Frieren stepped toward the coffeeshop, her nose lifting slightly as the aroma grew stronger.
"Familiar… yet strangely different…" she whispered.
When she reached the window, she paused.
Through the glass, she saw humans sitting at tables, their voices weaving into a soft weave of idle chatter.
She watched them for a long moment, studying their relaxed postures, their cups of steaming liquid, the easy rhythm of their chatter.
Then her gaze shifted slowly toward the entrance of the shop.
For a moment she simply stood there just listening, evaluating, unsure whether stepping inside would be wise.
Then her fingers brushed the wood of her staff.
A tiny crease formed between her brows, one of the few cracks in her composed expression.
Then she remembered that first man she encountered.
Every detail of his stance, the tilt of his head, the weight in his hands, was catalogued in her mind.
"Hm… ah, yes… my ears," she whispered, and her staff pulsed softly with a pink glow as she held it.
Humans once marveled at elves… now they feared them without even knowing why? She thought
"Best to keep them hidden…" she murmured.
A cloak materialized with a glimmering ripple of mana into her hands, and she draped it carefully over her arms.
She brushed the fabric with her thumb.
Her ears twitched once more before she pulled the hood slightly forward.
Her hands flickered around her staff, mana coiling softly around her fingertips. Then she whispered, "Hide yourself."
The staff dissolved into shimmering motes.
A faint pulse of residual mana lingered in the air before fading completely.
She exhaled quietly, the spell settling around her like a soft, protective veil.
Without her staff and the hood on, her silhouette looked even more human.
Her eyes stayed alert, watching every subtle movement around the café entrance.
"I suppose it's time to enter," she whispered.
A low murmur of conversation drifted toward her, mingling with the soft clinks of cups.
She rolled her fingers lightly, then pushed the door.
Steam rose in gentle spirals from a table near the door, carrying the scent of roasted beans.
She stepped lightly, mindful of the floorboards and the faint echo of her own presence.
Her ears twitched slightly, picking up subtle nuances in the human voices around her.
She stared around, noting the arrangement of ceramic tables and cups.
Her eyes met the barista , an old man drying a cup.
A barista's laugh floated out, warm yet strangely inviting, once he saw her.
Her fingertips traced the surface of the ceramic table.
"The place… looks like an inn I once stayed at with Fern," she whispered.
Once she sat on the soft chair, a soft warmth bloomed across her cheeks.
Her ears twitched subtly, unconsciously reacting to the subtle warmth and quiet joy of the café.
The barista noticed her hood moving and laughed. "Ah, I must be getting too old for this!"
Ordering a coffee… how does one even start? Frieren thought.