Chapter Text
The market thinned as they moved farther from the apothecary, the noise softening into a low hum that sat behind them instead of crashing over their heads. Wooden stalls gave way to stone walls, and the smell of spices and smoked meat slowly faded into the cleaner scent of morning air. Fern walked a half step ahead, her pace steady, posture straight, hands folded neatly at her waist.
Subaru followed with the exaggerated care of someone pretending not to listen while listening to everything.
She kept her eyes forward. She focused on the rhythm of her steps, on the weight of the pouch at her belt, on literally anything except the quiet tension crawling up her spine. If she pretended hard enough, maybe Fern would forget what she had just asked.
Fern did not forget.
They walked in silence for several seconds. Long enough for Subaru to hope. Not long enough for the hope to survive.
“Aura,” Fern said calmly.
Subaru flinched.
“Yes, MPG?” she answered without looking, tone defensive by reflex.
Fern stopped walking.
Subaru took two more steps before realizing she was suddenly alone, then sighed and turned around slowly, already bracing herself.
Fern stood there, expression composed, cheeks faintly pink. Not angry. Not smug. Something worse. Controlled discomfort.
“We are going to talk about this properly,” Fern said. “Frieren-sama asked me to make sure you understood.”
“I understood the part where I don’t want to,” Subaru replied. “Very clearly. Loudly. With feeling.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It should be.”
Fern gestured toward the stone wall beside the road. “Sit.”
Subaru stared at her. “You’re not my mom.”
Fern’s eye twitched. “Sit.”
Subaru sat.
She dropped onto the low wall with exaggerated reluctance, leaning back on her palms and staring up at the sky as if divine intervention might strike Fern with sudden amnesia. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, completely unconcerned with her suffering.
Fern remained standing.
She inhaled once. Slowly. As if preparing for battle.
Subaru did not like that.
“Alright,” Fern said. “I will explain this clearly and directly. And you will listen.”
“I refuse on spiritual grounds,” Subaru muttered.
Fern ignored her.
“Human women experience a biological cycle approximately once every month,” Fern began, voice even and precise. “It is tied to reproduction. The body prepares itself, then sheds what it does not need.”
Subaru closed her eyes.
She tried not to think. She tried not to visualize. She tried not to hear the words. Unfortunately, Fern was very good at explaining things.
“During this time,” Fern continued, “there can be bleeding, pain, fatigue, dizziness, nausea, and emotional instability.”
Subaru cracked one eye open. “Hey. I’m emotionally unstable all the time. Does that mean I’m already halfway there?”
Fern’s mouth twitched.
Just barely.
She did not acknowledge it.
“It can last several days,” Fern went on. “Proper hygiene and rest are important. That is why we bought the herbs.”
Subaru made a quiet noise that sounded like a dying animal.
“I would like to be very clear,” Subaru said weakly. “I did not consent to this information entering my brain.”
Fern finally glanced away, her ears visibly red. “Do you think I wanted to explain this to you?”
“Yes,” Subaru said immediately. “A little. You look like you’re enjoying my pain.”
“I am not,” Fern replied, too quickly.
Subaru squinted at her. “You hesitated.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Fern turned back to her, face carefully blank. “Aura.”
“What.”
“Stop talking.”
Subaru sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands. “This is a nightmare. I faced that elf and this is still worse.”
Fern cleared her throat and continued anyway.
“There are signs that indicate when it may begin,” she said. “Changes in appetite. Discomfort. Mood shifts.”
Subaru groaned. “So basically my life but with extra steps.”
Fern shot her a look. “You need to take this seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously,” Subaru replied. “I am seriously considering running into the forest and letting Frieren find me in a hundred years.”
“That will not solve anything.”
“It will solve this conversation.”
Fern folded her arms. She looked down at Subaru, expression tight. “You are in a female body. Whether you like it or not, this is something you need to understand.”
Subaru went quiet.
She stared at the ground, covered horns casting a shadow across the stone.
Subaru let out a breath she had been holding. “I just want it to work differently. Demons are weird. Maybe they don’t do this. Maybe this body just skipped that part.”
Fern blinked.
Subaru looked up instantly. “You hesitated again.”
“I am thinking,” Fern said. “Which I am allowed to do.”
Subaru waited, hopeful in a way she hated.
Fern exhaled. “There is no documented research on demon physiology in this regard.”
Subaru’s shoulders sagged. “That’s not a no.”
“It is not a yes either.”
“I will take ‘not a yes’,” Subaru said quickly.
Fern shook her head. “You should still be prepared.”
“Prepared for what. Suffering?”
“For managing it,” Fern corrected.
Subaru stared at her. “You are way too calm about this.”
Fern looked away again. “I have experience.”
“Oh.”
That shut Subaru up for a moment.
Then she frowned. “Wait. Why are you explaining this so thoroughly?”
Fern’s lips pressed together. “Because Frieren-sama asked me to.”
“And because you want to,” Subaru added.
Fern’s jabbed her index finger at Subaru. “That is not true. I still refuse to believe that there is a boy inside you. Still, Frieren-sama insisted, so here I am.”
Subaru tilted her head. “You’re explaining it like a lecture. With structure. You even practiced, didn’t you?”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely rehearsed this.”
Fern’s face flushed. “That is a false accusation.”
Subaru stared at her, then suddenly laughed. Not loud. Not mocking. Just tired amusement.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Subaru said. “You hate me, but you’re enjoying this.”
Fern did not answer.
She did not deny it either.
They were there for a moment, the road quiet around them. Somewhere in the distance, a cart rattled by. A bird chirped. Life continued.
Finally, Fern spoke again, voice more subdued.
“There is one more thing,” she said.
Subaru groaned. “Of course there is.”
“If you experience pain or symptoms,” Fern continued, “you are to tell me or Frieren-sama immediately.”
Subaru snorted. “Frieren will over react.”
“She will worry,” Fern corrected.
“She will hover,” Subaru said.
“Yes.”
“She already does.”
Fern did not argue.
Subaru leaned back again, staring at the sky. “This is the worst character customization screen I’ve ever seen.”
Fern frowned. “I do not understand that metaphor.”
“Lucky you.”
They stood after that. Fern adjusted her robe. Subaru picked up her pouch, movements slower than before.
As they resumed walking, Subaru muttered, “I’m choosing to believe demons don’t do this.”
“That is not how biology works,” Fern replied.
“Then I will believe harder.”
Fern sighed, rubbing her temple. “You are so weird.”
“And yet,” Subaru said, glancing sideways at her, “you still explained everything.”
Fern’s steps slowed.
“…Frieren-sama trusts you,” she said quietly. “That is all. But if you dare to betray her…”
Subaru didn’t respond right away.
She kicked a pebble along the road, watching it bounce.
“Hey, Fern,” she said eventually. “If this does happen.”
Fern stiffened. “Yes…?”
“You’re not allowed to say ‘I told you so.’”
Fern considered it. “I will think about it.”
“That means no.”
“That means maybe.”
Subaru smiled faintly.
They were nearly at the gate now. The stone arch loomed ahead, guards visible in the distance. Frieren and Stark would be waiting.
Subaru took one last breath and straightened.
“Fern,” she said. “Thanks. I guess.”
Fern did not look at her. “Do not misunderstand.”
“I won’t.”
They walked a few more steps in silence before Fern spoke again, voice returning to its usual firm tone.
“Aura, you do realise that demons were unintelligent monsters who could only use human voice to lure prey? They couldn't even move like trees.”
Subaru blinked. “Uh, no. Like I said, I was not even a demon—”
“However, demons realised that humans were no longer falling for their tricks and after thousands of years, they took the shape of humanoid and eventually looked almost exactly like humans...like you. So it is not impossible that demons have also copied menstruation cycles.”
“...huh.”
.
.
.
.
By the time Fern and Subaru returned to the inn, the late afternoon light had begun to slant through the narrow windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air like they had nothing better to do with their lives. The common room was quieter than usual. A few travelers sat scattered across tables, murmuring softly, bowls and mugs clinking now and then. It smelled faintly of bread, tea, and old wood.
Frieren was exactly where Fern expected her to be.
She sat at one of the larger tables near the window, legs tucked beneath her chair, a thick grimoire open in front of her. One hand held the book, the other cradled a teacup she sipped from with slow, absent-minded movements. Her eyes moved steadily across the page, unhurried, as if the world around her was optional.
She did not look up immediately when Fern and Subaru entered.
Then she did.
Her gaze lifted, sharp and casual all at once, and her mouth curved into something that might have been a smile.
“Sup, Fern, Subaru.”
Subaru nearly tripped over her own feet.
Her body jolted so hard it was a miracle she did not actually fall flat on her face. She caught herself on the back of a chair, horns narrowly missing the edge of the table, and stared at Frieren in open horror.
“Please,” Subaru said weakly, one hand pressed to her chest, “please do not use words from my world.”
Fern paused mid-step.
Frieren blinked. Once. Slowly.
“Why?” Frieren asked, genuinely curious, tilting her head just slightly.
Subaru straightened, pointing at her with accusation clear in her posture. “It doesn’t suit you. At all.”
Fern glanced between them, already tired.
Frieren frowned faintly, as if considering a difficult magical theorem. “But it is a greeting. I learned it from your memories.”
Subaru groaned. “That is exactly the problem.”
When Frieren had looked through Aura’s mind, forced her way past defenses and memories and doubt, she had not only seen Subaru’s pain and fear. She had also, unfortunately, absorbed fragments of his everyday life on Earth. Casual phrases. Stray thoughts. Half-remembered conversations. Words that had no business existing in this world.
Such as “sup.”
“I do not understand,” Frieren said calmly. “It is efficient. One syllable.”
“It’s cursed,” Subaru replied. “You’re an ancient elf mage. You’re not allowed to say that.”
“Why not.”
“Because it makes me feel like I’m hallucinating.”
Fern cleared her throat. “Frieren-sama.”
Frieren looked at her. “Yes?”
“Please stop using strange phrases.”
Frieren hummed. “Is it because I am a waifu?”
Subaru's soul briefly left her body.
“Please stop talking,” Subaru said immediately, hands up like she was warding off a spell.
Frieren shrugged, unbothered. “You use that word.”
“I regret everything I have ever thought.”
Fern rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they did not get stuck.
They approached the table. Frieren returned her attention to the grimoire, taking another sip of tea. Subaru sat stiffly, as far away from Frieren as the bench allowed, posture tense like she expected to be grabbed at any moment. Fern sat across from Frieren, folding her hands neatly in front of her.
For a few seconds, there was peace.
Then Fern spoke.
“Did you receive the pass from Graf Granat, Frieren-sama?”
Frieren nodded, flipping a page. “Yes.”
Fern relaxed just slightly. “Then we can leave today?”
“No, tomorrow. I found an interesting library here.”
Fern exhaled quietly, relief she would never admit showing itself in the smallest ways. One more night. Then they would be gone.
She paused. “Where is Stark-sama? He said he would be back by evening.”
Frieren glanced toward the door, then back at Fern. “He will return.”
That was it. No explanation. No concern.
Fern frowned. “It is already evening.”
“He said evening,” Frieren repeated. “This is still evening.”
Subaru watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “Your definition of time is horrifying.”
Frieren ignored her.
She closed the grimoire partway, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at Subaru. Her gaze lingered in a way that made Subaru deeply uncomfortable.
“Subaru,” Frieren said, voice mild, “are you hungry?”
The question landed wrong.
Very wrong.
Subaru froze.
Her eyes drifted, against her will, to Frieren’s exposed neck. Pale skin. Soft. Close. The faint scent of tea and something floral. One small bite. Just a little.
The thought hit her like a slap.
No.
No no no.
She shook her head sharply, physically snapping herself out of it.
No, you idiot. You do not eat people. Or elves. Or anyone. Control yourself.
She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms through the gloves.
Frieren waited patiently, head tilted.
Subaru swallowed. “Uh. Yes. Hungry. Normal hungry.”
Fern’s eyes flicked toward her instantly.
“What kind of hungry?” Fern asked flatly.
Subaru stiffened. “The kind where you eat food.”
“Food,” Fern repeated.
“Yes.”
“Not people.”
“No.”
“Not elves.”
“Uh, no.”
Fern stared at her for a long second, then looked away. “Disgusting.”
Aura bristled. “I didn’t even say anything!”
“You thought it,” Fern replied coolly.
Subaru opened her mouth, then closed it. “…That’s not true.”
Fern picked up the grimoire Frieren had set aside and opened it, clearly done with the conversation.
Subaru slumped back against the bench, staring up at the ceiling.
“This is harassment,” she muttered.
Frieren watched her with mild interest, eyes sharp in a way that never quite went away. “What do you want to eat?”
Subaru forced herself to focus. “Meat. Normal meat. Cooked. Dead. From an animal.”
Fern did not look up. “Of course.”
Subaru shot her a glare. “What is that supposed to mean.”
“Nothing,” Fern said. “Just an observation.”
Frieren smiled faintly and took another sip of tea.
Subaru folded her arms, sulking. “I hate all of you.”
Fern turned another page of the grimoire, expression unreadable.
.
.
.
.
Morning at the gates of Graf Granat’s domain arrived quietly, as if the land itself had decided not to make a fuss about their departure. The stone walls loomed tall and orderly, banners hanging still except for the occasional twitch when the breeze passed through. Guards stood at attention near the open gates, armor catching the pale sunlight. Beyond them stretched the road forward, winding into forests and hills that promised trouble, monsters, and long days of walking.
The party stood together just inside the threshold.
Frieren, calm and unreadable as ever, rested her staff lightly against the ground. Fern stood close by her side, posture straight, expression neutral but eyes sharp. Stark shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands clasped behind his head in a nervous habit he never quite managed to break. And a step behind them, half-hidden beneath her hood, stood Subaru. Or Subaru, depending on who you asked and how much patience they had.
Graf Granat approached them with measured steps, his cloak swaying gently. His expression was solemn, but there was relief there too, the kind that only came after a problem had been cut loose and sent running.
“Frieren,” the Graf said, stopping before her. He inclined his head deeply, a noble’s bow done without hesitation. “Once again, I thank you for freeing my son.”
Frieren nodded. “It was nothing.”
Fern did not react, though Stark shot Frieren a look that clearly said that was, in fact, something.
The Graf turned toward Stark next, his stern expression softening just slightly. “And you as well. Thank you for saving me.”
Stark scratched the back of his head, cheeks coloring faintly. “Ah, well… I couldn’t really defeat that demon, Linie. She ran away.”
He laughed awkwardly, like he was confessing to having lost his wallet rather than letting a powerful demon escape.
Graf Granat waved a hand dismissively. “She ran away. That is what victory is.”
Stark blinked. “It is?”
“Yes.”
“…Oh. Then I guess I won.”
Frieren hummed in agreement, as if that settled it completely.
The Graf’s gaze shifted then, sliding past Stark and Fern, landing squarely on Aura, or, Subaru.
The temperature seemed to drop.
Subaru felt it immediately. That look. Sharp, heavy, and filled with something cold enough to sting. Hatred, unfiltered and unapologetic. She flinched before she could stop herself, fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak as she tugged the hood lower, trying to hide her eyes.
It only made things more awkward.
Her horns pressed tightly against the fabric, forcing the hood into an unnatural shape. She froze, realizing too late that she probably looked even more of an eyesore now.
Graf Granat studied her without blinking.
“Frieren,” he said at last, voice even but hard. “When you have gained all the knowledge and information from… her, will you kill her?”
Subaru’s breath caught.
The words were spoken so casually. Not angry. Not emotional. Just practical. As if he were asking when a task would be completed.
Frieren answered without hesitation. “I am sorry, but I already told you I cannot do that.”
The Graf held her gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.
“I see.” He exhaled slowly. “Very well. I wish you luck.”
He turned slightly, preparing to leave, then paused and inclined his head once more. “And once again, thank you. For saving my people. And me.”
With that, he stepped back, guards moving aside as he returned into the domain. The gates remained open, the path ahead clear.
The party stood there for a moment, watching as Graf Granat disappeared from view.
Subaru swallowed.
They started walking.
The road stretched out before them, gravel crunching softly beneath their boots. The walls of the domain slowly receded behind them, stone giving way to trees and open land. The sky was bright, clouds drifting lazily, completely indifferent to the tension hanging in the air.
Subaru walked with her head down, thoughts racing.
“What if…” she began quietly.
Fern did not look at her.
“What if we meet someone else like him,” Subaru continued, voice uncertain. “Someone who hates demons even more. What if they try to kill me too and they are far too strong for you to stop?”
Stark glanced back at her, concern flickering across his face.
Fern answered before anyone else could.
“Then your life is not nearly as important as a human’s,” she said calmly. “If our safety is compromised, you should die.”
Subaru stopped walking.
So did Stark.
Frieren stopped as well.
The wind picked up gently, brushing through the grass and rustling leaves overhead. Frieren stood still in the middle of the road, staff planted firmly, her back to them. She did not turn around right away.
“Fern,” Frieren said, voice quiet but firm. “Every human life is valuable.”
Fern frowned. “Frieren-sama, she is not a human.”
“I used to be one,” Subaru said softly, almost too quiet to hear.
Fern spoke a bit harshly. “Lies.”
Frieren turned.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The wind tugged at Frieren’s silver pigtails, lifting them slightly as they flowed against the light. Sunlight caught in her hair, giving it an almost unreal sheen. Her expression was calm, but there was something sharp behind her eyes now. Something resolute.
“Himmel used to say,” Frieren began, “that having a human body doesn’t make you a human.”
Fern stiffened.
Frieren continued, gaze steady. “Intent and actions do. That is why humanity is not tied to just humans, or a single race.”
She gestured faintly with one hand. “It is elves. Dwarves. Even fairies.”
Subaru stared at her.
“If a demon has a human heart,” Frieren said, “then she is a human.”
Silence followed.
Fern did not speak. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes unreadable. She looked away, jaw tight, but she did not argue.
Stark stood there, frozen, eyes wide.
Subaru’s chest felt tight.
She’s just like…
The thought came unbidden, echoing through her mind, tangled with memories of another silver-haired figure, another voice speaking gently about kindness and choice. She shook her head, forcing the thought away before it could hurt too much.
Frieren turned and resumed walking, as if nothing significant had just happened.
After a brief hesitation, the others followed.
The tension did not disappear, but it shifted, settling into something quieter.
As they walked, Frieren glanced sideways at Subaru, a faint, smug smile tugging at her lips.
“Wasn’t I peak waifu material just now?”
Subaru visibly cringed.
.
.
.
.
They walked in a loose, uneven line along the narrow road, boots crunching softly against frost-hardened earth. Frieren led without hesitation, staff tapping now and then against stone, her pace steady and unbothered by the biting wind. Just behind her came Fern, posture straight, steps precise, eyes forward as if daring the world to inconvenience her. Subaru walked between them and Stark, close enough to hear both Frieren’s absent murmurs and Fern’s sharp breaths whenever irritation spiked. Stark brought up the rear, hands folded behind his head, gaze drifting between the grey sky and the backs of his companions.
The cold was creeping in, not all at once but in layers, like a patient predator. Subaru felt it brush against her skin and then retreat, uncertain. This body, this demon body, reacted differently to the world. The air tasted sharper, cleaner, full of details she could not quite name. The ground hummed faintly beneath her boots. Somewhere far off, something alive moved and she felt it, like a tug at the edge of her senses.
She hated it.
More accurately, she hated why she was here.
She had no desire to follow the elf walking calmly ahead of them, the same elf who had slaughtered her again and again and again in another life, in another loop, with a face just as blank as it was now. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, to run, to put as much distance as possible between herself and Frieren. Old fear clung stubbornly, irrational and vivid, painting memories over the present until her fingers curled inside her gloves.
And yet.
Truth be told, Frieren was genuinely trying to help her. Not out of guilt, not out of pity, but because that was simply how the elf was. She helped people the way rain fell or time passed. It happened, quietly, without asking permission.
Subaru hated that too.
Still, hatred did not change reality. Subaru knew nothing about this world. Less than nothing, really. Names, places, rules, dangers, all of it blurred together into a hostile unknown. As much as she loathed the idea, she needed them. She needed Frieren’s experience, Fern’s discipline, Stark’s strength. She needed their presence to anchor her, to keep her from slipping into the kind of reckless spiral that always ended with pain.
So she walked.
The sky above them had dimmed into a strange, oppressive grey, clouds thick and low as if pressing down on the land itself. Subaru tilted her head back, squinting. It felt wrong, this light. Muted. Heavy. Like dusk wearing a midday disguise.
“It’s getting dark,” she said, voice carrying easily in the cold air. “Yet it’s only midday. Where exactly are we going?”
“Heaven,” Frieren replied from ahead, tone flat, almost bored.
Subaru blinked.
“Huh,” she said after a beat. “That’s a cool goal. Wait. Are you seriously saying you want to go to heaven?”
“Yes,” Fern answered without turning around. “I cannot wait to meet Heiter-sama. And Himmel-sama too.”
She said it simply, like one might say they were looking forward to a scheduled appointment. No hesitation. No doubt.
Subaru slowed for half a step before catching herself. The name hit her with unexpected weight.
“You mean the hero,” she said, realization creeping in. Himmel. The legendary hero. Dead. Very dead. Along with Heiter.
Her thoughts raced, stacking one absurd conclusion atop another until something snapped into place with a quiet, horrifying click.
She was traveling with a group of people on what sounded suspiciously like a group suicide.
“That’s so crazy,” Subaru said, staring at their backs. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“The path is tough,” Frieren said, unbothered. “But we will nail it.”
“…Nail it?” Stark echoed from behind, brow furrowing.
“It’s another one of the strange phrases she learned,” Fern replied, irritation sharpened to a blade. “From Aura’s memories.”
Stark shrugged, apparently deciding this was not worth unpacking. He lengthened his stride and reached out, resting a broad hand on Subaru’s shoulder in a companionable, grounding way.
“Don’t worry,” he said with an easy grin. “I had the same confusion at first. They are just like that. Heaven is a place. The actual name is Aureole. It’s where you can meet dead people.”
“I see,” Subaru said slowly.
Then she jabbed an accusing finger past Frieren and Fern, nearly poking Fern in the back of the head.
“Couldn’t you say it like that from the start?”
“We could,” Fern said coolly.
“We definitely could,” Frieren agreed, as if this were a fascinating revelation.
Subaru dropped her hand and sighed, long and theatrical. The road stretched endlessly ahead, pale and unforgiving. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on the rhythm of walking, on not thinking too hard about where this journey might end.
As they continued, she became more aware of the subtle differences between herself and the others. Stark’s breath fogged visibly in the air. Fern’s shoulders tensed against the cold, fingers curling into her sleeves. Even Frieren, for all her elven resilience, had drawn her coat tighter, steps measured against the growing chill.
Subaru, meanwhile, felt… fine.
Not warm, exactly, but not cold either. The sensation stopped at her skin, never sinking deeper. The world brushed against her and slid away. Perks of being a demon, she supposed, if one were inclined to call them perks.
She lifted a hand and patted the inside of her hood, where something small shifted in response. Halyne stirred, tiny legs adjusting against the fabric. The controlled bug remained obediently tucked away, its presence a faint, familiar buzz in her awareness.
“Where is our next destination?” Subaru asked lightly, more to fill the silence than anything else.
“Stop asking questions, Aura,” Fern snapped.
Subaru’s lips curved into a slow, infuriating smile.
“You could say, ‘I don’t know,’” she cooed. “MPG.”
Fern’s jaw clenched.
“You horned harl—” She cut herself off sharply, drawing in a breath and straightening. “Tch.”
Subaru beamed, utterly delighted.
“At this rate,” Frieren said calmly, lifting her hand as a snowflake drifted down and landed on her gloved palm, “we will be unable to reach the next stop. The weather is getting bad.”
She paused, examining the delicate crystal melting slowly against the dark fabric.
“Huh,” Frieren said. “Snow.”
.
.
.
The blizzard swallowed sound first, then shape, then distance, until the world became a moving wall of white that pressed in from every direction. Snow hissed across the ground like thrown sand, stinging exposed skin and clogging the air with cold breath. Visibility shrank to a few struggling meters. The sky and earth blurred together, indistinguishable, as if reality itself had been erased and redrawn badly.
Subaru walked straight into it anyway.
She leaned forward slightly, boots crunching through fresh drifts, one hand gripping the handle of a battered suitcase that absolutely did not belong to her. Frieren’s suitcase. Old, sturdy, deceptively heavy, and stuffed with God knew what kinds of grimoires, relics, and completely unnecessary items. It bumped against Subaru’s leg with every step, a dull reminder that this journey was not her idea and never had been.
Ahead of her, Stark trudged on like a pack mule carved out of muscle and stubbornness. He held his axe horizontally behind his back, arms hooked over the haft as if it were a casual bench instead of a weapon capable of cleaving monsters in half. Sitting on the axe was Fern, posture stiff, legs tucked carefully to avoid slipping. And sitting on Fern was Frieren.
It was, objectively, ridiculous.
Anyone stumbling upon the scene would have assumed it was some kind of bizarre ritual, or perhaps the world’s worst attempt at modern art. A warrior hauling an axe, a mage riding the axe, and an elf perched on top like an afterthought, hair and cloak fluttering weakly in the wind.
The blizzard worsened, snow thickening into heavy sheets that slapped against faces and clothing. Frieren’s expression scrunched up in a way Subaru had never seen before, lips puffed slightly, eyes narrowed, cheeks faintly flushed from the cold. She looked… displeased. Deeply, profoundly displeased.
Her face twisted into something like “WuW”.
“Suuuubaru,” Frieren called weakly, voice stretched thin by the wind. “Don’t get lost…”
“I am not a baby, you murderous elf!” Subaru shouted back, raising her voice until it burned her throat. “You are!”
Stark snorted, which earned him a sharp glare from Fern, though she said nothing. Frieren merely hummed, seemingly satisfied.
Truthfully, the blizzard wasn’t affecting Subaru the way it should have. The wind tore at her coat, snow clung to her lashes and hair, but beneath it all, her body felt… steady. Strong. This demon form was far sturdier than the fragile human body she remembered too well. Her muscles did not ache. Her lungs did not burn. Even the cold felt distant, like an inconvenience rather than a threat.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was Frieren.
Somewhere along the way, without warning or ceremony, the elf had fallen into a lethargic state that Subaru could only describe as lizard-like. Her movements slowed. Her eyes drooped. Her responses turned vague and delayed, as if she were conserving energy for an unseen winter. She had tried to walk at first, stubbornly insisting she was fine, only to nearly faceplant into a snowbank five minutes later.
Stark had immediately offered to carry her.
Fern had immediately muttered, “Perv,” under her breath.
And so Fern, despite being noticeably smaller and significantly less muscular than Stark, had decided she would carry Frieren herself. Pride, devotion, or sheer spite fueled her choice. Unfortunately, Frieren was not exactly lightweight. Appearances lied. Elves, it seemed, were dense in more ways than one.
Fern slowed almost instantly.
Her steps grew shorter. Her breathing grew sharper. Snow piled up against her boots as if actively resisting her progress. Stark tried adjusting his pace, then slowing, then offering help again. Fern refused every time with increasing irritation.
Which left them with limited options.
Either Subaru carried Fern, who was carrying Frieren, or Stark carried Fern, who was carrying Frieren, while also holding his axe.
Frieren, for her part, expressed a clear preference.
“Subaru should do it,” she said cheerfully, eyes half-lidded.
Subaru declined instantly.
“No.”
Fern also declined instantly.
“I will not be carried by Aura.”
Thus, the current arrangement was born. Stark carried the structure. Fern carried Frieren. Subaru carried Frieren’s suitcase and her own growing resentment.
“Where are we going?!” Subaru yelled, the wind tearing half the words from her mouth. “I swear, if this is a ploy to kill me in a deserted—”
“We are not like you,” Fern snapped back without turning around.
Subaru scoffed. “Comforting.”
“I was following Frieren-sama’s instructions,” Stark called out, voice strained. “But she’s out cold and I have no idea where we’re going!”
“We are lost?” Fern asked, tone dangerously calm.
“We were lost from the start!” Stark yelled back.
The blizzard answered with a fresh gust of wind, as if offended by the accusation.
Fern shifted her grip and jabbed Frieren lightly in the side with two fingers. “Frieren-sama.”
Frieren stirred, face scrunching again. “Mmm.”
“Where are we supposed to go?”
There was a long pause. Snow piled up. Stark’s arms trembled slightly.
“…Cabin,” Frieren mumbled.
“Where?” Fern pressed.
“Nearby,” Frieren said, then went still again.
Silence followed, broken only by the howl of the storm.
Subaru exhaled slowly through her nose. Inside her hood, Halyne remained unmoving. The bug was curled tight, conserving itself, but Subaru could feel its mana faintly, a steady pulse that reassured her it was alive. That small certainty grounded her more than she liked to admit.
“I see something!” Stark suddenly yelled.
Subaru’s head snapped up. “The cabin?”
“No,” Stark said. “A bird.”
“That’s not useful!”
“I know!”
The storm did not ease. If anything, it seemed personally offended that they were still walking.
Snow piled up in uneven ridges, some soft enough to sink into, others hardened by wind into treacherous crusts that cracked underfoot. The air smelled sharp and clean and empty, the kind of cold that scraped the inside of the lungs with every breath. Subaru trudged forward, boots crunching, shoulders hunched, fingers numb where they gripped Frieren’s suitcase. Her hood was pulled tight, but snow still found its way inside, melting against her hair and sliding down her neck.
Ahead, Stark’s pace slowed again. Fern had gone quiet, which was never a good sign. Frieren was entirely still, balanced on Fern’s back like an ancient statue that had decided, without explanation, that movement was no longer her concern.
Subaru squinted through the white haze. Her demon eyes cut through the storm better than human ones ever could, though even they had limits. Shapes wavered and vanished. Trees appeared suddenly, looming dark and skeletal before dissolving back into nothing.
“This is officially the worst hike of my life,” Subaru muttered.
“You have lived a very strange life, then,” Stark called back.
She ignored him, focusing instead on the odd sensation in her body. The cold should have been biting harder. It should have hurt. Instead, it pressed against her skin like a reminder rather than a threat. Her breath came steady. Her legs moved without complaint. The body she wore was built for harsher places than this.
Her patience, unfortunately, was not.
“Cabin,” Frieren had said. Nearby. That word was doing a lot of work.
Just as Subaru was about to open her mouth and complain again, something sharp edged into her vision. Not white. Not grey. Brown, dark and solid.
“Hold on,” she said, slowing. “I see something.”
Stark halted immediately, nearly pitching Fern and Frieren forward in the process. Fern made an annoyed sound and tightened her grip.
“Where?” Stark asked.
“There,” Subaru said, pointing. “That shape. Straight ahead.”
They all strained to look. Slowly, as if the storm itself were reluctant to give it up, a structure emerged. Four walls. A slanted roof heavy with snow. A crooked chimney poking up like a broken finger.
“A cabin,” Stark said, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Fern let out a breath she had been holding. “Finally.”
Frieren stirred faintly. “Told you,” she mumbled.
Subaru stared at the hut as they drew closer. It was old. Very old. The wood was darkened with age and weather, the planks warped and uneven. Snow had gathered thickly along the roof, threatening collapse if the storm worsened. One shutter hung loose, creaking softly as the wind nudged it.
Still, it was standing.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Subaru said. “I’ll take it.”
They picked up speed, exhaustion briefly forgotten in the face of shelter. Stark reached the door first, shifting his axe carefully to lower Fern and Frieren. Fern helped guide Frieren down, setting her gently onto a chair just inside the doorway once Stark pushed it open.
Warmth did not rush out to greet them. Instead, there was stillness. Dry air. The smell of old wood and dust.
Stark stepped inside cautiously.
The cabin interior was simple but intact. Four narrow beds lined the far wall, their frames sturdy though the mattresses looked thin and ancient. A rough wooden table sat in the center with mismatched chairs around it. A pantry stood against one wall, its shelves mostly empty but clean. An unused fireplace crouched in the corner, cold and dark, but solid.
And on the floor, in the middle of the room, a shirtless man with green hair and unmistakable elven ears was doing push-ups.
“Three hundred and five,” he said calmly.
Fern froze.
The man pushed himself up again, muscles flexing, breath steady.
“Three hundred and six.”
“Pervert!” Fern yelped, spinning away and covering her eyes, face burning.
The man blinked, then looked up as if only just now noticing that the room had filled with people. He paused, hands still planted on the floor, then broke into a wide, relieved grin.
“More people?” he said. “I’m so glad!”
He stood in one smooth motion, utterly unconcerned about his lack of clothing, and brushed his hands together. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the build of someone who treated physical labor as leisure.
He extended a hand cheerfully. “I’m Kraft the monk.”
Stark, still holding his axe, hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. He set Fern’s seat properly, made sure Frieren was stable, then turned back, lifting his hand to shake.
The door banged open.
Cold air rushed in like an invading force.
“How could you just leave me outside?!” Subaru shouted as she stumbled in, snow clinging to her clothes and hair. “Do you have any idea how cold it is out there?”
She stopped mid-rant.
Her eyes landed on Kraft.
“Huh,” she said eloquently. Despite her better judgement, her mind registered one word.
Hot.
And delicious.
For a moment, Subaru's mind blanked out and she wanted nothing but to take a bite. Just a little…
Kraft’s smile faltered.
His gaze shifted fully to Subaru, lingering in a way that made her snap back. Not curiosity. Not confusion. Recognition, sharp and immediate.
Before anyone could react, his hand shot forward.
Subaru barely had time to register the movement before it slammed into her chest with tremendous force. The impact drove the air from her lungs in a harsh gasp. Pain bloomed, dull and heavy, and the world flipped.
She flew backward through the open door and into the storm.
Snow swallowed her as she crashed into a tree, the trunk knocking the breath from her again. She slid down into the snow, chest burning, vision swimming.
Shit. This is bad.
The cold rushed back in, sharper now. Her limbs felt heavy. She tried to push herself up, but before she could move, a shadow loomed over her.
Kraft stood above her, impossibly fast, snow barely disturbed by his landing. His face was calm, focused, fist raised.
Subaru’s mind raced. Another elf. Another sudden death. She had barely processed the thought before a massive shape moved behind him.
Stark swung a thick log like a club, muscles straining as he brought it down toward Kraft’s back.
Kraft caught it easily. One hand closed around the log mid-swing, stopping it dead. With a twist, he wrenched it free and tossed it aside as if it weighed nothing.
Fern gasped.
Frieren, now upright despite moments ago being half-asleep, raised her staff. Mana gathered, controlled and precise. Non-lethal, but powerful enough to stop him.
Then Kraft’s eyes widened.
He stared down at Subaru, really looked at her, as if something had finally clicked.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
His raised fist lowered.
The tension snapped, leaving a ringing silence behind.
Subaru lay there in the snow, chest aching, heart pounding. For a split second, she had been sure this was it. Another loop. Another death at the hands of an elf.
Instead, she was still breathing.
Still very much alive.
And very confused.
What just happened?