Morning light slanted into the room through the cracks in the hotel's wooden shutters.
Nero woke up first. He stared at the wood grain on the ceiling for a while, listening to the even, soft breathing beside him. Centuries later, that sound had become a more familiar background noise than his own heartbeat.
He rolled over. Frieren had her back to him, her long, silvery hair spread out on the pillow, a few strands sticking up in defiance of gravity. Most of the blanket had been rolled up around her, covering her completely like a giant cocoon.
Nero reached out and gently tugged at the corner of the blanket. It wouldn't budge.
He added a little more force.
The cocoon twitched and made a muffled sound. "...It's still early. Sleep for another five hours."
"The sun's already high in the sky," Nero said.
"You're lying." Frieren buried her face deeper into the pillow. "The window faces west, so it won't get any sun yet."
Nero was silent for two seconds. "I'm hungry," he said.
"...Oh."
There was a moment of silence. Finally, Frieren moved. She slowly untangled herself from the covers and sat up, her hair a disastrous mess. She squinted at the window, the morning light reflecting a pale golden glow in her pupils.
"Who's going to buy breakfast today?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
Nero thought for a moment. "It was me last week."
"It was me the week before last, and the week before that," Frieren immediately retorted.
"Was it?"
"It was."
The two stared at each other for a moment.
"Rock, paper, scissors," Nero suggested.
Frieren nodded. She pulled her hand out from under the covers and made a fist.
"One, two, three—"
Nero produced cloth (paper). Frieren produced a stone (rock).
She stared at her fist for two seconds, then looked at Nero's outstretched palm, and silently withdrew her hand, retreating back into the blankets.
"...Best of three," a muffled voice came from under the covers.
"You said the same thing last week."
"This time it's for real."
Nero sighed. He sat up and ran his fingers through his equally messy black hair. For centuries, the routine had remained virtually unchanged.
"What do you want to eat?"
He got out of bed and started putting on his coat. There was silence under the covers for a while.
"…Bread. And jam, too," Frieren said. "And milk."
"Apple or strawberry?"
"I want them both."
Nero paused, his hand still fastening the buttons. "It'll get boring."
"Then let's use apples." Frieren's voice became lighter. "But spread plenty of jam."
"Understood."
Nero, now dressed, glanced back as he reached the door. The quilted mass remained still, with only a few strands of silver hair peeking out.
"Don't fall asleep again," he said.
"No, I promise," Frieren said.
Nero closed the door. As he walked down the hotel stairs, he heard the landlady humming a tune in the kitchen. The streets were just awakening, and the aroma of the bakery wafted across half a block, mingling with the fresh scent of vegetables from the morning market.
He bought two apple jam bread rolls, a large jar of milk, and a bag of freshly dried tea leaves. On his way back, he stopped at a secondhand stall at the alley entrance.
The stall owner was a dwarf with a white beard, wiping an old copper kettle.
"Good morning," the dwarf said without looking up.
"Good morning," Nero replied, his gaze sweeping over the scattered items on the stall—rusty badges, chipped ceramic bowls, and several ancient books with faded covers.
His eyes lingered on a corner. It was a small wooden box, about the size of a palm, with simple carvings and a small piece of dull green glass inlaid at the clasp. Although old, it was well-crafted.
"How much is that?" he asked.
The dwarf glanced at it. "Three copper coins. Just so you know, it's empty. I've opened it and checked."
"Mm."
Nero paid the money and put the wooden box in his pocket.
When he returned to his hotel room, Frieren was indeed asleep again. He stood by the bed for a while, then gently placed the paper bag on the bedside table, the metal buckle making a soft sound as it hit the wood.
Frieren's eyelashes trembled.
"...You bought it?" She didn't open her eyes.
"Mm."
"Do you have jam?"
"Yes."
"Did you apply a lot?"
"A lot."
Frieren slowly opened her eyes. She sat up, took the bread Nero offered, and took a bite. Jam got on the corner of her mouth, but she didn't notice; she just squinted her eyes in satisfaction.
"Is it sweet?" Nero sat down opposite her and opened the milk jug.
"Sweet," Frieren said, then took another big bite.
The two finished their breakfast in silence. Frieren drank the last sip of milk, licked the jam from the corner of her mouth, and her gaze suddenly fell on Nero's coat pocket.
"What else did you buy?" she asked.
Nero took out the small wooden box and handed it over. Frieren took it and examined it from all angles. Her fingers traced the rough wood grain, paused on the green glass, and gently pressed it.
"It's fake," she said.
"Mm."
"It's empty inside."
"Mm."
Frieren stared at the wooden box for a few more seconds, then put it into her cloth bag, along with the strange pebbles she had collected, faded ribbons, and scraps of paper covered in scribbles.
Packing took less than ten minutes. Neither of them had much stuff—a few changes of clothes, some everyday items, Frieren's magic materials kit, and Nero's thick, never-ending book.
When they checked out, the landlady gave them two extra freshly baked apple pies.
"Thank you for your patronage. Eat these on the way," she said with a smile. "Are you heading north?"
"Yes." Nero nodded.
"Then you'll be passing through the Central City, right? I heard the Magic Association headquarters is there, and it's been quite lively lately."
Frieren was carefully wrapping the apple pie when she heard this and paused. "Association?" She looked up.
"Yes, the Continental Magic Association." The proprietress's eyes lit up. "I heard that the president is an extraordinary figure who has lived for over a thousand years! Now, talented children from all over the world are flocking there, hoping to become magic apprentices."
Frieren and Nero exchanged a glance.
"I see," Nero said. "Thank you for letting us know."
They stepped out of the hotel and onto the road heading north. The morning mist had dissipated, and on both sides of the road stretched endless fields, with the outlines of distant mountains clearly visible under the clear sky.
Frieren walked ahead, her steps light and quick. Every now and then she would stop, squat down by the roadside to look at a clump of wildflowers, or pick up a strangely shaped stone.
Nero followed behind, keeping three steps away. It was an unspoken understanding formed over centuries—close enough to reach out at any moment, far enough not to disturb each other's thoughts.
After walking for about an hour, Frieren suddenly spoke. "We're going to pass through the Central City."
It was a statement, not a question.
"Hmm," Nero replied.
"The Magic Association is over there."
"Mm."
"Serie is there."
This time, Nero didn't answer immediately. He quickened his pace and walked to Frieren's side. Frieren didn't look at him, but stared at the faint outline of the city walls at the end of the road ahead.
"Should we go see her?" Nero asked. "We're just passing through."
Frieren pursed her lips. She kicked a small pebble away from the road and watched it roll into the roadside bushes.
"See that old woman?" she muttered, her voice low but clear enough. "So annoying..."
Nero chuckled softly. "She probably wants to see if you've grown taller."
"I'm over a thousand years old, I won't grow any taller," Frieren said with a pout. "Besides, she clearly said 'you're still so short' when we last met."
"That was eighty years ago."
"It's about the same to me."
That was true. To elves, the difference between eighty years and eight months was sometimes not much greater than the difference between eight years and eight weeks to humans.
The road gradually widened, and more pedestrians appeared. Caravans rumbled by, donkeys laden with goods jingled their bells, and farmers carried their tools to the fields. Everyone was heading in the same direction.
Around noon, they rested under the shade of a tree by the roadside. Frieren took out the apple pie the proprietress had given her, broke it in half, and handed the larger piece to Nero. The pie was still warm, the aroma of cinnamon and apple mingling together.
"Why did she establish the Magic Association?" Frieren asked suddenly, taking a bite of pie.
"Huh?" Nero didn't hear clearly.
"Serie," Frieren said. "She used to hate Flamme's idea that 'everyone can do magic.' She said it was a blasphemy of genius by mediocre people."
Nero slowly chewed the pie. The sweetness of the syrup melted on his tongue. "People always change," he said.
"Elves won't," Frieren said. "Especially that stubborn old woman."
"Perhaps she has found new enjoyment."
"What kind of fun?"
"The pleasure of watching a bunch of self-important young people run into obstacles in front of her," Nero said. "Or, the pleasure of occasionally discovering one or two truly interesting geniuses and then personally tormenting them until they cry. Or... the pleasure of inheriting the legacy of one's apprentice?"
Frieren imagined the scene, and the corners of her mouth unconsciously curved into a smile. "That's exactly the kind of thing she would do."
After resting, they continued our journey. The afternoon sun grew scorching, and scattered houses appeared on both sides of the road, followed by a continuous stretch of shop and tavern signs.
The city walls of the Central City were now clearly visible, with banners embroidered with the emblem of the Magic Association—intertwined staffs and stars—fluttering against the gray-white stone walls.
A queue formed at the city gate. The guards checked the travelers' luggage, but when they saw Nero and Frieren, they merely glanced at them and waved them through.
"A mage? An elf?" one of the guards asked, his gaze falling on Frieren's pointed ears.
Frieren didn't say anything.
"Yes. We are travelers," Nero replied.
The guard nodded and didn't ask any more questions. As they passed through the city gates, a cacophony of noise washed over them. The streets were wider than any of the towns they had passed through before, lined with shops selling everything from common trinkets to rare magical materials.
Pedestrians thronged the streets, many of them young men in mage robes, their chests adorned with apprentice badges of various colors. But the most striking feature was the tall tower in the city center. It stood atop all the buildings, its pure white stone almost dazzling in the sunlight. Its spire disappeared into the clouds, and occasionally a ray of light flashed across its top, like stars twinkling in the daytime.
"That's the Association Headquarters," a fruit vendor by the roadside introduced when he saw them looking up. "'The Tower of the Sky.' It's said that you can touch the clouds if you stand on the top. However, only mages officially recognized by the Association can enter; apprentices can only study in the outer buildings."
Frieren stared at the tower, her eyes narrowing. "She added levitation magic," she whispered. "There are at least three more layers of barriers. It's conspicuous and a waste of mana."
Nero smiled. "Not quite in line with her style, but it's a storefront, after all."
They found a hotel in the city to stay in. This time, their room was on the second floor, with a window facing the side of the distant tower. After putting down their luggage, Frieren sat by the window, resting her chin on her hand and looking at the structure.
Nero boiled water and brewed the tea leaves he had bought earlier. The aroma of tea filled the room.
"Go now?" Frieren asked, still looking out the window.
"Tomorrow," Nero said, handing her a cup of tea. "Rest today."
Frieren took the teacup and blew on it to cool it. She sipped it slowly, her gaze never leaving the tower.
Suddenly, a window somewhere in the tower lit up, then another, as if someone were lighting up each floor one by one.
"She knows, doesn't she?" Frieren said. "That we're here."
"Perhaps."
"Then she's definitely waiting to see when we go to see her." Frieren pursed her lips. "Maybe she even made a bet on whether I'll drag things out until the last minute."
"Should we let her win?"
"No." Frieren put down her teacup and stood up. "We go now."
Nero was somewhat surprised. "Now?"
"Mm." Frieren straightened her collar and tucked her silver hair behind her ear. "Before I change my mind."
She walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at Nero. "Aren't you coming?"
Nero put down his teacup. "I thought you wanted to see her alone. Besides, I didn't particularly want to see her either."
"Together," Frieren said matter-of-factly.
Nero paused, then stood up. "Okay. Together."
The two stepped out of the inn and blended into the evening crowds on the street. The closer they got to the tower, the more people there were wearing mage robes. Young apprentices hurried by, carrying heavy books and discussing magical theories. Several men who looked like proper mages stood at a street corner talking, the silver embroidery on their cuffs gleaming in the setting sun.
At the base of the tower stood two massive bronze doors, tightly shut and covered with flowing magical runes. Two guards stood before them, clad in silver armor, their staffs topped with shimmering crystals.
Armored, carrying a staff... battle mages, Nero thought.
Upon seeing Nero and Frieren—two people not wearing mage robes—approach, one of the guards stepped forward.
"I'm sorry, the Tower of the Sky is not open to the public," he said, his tone polite but firm. "If you two have any business to attend to, please proceed to the reception hall on the east side…"
He stopped talking. Because at that moment, the bronze door silently opened inward.
There was no sound of mechanisms turning, no fluctuation of magical energy; it was as if the two massive doors were merely ajar, gently pushed open by the wind. The scene behind the doors was not inside the tower, but rather a soft light, obscuring everything.
The guard was stunned. He turned to look at his companion, both of them looking astonished.
Frieren sighed. "She likes it this way," she said to Nero. "Playing tricks."
Having said that, she stepped into the light. Nero nodded to the guard and followed her in. The moment the light engulfed his figure, the bronze door closed silently once more.
The guards stared at the tightly closed doors, exchanging bewildered glances.
"Just now..." the younger one began, "They were..."
"Nothing at all," the older guard said in a low voice, gripping his staff tightly. "We didn't see anything, understand?"
"Yes, yes."
Inside the tower, the light faded. Before them stretched a long, spiraling staircase that extended upwards along the inner wall of the tower, its end nowhere in sight. The walls on either side of the staircase were smooth white stone, and every so often a suspended crystal chandelier emitted a steady, cool light.
There were no windows, no doors. Only upwards, upwards, and upwards again.
Frieren looked up and then started climbing the stairs. Nero followed behind her. The stairs were wide enough for five people to walk side by side. Their footsteps echoed in the silence, rhythmic and clear.
After climbing for about ten minutes, Frieren spoke. "She did it on purpose."
"What?"
"This staircase," Frieren said, her breathing perfectly steady. "It's completely unnecessary. There are teleportation arrays inside the tower; she just wants us to climb."
"Perhaps she's at the very top."
"Then we could put the teleportation array at the top," Frieren countered. "She just loves watching people struggle to climb stairs. What a wicked old woman."
"Well, it might seem more ceremonial. Or it might make people ponder the author's deeper meaning, such as 'Please try to analyze why the tower's owner built such a tall tower without an elevator'."
They climbed for another twenty minutes. The stairs seemed endless, and the surrounding scenery remained unchanged—white walls, crystal chandeliers, and a spiraling upward arc. Just as Frieren was about to complain again, the stairs came to an end.
Before them stood an ordinary wooden door, devoid of any decoration. It was ajar, and warm orange light shone through the crack.
Frieren stopped in her tracks. She took a deep breath, then reached out and pushed open the door.
Behind the door was an extremely spacious room. It was less a room and more a private library. The west wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with books of all colors and thicknesses. In the center of the room stood a huge oak desk, piled with open scrolls, papers covered in notes, several crystal balls, and a steaming cup of black tea.
A woman was sitting behind the desk. She looked up when she heard the door open. Her gaze first fell on Frieren.
"You're here?" Serie said, her voice calm as still water. "A little earlier than I expected. I guessed you'd be dragging it out until tomorrow evening."
Frieren walked into the room and closed the door behind her. "Because I don't want you to guess right," she said.
Serie's lips twitched very slightly. She put down the scroll in her hand, leaned back in the high-backed chair, and interlaced her fingers in front of her.
"Long time no see, Frieren," she said. "And… Nero. Are you here to fight me this time?"
"No. And also, call me Nero." Nero's tone was amiable. "I've said before, I don't like fighting."
Serie gave a soft hum, a sound of dismissal. "That's why I hate your lukewarm attitude." She tapped the armrest with her fingertips. "Standing at the pinnacle of power, yet always thinking of escaping the world."
"Everyone has their own ambitions," Nero replied.
"You are not human, you are a demon."
"Right now, I am just Nero."
Serie remained noncommittal, her gaze returning to Frieren as she looked her up and down. "You've grown taller."
"No," Frieren said immediately.
"Really, at least one centimeter."
"Elves stop growing after they turn a thousand years old."
"That's an ordinary elf." Serie picked up her black tea and took a sip. "You're the one who developed the latest I've ever seen. You're nearly the same height and size as me now."
"Old woman." Frieren gave her a slight stare.
Nero coughed softly beside them. "The Association is impressive," he said, changing the subject and looking around at Serie's bookshelves. "It's bigger than I imagined."
"Just pointless vanity." Serie put down her teacup, her tone casual. "But it does have some use. At least it effectively keeps those chattering brats in one place, preventing them from causing trouble elsewhere."
"You used to hate teaching students," Frieren said.
"I still hate it now," Serie readily admitted. "So I leave all the teaching to my subordinates. I only pick one or two of the most annoying students each week and personally 'instruct' them for two hours."
"Then what?"
"Then they usually cry and swear they'll never be a mage again," Serie said. "But occasionally there are one or two who, after crying, have bright eyes and come back the next day looking for more abuse. Those are the more interesting ones."
"For example?" Frieren asked. She walked to the bookshelf, her fingertips brushing against the spines of the books, her gaze sweeping over the ancient titles.
Serie didn't answer immediately. She looked out the window—even though all that was there were tower walls and the ever-present magical aura.
"For example, a little human girl." She put down her teacup, her tone as calm as if she were talking about the weather. "She's a bit clever, and her mana control is passable."
Frieren pulled out a book about ancient runes and flipped through it casually. "If you can say it's 'passable,' then she must be pretty good."
"She's so noisy." Serie clicked her tongue softly. "When it's quiet, she's like a little mushroom, buried in a pile of books and not making a sound all day. But when she gets excited, she's so noisy that it gives you a headache, like a bunch of goblins banging on a pot. And she always likes to bother me."
Nero walked to the desk and looked at the open scroll. It contained intricate diagrams of magical energy flow, marked with meticulous notes. He felt a slight headache coming on just looking at it.
"Sounds... quite energetic."
"Too much energy is a problem." Serie tapped the table with her finger. "She hasn't even grasped the essence of defensive magic yet, and she's already clamoring to go out and 'train.' Relying on her skills, she's showing off in front of those ignorant guys in the capital and earned the title of 'The Capital's Number One Genius Mage,' and she really thinks she can stand on her own."
She spoke with little expression on her face, but her interlaced fingertips unconsciously tapped the back of her hand lightly.
Frieren closed the book and put it back where it belonged. "So you threw her out?"
"She couldn't stand it herself," Serie corrected. "I just didn't stop her. It has nothing to do with me. She'll learn her lesson after a few falls."
The room fell silent for a moment. The soft light from the crystal chandelier spilled down, and the air was filled with the scent of old books and tea.
"What's her name?" Frieren asked.
Serie glanced at her briefly, then quickly looked away, her gaze falling on a small, unassuming vase on the corner of the table, simply decorated with dried flowers. Inside were a few fresh, dewy blue flowers, clashing with the room's rustic and austere style.
"Ruby," she said, her voice a little lower than before. "A normal human name."
Frieren's gaze also fell on the small bouquet of flowers. The variety was very common, but the way they bloomed was exquisite. The dewdrops on the petals were crystal clear under the light, clearly indicating that someone had taken good care of them and that they had just been replaced.
"Flower field magic?" Frieren murmured, as if talking to herself. "Does she like it too?"
Serie didn't reply. She reached out and subtly adjusted the angle of the bouquet, making the blue stand out more under the light. After doing so, she seemed to realize something, immediately withdrawing her hand and resuming her previous posture of crossed arms.
"Boring magic," she scoffed. "They're far from being truly independent, yet they're already tinkering with these useless spells."
But at that moment, beneath her usual stern expression, there seemed to be a faint trace of gentleness, one that even she herself might not have noticed. It felt like a warm current quietly flowing beneath the surface of a frozen lake.
Frieren and Nero exchanged a glance.
"We'll be staying in the Central City for a few days," Nero said.
"Do as you please." Serie picked up the scroll again, her gaze falling on the dense runes, adopting a gesture of dismissal. "The Association's doors face south. Go see whoever you want. Just don't bother me."
Frieren turned and walked toward the door. "I know, old woman."
She opened the door, glanced back at the vase with small blue flowers, and said, "The flowers... are blooming nicely."
Serie didn't look up, but simply waved her hand, signaling them to leave.
The door closed gently behind them. Footsteps sounded again on the spiral staircase, this time heading downwards.
"What do you think?" Frieren asked after walking for a while.
"About what?"
"That Ruby."
Nero thought for a moment. "To get Serie to bring it up separately, and even allow flowers in her study... she's probably more than just 'a little clever'."
Frieren hummed in response and said nothing more. The cold light from inside the tower illuminated her profile, revealing no emotion. But when she descended to a certain floor and glimpsed the young mages dressed in various apprentice robes gathered in the square outside through a window, her gaze lingered for a few seconds.
Then, she continued walking down.
***
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