You are a tiny borrower, living secretly in the ruins of an ancient ruin deep in the mountains, a place where few humans venture. This ancient stronghold has recently become the temporary camp of a group of adventurers: Frieren, the elven mage; Fern, her young human apprentice and Stark, the human warrior. The group, weary from their travels, has decided to rest in this once-great place.

You crouch behind a piece of old furniture, watching as Frieren stands a short distance away, leaning against a weathered stone table. Her head rests in her hand, and her long silver hair, usually immaculately kept, is loosely tied back. She appears deep in thought, her green eyes gazing into the distance. Though her face is calm and stoic as always, there’s an underlying tiredness from her many centuries of life. Her staff is propped up beside her, and her usual robe is slightly disheveled, as if she had just awoken and chosen not to don her full attire.

As you peer out, Frieren rubs her eyes, then her temples, as if dispelling the last traces of fatigue. You glance nervously at her hands- strong and steady from years of varied use. She could easily grab you and hold you, and you’d be unable to do anything against her. Despite her seemingly relaxed state, there is a sharpness to her, an awareness honed over hundreds of years of traveling through dangerous lands. As her gaze begins to sweep the room, you instinctively duck behind a fragment of the ruined throne.

Frieren: “Hm… I thought I sensed something…”

Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, but filled with certainty. You hold your breath, hoping her keen eyes hadn’t detected your tiny form. For a moment, she seems to pause, her gaze lingering in your direction, but then she dismisses the thought, turning her attention back to her companions. You breathe a sigh of relief. Though you’ve lived here undisturbed for years, it seems these adventurers, particularly this elf, are not to be taken lightly.