"Inn? You mean a hotel? You're supposed to come from the hotel's front entrance."
"What made you come to the t—" His words died the moment Frieren's eyes met his.
His eyes shifted away immediately.
"Follow me." He walked ahead, and Frieren followed.
A few cleaners stood nearby, holding cups of coffee. Mist drifted from their breaths like pale smoke. One rubbed his hands together for warmth.
They noticed Frieren walking behind the cleaner.
One of them whistled. "Jack! You didn't tell me you got a girlfriend!"
Laughter broke out among them.
Frieren shot a side-glance before continuing to walk.
Frieren's steps made almost no sound, yet the cleaners quieted as she passed.
The laughter faded behind her.
Frieren lowered her gaze briefly, not out of embarrassment, but because she didn't understand what a "girlfriend" was.
Once they reached the main hotel entrance, the cleaner raised his arm to point the way.
"There you'll find the reception, just enter through that gate. Now excuse me, lady, I'm going to continue my work," he said before heading back to the terrace.
Frieren stared at the main entrance: a huge door with two tall lamps framed the entrance like silent guards.
When she stepped in front of the door, the automatic door opened at her presence, responding like a mechanical spell.
As the door swung open, Frieren stepped inside. She stared at the navy-blue walls and the flower paintings lining the hallway.
When she stepped onto the red carpet, she lowered herself slightly, brushing her knees against it.
The receptionist kept staring at her.
Her cloak settled around her boots, still carrying the scent of the cold terrace air.
She waited, patient and unmoving, as if hoping someone would speak first.
"Miss… how can I help you?" the receptionist asked, clasping her hands together.
Frieren stopped brushing the carpet and stared at the receptionist.
"Innkeeper? I need a room for the night, if you have one," Frieren said.
"Innkeeper?" the receptionist repeated, a small laugh slipping out of her.
"Do you see me wearing an apron? You're funny!" she said with a laugh.
Frieren's expression didn't shift; humor was wasted on her.
Frieren blinked once, slowly, as she tried to piece together why aprons were connected to the word "innkeeper."
"We've a few left. Just yourself?"
Frieren nodded slightly, her hands in her pockets.
I don't have any gold… she thought.
"Just hold on for a second!" the receptionist said, walking to the key cabinet.
Frieren stood still, silent and expectant.
Then the receptionist grabbed a golden-colored key with the number 90 on it and placed it on the counter.
Frieren took the key; it gleamed faintly under the lobby lights.
"Here! Go up those stairs and you'll find your room. If you need something, just use the phone."
She glanced at the staircase, tracing the path upward with quiet focus.
Voices from the lobby softened into a distant hum behind her.
She tightened her grip on the key, unsure what the receptionist meant by "use the phone."
"Get some sleep, traveler!" the receptionist said, waving at Frieren.
Frieren turned and walked up the stairs; her gaze shifted to a person in a red T-shirt who entered the elevator.
She continued climbing, her eyes following the flower decorations along the wall. Her fingers drifted along the wall, tracing the painted petals, almost expecting to pluck a flower from the surface.
When she reached the fifth floor, the man in red was already there, as if he had skipped the staircase entirely. She blinked.
Translocation spell? she thought as she yawned.
Frieren rubbed her temple lightly, still puzzled by how quickly humans could move without magic.
When she opened her door, she found a huge bed inside, the lights turned off.
The dark room welcomed her with the quiet promise of rest.
She stepped inside slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness.
Her gaze locked onto the huge bed, large enough to hold a bear.
The soft outline of the mattress seemed almost too large.
Frieren exhaled, allowing the silence to settle around her like a blanket.
She removed her hair ties, her hair falling like a silver curtain.
When she brushed her hand across the bed, she didn't feel the rough cloth sacks she was used to sleeping on.
The softness made her hand sink completely into the mattress.
Even a noble family wouldn't sleep on something like this, she thought as she threw herself onto the bed, spreading her arms.
Something stirred behind the curtain, a faint shadow trembling in place.
On the balcony, the grey bird stood resting, its beak tucked into the feathers on its back, already asleep.
The paper lay beside it, untouched.