wrapped his tail tightly around himself, fingers idly tracing through his fur. Relief and joy should have blossomed within him, yet all he felt was a gnawing uncertainty. The manor had been his world for many years, its rules both imprisoning and guiding. Now, the shackles had fallen—but without rules, without direction, there was no clear path ahead.

  The wagon hit a particularly deep rut, jolting them all from their thoughts. Mira let out a sharp yelp, catching herself just before tumbling into Joren, who erupted into laughter. "Careful there, Mira! We wouldn’t want you flinging yourself back into captivity."

  She shot him a dark glare but remained silent, even her usual sharp retorts dulled by the heavy weight of their circumstances.

  As the wagon crested a hill, the city unfolded before them in a sprawling panorama. Velrik's breath hitched in his throat; the sight was overwhelming.

  Suddenly, Mira sat up straighter, her eyes widening with excitement as she pointed ahead. "Look!" she breathed.

  Velrik followed the direction of her gaze, and his breath caught in his throat.

  The city sprawled outward in a chaotic tapestry of stone and timber, buildings haphazardly stacked as though sculpted by unseen hands. Smoke billowed from countless chimneys, winding upward like serpents into the haze of early morning light.

  "Gods above…" Dain muttered, eyes wide. "It’s bigger than I imagined."

  Elisa turned to Velrik, her expression unreadable. “Are you ready?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated. Was he ready? Would he ever be? Instead of voicing those doubts, he nodded quietly.

  As they approached the gates, more details came into focus—narrow alleyways snaking between buildings, the distant clamor of life inside the city. The streets swarmed with life—merchants peddling wares, beggars lingering in the shadows of alleyways, armored guards patrolling with purposeful strides. The din of it enveloped him—the shouts of vendors hawking their goods, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, and the distant hum of human voices—it pressed in upon him, suffocating in its enormity. His nose twitched, picking up an enticing medley of scents on the wind: roasting meat, fresh bread, smoke, and spices—a tantalizing invitation.

  Crossing through the city gates, Velrik was engulfed by a strange sense of detachment, as if observing himself from afar. Once a small fox-like creature confined to the manor as a pet, he now stepped into a world that had always felt distant and untouchable.

  The streets were narrow, bustling with life, lined with shops and taverns spilling into the uneven cobblestones. Pedestrians jostled past them as the wagon rolled on, their faces blurring into a whirlwind of expressions—some indifferent, others openly hostile. Noise buzzed in the air: the sharp cries of vendors calling to customers, the rumbles of carts and wagons over stone, and the melodic strains of music drifting from open doorways. Velrik’s ears flattened against his skull, overwhelmed by the symphony of sounds.

  A sudden pressure around his fingers brought him back to the present. Elisa had reached for his hand, her grip cool and slightly trembling. "Stay close," she murmured, a hint of worry overlaying her words. "We don't know what to expect here."

  He nodded and squeezed her hand in response. Together, they would face whatever lay ahead—be it opportunity or danger.

  With a jolt, the wagon came to a halt. The clamor of the city faded just enough for Velrik to catch the heavy thud of boots hitting the ground as guards dismounted, leather and wood creaking as they began unloading their passengers.

  Velrik curled his tail tightly around his feet, wariness evident as his gaze darted about. He had never truly set foot inside a building outside his confinement. The manor had been a gilded cage, the grand halls and manicured gardens naught but an elaborate illusion of freedom. It was the only reality he could remember.

  Elisa gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It'll be alright," she whispered, yet the tremor in her voice betrayed her own uncertainty.

  The guards ushered them out of the wagon, their grips firm but not unkind, guiding the former captives toward the looming stone structure ahead. Vines coiled around its walls, creeping from the flowerbeds that flanked the base, their emerald tendrils softening the stark lines of man-made architecture. Nature reclaimed its space—an odd but beautiful contrast.

  As they stepped inside, Velrik’s whiskers twitched at the mingling scents of aged stone, damp air, and the sharp bite of metal. The corridor ahead was dimly lit, light filtering through tall, narrow windows and casting shifting beams across the dust-laden air. Each step echoed off the vaulted ceiling, a steady drumbeat against the silence pressing down upon them.

  Moving deeper into the building, Velrik’s gaze swept over the heavy wooden doors lining the corridor, each bearing an iron plate engraved with insignias he didn’t recognize. His tail bristled; this place felt cold—not merely in temperature but in its intent. It felt built to confine and judge.

  The guards led them into a stark chamber furnished only with a sturdy wooden table and several chairs arranged at its center.

  “Sit,” one of the guards ordered, his voice rough with authority.

  Velrik hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. He had spent years learning to blend into the background, to slip through unseen spaces. But now, in this empty room under the inquisitive scrutiny of strangers, he felt stripped of that ability. There was nowhere to hide.

  Dain sat across the table, arms crossed, his expression unfathomable. Beside him, Elisa’s throat worked hard as she swallowed, fingers twisting nervously together. Mira’s eyes darted toward the door, as if weighing the odds of escape. Velrik took his seat slowly, forcing himself to remain composed, even as unease twisted in his gut.

  The questioning commenced with Dain. The guards spoke in measured, careful tones, their words probing. Velrik caught snippets of their exchange—their backgrounds, the years spent at the manor, Lord Veldoran’s dealings. Dain’s responses were curt but articulate, each word diligently chosen. As he spoke another guard appeared to be writing something down.

  Next was Elisa, her voice quieter, edged with hesitation. Then Mira, who answered with a defiant briskness, her replies sharp and to the point. Joren was just before Velrik, it was obvious he didn’t have any good information for them, since the guard jotting down notes only listed.

  Finally, all eyes swung toward Velrik. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat as the two guards stationed before him settled in, expressions unreadable, their scrutiny heavy.

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  “Name?” one demanded sharply.

  Velrik lowered his gaze, fingers tightening around the edge of his chair. “Velrik,” he replied, voice steady despite the tension coiling within him.

  The guard nodded slightly, tilting his head inquisitively. “And what are you?”

  The question hung in the air, and Velrik hesitated. What was he? A Vulpin, yes—but was that the answer they were looking for? The anxiety of the situation weighing on him.

  “I’m... a Vulpin,” he murmured at last, words barely escaping.

  The two men exchanged glances before one leaned forward, the air shifting from authority to genuine curiosity. “A Vulpin? Never heard of that before. Where are you from exactly?”

  Velrik’s ears twitched; the question was perilous. Vaelwyn had been hidden for a reason, he reminded himself of how he’s in this predicament in the first place. Its existence was a closely guarded secret. He couldn't risk exposure, not even here; though, he’s not even sure where it really is. His only clues are the places he passed through on the way here years ago.

  “I... I don’t remember,” he replied finally, keeping his voice small, almost uncertain. It wasn’t entirely untruthful; he had been too young when he was taken to retain every detail. “I was taken from my home when I was very young.”

  The guards scrutinized him for a long moment, then one of them gave a slow nod, appearing satisfied. The questions shifted, turning toward Lord Veldoran and the circumstances surrounding their newfound freedom. Velrik remained vague in his replies, careful not to divulge more than necessary. Mira’s gaze would flicker in his direction now and then, assessing how much he intended to reveal.

  At last, the questioning came to an end. One of the guards nodded curtly, gesturing toward the door. “You’re free to go.”

  Velrik barely had time to process the words before Elisa was at his side, pulling him into an embrace both fierce and warm. The suddenness stole his breath, her grip trembling yet firm around him.

  “It’s over,” she whispered, voice thick with relief. Was she trying to comfort him or herself? It didn’t really matter now, he was just glad to be free of those cold stares the guards gave him.

  Velrik let himself exhale, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease, but the weight still anchored low in his chest, whispering that their trials were far from finished.

  Elisa pulled back slightly, her hands cradling Velrik's face, fingers pressing gently into the fur of his cheeks as she searched his eyes. Concern twisted her brow, but her tone remained steady. "You did well, Velrik," she murmured, meant to soothe. "We all did. Now we just have to figure out what happens next."

  Velrik nodded, although the tight knot of anxiety in his stomach refused to loosen. The uncertainty loomed like a storm cloud overhead, heavy and oppressive. He had spent so long surviving day to day that the thought of planning for the future felt alien.

  Sensing his tension, Mira slipped beside him, draping an arm over his shoulders with a playful smirk. "Hey there, little fox," she teased, giving him a gentle squeeze. The nickname, once a source of annoyance, had morphed into something familiar and comforting. "Don’t look so grim. We’ve got each other now. No more sneaking off alone, no more hiding in the shadows."

  Glimpsing up at her, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite his concern. Her confidence and certainty were infectious; some of the weight on his chest lifted with her words.

  Dain, arms crossed, let out a low grunt. "Speaking of sneaking off," he said, fixing Velrik with an amused, yet warning glance, "I hope you’ve learned to stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. The free world is treacherous enough without inviting more trouble."

  Velrik’s ears twitched, flattening slightly against his head as his gaze dropped, feeling embarrassed yet unable to argue. He had often relied on his instincts and cunning, but perhaps recklessness had played a larger role in his life at the manor than he cared to confess. Learning caution might serve him better now.

  Joren, always the light-hearted one, clapped his hands together. "Well, now that we’ve finished worrying Velrik, we should probably figure out how to keep from starving. I don’t think ‘former slaves’ pays well at all."

  Laughter rippled through the group, tension easing in the aftermath of their questioning. But before they could dwell on the uncertain future too long, the heavy door at the far end of the room swung open.

  Lucien Dreymont entered with an air of quiet authority; his fine coat was pristine despite the journey behind him. The guards straightened, their posture rigid with deference.

  "Lord Dreymont," one acknowledged with a nod. "I trust your business was concluded successfully?"

  Lucien inclined his head slightly before shifting his gaze to Velrik and his companions. His sharp eyes swept over them, piercing and assessing, weighing something unseen.

  "I have spoken with the council," he began at last, voice smooth and composed. "They have consented to provide temporary shelter and provisions for those freed from Lord Veldoran’s service. You will be taken to a nearby inn where you can rest and decide your next steps."

  Elisa stepped forward cautiously, brow furrowed with concern. "And what of our status? Are we truly free now?"

  Lucien maintained his impassive expression, though something flickered in his eyes—almost imperceptible. "Your freedom is assured. The council has no intention of revisiting the matter." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing. "But understand this—freedom is not without its burdens. You are no longer under anyone’s control or protection. Your choices and survival—that weight rests entirely on your own shoulders."

  The coldness of his words hit Velrik like a gust of frosty wind. No longer controlled. No longer protected. He had craved this moment—dreamt of escaping, of being untethered. But standing on the brink of that reality now, he felt… small.

  Lucien must have sensed the doubt in his eyes. He approached, lowering his voice. "Remember what I told you before," he murmured. "Freedom is an opportunity—to learn, to grow, to become something more than others have tried to make of you."

  Velrik met his gaze, the weight of those words nesting within him.

  Straightening, Lucien reached into his coat pocket and produced a small pouch, handing it to Elisa. "This will keep you lot alive for a while. Now that I hold Veldoran’s title, some influence remains with me. I will assist as I can, though my reach is limited. When your time at the inn runs its course, I may be able to help secure a more permanent place for you."

  Turning toward the door, he hesitated, his eyes landing on Velrik one last time. His voice, though quiet, carried remarkable weight. "Seize this opportunity, Velrik. Meet people. Learn how the world works. Find your place in it—so that you can help those who matter to you."

  With that, Lucien strode from the room as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving Velrik and his companions to absorb the magnitude of what had just transpired.

  Velrik wasn’t sure why Lucien was so keen on lecturing him, but he didn’t care so long as he never had to go back to that manor.

  As they were led outside and into the waiting wagons, Velrik’s gaze drifted back to the city beyond, with its streets sprawling open before them, filled with endless possibility. Something had shifted within him. It was as if he had spent his life standing at the edge of a great precipice, staring into the unknown, paralyzed by fear of taking that first leap.

  Now, for the first time, he thought—perhaps he was ready to leap.

  The wagon rattled over uneven cobblestone streets as Velrik and the others made their way toward the inn Lucien had arranged for them. Though the ride was short, every moment felt stretched beneath the weight of countless unfamiliar gazes.

  Keeping his head down, Velrik’s ears twitched at the passing mutterings between the townsfolk.

  "What is that thing?" one voice murmured.

  "Never seen anything like it before," another whispered. "Some kind of fox?"

  Though no one approached, Velrik felt the weight of their stares upon him—curious, wary, searching. His tail curled defensively around his leg, an old habit of instinctively making himself smaller, hoping to become invisible. However, Mira, seated beside him, nudged him lightly.

  "Let them stare," she murmured with a smirk, “They've probably never encountered anyone half as talented as you.”

  Velrik scoffed, shaking his head. Yet still, the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

  Finally, the wagon rolled to a stop in front of the inn, a sturdy timber-and-stone building with a weathered sign swinging above the entrance. The mouthwatering scents of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafted from within, intertwining with the faint, comforting aroma of ale. It was the kind of place meant to be lively, full of laughter, warmth, and stories shared over tankards.

  Dain hopped down first, stretching his broad frame. "Not bad," he muttered, giving the inn a brief nod of approval. "I can’t wait to have a fine ale, or maybe even three."

  Elisa climbed down next and turned to assist Velrik, but he had already leapt lightly to the ground. The moment his feet touched the cobblestones, the nearby chatter suddenly hushed. More people had stopped to gawk at him.

  A passing stable hand almost stumbled in his surprise. "By the gods..."

  Velrik released a sharp exhale through his nose, pushing himself to keep walking.

  At the entrance, the innkeeper—a woman perhaps in her fifties, with light-colored hair falling just below her shoulders and a strangely robust build—greeted them. Her gaze lingered on Velrik longer than the others, but she quickly composed herself.

  "You must be the ones Lord Dreymont sent word about," she said, her voice commanding confidence from someone accustomed to managing a bustling establishment. "Come in. I’ve got a room set aside for you upstairs. Food's hot if you’re hungry."

  Dain grunted his approval. "We’re always hungry."

  Mira smirked. "Speak for yourself, you round dwarf."

  The woman chuckled, stepping aside to allow them entrance. The inn's common room welcomed them with warmth, filled with enticing scents of roasting meat, spiced stew, and fresh-baked bread. Patrons scattered about were nursing drinks or deeply engaged in conversation. A few cast lingering glances at Velrik, but most turned back to their own affairs quickly.

  Elisa thanked the innkeeper, who gave a nod before turning back toward the bar. "You’ll be in the large room at the end of the hall upstairs," she called over her shoulder. "If you need anything, just ask."

  Velrik followed his companions up the staircase, ears still twitching at the occasional murmurs trailing behind him. While he carried the weight of their stares, he focused on one step at a time.

  They had a place to stay. Food to eat. And, at this moment, a future to plan.