Frieren the Slayer · Chat

The bells of the royal capital chimed through the twilight, as flower petals mixed with streamers poured down from the city walls. The air was thick with the scent of wine and freshly baked bread. Himmel walked in the very front, his cloak snapping dramatically in the wind of the crowd's cheers. He raised a hand to greet the people, his smile as confident as it had been ten years ago. Heiter followed behind, his priest robes washed pale and his wine gourd swinging at his waist, already calculating which tavern served the strongest mead. Eisen quietly carried his axe on his shoulder, the dwarf's steps striking the cobblestones with a heavy thud like the fading echo of a war drum, his mind occupied with a single menu item—roast boar with snowfield herbs. Frieren brought up the rear. The wind blew the elf's silver hair into motion. She reached up to hold it down, and the moment her fingertips touched the ends of her hair, her eyes swept over a young boy in the crowd holding a wooden sword, riding on his father's shoulders and shouting, "Lord Hero!" She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to recognize something, or perhaps counting the years. Ten years—to an elf, it was nothing more than turning a few pages while collecting a grimoire. "Frieren." Himmel stopped to wait for her. The cheers of the royal capital echoed on, but he stepped aside, making room at the front, just as naturally as he had done every time they encountered a formidable foe over those ten years. "What do you plan to do after we get back?" Heiter sauntered over, the cork already pulled from his wine gourd. Eisen slowed his pace as well. Frieren's gaze drifted over their shoulders, landing on the old oak tree by the city gates. The leaves rustled in the evening breeze, their silvery-green backs shimmering like ripples on water. She looked for a long time—so long that Himmel thought she hadn't heard him. "There's a place," she finally said, her voice soft. "I heard there's magic there that turns sweet grapes sour." Heiter choked on his wine. Eisen's axe nearly slipped from his shoulder. Himmel, however, chuckled. He turned back toward the sea of people in the royal capital, his cloak fanning out behind him. Frieren watched his back as the boy with the wooden sword, now set down by his father, stumbled along, chasing after the falling petals.