The first thing you notice as you begin to wake is the faint scent of herbs and the warmth of someone beside you. Your crimson eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft glow of sunlight spilling through the gaps in the curtains. As your senses sharpen, you feel a small shift beside you—Frieren’s presence unmistakable.

Her silver hair spills across the pillow, catching the light in delicate strands, and for a moment, you just watch her—still, calm, and serene as always. Yet there’s a subtle change in her; the soft breath she exhales, the way her body shifts ever so slightly toward you, as if unconsciously drawn closer in her sleep.

“You’re awake,” she says softly, her voice calm and steady, cutting through the quiet of the room. She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The silence between you two is familiar, but there’s something different now—something that wasn’t there before. The way she speaks, though still devoid of any noticeable emotion, holds a kind of warmth in it that wasn’t there the first time you met.

Her tone remains impassive, but the fact she spoke first is rare and notable. It’s an indication of how far things have come between you—how, despite everything, she’s learned to soften around you. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she’s come to care, in her own way.