Chapter Text
The village square was busy. Merchants had set up stalls with fabric, dried herbs, and carved toys. Fern stood with her arms crossed, watching Aura and Linie like she’d been assigned a job she didn’t ask for. Frieren was asleep at Kannes house, so Fern was stuck supervising the two demons—just in case.
Aura didn’t seem to notice. She wore the same outfit she always had—dark, high-collared, and worn down. The sleeves were uneven, and the edges were starting to fray. She stopped at a rack of scarves, looked at them for a while, then moved on without touching anything.
Fern sighed. “This is going to be a long day.”
Lawine leaned against a wooden post, chewing something sticky. “You’re acting like they’re going to rob the bakery.”
“They’re demons,” Fern said. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on them.”
Lawine shrugged. “They’re shopping.”
Linie ran past them toward a stall with socks on display. “Kanne! Look at this one!”
Kanne followed, carrying a few small bags. “Those are socks,” she said.
“Can we buy it?”
Kanne glanced at Fern, then Aura. “Sure.”
Fern didn’t look thrilled, but she didn’t argue.
Aura was still hovering near the scarves. She reached out and touched a pale blue one, then pulled her hand back like she wasn’t sure she was allowed.
Linie came back holding the socks. “Mama, look.”
Aura looked down. “It’s nice.”
“It’s a socks”
“I see.”
Fern rubbed her forehead. “This is going to take all day.”
Linie wandered over to a stall with dresses. She stopped in front of a green one with little flowers stitched near the hem. “Kanne?” she asked. “Is this something I’m supposed to wear?”
Kanne looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what girls wear. Fourteen-year-old girls.”
Fern glanced over but didn’t say anything.
Kanne walked over. “That dress works. If you like it, it’s fine.”
Linie looked at it again. “It’s soft.”
“Soft’s good,” Kanne said. “You don’t have to wear stuff that looks like it belongs in a dungeon.”
Aura lingered by the scarf rack, eyes flicking between the folded shawls and the vendor behind the stall. After a long pause, she turned slightly toward Lawine.
“Are we… supposed to just take them?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, unsure. “Or do they give them to us?”
Lawine blinked, then snorted. “You buy them.”
Aura frowned. “With money?”
“Yeah,” Lawine said, already pulling a few coins from her pouch. “Like this.”
She handed the vendor a small stack of copper. “For the shawl,” she said, jerking her thumb toward Aura.
The vendor nodded and wrapped it up without comment.
Aura stared at the bundle, then at Lawine. “So now it’s mine?”
Lawine handed it to her. “That’s how shops work.”
Aura looked down at the wrapped shawl, then back at the rack. “Do people do this often?”
Lawine shrugged. “Some people. Kanne does it every time we pass a stall.”
Aura nodded slowly, still holding the bundle with both hands. “It’s soft.”
Lawine raised an eyebrow. “You like soft now?”
“I don’t know,” Aura said. “It’s not heavy.”
Lawine nudged Aura toward a nearby stall stacked with folded cloth—cotton, wool, linen, all in muted tones. Aura hesitated at the edge, scanning the piles like she was trying to decode them.
“Pick something,” Lawine said. “You’re allowed.”
Aura stepped forward slowly. Her fingers hovered over a soft gray fabric with a faint blue weave. She touched it, then paused. “Like this?”
Lawine leaned in. “Yeah. That’s cloth.”
Aura didn’t look up. “I think I like this.”
Lawine gave a small nod. “Then we’ll get it.”
Aura didn’t move.
Lawine sighed, pulled out a few coins, and handed them to the vendor. “This one,” she said, pointing to the fabric Aura had touched.
The vendor wrapped it up and passed it over. Aura took it carefully, holding it with both hands.
“I didn’t know you could just choose,” she said.
“You can,” Lawine said. “That’s the whole point.”
“This is softer than what I wear,” Aura said.
Lawine nodded. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”
Aura didn’t respond right away. She kept touching the edge of the bundle, pressing it between her fingers like she was testing it.
“I didn’t know clothes could feel like this,” she said.
Lawine tilted her head. “You wore armor for most of your life.”
Lawine didn’t push. “Well, now you’ve got something else.”
Aura nodded slowly. “It’s strange.”
Kanne jogged up to Aura, nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone. “That looks cute!” she said, pointing to the folded cloth in Aura’s hands. “You’d look good in that.”
Aura blinked. “It’s just fabric.”
“Yeah,” Kanne said, grinning. “Cute fabric.”
Aura didn’t respond, but her grip on the bundle relaxed slightly. She looked down at it again, then back at the stall, as if trying to understand what made it “cute.”
Linie came up behind her, holding a light blue dress with a wide bow at the back. The sleeves were short, and the hem had a soft ruffle. She looked unsure, but hopeful.
Aura turned toward her. “You picked that?”
Linie nodded. “Kanne said it’s fine.”
Aura looked at the dress for a moment, then at Linie. She reached out and gently patted her daughter’s head. Her hand lingered for a second longer than usual.
“It looks nice,” she said. Then, after a pause, added, “On you.”
Linie’s shoulders relaxed. “I think I like it.”
Aura nodded. “Then it’s good.”
Fern, still watching from the side, muttered, “At least nobody’s screaming.”
…
Aura walked a few steps away from the stall, still holding the folded cloth. Her posture was stiff, but not unusual—until she suddenly stopped.
Her hand shot up to the side of her head, fingers pressing against her temple. Her eyes narrowed, then squeezed shut. She staggered slightly, breath catching.
Linie noticed first. “Mama?”
Aura didn’t answer. Her other hand dropped the cloth as she gripped her head with both hands. Her knees bent, not quite collapsing, but close. Her face twisted—not in anger, but in something sharper. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes were wet.
Linie ran to her. “Mama!”
Aura didn’t push her away. She couldn’t. Her breathing was uneven, and her shoulders shook. The pain was deep—centered where her horns used to be. A dull pressure that built into something sharp, like a spike driving inward. Her vision blurred.
Lawine and Kanne were already moving. Fern followed, faster than the others.
“What happened?” Fern asked, kneeling beside her.
“She’s hurting,” Linie said, voice tight.
Fern didn’t hesitate. She placed a hand near Aura’s temple, fingers glowing faintly. “Hold still.”
Aura didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist. The glow spread slowly, dulling the sharpness, easing the pressure. Her breathing steadied. Her hands dropped to her lap.
Fern kept the spell going a few seconds longer, then pulled back. “That should help.”
Aura blinked, eyes still wet. She didn’t speak.
Linie stayed close, one hand on her arm. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.
Kanne crouched beside her. “You’re alright. We’ve got you.”
Lawine didn’t say anything, but she stood close, arms crossed, watching.
Aura wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It happens sometimes.”
She looked down at the cloth she’d dropped, then at Linie.
“I’m fine now,” she said.
Linie didn’t move away.
…
Fern stood up slowly, watching Aura wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. Something about it made her stomach turn.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
Lawine noticed. “What?”
Fern didn’t look away. “She’s the reason my parents are dead.”
Lawine raised an eyebrow. “Aura?”
“Demons,” Fern said. Her voice was flat, but tight. “People like her. Doesn’t matter if she’s quiet now. Doesn’t matter if she’s holding scarves and pretending to be normal.”
Aura didn’t respond. She was still sitting, eyes down, shoulders tense.
Fern kept going. “They killed my village. My parents. My neighbors. And now I’m supposed to heal them. Study them. Because Frieren says it’s important.”
Lawine crossed her arms. “You think she’s faking?”
“I think she’s dangerous,” Fern said. “Even if she doesn’t mean to be.”
Kanne glanced between them, uneasy. Linie didn’t move.
Fern looked down at Aura again. “She cries. She gets headaches. She says she’s sorry. And I’m supposed to forget what she is.”
Lawine didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “You don’t have to forget. But she’s not the one who killed your parents.”
Fern’s jaw tightened. “She’s still a demon.”
“She’s not good at pretending,” Fern said. “She’s good at surviving. That’s not the same.”
Kanne shifted, uncomfortable. “Maybe we should—”
“No,” Fern said. Her voice was sharp, then softened. “I’m not saying we kill her. I’m saying we don’t pretend this is safe.”
Lawine nodded. “Fair.”
Fern looked at Linie. “And you? You trust her?”
Linie didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “I don’t know what trust means yet.”
Fern blinked.
Linie kept her eyes on Aura. “But I know she’s trying to be the best for me.”
Aura didn’t move. Her hand was still on the scarf, knuckles pale. She hadn’t spoken since the headache passed.
…
Dinner
The inn’s dining room was quiet, lit by soft lanterns and the clink of cutlery. Lawine’s parents had arrived earlier that day, and Kanne’s father joined them for dinner. Fern sat beside Frieren, who was slowly picking at her stew.
Lawine’s father, a broad-shouldered man with a trimmed beard and a merchant’s polish, raised his glass. “We’re grateful you’ve taken care of our daughters. Truly. We gave them the best education we could afford, but…” He glanced at Frieren. “It would be an honor if you took them to Aureole. Let them study under you.”
Frieren paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “I don’t care about talking to new students.”
Lawine’s mother leaned forward. “Not even talented ones?”
Frieren looked at Lawine and Kanne. “They’re talented. But I don’t have the funds. Even if I wanted to.”
Lawine’s father reached into his coat and placed a small pouch on the table. It clinked heavily. “One hundred Strahl gold coins. For travel, lodging, and snacks.”
Frieren stared at the pouch. “That’s… enough to keep us going for five years.”
Fern blinked. “With snacks?”
Frieren nodded slowly. “With snacks.”
Kanne’s father chuckled. “They’re good girls. And they’ve grown stronger with you. We trust you.”
Lawine leaned back, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. “It’s not like I need tutoring.”
Her mother smiled. “You need discipline.”
Lawine groaned. “I knew this dinner was a trap.”
Kanne, sitting beside her, reached out and gently pressed a hand to Lawine’s shoulder. Her touch was light, but steady.
Lawine glanced sideways. “What?”
Kanne’s voice was soft. “It means we can spend all our time together. Learning. Traveling. Having an adventure.”
Lawine’s ears turned pink. “You make it sound like a fairy tale.”
Kanne smiled. “It kind of is. And my parents won’t have to worry anymore. They can live comfortably in the big house.”
Lawine looked away, arms still crossed. “You’re too sentimental.”
“You like that about me,” Kanne said, not teasing or Lawine would have been on top of her pulling her pony tails
Lawine didn’t respond, but her posture relaxed slightly.
Frieren watched them quietly, then turned to Fern. “They’re not bad candidates.”
Fern raised an eyebrow. “You just said you don’t take on new students.”
“I don’t,” Frieren said. “But I also don’t turn down five years of snacks.”
Lawine’s father chuckled. “I can throw in a sixth year if they behave.”
Lawine groaned. “Please don’t.”
Her mother smiled. “You’ll thank us later.”
Frieren stood, picking up the pouch and weighing it in her hand. “, I can take them all the way to the Golden Land. After that I cannot garanty your daughters safety. they’ll need to keep up. I won’t slow down for them.”
Lawine smirked. “Good. I hate slow.”
Kanne nodded. “We’ll keep up.”
Frieren looked at them both. “Then I’ll take you. On one condition.”
Lawine narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Frieren’s expression didn’t change. “No complaining. Not even once.”
Lawine opened her mouth, then closed it.