CH1064 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1064: Ten Years of Persistence

Hundreds of runners surged out of Border District.

The cheers met them as soon as they hit Kingdom Main Street — a wall of sound that moved with them as they ran. Police officers in bright ribbons cycled on both sides of the pack, keeping pace, marking position, ready to assist. The same scene was playing out from Longsong District in the other direction.

For the first time in this world, more than a thousand people were running toward a single place at the same time — not fleeing anything, not summoned by fear, but choosing to show what they were made of. That image alone would travel. Before long, every part of the continent would know that Neverwinter’s new king’s city had organized the world’s first long-distance race.


On the grandstand at the finish line, Lance was hanging half over the railing, shouting himself hoarse. Cole turned to Edith and asked — more carefully than he would have dared a few months ago — “Sister, why didn’t you enter? You could certainly take a prize if it came down to endurance.”

He had noticed the change since Lance arrived: Edith was easier to talk to, less sharp in front of their younger brother. On an ordinary day he would never have risked the question.

“Oh?” Edith glanced at him. “Why would I need such a prize?”

“You always liked this sort of competition before.”

If you hadn’t won everything you competed in, you’d never have become the Pearl of the Northern Region, Cole thought. He remembered her in the Northern Region — fencing with knights in the afternoon, outshining every woman at banquets in the evening, pulling Timothy’s attention across a crowded room. She had defeated men twice her size in the ring and then danced them dizzy the same night. It had made no sense to him that she’d stepped back from all of it.

“Because the family needed me to,” Edith said. “Without building the Kant name as fast as I could, Father would never have gotten the duke title. I had no choice — even if it meant performing for idiots who would only notice me if I beat them.” A short, flat sound, not quite a laugh. “You thought I enjoyed it?”

Cole recognized the tone. He chose to say nothing.

“But I don’t need any of that anymore,” she continued, apparently not having required a response. “Here, I don’t have to compete for the king’s attention. And—” she paused, “I’m no longer alone.”

Cole blinked. “What do you mean?”

She glanced from Lance to Cole and back. “I have the two of you, don’t I?”

Cole straightened without thinking. Something was building in his chest that needed words, but none came.

Edith smiled at him, then turned her eyes to the upper platform. “Just do your work well. That’s all the help I need.”


Guelz was wheezing. His stride had shortened without him deciding to shorten it. “How far… is left?”

Rohan checked the marker they had just passed. “Fourteen kilometers. We’ve run half.”

He watched his father’s profile with concern. “Father — should we rest? There are many people behind us now. We won’t lose a good position.”

Rohan had tracked the field since the start. The thousand-person crowd had first become a ribbon, then a dotted line. He and his father had been passed by only a handful of runners. Even if they stopped, they could still finish respectably. He didn’t care about the prize.

He cared about his father.

Guelz was strong, but that strength was built for the desert’s pace — sustained movement, rationed water, the slow burn of a planned crossing. This race demanded something different: speed maintained against a clock, no rest stops, no gradual terrain. His body was paying for the mismatch.

Guelz glared. “You want to give up again? Because we’re not last?”

“I—”

“Lorgar would never say that. When are you going to be like her? Pushing for a goal and refusing to let go. Have you even considered winning first place?”

Rohan held his silence. He usually did. But something about the heat in his legs, or the dust in his throat, or the accumulated weight of years of the same comparison — something reached its limit.

How am I supposed to beat Lorgar? he thought, bitter as dry sand. Poison her cup? Expose her wolf form in public? She’s the Three Gods’ own Divine Lady. I can’t beat our family’s chief bodyguard in single combat. I never could.

He had backed down from every confrontation for the clan’s sake — to prevent internal fractures, to keep the peace that let Lorgar’s position go unchallenged. His father had never acknowledged it. His father had never acknowledged him.

“I’m worried about you!” The words came out before he could stop them. “Without stopping to wait for you, I would be at the front of the race!”

It sounded like an accusation the moment it landed. He heard it clearly himself.

He was searching for something to say — something to soften it before his father’s temper ignited — when Guelz said quietly: “Then go.”

Rohan turned.

His father was smiling.

“Is this the first time you’ve said what was actually on your mind?” Guelz let out a long breath. “You’re right. I’m too old for a race like this, whatever I used to be.” He stood still for a moment. “Go. Run it yourself. You can.”

Rohan stared.

“There’s an old saying in the clan,” Guelz said. “Practice one thing for ten years and you’ll excel at it, no matter how slow you started.” He held Rohan’s gaze. “You’ve been running in the oases alone for years. Did you think no one noticed?”

Rohan couldn’t speak.

“I’ll walk to the finish line,” Guelz said. “I’ll get there.”

After a silence, Rohan said: “Then I’ll go first.”

“Wait.” Guelz stopped him. “Put these on.”

“Father—”

“Lorgar left the Southern Territory, but she’s still Wildflame. Still your sister. We help her any way we can.” He placed the headband carefully on Rohan’s head — the toy wolf ears tilting slightly in the wind. “Go. Show the Great Chief what we Mojins are.”

Rohan looked at his father for a long moment.

Then he ran.

The wind came fast. Within seconds it was loud enough to drown the spectators’ voices, and then loud enough to drown everything. His legs had been tired. They weren’t anymore. He wasn’t sure when that had changed.

He had spent ten years running alone in small oases — not because anyone asked him to, not because it earned him anything. He ran when Lorgar received praise and he had no place to put the feeling. He ran when the clan’s expectations pressed in from all sides and the only room left was the open sand. He had told himself no one knew. He had told himself no one was watching.

You’re really good at running, aren’t you?

Practice one thing for ten years and you’ll excel at it, no matter how slow you started.

Father had known all along.

The wind shrieked past his ears. Rohan ran faster.

Ten years had passed since the first time.

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