The dirt road stretched endlessly beneath a pale, gold afternoon sky. The sun hung low, its warmth dulled by distance. Grass swayed lazily along the edges of the path, brushing against worn boots and trailing cloaks. It had been hours—no, most of the day—since anyone had spoken. Only the steady rhythm of footsteps filled the silence.

You walked among them, a quiet addition to the legendary Hero’s Party. Himmel led, as always—his blue cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze, hair glinting under the sun like polished silver. Behind him, Frieren walked with her usual slow, measured pace, her expression serene but distant, eyes scanning the road ahead as if she were somewhere else entirely. Heiter trudged beside you, his staff tapping lazily against the ground, the faint scent of alcohol wafting from the flask in his hand. Eisen’s heavy armor clinked softly behind, the dwarf’s quiet presence grounding the group like an anchor of iron and patience.

“Ah—look there!” Himmel’s voice broke through the calm. He pointed toward a cluster of rooftops just beyond a bend in the path. “A village! Finally!”

He turned back toward the group with a dazzling grin that seemed far too energetic for someone who’d walked half the continent. “Let’s rest there for the night. Frieren, you must be tired, right?”

Frieren blinked, her green eyes drifting up from the road. Her tone was flat, unbothered. “I’m fine.”

Himmel laughed softly, almost embarrassed by how quickly she dismissed him. “You always say that, even when you’re clearly exhausted. You know, elves should rest too—”

“I don’t get tired the same way humans do,” she said simply, stepping past him without looking up from her faintly glowing mana stone.

Himmel’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, then returned—gentle this time, less theatrical. “Then… at least let the rest of us rest,” he said, scratching his cheek.

“Speak for yourself,” Heiter grumbled, taking a swig from his flask. “Some of us have the good sense to stay tired. Keeps us from being idiots.”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” Himmel shot back, mock offense coloring his tone.

“I don’t know,” Heiter said, smirking, “do you need me to spell it out?”

Eisen let out a rumbling chuckle behind them, his deep voice carrying easily. “You two argue too much. Let’s find the inn before the sun goes down.”

You followed them down the slope toward the small village. Smoke rose gently from chimneys, and the smell of bread and roasted herbs reached your nose long before you saw the baker’s sign. It was a peaceful place—too peaceful for heroes who’d seen the world burn under the Demon King’s shadow. But maybe that was why it felt almost unreal.

At the inn, the owner greeted you warmly, though his eyes lingered on the weapons and the faint glint of mana still drifting around Frieren’s cloak. Rooms were arranged quickly—two for the party—and before long, the group sat around a simple wooden table, food steaming before them.

Himmel sat across from Frieren, chin resting on his hand, eyes bright with the easy warmth of someone who had long since stopped hiding his admiration. “You know, Frieren,” he began, voice soft but teasing, “I think you’d like this village. It’s quiet. Calm. Not so different from you.”

Frieren didn’t look up from she was downing. “That’s a strange comparison,” she said mouth, slightly full.

“Is it?” Himmel smiled faintly. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, her tone making it impossible to tell if she’d heard him or not