Thirty years after Himmel's death.
The sky was ablaze with the colors of a fiery sunset, and as the sun dipped lower, the temperature gradually dropped.
By dusk, Aesc and her companions had arrived at a village called Skoll.
"Phew… Finally, a proper night's sleep."
Stark exhaled in relief, smiling.
Though the snow along the roads had melted, the air was still bitterly cold—especially at night, when even blankets failed to block out the chill.
Now that they had reached a village, at least they wouldn't have to endure another freezing night outdoors.
Standing by the window, Frieren glanced outside. She seemed to notice something.
"The atmosphere here feels… off. It's like everyone is waiting for something."
"Now that you mention it…"
Fern spoke up, as if recalling something. "The innkeeper told me earlier that we arrived at just the right time—tonight marks a major festival in this village."
"A major festival? What, are they celebrating the New Year?"
Stark furrowed his brows. "Wouldn't it be a bit late to be celebrating the New Year now?"
"It's not the New Year."
Fern tapped her finger against her lips, thinking back to what the innkeeper had said. "I think it's called… the Festival of Dreaming Souls?"
The moment those words left her lips, Frieren's expression shifted.
"The Festival of Dreaming Souls…"
"Lady Frieren?"
Fern immediately caught on to her change in demeanor and asked cautiously.
Then, Frieren said something completely unexpected.
"Fern, cancel the rooms. We need to leave before nightfall."
There was a faint urgency in her voice—so subtle it was barely perceptible. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Damn it… I forgot about this. And of all times, we just happened to arrive on the night of the festival?"
Fern and Stark were momentarily stunned, unable to process her sudden insistence.
"Wait… what? Frieren, why are we suddenly leaving?"
Stark was utterly baffled.
Ever since they had stepped foot into the Northern Plateau, he had come to understand just how chaotic this land was.
Finding a safe place to rest in the Northern Plateau was no easy feat.
Monsters here were both numerous and powerful. Being jolted awake in the middle of the night to fight off a horde of them had become a daily occurrence.
During the day, monsters appeared even more frequently—usually in groups of ten or more at a time.
Add in the freezing night winds, and Stark was this close to a nervous breakdown.
Even when they did find a village, there was always the chance it had already been wiped out and turned into a monster den.
Now that they had finally found a place to rest, Frieren suddenly wanted to leave? Stark really wasn't on board with this.
Fern, however, was more rational. She quickly pieced together the reason for Frieren's unease.
"…It's because of the Festival of Dreaming Souls, isn't it?"
Her brows knitted together. "This festival… is it dangerous? Dangerous enough that even you, Lady Frieren, want to avoid it?"
Something so dangerous that even Frieren—who was practically invincible—deemed it a threat?
The thought alone sent a chill down Fern's spine.
"No… that doesn't make sense, does it?"
Stark was skeptical. "If this festival was really that dangerous, then why do the villagers look so happy and excited? It just seems like a normal celebration to me."
"No," Frieren murmured. "The festival itself isn't the danger… something else is."
She trailed off, shaking her head.
Frieren had clearly made up her mind. No matter what Fern or Stark said, she wasn't going to change her stance.
Just then, Aesc spoke.
"You're overreacting, Frieren."
She stepped behind Frieren, placing both hands on her shoulders.
"Let's stay the night. We can't have these two kids freezing out in the wild."
Her voice was soft, carrying an undeniable warmth—so naturally reassuring that it was hard not to trust her words.
"And as for those 'few nuisances' you're worried about… just leave them to me."
At the first half of Aesc's sentence, Frieren's brows furrowed deeply.
At the second half, however, her pupils contracted in shock.
She turned sharply, staring into Aesc's blue, lake-like eyes, as if trying to discern something from within them.
"You can resist the dream now?"
Aesc simply nodded.
Neither Fern nor Stark had any idea what they were talking about.
They exchanged confused glances, both seeing the same question reflected in each other's eyes.
But Frieren didn't offer an explanation.
After receiving confirmation from Aesc, she lowered her head in thought.
Then, with a sigh, she said, "If you're that confident, then fine. I really don't want to spend the night sleeping on a patch of grass."
Having decided to stay, Fern tried to pry further, hoping to understand what exactly Frieren was so wary of.
But all she got in response was—
"You'll understand once tonight is over."
That answer did not put anyone at ease.
At the very least, Stark certainly wasn't feeling any better.
...
Night fell.
The villagers of Skoll turned in for the night much earlier than those in other regions.
It was unclear if this was their usual habit—or if tonight was special.
As the village lights gradually dimmed, leaving only darkness, Fern and Stark were puzzled.
"Wait… I thought there was supposed to be a festival tonight?"
Yet, the question lingered for only a fleeting moment.
Sleep crashed over them like a tidal wave, clouding their thoughts, dulling their senses.
It came so suddenly, so unnaturally—and yet, neither of them realized anything was amiss.
Within moments, they drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.
Silence blanketed the village.
Soft, rhythmic breathing filled the rooms.
Everyone in the village—Aesc, Frieren, and the others—had fallen into an inescapable sleep.
Consciousness drifted downward… sinking… sinking…
Her eyelids were heavy, too heavy to lift. All she could see was a growing expanse of white, engulfing everything around her.
It felt as if a hundred years had passed.
Or perhaps, only a fleeting moment.
Aesc opened her eyes.
The floor beneath her feet gleamed like a mirror.
Everything around her—the floor, the walls, the lighting—was in cold shades of gray and white.
On the wall, there was a large emblem: a circle, encased by two olive branches.
A corridor, sleek and sterile, overflowing with an air of technology.
Everything about it was both unfamiliar and deeply familiar to Aesc.
"So, it's this place again… Chaldea."
She murmured to herself, sounding not the least bit surprised.
In front of her stood a pristine white door.
There was no handle, but that was to be expected—these doors were far more advanced than the kind that required one.
As Aesc walked toward it with a knowing smile, the door slid open on its own.
Inside, a man stood with his back to her, holding a small plate of strawberry shortcake in one hand, casually bringing a bite to his mouth with the other.
At the sight of him, Aesc's grin widened.
"Doctor! You're slacking off in my room again!"
---
"Where… is this?"
A gust of wind tousled her hair as Fern stood there, utterly bewildered.
She looked down.
In her hands was a long staff.
Across from her, on a distant cliffside, stood a massive boulder.
"…That's right. I was training my magic."
Her vision slowly focused. The fog in her mind lifted.
"Master Heiter said that if I can destroy that boulder with a basic attack spell, then I'll be a full-fledged mage."
Determination flickered in her eyes as she adjusted her grip, lifting the staff—one that was noticeably taller than herself.
"…Wait. Was my staff always this long?"
Something felt off.
Heiter had once told her that this staff had been crafted by a friend of his.
It had been made for her future self—meant for the day when she had grown older and taller. That was why, as a child, it always felt a little unwieldy.
But she had been using it for years now. She had trained with it every day.
It shouldn't feel strange anymore.
Yet, she quickly brushed off the thought.
Her gaze locked onto the boulder, and magic gathered at the tip of her staff.
For years, she had practiced this same spell, yet she had never once managed to shatter the rock.
She couldn't even touch it.
Every time, her magic dissipated before reaching its target.
Since Heiter was a monk, he couldn't guide her in magic. His knowledge came only from his friends.
Which meant she had to figure it out herself.
She had always known—something was missing.
There was a trick to it that she had yet to grasp.
So, she didn't expect much this time either. She simply followed the motions, letting her body act on instinct.
Then—
A deafening boom.
A blinding white streak of magic shot forth, like a comet tearing through the sky—
And the boulder exploded.
Fern stood frozen, staring at the massive hole left in the cliffside.
"Did… did I just do that?"
The moment felt unreal.
Like she was trapped in a dream.
When she had cast the spell, everything had flowed so perfectly.
The movement of her magic. The concentration of her mind. The rhythm of her casting.
It was as if she had done it countless times before.
"Why?"
Confusion consumed her.
Then, from behind her, a voice spoke.
A voice so familiar it sent a shiver through her.
"Ah, I only came to call you back for dinner, but it seems I stumbled upon a rather heartwarming sight instead."
The moment she heard it—
Her entire body went rigid.
Like an old, rusted gear struggling to turn, she slowly, mechanically, twisted her neck.
And saw the man who had changed her life.
"Master Heiter…"
A wooden cane supported his frame. White hair. Wrinkled skin, marked by time.
Looking at his kind, elderly face—
An overwhelming urge to cry welled up inside her.
"When I first discovered your talent for magic, I had no idea what to do," Heiter admitted with a soft chuckle. "After all, I'm just a monk who likes his liquor. I don't know the first thing about magic."
His voice was gentle, like a breeze whispering through an ancient city.
"I had thought about calling in a friend to teach you… but you surpassed even my expectations. You became a mage all on your own, through nothing but your own efforts."
He walked toward her, taking in her expression.
"What's wrong?"
There was genuine concern in his voice.
"You look troubled. Are you exhausted?"
He placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair with familiar warmth.
His touch was dry and thin—he was old, after all.
But still, the simple gesture was enough to calm her.
"No…"
Fern shook her head. "I just… It feels like I've been dreaming for a very long time."
"A dream, huh… That's a wonderful thing."
Heiter smiled.
"Dreams are fragments of memory. The reflection of things too precious to be forgotten."
A wistful look crossed his face.
"To relive the past… to continue those aimless, laughter-filled days with them… I often dream of that myself."
"You will too, someday."
His gaze held unwavering certainty.
"You'll meet companions who matter to you. You'll create memories worth treasuring. And when the time comes for farewells… you'll leave behind traces of your existence in this world."
"Himmel already did. And I hope that I can, too."
His words struck something deep within her.
Her eyes widened.
Then, Heiter turned, taking a step forward.
"Come on, let's go eat. Now that you've finally completed your training as a full-fledged mage, we must celebrate."
By the time Fern snapped out of her daze, Heiter was already a few steps ahead.
Clutching her staff tightly, she rushed after him.
"No alcohol, Master Heiter! Your health is getting worse—you need to stay away from drinking!"
"Hah, hah, hah! How merciless of you, Fern! But how can we celebrate without a little wine? Just this once—just one drink shouldn't be a problem, right?"
"Not even one. You need to take better care of yourself. If you don't, I'll be the one who has to deal with it!"
"Sigh… Oh well. I suppose I'll just have to wait until I'm lying in my coffin, when someone offers a drink at my grave."
---
T/N: romani...