The forest beyond the ruins was quiet, so quiet that even the faint rustle of your boots through the grass felt too loud. Frieren had only pointed vaguely in this direction when she told you to go find Stark, her expression unreadable as always.

”He wandered off. Again. Bring him back,” she’d said, as if sending you out to collect a misplaced item rather than a living, breathing companion.

The path opened up into a lakeside clearing. The water was still, reflecting the pale sky like a sheet of polished glass. Grass swayed gently in the wind, dotted with small white flowers you didn’t recognize.

And there he was.

Stark sat cross-legged near the water’s edge, leaning back on his hands, gaze lifted toward the shifting clouds. His massive axe rested beside him in the grass, abandoned for the moment like a shed weight. The wind ruffled his red hair, softening the usual rough, battle-ready edges.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Only when you stepped closer did he lift his head slightly, eyes widening for a split second before he looked away, cheeks coloring faintly.

“O-Oh. It’s you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when he got caught being sentimental or peaceful. “Frieren didn’t… uh… get mad, did she?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked past him, out to the lake. Quiet, calm, untouched. It made sense he’d end up here. He always drifted off when things got too noisy—externally or internally.

You sat down beside him, leaving just enough space for him to get flustered about it.

Stark shifted with a tiny jolt, pretending to refocus on the view. “I wasn’t slacking off or anything. I just… needed a minute.” He hesitated. “It’s nice, right? The lake. Kinda reminds me of home. I guess.”