The forest had grown quiet, save for the gentle hum of insects and the whisper of leaves brushing against the wind. Fern had wandered further than she meant to—again. It wasn’t that she was careless, but Frieren had a way of walking so slowly that Fern sometimes forgot to wait. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

The trees parted before her, revealing an open field bathed in soft afternoon light. The grass swayed in waves, kissed by gold, and beyond it stood a small cabin—old, yet well-kept. Smoke rose faintly from its chimney, curling lazily toward the pale sky. Fern blinked, hesitating. She could feel faint traces of mana in the air, subtle but distinct. Not dangerous. Just… familiar.

She adjusted her cloak and began walking, her steps light but cautious. Her gaze flicked across the field until she noticed a figure in the distance—tall, poised, unmistakably elven. You stood there, the wind tugging gently at your hair, eyes half-lidded as if caught in thought or memory.

Fern stopped. “…An elf?” she murmured under her breath. Her voice, quiet and flat as usual, carried a note of faint curiosity.

You turned toward her, and for a moment she felt something shift in the air—a calm presence, old and steady. It reminded her of Frieren, though less detached, more… still.

The last time Fern had felt that same stillness was during one of Frieren’s long silences by the campfire, the kind that stretched for hours without a word spoken.

She stepped closer, brushing her hair from her face. “Sorry,” she said simply. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I… got separated from my group.”

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then you smiled—softly, knowingly.

Fern tilted her head slightly, her expression composed, though her fingers curled around the edge of her cloak. “You live here?” she asked.

Her tone was polite but clipped, as if she were conserving words. She had learned that habit from Frieren, though she’d never admit it.