Percia sat alone on the wide stone balustrade of the highest balcony in the Continental Magic Association tower. The city of Äußerst sprawled far below like a living constellation—floating lanterns drifting between spires, spell-lights flickering in windows, the distant hum of mana-charged air rising like warm breath against the evening chill. She had one knee drawn up, elbow resting on it, chin in hand.
The door behind her had opened and closed perhaps twenty minutes earlier. Serie had muttered something half-audible about "foolish apprentices" and "too many idiots passing the second portion," her voice trailing off into irritation as she vanished down the corridor to deal with whatever bureaucratic disaster had arisen. Percia hadn't bothered to respond. Serie would return eventually—grumbling, probably still limping just a little—and they would pick up where they left off. That was how it had always been.
But the balcony wasn't empty anymore.
A soft step—deliberately soft—brushed the stone behind her. A familiar scent followed: old snow, crushed pine needles after rain, the faintest trace of ozone from restrained mana, and something sweeter underneath, something that hadn't changed in a millennium.
White hair caught the dying light like fresh frost.
Percia didn't turn. She only exhaled through her nose, a sound that carried equal parts resignation and faint amusement.
"Serie can be territorial at times," she said quietly, still watching the city. "You shouldn't be here."
Frieren stepped up beside her without hesitation. She didn't sit—not yet—just leaned one hip against the balustrade, green eyes calm and unreadable.
"I wanted to see you," Frieren said simply. No apology. No justification. Just fact.
Percia finally glanced sideways. Frieren's profile was exactly as she remembered it: small, serene, untouched by the centuries in any visible way. Yet there was something different now—something settled, heavier, like snow that had finally stopped drifting and begun to compact under its own weight.
"You passed the second portion," Percia said after a moment.
Frieren tilted her head slightly, the motion so familiar it made something behind Percia's ribs ache.
"You were watching?"
Percia nodded once. "From here."
A small silence.
Then, very quietly:
"You were impressive."
Frieren turned her face away—just a fraction. Enough that the last sliver of sunset caught the very edge of her cheek and revealed the faintest flush of rose beneath pale skin. It was so subtle most people would have missed it. Percia didn't.
Frieren didn't speak immediately. When she did, her voice was softer than usual.
"I broke your friend's barrier."
Percia huffed—almost a laugh.
"Thirty years of work. Gone in a days worth of analysis. Serie will pretend to be annoyed for at least a decade. Secretly, she's delighted. Someone finally noticed the flaw she left on purpose."
Frieren's lips curved the tiniest amount.
"I thought it was careless at first. Then I realized it was bait."
"Exactly." Percia's gaze returned to the city. "She likes to see what people will do when given room to surprise her. You surprised her."
Another small silence. The wind stirred Frieren's pigtails, sending white strands dancing across her shoulders.
"What were you thinking about?" Frieren asked. No preamble. No hesitation. The same directness she'd carried back then too, when she would simply sit beside Percia for hours without speaking until she finally asked whatever question had been burning behind her eyes.
Percia considered lying. The impulse flickered and died almost instantly.
"I was thinking," she said slowly, "that you've changed. Not in the obvious ways. Not the spells, not the power—though those have grown too. I was thinking that the girl who once followed me through forty autumns without ever once asking me to stay… has learned how to wait without waiting. How to move forward while still looking back. How to carry someone without letting them become a chain."
Frieren's blush deepened—just a shade. She didn't deny it.
"Himmel used to say the same thing," she murmured. "That the best way to keep someone with you was to let them walk their own path. Even if it took them away for a while."
Percia's fingers tightened imperceptibly on her own knee.
"You still carry him."
"I always will." Frieren's voice was steady. "But carrying doesn't mean standing still."
Percia finally turned fully toward her. Their eyes met—midnight against green, ancient against ancient, yet somehow one still felt younger in that moment.
"You're not asking me to stay this time either," Percia observed.
Frieren shrugged one small shoulder.
"I never asked before. Why start now?"
A faint, reluctant smile touched Percia's mouth.
"You've grown cruel in your patience."
Frieren's eyes crinkled at the corners—the closest she ever came to a real grin.
"Someone once told me that rushing beautiful things ruins them."
Percia exhaled—long, slow, almost fond.
"I don't remember saying anything so poetic."
"You didn't." Frieren's voice softened again. "You just sat still for three weeks teaching me how to fold a shield thin enough to let rain pass through. That was louder than any words."
The wind picked up, carrying the distant chime of the city's ley-tuned bells.
Percia looked back out over Äußerst.
"I'm not staying long," she said. Not cruel. Just honest.
Frieren nodded once.
"I know."
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A low, amused hum cut through the wind like a blade through silk.
Both elves startled—visibly.
Percia's shoulders tensed first, midnight-blue eyes snapping toward the doorway. Frieren's head turned a fraction slower, green gaze sharpening as though waking from a long, pleasant dream.
Serie stood framed in the open arch, red cape draped loosely over one shoulder, golden hair catching the last dying light like molten metal. She had one hand on her hip, the other loose at her side. Her expression was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that promised teeth.
She tilted her head, golden eyes flicking between them—lingering on the scant inch of space separating their shoulders, on the way Frieren's pigtails still danced in the breeze, on the faint flush that hadn't quite faded from Frieren's cheek.
"Well," Serie said, voice soft and dangerously sweet, "this is cozy."
Percia exhaled through her nose—half sigh, half warning.
"Serie."
Frieren didn't move. Didn't flinch. She only regarded the other elf with that same placid, unreadable calm she'd worn since childhood.
Serie ignored the warning tone entirely.
She crossed the balcony in slow, deliberate steps—bare feet silent on stone—until she stood directly behind Percia. Close enough that the heat of her body pressed against Percia's back like a claim.
"While she's here," Serie murmured, voice dropping to something intimate and possessive, "She is mine."
She reached up—small hand sliding along the column of Percia's throat, fingers tracing the line of a particularly dark bruise she'd left the night before. The mark bloomed purple-red against pale skin, unmistakable even in the dimming light. Serie's thumb brushed over it once—deliberate, almost reverent—before sliding higher to cup Percia's jaw and tilt her head just enough to expose the full constellation of bites along the slope of her neck and shoulder.
Frieren's gaze followed the motion. Her expression didn't change, but something flickered behind those unchanging green eyes—quiet acknowledgment, perhaps. No jealousy. Just… observation.
Serie leaned in.
She wrapped both arms around Percia from behind—small frame molding perfectly against the taller elf's back—and buried her face in the crook of Percia's nape. Golden hair spilled over dark robes like sunlight on midnight. She nuzzled there—slow, shameless—nose brushing skin, lips grazing the edge of one particularly vicious bite mark. A soft inhale followed, as though she were scenting her claim.
Percia went still. Not rigid. Just… accepting. One hand came up automatically to rest over Serie's where it lay against her collarbone—neither pushing away nor pulling closer. Simply there.
Serie's voice came muffled against skin, but clear enough to carry.
"Percia's a busy girl. She has places to be. Duties to tend to." A small, almost fond huff against Percia's neck. "But right now? Tonight? Tomorrow morning, maybe the morning after that… she's here. With me."
She lifted her head just enough to meet Frieren's gaze over Percia's shoulder.
Golden eyes gleamed—bright, unapologetic, ancient.
"So if you're planning to linger," Serie continued, tone light but edged with something sharper, "do it quietly. Don't make me remind you twice."
Frieren regarded her for a long moment.
Then—very simply—she nodded once.
"I understand."
No argument. No defiance. Just quiet acceptance.
Serie's arms tightened fractionally around Percia's waist—possessive, satisfied.
Percia exhaled again—longer this time, resigned but not unhappy.
"You're impossible," she muttered, the words directed half at Serie, half at the night sky.
Serie hummed against her nape—content.
"I know."
Frieren didn't move to leave. Not yet.
She simply stayed exactly where she was, perched on the balustrade, knees drawn up, white hair drifting in the night breeze like threads of moonlight. Green eyes fixed on the city below, calm and unhurried. She made no move to speak again. No attempt to challenge Serie's claim. She just… existed there. Present. Patient. The same way she had once existed in Percia's shadow for forty quiet years.
Serie's arms remained looped around Percia from behind, chin resting on her shoulder now, golden eyes narrowed at the smaller elf. The possessive hold didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened fractionally every time Frieren shifted—even the tiniest amount.
Minutes passed. Perhaps ten. Perhaps twenty. Time was slippery for elves.
Finally, Serie exhaled through her nose—sharp, impatient.
"You're still here," she observed, voice flat.
Frieren tilted her head slightly.
"I am."
Serie's fingers flexed against Percia's collarbone.
"I said while she's here, she's mine."
"I heard you," Frieren replied softly. "I'm not trying to take her."
Serie made a small, skeptical noise in the back of her throat.
"Then why are you still sitting there like you've got nowhere better to be?"
Frieren's gaze drifted sideways—first to Serie, then to Percia.
"Because I like looking at her," she said simply. "And because she hasn't told me to leave."
Percia felt the words settle somewhere deep in her chest—quiet, unadorned, devastating in their honesty.
Serie huffed.
Percia felt the vibration of it against her back.
"Fine," Serie muttered at last, voice edged with reluctant irritation. "You've made your point. Now scram."
Frieren didn't argue.
She slid down from the balustrade with the same fluid grace she'd always had—small, deliberate, unhurried. Her boots touched stone without sound.
She paused.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then she stepped closer—close enough that Percia could smell pine and snow again—and reached down.
Her fingers brushed Percia's hand where it rested on the stone ledge.
Frieren lifted it gently—careful, reverent.
White hair spilled forward like a curtain, brushing Percia's wrist.
Soft lips pressed to her knuckles—once. Lingering. Not a kiss so much as a promise made of warmth and memory. The contact was feather-light, yet Percia felt every detail: the faint tremble of breath against skin, the exact pressure of plush lips, the way Frieren's eyelashes fluttered once against her fingers before she straightened again.
Percia watched.
Every second.
Midnight-blue eyes tracking the slow rise of Frieren's head, the way green eyes met hers for one final, steady moment—open, unguarded, carrying no demand, only quiet certainty.
Then Frieren released her hand.
She stepped back.
Serie huffed again—louder this time.
"Out," she said, sharper. "Before I decide to make an example of you in front of the entire association."
Frieren inclined her head—small, polite.
"Good night, Percia."
She turned.
White hair caught the lantern-light one last time as she walked toward the archway.
She didn't look back.
The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed faintly across the balcony.
Silence returned.
Serie exhaled—long, slow, almost a growl—and pressed her forehead between Percia's shoulder blades.
"She's infuriating," she muttered against fabric.
Percia didn't answer immediately.
Her hand—the one Frieren had kissed—remained open on the stone ledge, knuckles still faintly warm.
After a long moment, she spoke.
"She always has been."
Serie lifted her head just enough to rest her chin on Percia's shoulder again.
Golden eyes narrowed at the empty doorway.
"She kissed your hand like she was signing a contract."
Percia's lips curved—just the barest fraction.
"Maybe she was."
Serie made a low, disgruntled sound.
Then she tightened her arms around Percia's waist again—harder this time, almost defiant.
Percia finally covered Serie's hands with her own.
She tilted her head back slightly—enough that her cheek brushed golden hair.
Serie huffed once more.
"You could've done this earlier"
Below them, the city continued its slow, glowing pulse—oblivious, eternal.
Somewhere in the corridors far beneath, Frieren walked alone.
A small, private smile touched her lips.
She touched her own lips once—lightly, absently—as though testing the memory of warmth still lingering there.
Then she kept walking.