Chapter 406: The Changes in Serie
Morning.
When Rhodes opened his eyes, the space beside him was already cold.
He turned his head to find Serie standing by the window, her back to the bed,
clutching something in her hands. Rhodes sat up, remaining silent, simply
watching her.
Serie stood there for a long time—so long that by the time the sun had fully
crested the horizon, she finally turned around. She caught him watching,
blinked, and then lifted her chin with a defiant tilt. "Awake? Why didn't you
say anything?"
"I was watching you."
As she stepped closer, Rhodes saw what she was holding: the poetry manuscript
from the night before.
"Up since dawn to read that?" Rhodes asked.
"Mhm." Serie looked down, flipping a page. "I wanted to look again." She opened
the book, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I dreamed of her last night."
"What did you dream?"
"I dreamed of her as a child." Serie's gaze drifted toward the distant horizon.
"I dreamed of the times you and I taught her together. It feels like such a long
time ago. It's strange—I didn't even feel the time passing, yet here we are."
Serie had lost count of how many disciples she had trained. Since five centuries
ago, she had been steadily taking in the most gifted mages the Association had
to offer. While she never took on many at once, the total number over the ages
had climbed into the triple digits.
But sadly, most were human. Their lives were blips on the radar, passing in the
blink of an elf's eye. One moment they were vibrant youths, the next,
middle-aged, and before she could even process their growth, their hair would
turn to silver ash.
Yet, Serie remembered them all. She kept their faces, their preferred spells,
and even their own self-authored grimoires in her private collection. It was her
own secret proof that they had existed—that they had mattered in the eyes of the
Elven Saint.
Outside the window, the sunlight intensified.
From the distance, the faint sound of a door opening drifted in, followed by
footsteps—light, cautious, as if the traveler were intentionally treading
softly.
Serie looked up, her eyes meeting Rhodes's.
"It seems Solifra is awake," she said.
"Mhm."
"Let me lean on you for a while." Serie set the poetry book down on her lap and
rested her small head against Rhodes's shoulder. "I don't know why, but I've
suddenly grown quite sleepy."
Rhodes gathered her into his arms, and they sat in the quiet, drifting in the
comfort of presence.
He had noticed it lately—the Elven Lady's growing preoccupation with the past.
The manuscript from Flamme had been the catalyst, but even before that, Serie
had been dredging up old stories. She spoke of past disciples, of her history
with Ella, of their adventures and the gods they had once defied. Rhodes knew
that humans grew nostalgic as they neared the end, but for an eternal being, the
concept of "aging" was an impossibility.
There was a change within Serie—a shift he couldn't yet name. He would have to
keep a watchful eye on her.
Time bled away. After a while, a soft knock echoed at the door.
"Enter."
He didn't need to guess. Only Solifra would appear at his door at this hour. The
door creaked open, and sure enough, she stood there.
"Rhodes-sama, Serie-sama," she announced. "Breakfast is ready."
Serie opened her eyes but made no move to rise. "I wish to doze a while longer."
Solifra, understanding the mood, retreated and pulled the door shut behind her.
Rhodes remained still, quietly watching over her.
When Serie finally stirred, she rose and brushed off her robes. "Let's go. We
shouldn't keep them waiting too long."
The hallway was silent. As they passed Frieren's room, the door remained shut,
silent as the grave. The occupant was clearly still buried in dreams.
"Hmm… call her awake. I suspect she stayed up late reading grimoires again,"
Serie muttered, a frown marring her brow.
"Right."
Rhodes knocked. No response. He exchanged a look with Serie, who simply pushed
the door open.
On the bed lay the silver-haired elf, sprawling in a pose of utter, unladylike
chaos. A faint trail of drool glinted at the corner of her mouth. No one would
ever guess that this disheveled heap was one of the continent's most formidable
mages.
"Time to wake up!" Serie declared. She conjured a sphere of water and splashed
it squarely into Frieren's face.
The water bloomed into a transparent flower against Frieren's skin. She blinked,
dazed, beads of water clinging to her eyelashes. Her silver hair was plastered
to her cheeks, making her look for all the world like a drowned white cat.
"…Serie-sama."
Seeing the second water sphere manifesting in Serie's hand, Frieren instantly
grasped the gravity of the situation. Her voice carried a weak, fragile note of
protest.
"It's cold."
Serie was unmoved, looking down at her with queenly detachment. "Awake?"
"Awake."
"Then rise and eat."
Frieren sat up slowly, her sodden hair hanging in heavy, dripping curtains that
trailed water down her robes. She looked at her reflection, then at Serie, and
sighed. "…My hair is wet."
"Then dry it with magic," Serie replied flatly. She turned to leave, throwing a
parting shot over her shoulder. "Hurry. Don't keep me waiting."
At the doorway, she paused, glancing back at Rhodes. He was suppressing a smile.
The sight of Serie dragging Frieren out of bed felt agonizingly like a parent
hauling a sleepy student out of bed on a holiday morning. The misery of the
victim was universal.
Serie shot him a glare—the meaning was clear: What are you laughing at?
Rhodes stifled his smile and followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, they heard a soft sigh from inside, followed by
the rustle of clothes being changed.
As they reached the small dining room, the sounds of activity drifted through
the door, punctuated by Aura's occasional, nervous queries.
"Where does this go?" "—Give it to me." "How about that?" "—Give that to me,
too." "Then what should I do?" "Sit and wait for the meal."
Serie heard the exchange, the corner of her mouth twitching.
She pushed the door open. Solifra had everything perfectly arranged. Aura was
perched in the corner, her meal waiting before her, but she didn't dare move.
She sat stiffly, hands clasped formally on her knees, though her eyes betrayed
her by darting greedily toward the food.
Seeing Rhodes and Serie enter, she tried to spring to her feet, only to be
pinned back into her chair by a single, sharp look from Serie.
"Sit," Serie commanded, taking her customary seat.
Aura obeyed, though she couldn't help but steal glances at Rhodes before
snapping her eyes back to her lap.
Once Rhodes was seated, Solifra asked, "Shall I call Frieren?"
"She is coming," Serie said, picking up her teacup, a hint of smugness in her
tone. "I used my own method to wake her."
Solifra paused, her eyes flickering to Serie's face for a heartbeat before she
averted them. She didn't ask what that method was; the subtle hesitation told
Rhodes that she knew all too well. Ella had once confessed to her that Serie
possessed a very… unique approach to waking people.
Aura blinked, clearly lost, but she was wise enough to keep her mouth shut.
Two minutes of silence passed before footsteps approached.
Frieren appeared at the threshold. Her hair had been dried by magic, restored to
its soft, voluminous state, though she had left it unbraided, allowing it to
frame her shoulders. She had changed into a fresh, dark blue mage's robe with
the Association's crest stitched at the collar. Beyond a faint, lingering flush
of pink on her cheeks, there was not a trace of the sleepy creature who had been
drenched just moments ago.
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