Morning Light

Morning light slanted through the gaps in the inn's wooden window, cutting across the room.

Lowell woke first.

He stared at the grain of the wooden ceiling for a while, listening to the soft, steady breathing beside him. After hundreds of years, it had long since become a background sound more familiar than his own heartbeat.

He rolled over.

Frieren had her back to him, her long silver-white hair spread across the pillow, a few strands sticking up. She had rolled most of the blanket away and wrapped it around herself like a giant cocoon.

Lowell reached out and gave a corner of the blanket a gentle tug.

It didn't budge.

He pulled a little harder.

The cocoon squirmed, and a muffled voice emerged. "...It's still early. Let me sleep another five hours."

"The sun's already shining on your backside," Lowell said.

"Liar." Frieren buried her face in the pillow. "The window faces west. It can't reach me."

Lowell was silent for two seconds.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"...Oh."

Silence settled over them for another moment. Frieren finally moved, slowly releasing the blanket and sitting up, her hair sticking out in a mess. She squinted out the window, the morning light reflecting pale gold in her eyes.

"Whose turn is it to buy breakfast today?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Lowell thought for a moment.

"I did it last week."

"I did it the week before that and the week before that," Frieren shot back at once.

"Did you?"

"Yes."

They looked at each other for a while.

"Rock, paper, scissors," Lowell suggested.

Frieren nodded. She stuck a hand out from under the blanket and made a fist.

"One, two, three—"

Lowell threw paper.

Frieren threw rock.

She stared at her fist for two seconds, then looked at Lowell's open hand. Silently, she pulled her hand back and burrowed under the blanket again.

"...Best two out of three," came the muffled voice from under the blanket.

"That's what you said last week."

"I mean it this time."

Lowell sighed. He sat up and raked a hand through his equally messy black hair. For hundreds of years, this routine had barely changed.

"What do you want to eat?" He got out of bed and started putting on his coat.

There was silence under the blanket for a moment.

"...Bread. With jam," Frieren said. "And milk."

"Apple or strawberry?"

"Both."

Lowell's hands paused on his buttons. "That'll be too rich."

"Apple, then." Frieren's voice grew a little brighter. "But put extra jam on it."

"Got it."

Lowell finished dressing and walked to the door, then glanced back. The cocoon of blankets had gone still again, with only a few strands of silver hair peeking out.

"Don't fall asleep again," he said.

"I won't," Frieren said. "I promise."

Lowell closed the door.

As he descended the inn's stairs, he heard the landlady humming in the kitchen. The streets were just waking up, and the aroma from the bakery drifted halfway down the block, mingling with the fresh scent of vegetables at the morning market.

He bought two apple jam buns and a large jug of milk, and picked up a packet of freshly dried tea leaves while he was at it. On the way back, he paused at a secondhand stall at the mouth of an alley.

The stallholder was a dwarf with a graying beard, polishing an old copper kettle.

"Morning," the dwarf said without looking up.

"Morning," Lowell replied, his gaze sweeping over the odds and ends on the stall: rusty badges, chipped pottery bowls, and several old books with faded covers. His eyes stopped at a corner.

There sat a palm-sized wooden box, carved with simple patterns and set with a small piece of dull green glass at the clasp. It was old, but still rather pretty.

"How much for that?" he asked.

The dwarf glanced at it. "Three copper coins. Just so you know, it's empty. I opened it and checked."

"Mm."

Lowell paid and slipped the wooden box into his pocket. When he returned to the inn room, Frieren had indeed fallen asleep again.

He stood by the bed watching her for a while, then gently set the bread bag on the bedside table. Its metal clasp made a soft sound against the wood.

Frieren's eyelashes fluttered.

"...You're back?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"Mm."

"Is there jam?"

"Yes."

"Lots of it?"

"Lots of it."

Only then did Frieren slowly open her eyes. She sat up, took the bread Lowell handed her, and lowered her head to take a bite. Jam stuck to the corner of her mouth, but she didn't notice, only narrowing her eyes in satisfaction.

"Is it sweet?" Lowell sat down across from her and opened the milk jug.

"Sweet," Frieren said, then took another big bite.

They finished breakfast in silence. Frieren drank the last of her milk and licked the jam from the corner of her mouth. Her gaze suddenly fell on Lowell's coat pocket.

"What did you buy?" she asked.

Lowell took out the little wooden box and handed it over.

Frieren took it and turned it over in her hands. Her fingers brushed over the rough wood grain, then stopped at the green glass and pressed it gently.

"It's fake," she said.

"Mm."

"It's empty inside."

"Mm."

Frieren stared at the wooden box for a few more seconds, then tucked it into the cloth bag she carried, alongside the strange stones, faded ribbons, and scraps of paper covered in scrawled notes she had collected.

Packing their suitcases took less than ten minutes. Neither of them had much: a few changes of clothes, some everyday necessities, Frieren's bag of magic materials and some strange things, and Lowell's thick leather-bound book that he never seemed to finish.

When they checked out, the landlady pressed two freshly baked apple pies into their hands.

"Thank you for your help. Have these on the road," she said with a smile. "Are you heading north?"

"Mm." Lowell nodded.

"Then you'll pass through Central City, won't you? I hear the Magic Association's headquarters is there. It's been lively lately."

Frieren was carefully wrapping up the apple pies. She paused at those words.

"The association?" She looked up.

"Yes, the Continental Magic Association." The landlady's eyes lit up. "I hear its president is an extraordinary person who's lived for over a thousand years! Talented children from all over are going there now, hoping to become magic apprentices."

Frieren and Lowell exchanged a glance.

"I see," Lowell said. "Thank you for telling us."

They seemed to have heard that, because of its geographical location and certain other reasons, the association's headquarters was going to be moved to Oysast, in the Holy City of Strahl region.

They left the inn and set out on the road north. The morning mist had completely dispersed. Fields stretched along both sides of the road, and the outlines of distant mountains stood out clearly beneath the cloudless sky.

Frieren walked ahead with a light step. Every so often, she stopped to crouch by the roadside and look at a cluster of wildflowers, or pick up an unusually shaped stone.

Lowell followed three paces behind. It was an understanding formed over hundreds of years: close enough to reach out at any time, far enough not to disturb each other's thoughts.

After they had walked for about an hour, Frieren suddenly spoke:

"We're going to pass through Central City."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Mm," Lowell replied.

"The Magic Association is there."

"Mm."

"Serie is there."

This time, Lowell didn't answer immediately. He quickened his pace for two steps and came alongside Frieren. Frieren didn't look at him, only stared at the outline of the city walls faintly visible at the end of the road ahead.

A disclaimer: leave your brains here. Any differences are because this is fanfiction. Apologies for everything. Suggestions are welcome; criticism is not.