The city was quiet now. For the first time since Shino had arrived, no bells rang, no preachers shouted from the street corners. Smoke still curled from the pyre where the Prophet's chains had been burned, but it smelled of cleansing, not oppression.
Shino stood at the city's edge at dawn, his cloak drawn around him. Behind him, the people were rebuilding—repairing the broken gates, painting over the faces of the false prophets, carrying the sick and wounded out of the square. It was no longer his fight.
He was ready to move on.
"Leaving so soon?" a voice asked.
Shino turned. The speaker was one of the men from the rebellion—the one with scarred hands who had pried the first chain loose from the west wall. His face was smudged with ash, but his eyes were clear.
"You lit the fire," the man said, walking closer. "You can't just leave while the embers are still glowing."
Shino said nothing for a moment. "The city belongs to its people. Not to me."
"That's true," the man admitted. "But some of us have nowhere else to go. And we've seen what you can do. You stand where no one else will. We want to stand there too."
Another figure appeared from the side street—the boy who had carried the clay lamp. He looked taller somehow, though a single night had passed.
"I told everyone you weren't a ghost," the boy said with a shy smile. "I told them you were real. And I told them I would follow you when you left."
Shino's brow furrowed. "Follow me? To where?"
"Wherever you're going," the boy said simply.
---
They were not the only ones. By midmorning, a small group had gathered near the shrine where Shino had stayed—the scarred man, the boy, and a quiet woman who had fought beside him during the uprising. She did not speak much, but when she met Shino's eyes, there was a silent question there: Will you let us come?
Shino looked at them one by one. He had walked alone for so long that the thought of companions felt almost foreign.
"You don't know what you're asking," he said at last. "I can't promise safety. I can't promise peace. I can only promise that wherever we go, there will be more chains to break."
The scarred man smiled faintly. "Then that's where I need to be."
The boy stepped forward, holding out the broken fragment of chain they had taken from the wall. "This is my pledge," he said. "I'll follow you until the last chain is broken."
The quiet woman finally spoke. "We are not following for you," she said softly. "We are following because we want to be free—and help others find freedom too."
Shino regarded them for a long time, the morning breeze stirring his cloak.
"Then come," he said at last. "But know this: the road ahead will not forgive hesitation."
---
By afternoon, they were ready. Shino led them out of the city through the western gate, the one they had freed themselves. The people who had gathered there bowed their heads as he passed—not in fear, but in respect.
On the road beyond, the sky stretched wide and open.
For a while, they walked in silence. Then the boy asked, "Where are we going first?"
Shino's gaze was fixed on the horizon. "There is another city," he said slowly. "I have heard its people worship a king who has not been seen in years. I want to know why."
The scarred man nodded. "Then that is where we go."
The woman glanced back once at the city they had left behind, then forward again. "Whatever waits for us there," she said, "we face it together."
---
As the sun began to set, they stopped at a hill overlooking the road ahead. Shino stood apart, watching the sky turn to gold and crimson.
The boy came to stand beside him. "Are you glad we came?" he asked quietly.
Shino did not answer immediately. At last, he said, "I did not seek companions. But perhaps it is time to stop walking alone."
The boy smiled, and for the first time, Shino felt something lighter than duty stir in his chest.
Below them, the road stretched into shadow, winding toward distant hills. Night was coming—but so was tomorrow.