Homeland

In the afternoon in Frieren's hometown, the sunlight was dappled into golden fragments by the dense foliage, lazily spilling across the forest clearing. The air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and grass, and the occasional distant bird song added to the tranquility.

At the edge of the open space, the swing made of thick vines and rustic wooden planks was creaking rhythmically and softly.

Frieren sat on the swing, her long silver hair flowing behind her in the arc of the swing. Her emerald eyes gazed at the swaying shadows of the trees in front of her, her face expressionless, yet exuding a relaxed feeling of returning to a familiar place.

Lowell stood behind her, his black hair fluttering in the breeze. His hands moved with even pressure, each push sending the swing steadily tracing a graceful arc, as if this action had been repeated countless similar afternoons.

"A little higher," Frieren said.

Lowell smiled and tightened his grip a bit, "Okay. But don't let it be like last time, where you swung too high and flew off, and I had to catch you in the end."

"It was windy that time, and besides, I can fly now." Frieren stated without changing her expression. As the swing rose higher, her silver hair flew even more, and her toes almost touched the drooping branches. She squinted slightly, feeling the coolness of the wind brushing against her cheeks.

Under the shade of a tree not far away, two figures stood out, their appearance quite different from the tranquil pastoral scene.

Sam remained as silent as a rock, his golden vertical pupils calm and unwavering. He looked at Solitär beside him—who was twirling the ends of her blue-green hair with interest, her pale green eyes curiously surveying her surroundings.

"I never expected," Sam's deep voice broke the silence, his tone so steady it was impossible to tell whether it was a question or a statement, "That even a free-spirited woman like you would choose to follow His Majesty." His tone carried a subtle scrutiny, as if he still harbored reservations about the "unpredictability" of this member of his own clan.

Upon hearing this, Solitär tilted her head to look at him, a naive yet seemingly mask-like smile appearing on her face, "Huh? What's so strange about that? Survival first is an ironclad rule etched into the Demons race's instincts. Isn't finding a powerful backer just natural?"

She blinked and retorted, "But you, stubborn General Sam, I thought you died long ago in that terrible war with humans. I never imagined you'd spent the last thousand years searching the world for Lowell?"

"It is His Majesty Lorenz," Sam corrected, his tone firm and unwavering in its loyalty.

"He doesn't like that nickname anymore," Solitär blinked her pale green eyes.

"His Majesty is His Majesty." Sam's reply was brief and unwavering.

Solitär, a "I knew it" expression on her face. "Tsk, a thousand years have passed, and nothing has changed. No wonder... only someone with a mind as hard as iron would be so persistent in searching for him for a thousand years, right?" Her gaze swept past Sam and landed in the direction of the swing, her tone carrying a hint of indescribable emotion.

Just then, the clear, cheerful voices of children came from the other end of the open space.

The orphanage has closed.

Millialdai —the gentle, lovely elven woman with a small flower tucked in her hair—led a group of children of varying ages out of the tree-lined path. Upon seeing Frieren on the swing, the children gathered around her like a flock of joyful birds.

"Frieren," Millialdai said with a gentle smile, her gaze falling on the elf on the swing, "It's been thirty years, and you still look... well, you look the same."

Frieren's swing slowly came to a stop. Her emerald eyes looked at Millialdai, and she nodded, her tone flat. "Yes, you too. You look quite good."

"Indeed," Millialdai smiled, her gaze sweeping over the children running and playing around her, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Just a few hundred years ago, I felt nothing for them. After all, to us elves, a few decades for humans is but a fleeting moment, and they all inevitably die eventually. But for some reason, taking care of one child after another for hundreds of years and watching them grow up little by little has always made me feel fulfilled and happy, like watching a short but brilliant bloom."

She sighed softly, "It's just that with so many children lately, it's really getting a bit overwhelming. Luckily, we have Lord Sam. He doesn't talk much, but he's very reliable and has helped us a lot. Those monsters that occasionally wander into the area all run far away from him, as if they've seen a living Yama."

Her gaze, tinged with gratitude, fell upon Sam beneath the tree. Sam glanced at her but did not respond.

By this time, several of the bolder children had curiously gathered around the swing, their round eyes fixed on Frieren's pointed ears and long silver hair.

Wow! Another elf sister!

"The fairy sister stole our swing seat!"

"No, no! Sister Millialdai said that this swing originally belonged to this beautiful elf!"

"Oh... I see... Then, Fairy Sister, can you hold me and swing with me on the swing?" A little girl, about four or five years old, with pigtails, mustered up her courage, tugged at Frieren's clothes, and asked in a childish voice, her eyes full of expectation.

Frieren looked down at the little girl, then up at Lowell, her emerald eyes blinking. Lowell smiled at her, a smile that held a hint of encouragement.

Frieren didn't say anything, but silently moved aside to make room, then stretched out her hands. The little girl immediately cheered, scrambling onto the swing and carefully sitting in Frieren's lap, snuggling close to her.

"Hold on tight." Frieren's voice was flat, but her arm around the little girl was very steady.

"Yes!" The little girl nodded vigorously, her face full of excitement.

Lowell pushed the swing again, this time with a gentler motion.

The swing gently swayed, at a perfect height, a light breeze carrying the scent of Frieren's silver hair and the little girl's orange hair.

The little girl let out a clear laugh. Frieren's face remained expressionless, but in the depths of her emerald eyes, reflecting the shadows of the trees and the sunlight, a faint, gentle glint seemed to flicker, like the ripples on a lake. Perhaps she was thinking of herself from long ago, or of a woman with similar warm orange hair.

The atmosphere was much more lively in the open space further away.

Lupa and Linié are engaged in a unique "race". Each of them is dragging a large tree that has just been cut down and whose branches have not yet been cleared behind them, the trunks plowing deep tracks in the ground.

On the branches of each tree sat three or four boys and girls, their faces flushed with excitement, clinging tightly to the trunk and letting out screams and laughter as the tree moved forward.

"Sister Linié! Go for it! Overtake Sister Lupa!" The children in the tree cheered for their "driver."

Lupa's pink twin tails flew as she ran, her heterochromatic eyes flashing with a competitive light. She turned back to Linié and shouted, "Linié! I won't lose to you! Today I'll make you admit defeat!"

Linié remained expressionless, only saying, "Linié will also give it her all," her deep blue eyes fixed intently ahead, pink strands of hair brushing against her cheeks.

She dragged the tree with apparent ease and at a steady pace, keeping pace with Lupa to the side and behind. She seemed oblivious to the children's screams, but her footsteps always skillfully avoided protruding stones on the ground.

Two figures, one in red and one in pink, dragging two trees "covered" with children, ran across the open grassland, creating a vibrant yet somewhat comical scene. The dust kicked up and the children's joyful laughter added a touch of lively life to this tranquil homeland of spirits.

Sam and Solitär's gazes were also drawn to the commotion. Sam remained silent, but a faint, unreadable emotion seemed to flash in his golden pupils. Solitär, on the other hand, watched with great interest, her fingertips unconsciously tapping, as if recording precious data on this "atypical interaction pattern between Demons and a human infant."

Millialdai watched all this, a smile of relief mixed with a touch of helplessness on her face, and gently shook her head. "These children are so full of energy." She turned to Frieren and Lowell, "It seems this place will become even more lively in the future."

Lowell pushed the swing, looking at Frieren who was holding a little girl in her arms, her expression calm but letting the child snuggle against her, and then at the strange "race" in the distance. A faint, gentle smile appeared on his lips.

The swing sways gently, cutting through the flowing time. Children's laughter echoes in the quiet woods. The gentle breeze of the homeland caresses the scene, making this moment slow and lingering, as if it could last into the distant future.