Twenty-eight years after Hero Himmel's death.
In a town along the Eng Road, Northern Countries.
Late at night, I sit on a plaza bench, doing nothing. The festival's bustle is gone, leaving silence.
Liberation Festival… Would've been fun with Master.
I think of my absent master. The Liberation Festival, held yearly, celebrates the Hero's Party saving this land from demons eighty years ago. Everyone was joyful. Master would've loved it—or maybe he'd be too shy to join.
The statue from eighty years ago… Master looks the same.
I gaze at the Hero's Party statue, weathered by time. Yet Master's form is unchanged—dwarven longevity. He was taller, broader than me as a kid. I've outgrown him in size, but nothing else. What's he doing now? Probably forging, as always.
"Frieren…?"
I spot her, unchanged from the statue, arms full of goods, stumbling blindly.
"Stark? What're you doing here?"
"Just walking. Couldn't sleep. You?"
She peeks from behind her load, noticing me. Typical carefree Frieren. I'm still adjusting to her, but Fern's used to it.
"Hmph, don't tell Fern!"
Smirking, Frieren shows off her haul—sweets, bread, juice, enough for a stall. Festival leftovers, gifted to her. The townsfolk didn't expect her to take everything.
"That's a lot."
"Right? Eat with me, Stark!"
"What about Fern? She loves sweets."
"She's asleep. Poor thing to wake. I saved her share."
"Still…"
I hesitate. Eating without Fern feels wrong. I can see her pouting, sulky for days. I want to decline, but—
"Heard you and Fern ate parfaits alone. So, join me."
"You're definitely her master."
"Yup."
Her knowing grin stops me. Fern must've spilled. Frieren's holding a grudge. Childish. I can't refuse now.
Apologizing to Fern in my head, I join Frieren for a festival afterparty—
"This is bad… Juice and snacks at midnight. Master would scold me."
"Same. No Fern to nag? Perfect."
A naughty thrill hits. Addictive. I haven't been this bad since childhood. I'm growing up. Frieren's probably more excited, no one to scold us. We indulge in our one-night feast.
I'm relieved. Alone with Frieren is rare—she's always with Fern. I feared awkwardness, but it's fine.
"Next, you'll drink with me. Twenty's soon, right?"
"Tell Fern that."
"Yeah, but… Fern was raised by Heiter. I'm scared to let her drink…"
"?"
Holding her juice cup, Frieren grimaces like she bit a sour grape. Nonsense. Heiter's upbringing should make Fern fine with drinking. What's she scared of? As we eat—
"Stark… How've you been? Any troubles?"
Fidgeting, acting odder, she asks. Drunk on juice?
"Troubles? I just joined this party."
"Right. I'm not cut out for this."
She's self-conscious, loathing her awkwardness. Her question's intent is lost on me. Like a parent grasping for conversation. Unreadable, as always.
"What's this about?"
"Read a parenting book. Tried the 'talking to teens' bit. Should've brought that, not a grimoire."
"Why test it on me? Try Fern."
"She's scary."
My guess was right. She fidgets, embarrassed. So clumsy. Testing it on me is absurd—Fern's the obvious choice. But she's too scared. I get that.
"You're doing fine as Fern's mom, even if it's backward."
I reassure her. Despite our short time, I see it. Frieren's Fern's mother, even if Fern's sternness is her care reversed. Too scared to tell her, though.
Warmth on my head—Frieren's hand, patting me. She grins, satisfied.
"Why pat my head?"
"Praising you. Good job, Stark. I'll forgive one 'old lady' jab."
"Wish I had that earlier."
I mean it. I recall the chaos before coming—Frieren's three-day tantrum. Never again. I didn't want Master's pain. She's happy with my words. I'm too old for head pats, but whatever. When was the last time?
"Call me Mom."
"Honored, but Fern'd kill me."
She's cocky now, or confident. I decline—Fern'd despise me. I shudder imagining it.
"Big sister's fine. Best one you'll get."
"Got enough sisters."
"Oh, right."
I sigh as she pivots to "sister." Too late—Linie's my only sister. No more. Calling her big sister's risky—she's too old, but I won't say it, not wasting my free pass.
"Never asked, but how's Linie?"
"How?"
"You trained together. What's she like?"
"Big sister" sparks her curiosity. She's as bad at conversation as me, just clumsy. Not like Master's quiet.
"Training? She just beat me senseless. Too fast to track, couldn't land a hit. Tried a mutual strike once, failed. She praised me, though."
I shiver recalling it. Trauma, almost. I'll never beat her. Knocked out countless times, forced to stand. Harsher than Master. Only praised my mutual strike attempt. No wins. As I ramble—
"Like Himmel… What to do?"
Frieren listens intently, eyes sharp. The legendary mage emerges, hiding her usual clumsiness. Fern calls it her Burial mode, catching every detail about Linie.
"Did Eisen say anything about her?"
"Master? Nothing specific… Watched her train a lot. Didn't know why."
"He did? But he stopped training with her, right? Too old."
"Really? He just watched, not fought. Linie said she's training to beat someone unforgivable."
"Unforgivable…? A demon…?"
"Weird, right? Her saying that."
Frieren's shock puzzles me, but it's odd. Linie, who loves everyone, targeting someone to defeat? Must be a monster stronger than her. I sweat just thinking about it.
"Can I ask something?"
"What? So formal."
Frieren stares, still in Burial mode. I brace myself.
"Don't you hate demons?"
She cuts to my core, casually.
"Why ask?"
I'm surprised by my calm reply, almost not myself. Maybe I knew—she came tonight for this.
"We're the same. Demons destroyed our homes. Yet you're fine with Aura and Linie. Don't you hate them?"
Her question's natural. Demons took our families, homes. Why can I befriend them?
"What do you think?"
"Obvious. I hate them. Want to wipe them out."
Her eyes confirm her truth. Fern and Master told me—Frieren's lifelong, grueling quest against demons. Her hatred's justified. Everyone who lost to demons feels it.
"Yeah… I hate them too. Not like you, but I do."
I'm no exception. Demons took my strict father, kind brother. I hated them daily. Still do. But—
"More than hate, I'm scared. No, not them—myself. I fled my burning home, left everyone. My cowardice, weakness."
Fear outweighs hate. Not just demons—my shame for escaping, abandoning my village.
"No matter how much I trained with Master, that didn't change. Pathetic. Fern accepts me, but I'm still scared I'll run again. Himmel wouldn't have."
I trained to not lose, to stand, to protect—Master's warrior code. Yet I waver. Fern believes in me, but I don't.
I stare at Himmel's statue. He wouldn't have fled like me. But—
"Nah, Himmel would've bolted."
The Hero's Party mage denies it.
"…What? No way. He's the Hero."
"We fled unbeatable foes all the time. Himmel and Eisen rushed ahead; Heiter and I cleaned up."
I'm stunned. She says it like it's nothing, shattering Hero's Party legends. Master's tales differ, but she's not lying. Fleeing wasn't shameful for them. I see it in her now.
"So, if we meet an unbeatable foe, we'll flee together. Same party. You'll carry us, Stark."
She grins, assigning me, the vanguard, to flee. Typical of their party—Himmel, Heiter, not fairy-tale heroes but silly, fun people. Fern's diary was real.
"That's nuts. You flying us would be faster."
"Fern'd call it lewd."
"She'd say that anyway."
I laugh, but she counters. Fern's probably lewder than us.
"Got sidetracked. Aura and Linie… Honestly, I was scared at first. Thought they'd eat me."
I scratch my head, returning to them. Meeting demons—same as those who razed my home—was terrifying. I clung to Master's back.
"But it was pointless worry. My village was destroyed by demons, but not them. I don't hate them for it."
When did the fear fade? Simple—they're different demons. Others razed my home. Hating Aura and Linie is pointless. Only their victims have that right. More importantly—
"Master trusted them. That's enough for me."
He believed in them. As his disciple, that's sufficient.
"You're Eisen's disciple, alright."
Not the answer she wanted, but Frieren smiles, the tension easing. Good enough.
"I wanted to ask… Are you planning to slay Aura and Linie?"
Sipping juice, I ask what's been on my mind. Hard to ask with Fern around. Now's the chance.
"Yeah… I planned to, but now? I don't know until I meet them."
She gazes far off, murmuring. She's unsure, but that's enough. Not the Burial Frieren from before.
"Good. Don't start a fight, okay?"
"…Mm."
Her stilted reply, eyes unfocused, mimics her earlier mother act. Trouble. She and Aura can't be alone—worse than her three-day tantrum. Gotta tell Fern.
"If something happens, handle Linie, Stark."
"Seriously?"
She's roping me into her mess, already planning for trouble. So impatient. Assuming a fight? Ridiculous. Gotta buy apples as souvenirs tomorrow.
"Of course. Don't you know? Disciples surpass their masters."
"Linie's not my master. What about you?"
"Haven't surpassed mine. But it's fine—I've made her grovel plenty."
"What kind of master-disciple bond is that?"
She dodges with grand words, but that's not what surpassing means. She hasn't beaten her master either. What era is her master from? A master groveling repeatedly? I'm lost.
"You two… What are you doing here?"
Our "mom" appears, blowing everything away.
"Fern…! It's not what it looks like. As an older sister, I was just—"
"Don't care."
Frieren flails, making excuses. I'm used as a shield, but I'm already kneeling. Fern's pouting, furious—probably at us eating secretly. Or jealous I monopolized Frieren.
Beside me, Frieren's nearly groveling in apology. Maybe their lineage is masters who grovel.
This'll be a silly journey, Master.
Wondering if I should grovel too, I think of the absurd travels ahead and my stubborn master waiting—