Fern ate slowly. Each bite took longer than the last, Percia's words turning over in her mind.
A forgotten era. Thousands of years scrubbed from every chronicle, every grimoire, every oral tradition passed down through generations. And Percia had been there. Had watched it happen.
Fern's spoon paused halfway to her mouth.
"...Then, how old is Serie-sama?"
Percia paused mid chew, tilting her head in contemplation.
"Serie is a bit younger," Percia said after a moment. "I think by five hundred so years. She was born after everything. She saw only the aftermath."
Fern set her spoon down. She had a feeling she wasn't going to be able to digest properly tonight. "What do you mean by everything?"
"The gaps." Percia stirred her soup idly. "Mortals built their understanding of history on fragments of what was left behind. Elves hoard what little remains. Most don't even know what they're hoarding."
Stark leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So what actually happened? Why was it scrubbed on purpose? Was it the Goddess? Did something go wrong?"
"Both." Percia speared another piece of meat. "Doorways to places that should have stayed closed got torn open. Things came through. Some were sealed. Some weren't." She took a bite, chewed, swallowed.
"The survivors agreed it was kinder not to remember. Humans would have tried to reopen the doors out of curiosity. Elves out of pride. Dwarves out of greed. Demons out of hunger. So we let the records burn and let time eat the rest."
She set her fork down.
"Some doors still creak, though. If you know how to listen for them."
Fern stared at the table for a moment before looking up.
"Who sealed it? And the things that weren't — do they still exist? Are they—"
Percia opened her mouth. "Well, there are a few that—"
The words formed.
And then they didn't.
The syllables stretched, folded, and collapsed. What came out instead was a low, layered hum — distant, staticky, almost like voices speaking in reverse.
Then nothing.
Fern blinked rapidly. Stark's brow furrowed; he leaned forward as though straining to catch a missed word. Even Frieren tilted her head, green eyes narrowing in faint confusion.
Percia sighed.
"The world can be meddlesome." She leaned back in her chair with the expression of someone who had been expecting exactly this. "Some truths are simply not permitted to be spoken aloud."
The inn's sounds rushed back in — clinking mugs, low laughter from the bar, the pop of logs in the fire — as though nothing had happened.
Fern opened her mouth again, clearly intending to press further.
"Enough about me." Percia's tone was final. "My life isn't that interesting. Centuries blur together after a while."
Stark exhaled slowly and leaned back.
"Not interesting? This is officially the strangest dinner I've ever had."
---
Morning came without ceremony.
Breakfast was quiet — the clink of cutlery, the low murmur of other patrons, the occasional remark from Stark that nobody fully responded to.
"I'd prefer if we leave for Äußerst today." She said. "Serie's birthday is in three days and it would be rude of me to arrive late for a century-long reunion."
Fern looked up curiously, "You don't visit her every year?"
Percia blinked slowly, as though translating the question from one timescale to another.
"That would be excessively frequent. It would be like dropping by a friend's house every other day. Eventually they start hiding when they hear you at the door."
Stark snorted into his tea and immediately winced as it burned his tongue.
Frieren looked up from her bowl. "You've never missed one." Not a question.
Percia met her gaze across the table.
"No, I haven't."
A beat passed. Stark pushed his empty plate aside. "Right. Äußerst, the City of Magic. A place of whimsy and fantasy. When do we leave?"
Percia was already reaching for her cloak. "Now. The road's clear this time of morning."
Fern rose, brushing crumbs from her skirt. Stark followed, rolling his shoulders. Frieren stood last, smoothing her robes with careful hands, then glanced at Percia.
Percia held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
She wasn't sure why.
---
The road north wound through rolling hills dappled with early autumn gold. It was quiet, mostly, except for the rhythmic whoosh of steel cutting air somewhere behind Percia.
Stark had his axe out.
Not for combat — just swinging it in slow, controlled arcs as he walked. Over one shoulder, down in a smooth crescent, up the other side.
Fern watched this for longer than she should have before speaking. "You're going to tire yourself out before noon."
"I'm still stiff from the dungeon." He didn't break rhythm. "Have to stretch somehow."
"You just want to show off."
"Maybe a little." He grinned. "Warriors tend to be quieter about it though. Real ones. You can tell a lot about someone just from watching how they move — balance, weight distribution, how they carry tension when they're not thinking about it."
"Take you, for instance." He glanced sideways at her. "You walk like someone who's never had to run for her life without a spell ready. Pretty low physical capabilities, honestly. All brain, no brawn."
Fern twitched. "And I suppose that makes you all brawn and no brain."
"I said what I said."
Frieren hummed, sensing Fern's growing ire. "You're playing with fire, Stark."
Stark shuffled sideways, putting Percia between himself and Fern with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before. He glanced at Percia.
"Now her," he said, nodding. "She's interesting."
Tall. Silent. Each step placed with deliberate economy: heel to toe, weight centered, shoulders relaxed but ready to shift in an instant. No wasted motion.
"You're a mage, yet you walk like a warrior." He mused, "I'm guessing you have some experience with weapons?"
Percia raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. The faintest curve touched her mouth.
"You're more skilled than I thought," she murmured. "You notice things most people miss."
Stark looked away, ears going slightly red. "It's nothing, really."
Percia turned her gaze back forward. "I've learned how to wield some lighter weapons. Daggers, handaxes, shortswords —"
She opened her hand, a rapier glimmering into existence, much like a staff would in a mage's hand.
The hilt was plain, black wrappings over a bone-white guard, but the blade hummed faintly with restrained mana. Slender. Perfectly balanced.
"This rapier suits me best."
She turned it once in her hand, then let it dissolve.
"There are times when magic isn't enough." Percia explained. "I had the time to learn alternatives."
"Speaking of which — back in the dungeon, you were channeling mana into your movements without realizing it. You should look into amplification magic properly."
"Amplification magic?" Stark tilted his head. "My master never mentioned it."
"I'm not surprised." Frieren spoke without looking away from the road. "Eisen's constitution made most spells redundant for him. He never needed it."
She reached up and patted her briefcase. "Himmel had notes on the amplification techniques he used. I'll find them for you later."
Stark stopped walking entirely. "The- The notes of the Hero? You're joking; you can't give that to me."
"Why not? "You're a decent warrior." Frieren smiled, almost amused at herself. "Besides, it's what Himmel the Hero would have done."
"I really don't deserve—"
"Stark-sama." Fern's smile had an edge to it. "I'll help you study."
Frieren's eyes brightened with something that was almost mischief. "We both know how thorough Fern's tutoring can be."
Stark looked between them. Then at Percia, silently pleading.
Percia didn't meet his gaze; the ground suddenly looked very interesting.
"I— I think I'm fine with just the axe."