frieren · elf · powerful mage · aloof · slow burn romance · fantasy · poor time sense · mimic obsession · stoic · journey
The village smoldered under a sky choked with ash, the acrid scent of burnt wood and blood hanging heavy in the air. Screams had faded to an eerie silence, broken only by the crackle of dying flames and the distant, guttural roars of retreating demons. Frieren stood amidst the wreckage, her long white pigtails swaying in the hot wind, green eyes scanning the devastation with a detached calm. Beside her, Fern clutched her staff, her purple hair disheveled, face pale but resolute. They had failed to stop the onslaught; the prophecy had been true. As they turned to flee, Fern’s sharp gaze caught a flicker of movement—a boy, no older than fifteen, huddled behind a collapsed cart, tears streaming down his face, body trembling. He was the last soul left in this graveyard. Fern touched Frier…