"She actually blasted you into a tree?"
"Yes!" Stark gestured wildly, nearly taking the pitcher with him. "I genuinely thought I was going to die. My whole life flashed before my eyes."
Frieren's ear twitched. "Hey, I already apologized for that..." She twiddled her thumbs, avoiding eye contact. "Give me a break..."
"Frieren-sama was quite difficult while you were gone," Fern said, frowning slightly. "She stalled for nearly a month at the border."
"Fern—!"
"Waiting for you," Fern finished.
The faintest color touched Frieren's cheeks.
Percia huffed in quiet amusement, the sound barely more than an exhale. "My, I wasn't aware we'd agreed to meet there."
"...Be quiet."
"So everything's settled?" Stark leaned his head against the wall. "No lingering resentment? No hard feelings?"
Percia glanced at Frieren, her eyes softening just a fraction. "I believe so." She paused, gaze dropping to the worn grain of the table. "I... will try to be more open with all of you."
She searched for the right words, fingers tracing a faint scar in the wood. "I have a long past, and not all of it is... ideal. I thought it would be kinder to omit those details." A tired, almost self-deprecating smile touched her lips.
"Recent events have suggested otherwise."
Percia looked back up at them. "I just ask that you be patient with me. Talking isn't exactly my strong suit."
Stark snorted. "Yeah, I feel like that's just an elf thing. And maybe Fern thing too."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fern narrowed her eyes at him.
"Hey, I'm just saying!" Stark raised his hands in defense. "Half the time I do something, you just call me a pervert."
"That's because you are."
"...Rude."
Percia watched the two bicker with a small, almost nostalgic tilt of her head. She had missed this kind of chaos—the easy, living warmth of it.
A finger poked her side. She turned to find Frieren looking up at her, expression earnest.
"You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to," she said quietly. Ahead of her, Stark yelped and flinched away from Fern's half-hearted swat. "We all have things we'd rather not talk about."
Percia's gaze drifted briefly to the scuffle. "Still. What I did back then was wrong. I should have warned you about the ruin. About what led me there."
"I deceived all of you."
Stark glanced up from under Fern's attack. "It's okay. It's not like you knew what to expect from the ruin." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We can't really blame you for what happened."
"Although," Fern mused, lowering her fists, "I do have some questions regarding what happened back then. Your connection to—"
"Frieren!"
The door swung open hard enough to startle the barmaid. Fass stormed in, hat askew, eyes wild with frantic energy.
"You— Did you undo the barrier?!"
Frieren blinked, tilting her head. "Fass, I don't even know what you're talking about."
"Wha—" He swung toward Fern. "Then you—"
Fern regarded him for a moment. "What Fass-sama is asking about," she said, turning to Frieren, "is the barrier containing the legendary Boshaft. And it wasn't me."
All eyes shifted to Percia.
She raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't me either."
"What do you mean it wasn't you?!" Fass gripped the brim of his hat in desperation, voice rising. "Did some random mage just appear out of nowhere?!"
"Well, not exactly." A faint glimmer of something lit Percia's eyes. "I simply asked its creator to take it down."
Fass stared. "What."
"Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't." Percia shrugged one shoulder. "I was lucky enough to have met the her a couple of days ago. Though Milliarde would have taken it down for you eventually. She's mild-tempered enough."
"Milliarde?" Frieren murmured, something shifting in her expression.
Fass went completely still. "You're telling me... the one thing I've pursued for a century could have been obtained by simply asking?"
"Yes."
Fass stared at Percia. Percia stared back, unblinking.
"Well." He straightened abruptly, hat still crooked. "All of you — come with me. We're going in together. This is a legendary moment."
"I don't know that I'd call it legendary," Frieren muttered, as they rose to follow the excitable dwarf.
---
"He took it better than I thought."
The town square had erupted into noise the moment Fass declared the Boshaft the finest spirit in existence — which he had done with a completely straight face. Lanterns swung from every post. Tables groaned under food. Music came from somewhere, lively and slightly offkey.
People everywhere were taking large, ceremonious gulps of the legendary drink — pulling faces of pure revulsion, sputtering, and then laughing anyway.
Percia hummed in quiet acknowledgment from their corner table, taking a measured sip of the foul liquor. Her lips curled in immediate disgust, but she swallowed anyway.
Frieren glanced at her, one brow arched. "I don't get why you're still drinking that."
"Why not?" Percia leaned back in her chair. "It'll simply go to waste. Besides—" She met Frieren's eyes with a small, teasing curve of her lips. "It's giving me a pretty good buzz."
Frieren wrinkled her nose. "You're no better than Heiter."
"A tall compliment, then." Percia reached over and gently poked the tip of Frieren's nose with one finger. "From what I've heard, he seems like a good fellow."
"He was a corrupt priest," Frieren deadpanned. "If not for his blessing from the Goddess, he would have died of liver failure with how much he drank."
"The blessing of the Goddess." Percia echoed the words softly, gaze drifting somewhere distant.
At Frieren's questioning look, she continued. "You know, that didn't used to be a thing until about fifteen hundred years ago. It just... suddenly appeared. Along with the Holy Scripture."
She took another small sip, grimacing only slightly this time. "I just find it interesting, how impressionable humans can be."
Frieren leaned in a little closer, curiosity apparent in her eyes. "You possess something similar yourself, no?"
Percia blinked once. "This?" A pale, well-worn grimoire materialized in her hand with a soft shimmer of mana. "It's nothing special. Here." She slid it across the table toward Frieren.
Frieren cradled it carefully. It was lighter than expected, the leather soft from centuries of handling, etched with sigils from before her time. "...There's a name on it."
Isolde.
"My mother's name." Percia turned back to her drink, taking a longer swig as if to distract herself. The flush on her cheeks had deepened just a touch from the alcohol. "It was her diary."
Frieren looked up in quiet confusion. "A diary. But the way it behaved back then—"
"I used it to cleanse the corrupted remnants in the ruin." Percia rested her head on her folded arms atop the table. "It can be used for many other things too. I'm just not the one who gets to decide."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Frieren asked. "All magic is dictated by the intention of the caster."
"Not when the intention is already set." Her voice had gone quieter. "My mother's intentions... they've persisted. Across everything. Whether I want them to or not."
Frieren frowned faintly, thumb brushing the cover of the grimoire. "I've never heard of magic like this."
"It's not exactly magic, more so—" The familiar staticky hum flickered at the edge of her words, cutting them short. Percia sighed. "It's a forbidden method now. Intentions past death are rare but still plausible. To this extent, however, the world takes issue with it."
"Then why do you carry this?" Frieren held up the book, concern threading lightly through her tone. "This seems more like a curse than a spell."
Percia hummed, taking another deliberate swig of the Boshaft and letting the buzz settle warmly in her veins.
"Because it's important." She paused. "Because, whether I like it or not... she had a point."
Frieren watched with furrowed brows as Percia pushed herself up from the table, swaying just slightly. The elf's usual composed posture had softened under the alcohol and the weight of memory.
"Let's head in for the night, Frieren." Half-lidded eyes gazed back at Frieren, hazy but warm.
"You don't mind us sharing a room, do you?"
---
"I mind very much."
Percia groaned as Frieren plopped her onto the bed unceremoniously. The room spun gently from the Boshaft's lingering buzz.
"Eighty years," Frieren muttered, peering down at her, "and it seems I'm plagued with another drunkard." She shook her head, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "This better not become a habit."
Percia grumbled something incoherent while Frieren efficiently removed her shoes and outer cloak, tucking the blankets around her.
"There's some water here." Frieren set a glass on the bedside table. She couldn't help but smile faintly as she smoothed Percia's mussed hair.
Percia looked less burdened like this. Younger.
"Get some rest, Percia." Frieren's hand lingered a moment longer before she leaned down and brushed her lips lightly against Percia's cheek. She pulled back quickly, a faint blush coloring her ears.
"I'll see you in the morning."
.
.
.
The soft click of the door closing stirred Percia.
She blinked at the ceiling. Then at the figure now settled at the edge of the bed, watching her with an expression of mild neutrality.
"Is this what you summoned me for? To watch Frieren kiss you?"
"Milliarde." Percia murmured. "You came."
"You called." She tilted her head. "Why?"
Percia pushed herself up, her body still pleasantly fuzzy, as if floating just above the mattress.
Good.
"I... need to perform a spell on myself." She glanced at the other elf. "I merely ask that you watch over my body while I'm indisposed."
She stood, swaying only a little. Milliarde reached out with lazy efficiency to steady her. "Thanks..." Percia blinked slowly, then flicked the window open with a thread of mana. "Come. I set up the runes earlier in the forest."
She didn't bother with shoes, hauling herself through the first-floor window and landing barefoot on the cool grass. The distant sounds of the festival drifted on the night air.
Milliarde followed with a faint sigh, landing gracefully beside her. "Must we sneak out like juveniles past curfew?"
"It's still early." Percia glanced back toward the glowing lights of the town. "Frieren went back to the festival. She'll be distracted for a while... I still don't want to risk her learning about this."
The grass rustled as Percia led them deeper into the forest, the night air raising faint shivers along her skin.
"Why keep it from her?" Milliarde asked, voice flat and mildly curious. "Also, you should have dressed better if we were going to wander around like this..."
Percia snorted softly. "I didn't take you for the concerned type." She shot the other elf an amused glance. "Are you already attached to me?"
Milliarde rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I could care less about your wellbeing."
"And that is exactly why I asked you to come today."
Percia stopped at a seemingly empty clearing.
"Frieren... went through an interesting experience recently," Percia said quietly. "Her consciousness was ripped from her body. It left an imbalance — wounds that shouldn't have lingered."
Percia could feel it even through the alcohol's haze.
"There were two ways to realign her. Either put her body through the same ordeal... or remove the experience from her consciousness." Percia raised her hand idly.
Mana washed over the space, dimly lit candles flickering into view. Runes hovered in faint glowing patterns just above.
Percia's fingers brushed one of the floating runes, adjusting its position. "I was able to remove the experience from within Frieren. But the laws of the world dictate one simple truth. You must know what I am talking about."
"There is no true erasure of something that has been created." Milliarde murmured. "Only redirection."
She stepped to the center of the circle. "I transferred the wounds from Frieren's consciousness onto myself." She swallowed, feeling the sharp edge at her neck flare in recognition — so this was what Frieren endured.
"Now I intend to afflict the same damage to my body here. To balance it properly."
She gestured at the runes. "These should keep me from truly dying. My soul will remain unharmed in this process. As long as the one of the three conduits stay untouched, the array will stitch me back together."
Milliarde gazed at her, expressionless.
Percia avoided those green eyes. "...It would have been cruel to ask Frieren to watch over me." She glanced westward into the dark trees. "Serie would throw a fit if I even mentioned it. She would have made Frieren go through it herself."
"I feel that Frieren's been through enough." The confession slipped out quieter than she intended, almost lost to the night air.
"So I asked you." Percia offered a small smile. "You said it yourself — you could care less about my wellbeing."
Milliarde didn't move. "And what keeps me from simply walking away? I could leave you to die once the ritual begins."
Percia shrugged, settling onto the dew-kissed grass. "There's a simple barrier around the setup. It should deter most things." She brushed her fingers through the cool moisture. "Besides... I'll owe you after this. My favor is sought by many; you're no different."
She looked up, midnight eyes steady despite the haze. "So? Are you willing to help me?"
Milliarde lowered herself to the grass with languid grace, tilting her head. A ghost of a smile—more amused than anything—touched her lips. "I don't see why not. Seems interesting."
"Good."
Hopefully the alcohol would take the edge off of this.
Mana flared. Blood splattered outward onto the grass.