Chapter Text
Pov:Frieren/Fern/Stark
The cliffs outside Veykrand rose like broken teeth against a pale sky. Dust clung to boots and sleeves, the wind tugging gently at traveling cloaks. A white-haired elf led the group at a slow pace, her eyes scanning the horizon with absentminded ease. Behind her walked a purple-haired girl with her arms crossed tightly, face drawn in clear irritation. A red-haired boy brought up the rear, watching the tension play out in front of him with the quiet dread of someone who knew what was coming.
“Miss Frieren,” Fern started, voice firm, “do you understand what you've done?”
Frieren blinked and tilted her head.
“We lost all of our food,” Fern said flatly. “All of it. Because you opened a mimic chest without even checking.”
“I thought… it might be a grimoire this time,” Frieren murmured. Her gaze drifted downward, toe scuffing lightly at the dirt. “It looked promising.”
“It growled at you, before you even touched it,” Fern snapped. “It had teeth.”
Stark cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything. He adjusted the strap on his pack and looked off to the side like he could pretend he hadn’t heard any of this.
Frieren’s shoulders slumped, not from guilt exactly—but something softer, quieter.
“It’s just… sometimes they hide good ones,” she said, almost to herself.
Fern turned away, muttering under her breath.
“I’m the youngest and somehow the only responsible adult here…”
Stark shifted his pack with exaggerated care, eyebrows rising.
“I am responsible,” he said, mildly offended. “I haven’t opened any mimic chests, I carry all the heavy stuff, and I even remembered to refill our water flasks last time.”
Fern slowly turned toward him, arms still crossed.
“You also once asked if cursed paintings can sneeze,” she said.
“It was a valid question. Firstly Aura cursed it and secondly there was fog coming out of its nose!”
She gave him a long, flat stare. Stark looked away, trying to act like the cliff view was suddenly fascinating.
Frieren, meanwhile, crouched down near a pebble and poked it with her finger.
“This town’s name feels familiar,” Fern said, looking past the path toward the rooftops of Veykrand just visible through the morning haze. “I think this is the one Lawine mentioned once. Where she and Kanne live.”
“Didn’t she say something about a hill with brass gates?” Stark asked.
“That’s this region,” Fern nodded. “Pretty sure we’re in the right Veykrand. Not the one near the wetlands—the one with a bakery that Frieren keeps calling ‘suspicious, as she say they’ve been open for 800 years.’”
The group passed through the outer gates of Veykrand without trouble. The city stretched out ahead, wider than expected, its streets active with vendors, carts, and families moving between stone buildings. Fern glanced around, mentally mapping their path. Stark looked up at a newer district built into the hillside.
Frieren walked a few steps ahead, quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.
“Last time I came here,” she said, “only the inner walls existed. Just a handful of buildings. It wasn’t even called a city yet.”
Fern looked over, surprised.
“How long ago was that?”
“About eighty years.”
Stark raised an eyebrow.
“So it was just a fort back then?”
“More like a checkpoint,” Frieren said. “There was a single tavern and a shop that only sold preserved fish.”
Fern shook her head.
“It’s grown a lot.”
“Too fast. I almost didn’t recognize it,” Frieren said.
They followed the main road toward the center, passing a street fountain and a bakery with a crooked sign hanging above the door. Stark pointed to it.
As they reached the center of Veykrand, the street opened up into a large square with stone benches and a wide public fountain. At the far end stood a statue—weathered, tall, and familiar.
Frieren stopped.
It was a sculpture of four figures. At the center stood Himmel, smiling as always, sword pointed downward like he was resting between battles. To his right, Heiter with his staff raised and a proud tilt to his chin. On the other side, Eisen, solid as ever, crouched like he was bracing the whole group on his shoulders. And at the far left… Frieren herself. Her likeness held a closed spellbook, gaze fixed forward.
The statue was covered in grime. Moss crept over the base. Bird droppings streaked Himmel’s shoulder.
Frieren walked forward slowly.
Stark and Fern stayed back, watching without speaking.
She stopped at the base, looking up. Her expression was unreadable, but her shoulders had dropped. One hand lifted halfway, then lowered again.
“They used to polish it every spring,” she said quietly. “I guess it’s been a while.”
She stepped up to the statue and looked at Himmel’s face. The stone was worn, the smile chipped at one corner, but still unmistakable. Rain and time had dulled the detail, left smudges down the folds of his cloak. Moss clung to the edges like the city had forgotten to care.
Frieren lifted one hand, fingers hovering near the stone as if she could reach him. She hesitated, hand lowering slowly. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed locked on his expression—confident, kind, a little too proud of the sword he never needed to draw first.
She raised her other hand and quietly drew a rune in the air. It pulsed once, then faded. A wave of clean magic spread outward, wrapping over the statue like a sheet of wind. The grime dissolved. The moss peeled away and scattered onto the plaza stone. The texture of polished granite returned.
In less than a minute, the statue looked new. Not untouched—time was still in the eyes and posture—but cared for. Respected.
Frieren lowered her arms, her sleeves falling into place. She didn’t say anything. Her face didn’t change, but her posture did. She stood straighter, shoulders relaxed, like a weight had shifted—not lifted entirely, but moved enough to breathe around.
Pov:Lawines/Kanne
Lawine and Kanne walked side by side through the streets, holding hands casually. They weren’t rushing—just moving at a comfortable pace, weaving past vendors and families. A couple people glanced their way, but no one paid much attention.
A few steps behind, Lawine’s brothers walked together, chatting among themselves. Joey talked the most, making big hand gestures. Matthew mostly listened, arms folded, scar clear on his cheek. Andrew was snacking again, pulling bites off a meat skewer as he walked.
As they passed a row of shops, Lawine overheard two older women talking near a flower stand.
“Did you see it?” one asked.
“She cleaned the whole hero statue,” said the other. “With just one spell.”
“Was she an elf?”
“White hair. Looked like it.”
Lawine looked over at Kanne.
“Magic at the statue?”
“Probably worth checking out,” Kanne said.
Joey caught the last bit of the conversation as he walked up.
“Sounds like something’s happening. Want to go take a look?”
Lawine nodded.
“Yeah. Let’s see what’s going on.”
The group turned toward the plaza, following the sound of voices and the slow flow of people heading in the same direction.
…
Lawine and Kanne turned the final corner into the plaza, the sound of hushed conversation growing louder as more people gathered near the statue. Their brothers followed a few paces behind, distracted but still curious.
At the center of the square stood Frieren, her hand raised as a soft glow moved across the stone statue. Dirt vanished, moss crumbled, and the monument to the old Hero Party shimmered like it had just been carved. Fern and Stark stood nearby, watching quietly.
Kanne slowed, recognizing Fern first.
“Fern?” she called.
Fern looked up. Her eyes widened just slightly before she stepped forward.
Lawine and Kanne reached her quickly, both pulling her into a hug without hesitation.
“What are you doing here?” Lawine asked.
Fern pulled back and gave a tired sigh.
“We ran into a mimic chest,” she said. “Miss Frieren opened it thinking it had a grimoire. It didn’t. It ate all our food.”
Kanne blinked.
“All of it?”
“Everything,” Fern confirmed. “So now we’re resupplying before heading toward Aureol.”
Joey, Matthew, and Andrew arrived behind the girls, staring up at the freshly cleaned statue.
“She really did that?” Matthew asked.
“Looks brand new,” Andrew added.
Joey edged closer to the monument, eyes wide as he stared up at Frieren.
“You’re really her ,” he said. “The mage of the Hero Party. You defeated the Demon King.”
Matthew nodded, practically buzzing with excitement.
“We studied everything about you and Flamma.
You're the reason I started practicing magic.”
Andrew was less talkative, but the awe in his expression said enough.
Frieren turned slowly, taking them in—three boys who’d grown up hearing stories that spanned centuries.
“Hm,” she said simply.
Then, with the faintest trace of a smile, she reached out and gave Joey a pat on the shoulder. He froze, stunned.
Matthew laughed nervously, and Frieren gave him the same gesture—light, absentminded, but strangely sincere.
When she did the same for Andrew, he grinned like he’d been knighted.
Fern watched with a quiet smirk.
“She doesn’t do that often,” she said.
“I’ll remember this forever,” Joey said softly.
Joey glanced between his siblings and the group of legendary adventurers still standing near the statue.
“Um... Miss Frieren?” he said, voice a little unsure. “Would you and your party want to join us for dinner later?”
Frieren blinked.
“Dinner?”
Matthew stepped in.
“Yeah! We were planning to make something simple back at the inn. We’d love to treat you—just a small thank-you. And we even have dessert.”
Frieren tilted her head, still noncommittal.
Andrew smiled, deciding to take the direct route.
“We brought chocolate cake.”
Frieren paused completely. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“...Chocolate cake?”
Fern let out a tiny sigh.
“And now she’s going.”
Frieren gave a quiet nod.
“I’ll come.”
After agreeing to dinner, the group began drifting toward the edge of the plaza, but Joey slowed and glanced at Fern and Frieren.
“Hey… do you mind coming with us for a sec?”
Fern looked curious but followed, and Stark trailed along, munching on something he'd bought from a nearby stall. They stopped near a quiet stone bench, tucked beside a low fountain.
Frieren turned to Joey with a raised brow.
“Is something wrong?”
Joey shook his head quickly.
“No, nothing like that. We just… uh, wanted to ask if you know any quiet, sort of meaningful spots around here.”
“Meaningful?” Frieren repeated, puzzled.
Matthew leaned in.
“Lawine wants to ask Kanne to be her girlfriend.”
Frieren tilted her head slightly, processing that.
Fern blinked.
“Wait—they’re not dating already?”
Andrew snorted.
“You thought they were?”
Fern gestured vaguely.
“They act like they are. Honestly, I assumed it months ago.”
Stark paused mid-bite.
“Huh. I did too.”
Frieren glanced back toward where the girls were chatting.
“That’s strange,” she murmured. “Himmel did something like that for me once. Said the setting mattered for big questions.”
The boys exchanged glances, intrigued.
“So… do you have a place like that here?” Joey asked again.
Frieren thought for a long moment.
“There’s a small grove just behind the western ridge. Flowers are still blooming. Himmel liked it because the birds there always sounded cheerful.”
She paused, then nodded.
“It should work.”
Andrew nudged Joey just before he sprinted off.
“Just grab the photo camera.”
Joey froze mid-step.
“Oh, right! One perfect shot—that’s even better.”
He darted off toward the inn, yelling over his shoulder, “Make it look natural!”
Back near the fountain, Frieren suddenly raised her voice again, turning to Lawine and Kanne.
“Hey—want to see a cool spot you’ve probably never heard of?”
Kanne blinked. “From you? That could mean anything.”
Frieren pointed toward the western ridge.
“Flowers, birds. Himmel used to call it the ‘cheerful place.’ No bugs, I checked.”
Lawine looked like she was holding her breath.
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Sure.”
Fern leaned in as they started walking.
“I’m definitely pretending not to know what’s going on.”
Stark whispered back.
“Wait, we do know, right?”
She smirked. “We definitely know.”
…
The path curved gently upward as they left the town behind, the last buildings giving way to sloping grass and scattered rocks. The summer air was still, heavy with warmth, and the only sound for a while was their feet crunching over the dry soil.
Lawine walked close to Kanne, her voice unusually quiet. Fern and Stark followed a few steps behind, letting them lead.
The hill wasn’t steep, but it opened quickly. When they reached the top, the view rolled out in front of them—a broad cliffside overlooking a glimmering stretch of forest and far-off lakes. The sun had started its descent, casting gold across everything. The edge of the sky burned in slow bands of orange and pink.
Kanne let out a soft breath.
“That’s… actually beautiful.”
Lawine smiled, trying not to look too nervous.
Behind them, Joey’s voice echoed faintly—louder than necessary as he jogged to catch up.
“Don’t move! This is perfect!”
They turned to see him scrambling up the hill with the camera clutched to his chest, triumphant and a little breathless.
Fern laughed softly.
“Well. No pressure now.”
Kanne stood near the edge of the cliff, watching Joey fiddle with the camera as the sky continued to change behind him. The golden light stretched across the trees like someone had painted it there. Her thoughts were half on the view and half on what this detour was really about.
She didn’t notice when Lawine stepped back behind her.
Didn’t hear the shuffle of boots on stone.
Didn’t realize Lawine had gone down on one knee.
Joey looked up from the camera and his eyes widened. He mouthed, “Now?”
Fern nodded.
“Now.”
Kanne turned around.
She froze.
Lawine was there, steady and nervous, hands clenched and voice just barely above a whisper.
“You’ve meant everything to me for the past seventeen years.”
Kanne stared, blinking slowly.
Lawine swallowed.
“I don’t think there’s been a day I didn’t want you in my life. And if you wanted to... if you’d be willing to be my girlfriend... that would be—”
Kanne dropped to her knees without thinking.
She threw her arms around Lawine and buried her face into her shoulder.
“Yes,” she said through tears. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Joey squinted through the viewfinder, adjusting the frame as Lawine and Kanne remained locked in their hug.
“Okay, hold it—just like that. It’s perfect,” he whispered, finger hovering over the shutter.
The moment was quiet, the light golden. Kanne’s face was buried against Lawine’s shoulder, tears still fresh in her eyes. Lawine held her close, still kneeling, steady despite the rush of emotion.
Joey clicked the shutter.
And then the camera fizzed.
Sputtered.
Let out a sad little pop.
“Wait—wait, what?”
A thin trail of smoke floated upward from the device. Joey opened the casing, too late. The flash mechanism had shorted. The camera was toast.
“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, staring down at the broken mess.
Andrew and Matthew jogged up behind him, having watched from a few paces down the hill.
“Did you at least get the shot?” Andrew asked.
Joey pulled out the one photo the camera had managed before combusting. He held it up carefully.
There it was: Lawine on one knee, Kanne mid-turn, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide, already tearing up.
The emotion was raw, frozen in a single, perfect frame.
Matthew let out a low whistle.
“Honestly? That’s better than what we were aiming for.”
Kanne stepped close and pulled Lawine into a hug, steady and firm.
Then she kissed her—longer this time. Lawine paused, then kissed her back without looking away. Her hand shifted to Kanne’s back. That was it. No words, no rush.
Andrew stared for half a second, then turned like he’d just walked into the wrong room.
Joey kept his eyes on the photo, but his jaw moved like he wanted to say
Kanne gave Lawine one last glance, then turned to the group with a straight face.
“We’re dating now. Don’t make it weird.”