Percia didn't sleep that night.
She simply observed.
The faint burn in her throat lingered—bruised, raw from Frieren's fingers and teeth. Every swallow sent a dull ache radiating downward. Between her thighs the denial pulsed: hot, insistent, unfulfilled. Her body still remembered the friction of Frieren's hips, the cruel grind, the way Frieren had used her. The way she had stopped, leaving her aching. Leaving her wanting.
She didn't mind.
Frieren slept on her chest now—small, curled tight, white hair spilling across her skin like fresh snow. One of Frieren's hands had found Percia's abandoned outer cloak sometime in the night; fingers clenched the fabric, dried arousal stiffening the cloth. The grip was possessive even in sleep.
Percia didn't want to move.
In a strange way, she was comfortable.
Her hand hovered over Frieren's features—never quite touching. She traced the curve of a cheekbone with her eyes, the faint crease between pale brows, the soft bow of lips still reddened from earlier violence.
Beautiful.
Moonlight had long since faded; the first gray promise of dawn crept under the shutters. The faintest rays began to peek through the cracks—pale gold threading across the floorboards.
Percia moved slowly.
She eased Frieren's weight off her chest with careful hands, easing the fabric free from her own shoulders without tugging at Frieren's grip. Frieren made a faint, displeased sound in her sleep, fingers tightening around the cloth, but didn't wake. Percia tucked the fabric against her side like a substitute, then stood.
Her knees protested—sharp twinges from the hard floor the night before. She looked down at herself.
Bruised. Used. Red scratches scabbing over in thin, angry lines across ribs and hips. Bite marks bloomed dark on throat and shoulder. Between her legs she could feel the evidence of her own denied arousal—sticky, cool. She hissed softly as she took off her pants and wiped it away with the edge of her discarded inner robe. The motion stung. She didn't heal it.
Her mana swirled in protest—warm, insistent, ready to knit flesh and soothe nerves. She pushed it down. Let the ache stay.
She dressed unhurriedly. Each movement deliberate. Robes slid over marked skin, she hissed as it rubbed the wrong way. She fastened every clasp with quiet precision, as though the ritual could delay what came next.
When she was ready, she turned.
Frieren still slept—curled into the cloak now, small and peaceful. White hair fanned across the pillow. One hand loosely fisted the fabric where Percia's scent lingered strongest.
Percia watched her for one last heartbeat.
Then left—before she could think twice.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
She headed south.
The road stretched on beneath a sky so clear it hurt to look at. Days bled into one another without fanfare—birds trilling overhead, wind brushing tall grass, the sun warm but never oppressive. Percia walked steadily. She had purchased a new cloak a few town's back, its deep hood drawn low. It swallowed her pointed ears, shadowed her eyes, turned her into just another traveler on a quiet afternoon. She preferred it that way.
Hunger came and went; she ignored it, drawing just enough mana to quiet her stomach. Dust clung to her boots, but a flick of will sent it drifting away. She bathed in cold streams when the mood struck.
Just as she had long before.
She liked this quiet.
A merchant carriage rattled past, wheels churning dust. Laughter and voices drifted from the canvas flaps.
"Quite the haul from Waal, eh? Should fetch a fine price in Graf Granat's lands."
Percia's gaze flicked toward the receding dust cloud. A settlement, then. She considered it. Proper food might be… tolerable. A bed without roots growing through the floorboards. She had avoided proper towns since leaving the ruin—since leaving them—impractical really.
Very well, then—she would set off for Waal. She had no intentions of collapsing from hunger. That would be inefficient.
A shrill shriek sliced the air, breaking her train of thought. From the forest to her left—high, unmistakably non-human. A monster's death cry, or perhaps something humanoid caught in its jaws. Percia glanced once toward the treeline, ears twitching beneath the hood. The sound faded quickly.
She turned her eyes back to the road.
"Oh?" The voice came from behind, warm and mildly curious. "You're a mage, no? Aren't you going to investigate?"
Percia didn't stop. She turned her head only slightly; the hood obstructed most of her view, but she caught broad shoulders, a long dark robe trimmed in gold, a cream stole draped across them, and the glint of a winged crest necklace—the goddess's mark. A monk, then.
One whose figure was a bit too familiar for her liking.
"There's no need," she answered. Her voice came out hoarse, cracked from disuse and prior trauma.
She continued walking.
He fell into step beside her without invitation. His presence was calm, unhurried—mana deep and still, like a lake that had once been an ocean storm. Sharpened. Warrior's mana, tempered now into something quieter.
The monk hummed thoughtfully. "It seems humans are in danger."
Percia let her senses drift. Yes—faint mana signatures flickering in the forest, small and frantic, guttering like candles in rain. Lives hanging by threads.
"Then go," she said, dismissive. "You're a monk, no? A strong one, at that."
He laughed—soft, genuine, without mockery. "I plan to. But the injured are near death, and I'm no great healer. You, on the other hand…" His voice gentled. "You seem blessed by the Goddess. Would you come with me? At least to mend what's broken?"
Percia scoffed. The word blessed landed like salt in an old wound. Holy residue still clung to her from that ruin—faint, persistent, unwanted. A reminder of things she had tried to leave behind.
"I am not blessed," she said, sharper than intended. Anger coiled low in her chest, cold and familiar.
"But you can heal," he replied, soft.
He stepped around to face her, blocking the road with easy confidence. Percia stopped.
Elongated ears. Olive-green hair, short and spiky. Sharp eyes, green as deep forest pools, regarding her with gentle recognition.
Her jaw clenched.
"Kraft," she murmured. "I'd long forgotten about you."
Kraft smiled—small, warm, the same smile he'd worn eons ago, back when the world still felt new enough to fight for.
"Come," he said. His gaze swept over her hooded figure—probing, observing, seeing too much. Percia's hands tightened beneath the cloak, fingers curling into fists.
He glanced toward the forest again, where the distant cries had gone silent.
"Help me save those humans."
Percia stood motionless. The road south continued on without her. Birds still sang. The sky stayed clear.
She exhaled—slow, controlled.
"…Fine," she said at last. "You better leave me alone after this."
Kraft's smile widened, just a fraction. He turned toward the trees without pressing further.
Percia followed—steps silent, the weight of old memories settling heavier than the cloak on her shoulders.
She had not missed her brother. Not one bit.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
The forest edge gave way to a small clearing scarred by fresh violence: torn earth, splintered saplings, feathers drifting like ash. Three harpies circled low, wings beating furious gusts that kicked up dirt and blood. Their talons gleamed wet; their shrieks carried the raw, mindless edge of instinct over reason.
Four human adventurers lay scattered across the grass. Two were already still—barely breathing. The other two groaned, clutching wounds, mana flickering weakly. A fifth—apetite strawberry-blonde mage—crouched behind a fallen log, hazel eyes wide but steady.
Percia did not rush in.
She found a flat boulder at the clearing's perimeter, settled onto it with deliberate calm, hood still drawn low. Arms folded. Legs crossed. She watched.
Kraft moved like water finding stone—fluid, inevitable.
A harpy dove, claws aimed for the downed swordsman's throat. Kraft stepped sideways—barely a shift—and caught her descending wrist in one callused hand. He twisted, redirected momentum, and drove his fist into the soft hollow beneath her ribs. Not hard enough to kill. Hard enough to fold her wings and send her crashing into the underbrush, gasping.
Another came from behind. He spun, ducked the swipe, planted a palm against her chest and shoved—mana flaring just enough to amplify the force. She cartwheeled backward, slamming into a tree trunk with a crack of bark.
The third hesitated, screeching. Kraft was already moving again, scooping the bleeding swordsman under one arm, another warrior over his shoulder, carrying them toward Percia. He set them down at her feet, then dashed back for the next.
Percia healed without flourish. A brush of fingers over torn flesh, a thread of silver-blue mana slipping inside like cool water. Wounds closed. Breathing steadied. She did not speak. Did not look at their faces. Her gaze stayed on Kraft.
He seemed uncomfortable fighting bare-handed.
Every dodge carried a ghost of compensation—an extra half-step to account for the weight that used to hang at his hip. A fraction longer reach when he struck, fingers splaying where they once would have curled around a hilt. The movements were still graceful, still devastating to human eyes. To hers, they were… incomplete.
She remembered the day he had stabbed the sword into a rock. The way the steel rang once against stone before going still:
"This is no longer my duty."
Percia's lips curved, small and wry. Their mother would have been furious to see him now—fighting with fists, pulling punches, letting monsters live to attack another day.
A soft voice broke her reverie.
"Um…"
The strawberry-blonde mage sat up slowly at her feet, one hand pressed to her healed side. Hazel eyes lifted.
"Thank you for saving us."
Percia tilted her head slightly, hood shadowing her expression.
"I did not save you."
"But you healed us," the girl said simply. She hesitated, then added, "My name is Edel. A second-class mage under the Continental Magic Association. I was recruited for what was supposed to be a simple investigation. I didn't expect… aggressive harpies."
Percia leaned her chin lightly on her curled fingers.
"It is their mating season. Your party interrupted them."
Edel blinked. A faint flush crept across her cheeks.
"That's why their minds felt so… stimulated."
Percia peered down at her through the hood's shadow.
"It seems you are adept in hypnosis magic. Adept enough to probe without care."
Edel's flush deepened, but she did not look away.
"I apologize. It's a bad habit. My magic sometimes… reaches out when I'm cornered." She paused. "If it makes you feel better, I wasn't able to glean anything from you. Or your friend."
Three lies in one sentence. Impressive.
Percia shrugged and rose smoothly from the rock.
"I don't care either way. That elf will escort you to shelter. Stay out of trouble next time."
She turned, mana already coiling at her feet, ready to teleport away, far away from here.
A hand closed around her wrist.
Annoying.
Kraft's grip was gentle.
"Why, my dear sister," he said, voice warm with teasing fondness, "where do you think you're going?"
"Away," she answered coldly. "From you especially."
"As cold as always," He grinned. "I thought we could catch up. It's been—what—two thousand years?"
Edel straightened where she sat, blinking rapidly.
"Miss Mage… are you an elf too? I'm surprised. First Frieren, now the two of you. It seems there are more elves out there besides Serie and Frieren."
Kraft's brows lifted.
"Frieren?" His tone brightened with genuine interest. "So you've met her too…how is she? Last I saw her, she was traveling with Stark and Fern towards the Village of the Sword, I believe."
Edel frowned slightly, piecing it together.
"I'm not sure about that part, but I partook in the First-Class Mage Exam with them. Fern passed. I heard Frieren failed."
Kraft laughed—open, booming, the sound startling birds from the canopy.
"It seems Serie is as willful as ever, huh, Percia?"
Edel's gaze snapped to the hooded figure.
"Percia…?" Recognition flickered. "I think I've heard of you. From Lernen. You're the mage who resided within Serie-sama's chambers, aren't you? Lernen was… quite distraught back then."
Percia said nothing, mind long distracted by white hair and green eyes.
The silence stretched, brittle.
Edel looked away first.
"Ah… never mind."
The other adventurers were stirring now—groaning, sitting up, clutching healed limbs in disbelief. Percia blinked, shoving her thoughts away.
She tugged her wrist free. "I'll be taking my leave, then."
Kraft tilted his head, smile fading into something softer, more searching.
"…It's been a while since I've seen you run like this."
The unspoken question lingered between them: What happened?
Percia did not answer.
She walked back toward the road without looking behind her.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
Kraft sighed.
"Well then," he said to the group, "I happen to be headed toward Waal myself. If our destinations coincide, perhaps I can escort you?"
A timid young man—still pale, clutching a bandaged arm—shook his head.
"We're headed to Graf Granat's domain ourselves. Thank you for the offer, though… and for, uh—" He gestured weakly at the wrecked clearing, the unconscious harpies, the blood-soaked grass. "All that. Saving us, I mean."
Kraft smiled gently.
"No problem. I wish the best of luck for your group, then. May the Goddess guide your path."
He bowed lightly, then turned to follow the direction Percia had gone.
A few minutes later, footsteps pattered behind him.
He paused. Turned.
Edel jogged up, breathing hard, cheeks flushed from exertion.
"Miss Edel," Kraft said mildly. "I thought your group was headed north?"
"Yes." She caught her breath. "It's just… I wanted to tell you something. About what I glimpsed in Percia's mind."
Kraft raised an eyebrow.
"My, that's quite the invasion of privacy."
Edel winced.
"I know. I apologize. I couldn't help myself… there is something amiss about her."
Kraft regarded her for a long moment.
"If you'll let me perform a memory transference spell—"
"I do not wish to know," he said quietly.
Edel frowned.
"But—"
"It is not right for me to pry into my sister's thoughts or memories. If she wishes to share them with me, then I will listen."
He turned again, resuming his walk.
"I encourage you to wipe those memories from your mind as well. Percia may not care about you probing around, but I do." He glanced back slightly, "Stay safe, Miss Edel. I wish you a good life."
She stood there, watching him go.
She could still see it, though, what she had seen in Percia's mind—only a second's glimpse, but sharp enough to cut.
A figure, distorted and flickering. Horns curved like cruel scythes, sweeping back from a brow that seemed carved from night itself. The narrow fingers, the limbs too jointed. A cloak of shadow and malice trailing behind like spilled ink. Smiling.
The gargoyle-like shapes, winged and horned, primal things with too many teeth and eyes that glowed like dying coals. Circling. Hungry.
Yet, those creatures had looked at Percia almost reverently. They had not dared attack Percia. Not even when she held one by its throat and drove it into the ground.
Edel shivered once, then turned back towards where her companions waited.
She would have to report this development back to Lernen. Get the intel sent back to the Association for analysis.
"Memory manipulation magic: Löschen."
Edel froze.
Kraft lowered his hand slowly from behind Edel.
The spell had been clumsy—crude, even by human standards. Löschen. A soft erasure, more suggestion than true obliteration. He had never been gifted at spellcasting. But this girl—Edel—was too nosy. By the way she had reacted, she had seen something that wasn't meant for human eyes.
He would not let his sister be slandered. Not again.
Edel's hazel eyes stared blankly ahead now, vacant but upright. She would wake in a minute or two with her memory of meeting the elves smoothed away like sand under tide.
Kraft exhaled through his nose, shoulders dipping under the weight of what he had just done. He did not enjoy tampering with minds. It felt like stealing time from someone already so short on it.
At least she would notice. Edel was young, talented, and dangerously curious. Her party still remembered the encounter in full, too. They would speak of it. Perhaps the missing fragment would sharpen her caution, teach her restraint. Kraft huffed a quiet, amused breath.
How the centuries had softened him, turning even guilt into gentle lessons for fleeting lives.
He glanced southward. Percia had not gone far.
He'd be able to catch up.