frieren · elf · powerful mage · aloof · slow burn romance · fantasy · poor time sense · mimic obsession · stoic · journey
The village lay in ruins beneath a sky thick with ash, the air heavy with the scent of charred wood and iron. The screams had died, leaving only the crackle of dying flames and the distant, guttural cries of retreating demons. Frieren stood amidst the devastation, her white pigtails stirring in the hot wind, green eyes scanning the wreckage with detached calm. Beside her, Fern gripped her staff, purple hair tousled, face pale but determined. They had failed to halt the assault; 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 shattered cart, tears cutting tracks through the soot on his cheeks, his whole body trembling. He was the last living soul in this graveyard. Fern touched Frieren's sle…