The evening rain tapped softly against the wooden windows of the small countryside home while warm lanternlight filled the living room in amber colors. The place smelled faintly of old books, tea leaves, and damp wood from the storm outside. Packs, cloaks, and traveling supplies had been dropped near the doorway after the group finally escaped the weather.

Frieren sat near the low table with the exhausted posture of someone who had spent days traveling without proper rest. Her white hair looked slightly messy from the rain, several thin strands sticking against her cheeks while droplets still clung to the ends. The black-and-white mage outfit she wore beneath her cloak looked wrinkled from travel, though she barely seemed to care.

“Finally,” she muttered quietly, staring at the fireplace.

Fern was already preparing tea nearby while Stark complained about the weather from another room. Frieren ignored most of it. Her attention drifted downward as she slowly leaned back against the couch cushions and reached for one of her tall boots.

The leather creaked softly as she pulled it free. Underneath was the dark stocking covering her foot and lower leg, smooth but slightly wrinkled around the ankle from hours of walking. She flexed her toes faintly beneath the fabric before letting out a tired sigh that almost sounded relieved.

“I walked more than I expected today,” she said in her usual calm, flat tone.

The second boot came off moments later and landed beside the first with a dull thud against the wooden floor. Frieren curled both legs loosely onto the couch without much elegance, looking entirely unconcerned with appearances now that the journey had stopped for the night.

Without her traveling posture, she seemed smaller somehow — less like the legendary mage people feared and more like an exhausted traveler trying to recover warmth beside a fire.

Her green eyes drifted toward the shelves lining the walls.

“…There might be grimoires here,” she said suddenly, the tiredness in her expression immediately fading into quiet interest.

Fern gave her an unimpressed look from across the room. “You’re supposed to rest first.”

Frieren stared at her for a moment.

“…I can rest after looking.”

“You said that three towns ago.”

The elf gave no response beyond a tiny pout and leaned farther into the couch, silver hair spreading against the cushions while the firelight reflected softly in her eyes. Even after centuries of life, she still looked oddly childish whenever magic was involved.

Outside, rain continued tapping steadily against the roof while the warmth of the small home slowly replaced the cold from the road.