They made it to the competitor area just as the victory ceremony concluded. Celeste had been presented with a champion's laurel, a trophy that was probably worth a fortune, and formal recognition from the tournament committee. She'd smiled through all of it, gracious and humble, while clearly fighting to stay upright from exhaustion.
Now she was trying to make her way to the private preparation chambers, but a crowd had formed—well-wishers, opportunists, nobles wanting to be associated with the new champion.
And cutting through the crowd with purpose: Duke Thorne from one direction, Jonas Rift from another, Archbishop Whitegrace from a third.
"Lady Varnham!" Thorne's voice cut through the congratulations like a blade. "A moment of your time, if you please. The Valorian Empire wishes to discuss—"
"My apologies, Duke, but I believe I have priority," Jonas Rift interjected smoothly, his merchant's smile sharp. "Lady Varnham, I represent the Asterlin Trade Consortium. We have a business proposition that—"
"Gentlemen, please." Archbishop Whitegrace's voice was honey over steel. "Surely such worldly concerns can wait. Lady Varnham, the Sanctum would be honored to bless your victory. That magnificent blade you carry clearly bears the mark of divine favor—"
"I really need to rest," Celeste said, her voice strained but polite. She was backing toward the corridor that led to the preparation chambers, Dawnbreaker held protectively close. "Perhaps we could arrange meetings tomorrow—"
"This cannot wait," Thorne insisted, stepping closer. His guards moved with him, subtly cutting off her escape routes. "That weapon you're carrying—it's artifact-class, isn't it? A-rank, possibly higher. Such items are of strategic importance. The Empire has first right of examination—"
"The Empire has no such right," Celeste countered, steel entering her voice despite her exhaustion. "Dawnbreaker is my personal property, legally acquired—"
"Dawnbreaker!" Jonas Rift's eyes lit up. "What a magnificent name. Lady Varnham, I'm prepared to offer three thousand gold for immediate purchase. No questions, no conditions—"
"The blade is not for sale."
"Five thousand."
"Not. For. Sale."
"My child," Archbishop Whitegrace stepped forward, her expression radiating maternal concern that didn't reach her calculating eyes. "Such a blessed weapon should not be hoarded by secular powers. The Sanctum could provide proper protection, proper veneration. Surely you see the wisdom in—"
"I see three people trying to take what isn't theirs," Celeste said, her patience clearly fraying. She was swaying slightly now, the adrenaline crash hitting hard. "Now if you'll excuse me—"
Thorne's hand shot out, gripping her arm. "You're being unreasonable. The Empire can make this a simple transaction or a complicated legal matter. Choose wisely."
"Take your hand off me," Celeste said quietly, dangerously. "Now."
Kieran saw it happening—saw the situation spiraling toward violence, saw Celeste cornered and exhausted and outnumbered, saw the vultures closing in for the kill.
He moved without thinking.
"EXCUSE ME! COMING THROUGH! EMERGENCY!"
Kieran burst through the crowd with all the grace of a panicked ox, Mira right behind him. They weren't fighters, weren't skilled at crowd navigation, and their desperate rush resulted in spectacular clumsiness.
Kieran's shoulder hit Jonas Rift's assistant, sending the man stumbling into Rift himself. Papers went flying, contracts scattering like leaves.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry! Let me help—" Kieran bent to gather papers, accidentally kicking them further away in his haste.
Mira, meanwhile, had somehow gotten tangled with one of Duke Thorne's guards. "I'm terribly sorry! My foot got caught on—oh dear, is that your sword? I didn't mean to—"
The guard was hopping on one foot, trying to maintain dignity while Mira apologized profusely and somehow made everything worse.
Archbishop Whitegrace stepped back to avoid the chaos, her serene expression cracking into irritation.
And in the confusion, Celeste caught Kieran's eye.
He mouthed: Run.
She didn't hesitate.
Celeste slipped into the corridor while everyone was distracted by the disaster that was Kieran and Mira's "rescue attempt." By the time Thorne's grip closed on empty air, she was already twenty feet away and moving fast.
"After her!" Thorne barked.
But the corridor was narrow, and Kieran had somehow positioned himself directly in the guards' path, still gathering papers with maximum inefficiency.
"I'm so sorry, I'm just so clumsy, let me just—oh, did I step on your foot? Terribly sorry!"
Mira had produced a handkerchief from somewhere and was insisting on wiping imaginary dirt from the guard's armor despite his protests.
By the time they extricated themselves from the well-meaning chaos, Celeste had vanished into the competitor areas where civilians weren't allowed.
Duke Thorne's glare could have melted steel. "Who are you?"
"Nobody!" Kieran said quickly. "Just clumsy bystanders! Very clumsy! We should go! Mira, we should go!"
"Right! Going! So sorry about the mess!"
They fled before anyone could ask more questions, leaving behind scattered papers, irritated guards, a furious Duke, an exasperated merchant, and an Archbishop whose serene mask had completely shattered.
They didn't stop running until they were three blocks from the arena, ducking into an alley to catch their breath.
"That," Mira gasped between laughs, "was the worst rescue in the history of rescues."
"It worked though," Kieran pointed out, grinning despite his racing heart.
"Barely! Did you see Thorne's face? He looked like he wanted to murder us!"
"Pretty sure he did want to murder us."
They dissolved into slightly hysterical laughter, the adrenaline crash hitting them both. After a moment, Kieran sobered.
"We need to get back to the inn. Pack everything. Be ready to leave Thornhaven quickly if necessary."
"You think they'll come after us?"
"I think we just interfered with three very powerful people trying to acquire a very valuable artifact. They're going to ask questions. And if they connect us to Celeste..." He didn't finish the thought.
Mira nodded, her expression turning serious. "Back to Millhaven tonight?"
"Back to Millhaven tonight," Kieran confirmed.
But first, they needed to make sure Celeste was safe.
They found her an hour later at a small inn on the edge of the city—not the luxurious establishment where the nobles were staying, but a quiet place that catered to traveling merchants. She'd changed into simple traveling clothes and was in the process of saddling her horse when they arrived.
"Kieran! Mira!" She pulled them both into a fierce hug. "Thank you. That was the most chaotic rescue I've ever seen, but it bought me enough time to slip away."
"Are you okay?" Kieran asked, pulling back to study her face. She looked exhausted but triumphant, still riding the high of victory.
"I'm perfect," she said, then laughed. "Actually, I'm sore, tired, possibly bruised in places I didn't know could bruise, and being hunted by influential people who want my sword. But I won, Kieran. I actually won the Grand Melee."
"You did," he confirmed, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "You were incredible."
"Dawnbreaker was incredible." She touched the sword's pommel reverently. "I felt everything you built into it. The speed, the balance, the way it amplified my radiant skills. It was like fighting with a part of myself instead of just a weapon. I've never experienced anything like it."
"The blade is only as good as the person wielding it," Kieran said quietly. "You won because of your skill, your determination, your refusal to give up. Dawnbreaker just... helped."
"You're terrible at accepting compliments," Celeste said fondly. "But I'll let it go for now. I need to leave Thornhaven tonight—things are going to get complicated once those three realize I'm not going to cooperate. I'll return to my family estate, let the furor die down."
"What about the dinner you promised?" Mira asked with a grin.
Celeste laughed. "Rain check. A very expensive rain check, I promise. Once this settles and I can move freely again." She looked at Kieran. "Will you be safe? If they connect you to the sword's creation—"
"They won't," Kieran said with more confidence than he felt. "As far as anyone knows, you commissioned work from a random blacksmith in Millhaven. They have no reason to investigate further."
"Still, be careful. Duke Thorne is persistent, and Jonas Rift has resources that could—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Listen to me, still trying to protect you when you just saved me from a very uncomfortable confrontation."
"We're even then," Kieran said.
Celeste mounted her horse, Dawnbreaker secured carefully at her side. In the fading twilight, she looked every inch the champion—tired but unbroken, victorious against impossible odds.
"I'll send word when things calm down," she promised. "And Kieran? Thank you. For believing I could do this. For making me something worthy of the dream."
Then she was gone, riding into the night, carrying Kieran's masterpiece toward whatever future awaited.
Mira and Kieran stood in silence for a moment, watching her disappear.
"So," Mira said eventually. "We should probably talk about that System-binding promise."
Kieran's stomach dropped. In all the chaos, he'd almost forgotten.
Celeste had won the Grand Melee.
Which meant he had twenty-four hours to tell Mira everything.
All his secrets. All his fears. The truth about who and what he was.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly. "We get back to Millhaven tomorrow, and I'll tell you everything."
"I'll hold you to that," Mira said, but her tone was gentle. "Come on. Let's go home."
Home. To his tiny forge, his modest life, his carefully constructed anonymity.
Except nothing was going to be the same anymore, was it?
Celeste had won with his sword. The most powerful people in the region had seen Dawnbreaker's capabilities. And Kieran had just proven he could create A-rank artifacts.
The cage was closing again, just like in Greyhaven.
But this time, he had friends. He had people who believed in him.
Maybe that would be enough.
Maybe.
As they walked through Thornhaven's streets toward their inn, Kieran allowed himself one moment of pure, uncomplicated joy:
His work had helped someone achieve the impossible.
Whatever consequences followed, that truth would remain.
He'd created something beautiful, and it had changed someone's life.
For a perfectionist blacksmith who'd spent two years hiding his talent, terrified of being noticed—
That was everything.