They found shelter that night in a shallow cave carved into the side of a low rise. Saum Marsh stretched dark and endless outside, reeds whispering under a sky already bruising purple. Wind howled past the mouth of the cave, carrying the first cold spits of rain.
Inside, a small fire crackled. Fern had coaxed it to life with the last of the dry reeds they carried; now she sat cross-legged, tending the flames with quiet focus. Stark sprawled on his back nearby, arms flung wide, still groaning every time he shifted. Frieren perched on a flat stone, knees drawn up, staring into the fire like it might tell her something interesting.
Percia sat a little apart, cloak pulled close against the damp chill.
Frieren frowned at the wind rattling the cave mouth. "Weather like this is unusual at this time of year."
Percia hummed in agreement, gaze on the dancing flames. "The air feels heavy. A storm is coming."
Stark groaned louder, throwing one arm over his eyes. "We're already trudging through the marsh. It's wet enough. How are we supposed to travel tomorrow? Everything's gonna be basically soup."
Fern didn't look up from the fire. "The way we always do," she said evenly. She lifted four steel cups from beside the flames—steam curling from the herbal tea she'd brewed earlier—and passed them out one by one.
Percia accepted hers with a small nod. The warmth seeped through her fingers. She stared into the liquid for a long moment, then spoke—tentative, almost reluctant.
"If you don't want to travel through the marsh… would you be open to taking another path?"
Stark sat up so fast he nearly spilled his tea. "What path? I mean Frieren's been leading us along the path that she took before but...we can take another path, right?" He glanced at Frieren, hopeful.
Frieren tilted her head, white hair sliding over one shoulder. "I'm not opposed."
Percia shifted the cup in her hands, fingers tightening slightly around the cup. She stared into the tea like it held an answer. After a beat she looked up.
"There's a ruin nearby," she said quietly. "I suspect demons are lingering there...I plan on eradicating them."
She lifted her gaze fully.
The firelight caught her face in an almost ominous glow—shadows pooling beneath her cheekbones, turning her midnight-blue eyes into deep, luminous wells. The flames reflected tiny gold sparks in them, sharp and unblinking.
"Would you like to join me?"
Stark shivered dramatically, clutching his cup closer. "Oh nah—we're fine. We'll just walk through the marsh. Right, Fern? Ahahaha…"
Fern glanced at him, then turned back to Percia. Her voice was calm but curious. "Is the path there any better?"
Percia hummed. "Probably. This ruin, after all, isn't on the ground."
Fern tilted her head, confused.
Percia lifted her free hand and pointed toward the cave mouth.
Outside, the sky rolled—low, heavy clouds churning. Thunder rumbled, distant but growing closer.
"It's up there," Percia said softly.
The wind howled louder, as if answering. Rain began to patter against the stone outside—slow at first, then harder.
Stark stared at the cave mouth, tea forgotten in his hands.
"…Up there?" he echoed weakly.
Frieren looked up at the storm, then back at Percia. A small, interested smile curved her lips.
The thunder rolled again—closer this time.
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Stark stared at the cave mouth like it had personally offended him. "Up there?" he echoed, voice cracking on the second word. "No. Nope. No way. There's no way I'm going up there."
He curled tighter on the stone floor, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them. "This is outside human capability! Flying dungeons? Sky ruins? That's hero-party nonsense! I'm a warrior, not a bird!"
Fern shifted uncomfortably beside him, fingers tightening around her tea cup. "I've… never heard of a ruin that exists in the clouds," she admitted quietly. Her voice was steady, but the unease was clear in the way her gaze flicked toward the storm-dark sky outside.
Frieren leaned forward, elbows on her knees, green eyes bright with interest. "Come on," she coaxed, voice light. "It'll be fun."
Stark shook his head so hard his hair flopped. "Fun? FUN?!"
Frieren stood up smoothly, stepped over, and grabbed his arm. She tugged. Stark curled tighter, refusing to budge, knees locked against his chest like a stubborn child.
"Frieren—" he whined louder, voice pitching into a genuine lament. "Please don't make me flyyy—"
Fern reached up quickly, catching Frieren's sleeve. "I'm not sure about this, Frieren-sama."
Frieren blinked, then frowned—genuinely puzzled. "Not you too, Fern?" She tilted her head. "Why do you fear the unknown? Why then you must also fear shadow dragons?"
Stark shouted from his ball of misery, "That's definitely something you should fear!"
Frieren bonked him lightly on the head with her free hand. Stark yelped, rubbing the spot.
"You killed a solar dragon before," she pointed out matter-of-factly, "They're about the same."
"It was a fluke!" Stark wailed, still rubbing his head.
Fern stayed quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. Then, softly: "Frieren-sama… have you been there before?"
Frieren blinked. "Nope." The word came out cheerful, almost delighted.
Stark blanched. "What?! Why are you admitting that so happily?!"
Frieren smiled—small, genuine, the rare kind that reached her eyes. "Stark. I've lived for a thousand years. It's not every day you come across something new." She leaned down slightly, voice conspiratorial. "Aren't you even slightly curious?"
Stark froze. His pout faltered. He looked at the ground, shoulders slumping.
"…Maybe a little bit," he mumbled. "But not enough to risk my life."
Percia, who had been watching the exchange in silence, finally spoke.
"You won't be risking your life."
They all turned to her.
Her face was straight—blank—still staring into the tea cupped in her hands. Slowly she lifted her gaze.
"I'll protect all of you," she said quietly. "No matter what."
Silence fell over the cave. Even the wind outside seemed to hush for a heartbeat.
Frieren's smile gentled—less teasing, more tender. "See?" She straightened, then smacked Stark across the back—hard enough to make him wheeze and writhe. "A mythical mage who's lived for eight thousand years offers her protection. We'll be fine."
She ruffled Fern's hair next; Fern squeaked in protest but didn't pull away.
"It's a good learning experience," Frieren added cheerfully.
Fern pouted, brushing her hair back into place. "If Frieren-sama really wants to go…" She glanced at Stark, then back at Percia. "Then we can go."
Percia nodded once. "Then it's settled. We'll head off before dawn tomorrow. That way we won't strain our eyes against the sunrise."
Stark's head snapped up. "That's a thing?!"
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The fire had burned low. Embers glowed soft orange, casting long shadows across the cave walls. Outside, the wind howled louder, rain lashing the stone in uneven sheets.
Fern slept curled on her side near the back wall, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. Even in sleep her brows stayed faintly knit, lips pressed thin, fingers twitching once as though still gripping her staff. Tense.
Stark lay sprawled on his back a little farther away, one arm flung over his eyes. His breathing was uneven—short, restless. Every few minutes a quiet whimper slipped out.
"No… I'm not a bird… leave me alone…"
Percia sat against the opposite wall, knees drawn up, arms resting loosely across them. She watched them both for a long time without moving.
She sighed—soft, almost soundless.
"Is this a mistake?" she murmured to the dark.
The words hung there, soft and unanswered.
She wasn't completely sure what waited in that ruin. She thought back to the in-between: the way he stood before her, horns curving like a scythe, pale features trembling but unmistakable. The Demon King—or whatever remnant still clung to his shape. His smile. His shrug. His casual claim that he only wanted "the best for humanity."
She still didn't know what his plan was.
Sometimes she wished she had Serie's intuition—sharp, immediate, cutting through uncertainty like a blade through silk. Serie would have known in an instant whether this was folly or fate. She had always been the more observant of the two, guiding them through trouble as if walking down a straight path.
She leaned her head back against the cool cave wall and closed her eyes. They had felt dry and gritty ever since she left the in-between—as though the gray nothing had leached something vital from them. Resting them helped, if only a little.
A soft presence settled beside her.
Familiar scent—old forests after rain, faint ozone of restrained mana, something sharper and colder that had always belonged only to her. Percia's shoulder relaxed a fraction despite herself.
Frieren spoke quietly, contemplative, barely louder than the wind.
"This ruin isn't a coincidence, is it?"
Percia stayed silent for a long moment.
"This ruin follows the path of the wind," she said at last. "Drifting as it pleases. …But it doesn't reveal itself like this."
Frieren hummed beside her.
"Have you been there before?"
"When it was still on the ground," Percia answered. "...It used to be a temple of the goddess. Humans, elves, dwarves—all came in hopes of standing before her. If I remember correctly… this was the last temple the goddess ever appeared in."
Frieren's voice carried faint surprise. "Oh. It's older than I thought."
Percia hummed in agreement and opened her eyes.
Frieren sat close, knees drawn up, white hair spilling over her shoulders. She was shivering slightly—small, almost imperceptible tremors—rubbing her hands together idly while lost in thought.
Without a word Percia opened her cloak and drew Frieren in against her side.
Frieren froze. "What are you doing?"
Percia leaned back once more, closing her eyes again. "It's inefficient to shiver without remedy."
Frieren stayed stiff for another heartbeat. Then her small fingers closed around the edge of Percia's cloak, clutching lightly.
They sat like that for a while. Wind howled outside. Stark whimpered again in his sleep—"…I can't fly…"—then quieted.
Percia spoke first, voice low.
"I know you have questions for me. About what happened when we were separated."
A pause.
"Will you let me explain them to you later?"
Frieren sighed against her side, breath warm through the fabric. "That dagger…"
Percia cut her off gently. "I know."
She opened her eyes and looked down.
Emerald-green eyes looked back up at her—steady, searching, reflecting the faint embers of the dying fire. Firelight played across Frieren's face: soft glow on pale skin, tiny sparks dancing in her irises, the faint shadows beneath her lashes making her look both ancient and impossibly young at once.
Frieren smiled—small, almost shy.
"I trust you, Percia."
Percia's chest tightened in a way she still couldn't name. In a way she didn't want to name.
She didn't answer.
She only drew Frieren a fraction closer, letting the cloak fall around them both like a shield against the storm outside.
The wind howled on.
But inside the cave, for the first time in a very long while, the silence between them wasn't quite so heavy.