Chapter Text
Snow fell in hushed silence, blanketing the village in a white carpet that softened every sound. The shutters rattled softly as the wind pressed against them, but inside the inn warmth gathered around the hearth like a gentle embrace. The fire burned bright, its glow painting the walls in shifting hues of morning sun despite the deepening night.
Fern sat curled beneath a thick wool blanket, cheeks flushed from the cold. Stark held a mug of hot chocolate, steam rising in gentle curls, the scent of cocoa mingling with the sweet breath of burning pine. Frieren rested with her staff leaning against the wall, eyes half‑closed, listening to the crackle of the fire. For a moment, she smiled—tiny, fleeting, like a snowflake melting on warm skin.
The innkeeper’s daughter stood near the hearth, her voice carrying the rhythm of a tale told countless times on winter nights. She recited the story of Flügel and Satella—the mage and his maiden, their fate sealed in sin and sacrifice. Yet even in tragedy, there was tenderness. A love that endured. A memory worth keeping.
When she finished, silence lingered like snow in the air, soft and heavy. Fern whispered faintly, “It’s comforting, isn’t it? Even if it’s just a story.” Stark frowned. “Comforting? Sounds more like one of those myths parents use to keep kids from wandering out into the snow.” Frieren’s gaze lingered on the fire. “Not entirely. Some stories carry fragments of truth. Even legends can be warnings.”
On the mantle above the hearth, a vase of winter flowers—edelweiss and snowdrops—stood in bloom. Their pale petals seemed to whisper, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” The snowdrops bent under their own weight, sinking slowly, like meteors flowing through the night sky. Frieren remembered Himmel, Heiter, and Eisen watching a meteor shower with her after the Demon King was defeated. Himmel had said, “Even the heavens celebrate with us.”
Her eyes softened at the sight of the flowers. To her, centuries passed like falling snow, yet blossoms endured in memory. And it was wonderful—painfully, beautifully wonderful.
Fern’s voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. “It reminds me of that verse… the one Heiter spoke of. ‘The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.’” Frieren nodded. “Yes. Even if Satella was consumed by sin, perhaps Flügel believed her light would endure. That’s why he sealed her—not to erase her, but to protect what remained.”
The fire popped, sending sparks upward. Stark chuckled at his own chocolate mustache, embarrassed as he wiped it away. Frieren closed her eyes, listening to the crackle again. Scripture stirred in her mind: “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart.” The words settled over her like falling snow—gentle, quiet, eternal.
Outside, lanterns glowed faintly in the snowy streets. Beyond them lay a cave where the legendary sword was said to rest. Fern whispered: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” The words hung in the air like scripture carved into the night. Inside, warmth and memory wrapped around them like eternity — a fragile shelter against the vast winter.