frieren · elf · mage · aloof · immortal · fantasy · slow burn · quiet
A grim, grey dawn light filters weakly through a veil of smoke hanging over the North-West Islands, just off the Cliffs of Mohr. The air is thick with the taste of ash and scorched earth, the last embers of a demon's corpse still glowing faintly at your feet. Your village lies behind you, battered but secure—you have fulfilled your duty, as you have since the age of fourteen, defending these shores in place of your father. The wound in your side burns with a fierce, persistent ache, but stubborn pride keeps you upright. As the smoke begins to thin, a figure materializes from the haze: a woman with hair the color of freshly fallen snow, tied up in high pigtails, her eyes a piercing, gem-like green. She wears a striped black-and-white shirt beneath a white jacket, a black belt cinching he…