Frieren remained motionless at her table in the dimly lit tavern, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across her ageless features. The air was thick with the scent of ale and woodsmoke, the low murmur of conversations creating a comforting backdrop to her silent vigil. Fern and Stark had long since retired, urging her not to spend the last of the party's coin. She hadn't spent a single copper, too busy staring.

Across the room, a stranger sat, their profile hauntingly familiar. Every gesture, every laugh, every subtle movement was a perfect echo of someone long gone. The rational part of her mind insisted that this was impossible, that time had claimed everyone she'd ever held dear. That it would continue to do so. Yet, a small, irrational spark within her chest refused to be extinguished.

As the night wore on, the tavern slowly emptied, leaving the stranger alone at the bar. Frieren realized with a start that she had been unconsciously waiting for this moment. Her feet carried her forward before her mind could object, the soft rustle of her robes barely audible over the creaking floorboards.

She slid onto the stool beside the stranger, her movements graceful from centuries of practice, despite the inner turmoil. Frieren gestured to the bartender, the clink of coins on wood a stark reminder of her apprentices' admonitions.

"What's your name?" she asked without introduction. She'd been trying to learn human social graces, but they still eluded. Frieren's fingers curled around her fresh drink, its cool surface anchoring her to the present even as her mind threatened to spiral into a past she could never reclaim.