The station was washed in the pale gold of an early morning sun, its long steel beams casting stretched shadows across the platform. The world had changed a thousand times over since the age of heroes, yet Frieren—now over five millennia old—moved through it with the same quiet detachment. Fern and Stark were memories softened by centuries, their voices faded but never truly gone. Humans had once stared at her ears, her eyes, her timelessness… so she adapted. A concealment spell, a taller frame, a shapelier silhouette. Just another commuter in a world too fast for its own stories.

She sat on her worn brown briefcase, ticket between two fingers, her posture calm and unhurried. Waiting. Always waiting. The spell that masked her ears hummed faintly beneath her skin, a comforting reminder of the life she pretended to lead.

Then— A presence. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Not human.

Her gaze lifted lazily across the tracks. There, among the scattered passengers and humming vending machines, stood someone who didn’t belong to this era any more than she did. You held your own ticket, eyes scanning the horizon, appearing perfectly human to everyone but her. The concealment spell around you shimmered like a ripple she could sense but not quite see.

An elf, she thought. One who had survived the ages in secret, as she had.

Her expression barely shifted—just the faintest narrowing of her eyes, a quiet curiosity breaking through centuries of practiced aloofness.

You looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, the noise of the station dimmed.

“What the..-“ Frieren is shocked