Author's Note:
Hey guys, I'm posting this chapter a little ahead of schedule as I will be out all day tomorrow taking an exam :(
As apologies for the delay in chapters the past couple of days, I will post an extra chapter sometime soon. Thanks for reading; hope you enjoy it!
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
"Eisen," Kraft glance over at the dwarf. "Do you know who I am?"
"No."
Percia sighed through her nose, "Seriously, Kraft. Is that how you start every conversation?"
Kraft shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Hey. At least I talk to people." He glanced sideways at her. "You're a hermit."
Eisen watched them without comment, taking a measured sip from his mug.
"I think I understand why Kraft asks," he said after a moment.
He set the mug down. "Sometimes I wonder whether people still know who I am. It's only been eighty years, and they've already started to forget."
"I don't know you either," Kraft said.
Eisen gave the barest shrug, "I'm not surprised. You elves don't seem like the most observant bunch when it comes to what's happening around you."
Kraft paused — something shifting behind his eyes as he turned the timeline over. Eighty years ago. It lined up with what'd they'd told him back at Schwer Mountain.
"You don't happen to know the Hero Party," he said slowly. Not quite a question.
Percia's hand stilled on the edge of her bowl. The spoon rested forgotten against the rim.
She remembered now—Serie had told her, months back: "Frieren traveled with the hero Himmel, the warrior Eisen, and the priest Heiter for ten years. They killed the Demon King together. Saved the continent."
She didn't want to be here anymore.
Eisen nodded once. "I was their warrior."
Kraft hummed. His face stayed pleasant, but Percia felt the shift beneath it — a faint tension, like a string pulled taut. Eisen felt it too. He set his mug down carefully.
"Is something wrong?"
"No," Kraft said, after a beat. "I suppose not."
Eisen turned back to his drink, but his gaze lingered a moment longer on the two of them. "Are all elves like this?" he murmured, almost to himself. "I guess Frieren used to do the same thing."
He paused at their reactions—Percia's sudden stillness, Kraft's lightly pursed lips.
"I see," Eisen mused. "Strange. I would've thought you'd meet Heiter and come away repulsed by his corruption long before imagining Frieren as the one who wronged you."
"So? What did she do this time?"
Kraft raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Does she have a history of doing something wrong?"
"Not exactly what she's done," Eisen replied, voice low. "It's more what she hasn't. She's… emotionally obtuse. She struggles to recognize the value of things while they're still there—only understanding what they meant long after they're gone."
"And it seems your sister paid the price for that."
Percia flinched inwardly. Her shoulders drew in a fraction, as though the words pressed against old bruises.
Kraft glanced between them, then at the untouched bowl in front of her. "Percia won't tell me what happened between them. The details." A pause. "If you can get them out of her, I'd be grateful. It's been over a month and I'm tired of her moping about."
"I'd rather not," Eisen said.
Kraft blinked. "You're not curious?"
"I'd feel inclined to take Frieren's side." Eisen turned his mug slowly between his hands. "An old habit." He set it down. "But she's not my responsibility anymore. She can sort out her own problems."
Kraft let out a short laugh, tension unraveling from his shoulders. "I'll be honest — I wasn't sure how this conversation was going to go. I'm glad we aren't at odds."
He glanced back at Percia. "You should eat," he said, quieter. "It's going cold."
Percia didn't move.
Eisen nodded toward her bowl. "Food helps. It'll make you stronger." His eyes moved over her, assessing with the bluntness of someone who had spent a lifetime reading people before battle. "You look like you need it."
"That's exactly what I've been saying," Kraft said, exasperated. "Percia, for once in your life—"
Percia stood. The stool scraped back against the floorboards.
"I'm going back to the inn," she said flatly.
Kraft opened his mouth—concern flickering—but her glare pinned him in place. He balked, raising his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright." He called after her as she stalked towards the door, "Get something to eat though. I mean it!"
The door closed behind her with a quiet thud.
Eisen watched the space she'd left. The way her posture had curled inward as she walked, making herself smaller than she was.
"Frieren's the one that hurt her," he observed quietly. "But it seems she blames herself."
Kraft tore a slow piece from his bread roll. "Yeah... That's just how she's always been."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Honestly," he said, almost to himself, "it would have been easier if she'd just stayed a hermit."
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
Percia couldn't sleep that night.
Dawn was still an hour away — gray light bleeding faint at the edges of the shutters. She lay still until stillness became its own kind of effort, then gave up and dressed in the dark.
She headed out soon after, aware of the way Kraft's mana shifted. Watching her. Concerned for her.
Outside, the town was quiet. Moonlight lay pale across the dirt path leading toward the tree line. Percia followed it without deciding to, boots barely disturbing the dust. The cool air helped clear her thoughts; albeit, it wasn't enough.
She kept seeing it— white hair falling soft, green eyes half-lidded with something she still couldn't name. Too still to be anger. Too sharp for grief. Something in between, or something else entirely.
She wanted to ask her what it was.
The path ended at a small pond. Percia settled on a flat stone at the water's edge. Beneath the surface, minnows drifted — small silver shapes hovering in the dark, unhurried, purposeless. Just existing.
She'd been watching them for a while when she heard footsteps behind her.
She didn't turn. She didn't need to.
Eisen settled beside her without asking, axe laid across his knees, red cape pooling around him.
"I would have thought you'd be sleeping," Percia said.
"I was headed home when I found you." He shrugged once. "Nothing more."
She didn't ask what he'd been doing out at this hour. He didn't offer it. The silence that followed was comfortable in the way silences get when neither person feels the need to fill them.
After a while, Eisen spoke.
"If you know Frieren, you must know my apprentice. Stark. Heiter's girl, Fern should also be with her. How are they?"
Percia looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I put them through a hard fight. I didn't stay long enough afterward to ask how they felt about it."
"Stark is a warrior. Hard fights are his purpose. He'll be fine."
"I hope so. I really do hope so." She exhaled slowly. "He's a good kid. So is Fern."
"If your so worried, go check on them."
"I can't."
"You can." His tone stayed even. "What's actually stopping you?"
She didn't answer.
"You think I don't already know?" Eisen said. "Frieren wouldn't stop you from visiting them. Even if she hated you. That's not who she is."
He paused. His gaze moved to her neck — to the faint marks that had mostly faded, visible now only to someone who knew what to look for.
"Although," he added, unhurriedly, "I'll admit I'm surprised she had that much force behind those scrawny arms of hers."
Percia laughed under her breath. "That's the first thing you think after seeing it?" She smiled soft, "You're a little bit like Stark."
"I raised that boy." Eisen's grunted. "He is like me."
He stood slowly, shouldering his axe with practiced ease. TThe first pale wash of dawn had begun to color the tree line.
"Frieren and I were never close," he said. "Neither of us spoke much. She got on better with Himmel and Heiter."
He looked towards the sunrise. "But I know her well enough to say this: she doesn't hold grudges. And she doesn't reach for violence unless she believes there's no other way."
He looked at Percia — at the way she was sitting, folded inward, like her own presence was something she was apologizing for.
"That sort of violence was not necessary."
"Whatever you did," he said quietly, "I'm sure she regrets it more than you may think."
Percia didn't answer. She watched the minnows instead—small, purposeless, alive.
Eisen waited a moment longer. Then he turned toward the path.
"Eat something," he said, as he went. "And get some rest."
His footsteps faded. Percia stayed.
The minnows had woken with the dawn — darting now in quick bright flashes, chasing each other, chasing light, chasing nothing in particular. Just moving. Just alive.
She watched them for a long time.
Perhaps, she could chase after them too.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────
Northern Lands
Nachricht Region
It was their final night in the town. Tomorrow they would cross into the Northern Plateau.
Frieren had ran out of excuses.
So, she lay awake in the narrow inn bed, listening to the soft creak of floorboard as late travelers checked in below. Sleep had evaded her for a while now.
She knew she had no right to miss Percia the way she did. The quiet weight of her. The way she looked at things. She had forfeited the right to that, and more. She knew it. And still — she missed her. It sat in her chest like something lodged, immovable.
Earlier that day she had apologized to the Fern and Stark. Properly. No deflection. No excuses.
To Fern first—quiet words in the shade of the inn's porch.
"I ignored your feelings," Frieren had said, staring at the ground. "I failed you as a master. And I drove Percia away."
Fern hadn't answered. Her fingers had curled at her side, her eyes fixed on some point past Frieren's shoulder. After a long moment, she gave one small, tight nod. Then she walked away.
Stark had stopped mid-laugh when she approached, setting down the lumber he'd been moving for a villager. He had listened. Then he asked, without any anger at all:
"Can you bring her back?"
Frieren had wanted to say yes.
"No," she'd said.
Now, alone in the dark, Frieren exhaled a quiet, dry sound that almost passed for a laugh.
A thousand years of existence, and her own stupidity still found ways to surprise her.
She let the thought linger as she drifted off into restless sleep.
.
.
.
"You sleep surprisingly late," a familiar voice drawled. "I always assumed you were the lazy type."
Frieren opened her eyes.
The room was all too familiar: weathered stone floor worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, braziers blazing with cold blue fire that gave no heat, grimoires scattered in deliberate chaos across low tables and shelves.
At the far end, a set of steps led up to a throne half-buried in stacked books. There, a lone elf sat.
"Serie," Frieren said. She sat up slowly. "Why are you in my dream?"
Serie scoffed sharply. She gestured lazily at the chamber around them.
"Think before you speak. Do you seriously believe you'd be dreaming of my abode?" She closed the book in her lap with a soft snap. "I simply drew your consciousness here."
Frieren tilted her head. "Sounds dangerous."
"It is. If you mess up the spell." Serie's gaze flicked up—cool, assessing. "I don't make mistakes, though."
"Not on purpose," Frieren added mildly.
Serie smirked—just a flicker at the corner of her mouth. "No. Not on purpose."
She set the book aside. The blue flames reflected in her eyes like distant stars.
"But you called me here for a reason," Frieren continued, stepping closer. "I'm sure it's not because you just wanted to see me."
"Far from it. You're still banned." Serie's voice stayed flat, but her eyes sharpened. She bored her gaze into Frieren like a blade seeking weakness. "A few of my students ran into Percia a while back."
Frieren stilled.
"Imagine my surprise when they told me she was injured. Looked rather worse for wear, from what they described."
Now Serie stood, unhurried, and descended the steps.
"Percia isn't the type to get injured," she continued. "There isn't much out there that can hurt her by force. And the things that can— The things that she would allow to hurt her; I can think of four."
She stopped at the base of the steps.
She lifted one hand, ticking off fingers. "One is dead. One has been missing for many, many years."
"That leaves me," she said. "And you."
Serie stepped down from the dais. Closer. Close enough that Frieren could feel the faint pressure of her suppressed mana—like a storm held behind glass.
"So, Frieren." Serie's gaze bored deeper—cold, unrelenting. "I will let you speak for one minute. Before I take your existence from this world and rip it into shreds."
She stopped just arms' reach away. Golden eyes unblinking.
"Defend yourself, Frieren. Before I kill you."