The Finale and the Morning Light

Lowell looked at the three people sitting side by side on the grass.

Frieren ate her Mercury Pudding in small bites, her emerald green eyes narrowing contentedly. Fern sat quietly beside her, his pale purple eyes gazing at the hazy mist in the distance. Freya leaned on her other shoulder, her long, pure white hair shimmering with a warm luster in the soft light.

"Alright," Lowell began, his voice clear and steady in the silence, "And..."

He looked at Freya.

"You've come to find us?"

Freya lifted her face from Frieren's shoulder, her golden eyes blinking, a sly smile playing on them.

"Oh? Master won't let me continue sleeping?"

"He's been sleeping for hundreds of years," Lowell said, crossing his arms and a smile playing on his lips. "If he keeps sleeping like this, he'll really turn into a sleepy little pig."

Freya grinned, her smile so bright it was almost dazzling.

"I've heard that princesses who sleep too long will turn into monsters." She drawled, her voice carrying a childlike, mischievous probing tone, "If I turned into Demons, would Master still recognize me?"

Lowell put his hands on his hips, raised his chin slightly, and struck a pose that said, "Is that even a question?"

"What nonsense!"

His voice rose slightly, carrying an undeniable certainty.

"Whether it's me, Frieren, you become Demons, or Slime— "

He turned his head to look at Frieren beside him, and raised his chin as if seeking approval.

"We'll definitely recognize her, won't we? Frieren?"

Frieren had just finished the last bite of pudding. She put down the small silver spoon, tidied up the empty jar, and then looked up at Freya with her emerald green eyes, nodding.

"Yes." Her voice was steady and certain. "They'll recognize you. No matter what you look like."

Freya looked at the two of them, her smile deepening, the cunning in her eyes melting away and transforming into a gentle, bright light.

"Hehe, it's settled then." She said softly, her tone as light as a bird leaping from the treetops. "Then Master and Frieren, you'll have to keep a close eye out for any strange Demons or Slimes along the roadside from now on."

Don't worry.

Lowell answered decisively. He lowered his hands from his hips, took half a step forward, and knelt down in front of Freya, his gaze level with hers. His dark eyes looked at her, clearly reflecting her smiling face and the massive yet gentle silhouette of the World Tree behind her.

"Well then..." he began slowly, his voice lower, the joking tone gone, replaced by a solemn tone, as if making a promise on the banks of time, "Sleep well. And then, we'll wait."

"We will eventually wake up from this dream and meet again in the sober reality."

"When this long dream is over, let's meet again on the shore where the sun rises."

Freya tilted her head slightly, a few strands of pure white hair sliding down her shoulder armor.

"What?" she muttered, but her lips curled up even higher, her golden eyes curving into beautiful crescents. "You talk as if you're dreaming."

"Isn't it?" Lowell countered, her tone a mix of playful seriousness. "For me, being able to look at your face like this and talk to you is like the best dream I could ever have."

Frieren smiled softly. The laughter was so light, like a feather skimming the surface of water, creating subtle, gentle ripples on her usually calm face.

"Then I'll..." she began, her emerald eyes looking at Lowell, a rare, almost mischievous glint in them, "Goodbye, Lowell..."

"I hope you enjoy your role, which has been yours for the past thousand years."

Lowell was taken aback at first, then seemed to be gently bumped in the chest by something. He reached out and cupped Frieren's face in his hands, gently rubbing her soft cheeks with his fingers, making her delicate face puff out slightly.

"You..." He gritted his teeth, the voice squeezed out between his teeth, carrying obvious, exaggerated annoyance, but the almost overflowing laughter in his eyes completely betrayed him, "Saying something like that all of a sudden... Mercury Pudding is confiscated tonight, you hear me?"

As he rubbed her face, Frieren mumbled a few syllables, but her emerald eyes curved into crescents, brimming with undisguised pleasure.

"Pfft... Hahaha... No, no." She finally couldn't help but laugh out loud. Her voice was clear and melodious, spreading in this absolutely tranquil space like many tiny, sparkling pebbles thrown into a lake that had been calm for millennia, stirring up gentle and joyful ripples.

Fern sat to the side, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Freya watched the two playfully bickering, and the purple-haired girl beside them smiling quietly. Her smile softened, like silk warmed by the afternoon sun. There was a sense of completeness and peace in that smile, as if she had seen the most beautiful scenery and heard the most beautiful song.

Then, she slowly stood up.

The white armor emitted a subtle, pleasant metallic scraping sound with each movement, which stood out clearly in the stillness.

"Well then," she said, her voice as clear as a mountain stream, still carrying a smile, but with a touch of the gentleness unique to farewell, "I'll leave you here."

She turned to Fern and winked at her.

"Keep a close eye on these two immature adults, Fern. Don't let them play rock-paper-scissors all night long over who should buy breakfast."

Fern nodded slightly.

"I will."

Freya then looked at Lowell and Frieren. She gazed at them for a long time, her eyes gently brushing over their brows, expressions, and even every strand of hair that fluttered in the wind, as if she wanted to etch this scene, along with the warmth in the air, the scent of grass, and the rustling of leaves, deep into the very depths of her soul.

Then, she smiled slightly.

The smile held no more jest, no more mischief, only a crystal-clear tranquility, as serene as the place itself, and a blessing.

"Goodbye," she whispered, the last syllable Melt into the wind.

The moment the words left his mouth.

Her body began to become transparent. Starting from her fingertips hanging at her sides, like the last wisp of night mist kissed by the dawn, she gradually dissipated into the soft and eternal light around her. Her snow-white hair, her eyes like molten gold, her armor as smooth as ivory, her upright figure... all transformed into countless tiny, shimmering specks of light, silently rising and drifting away, like stardust flowing against the current, finally merging into the hazy, milky-white mist around her, and into the dappled, swaying light and shadow cast by the endless emerald canopy of the World Tree.

There was no sound, no residue, not even a ripple.

She simply and quietly, completely, returned to this ancient tranquility that nurtured and embraced her.

It was as if she had never left, but had simply changed her form, continuing to slumber within the gentle rings of this giant tree.

Lowell remained crouched, head tilted back, gazing at the air where Freya's figure had vanished. There was nothing there, only the soft, even light of day and the ever-present, veil-like mist. The blush and smile on his face had long since faded, leaving only a deep, almost blank calm. Beneath that calm, it seemed as if a thousand words were churning, but ultimately they simply dissolved into a silent, deep pool.

Frieren reached out and gently patted his arm, which was still in the cupped-arm gesture.

Lowell trembled slightly, as if gently pulled back from the depths of some extremely distant thought, shrouded in layers of time. He turned his head and looked at Frieren.

Frieren green eyes, saying nothing.

A few seconds later, Lowell took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He raised his hand, rubbed his face, and then stood up.

"I'm gone," he said, his voice regaining its usual calm.

He turned and strode back the way he came. His footsteps fell silently on the soft grass.

Frieren and Fern followed behind him.

The three of them walked through the hazy mist, across the boundless grassland, and arrived at the halo of light with its blurred edges—the "gate" back to the outside world.

Lowell didn't look back and took the first step.

The intense cold and the sound of the wind instantly enveloped the senses once again.

The snow-covered plains of Ende unfolded before my eyes, the leaden sky hung low, and the dark ruins of the Demon King's Castle stood silently in the distance. The cold air pierced my nostrils, carrying the dry scent of snowflakes.

Frieren and Fern followed closely behind, both of them shivering slightly at the same time, before quickly and skillfully wrapping themselves up again like two tightly wrapped dumplings.

Lowell stood in the middle of the frozen lake and glanced back. Behind him was nothing but the smooth ice surface and the pale snowfield in the distance. That warm, tranquil resting place seemed as if it had never existed.

He turned around and looked south.

"I'm going back," he said.

Before he finished speaking, an invisible magical field had already unfolded around him, gently and steadily enveloping Frieren and Fern. The next moment, the three of them suddenly rose from the ground, tearing through the stagnant, cold air, transforming into a black streak faster than the limits of visual perception, ruthlessly slicing through the leaden-gray clouds, and speeding towards the warmer direction of the Central Lands.

The sharp wind pressure from high-speed flight was blocked by the force field. Below was an endless snowfield, which rapidly swept backward, turning into a blurry pale white band.

After flying for a while, Frieren, who was carefully protected within the force field by Lowell's magic, suddenly spoke. Her voice, though muffled, was very clear as it traveled through the force field:

I want to go to a hot spring.

Lowell glanced down at her. She was wrapped in a thick fur-trimmed cloak, with only half her face and a pair of emerald green eyes showing, gazing at the rapidly passing mountain outlines below, gradually revealing their verdant hues.

"Okay." Lowell nodded quickly, "I'm covered in the chill of the snowfield, I should soak in it."

Fern's voice came from the side, calm and steady. "Me too."

"Of course we'll go together," Lowell said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if it were a matter of course. "Let's find the best one, with an open-air bath and a view of the mountains. We'll soak until our fingers are wrinkled before we come out."

As he spoke, he subtly adjusted his flight direction, heading towards an ancient hot spring town hidden deep in the eastern mountains, renowned for its springs and scenery. His speed slowed slightly, but it still far exceeded the limits of any flying magical beast or magical vehicle on the continent. The scenery below changed from snowfields to frozen ground, then to hills covered with hardy shrubs, with more and more greenery and clearer signs of life.

A few days later.

The Central Lands, deep within the winding mountains of the east.

A well-established hot spring inn nestled quietly in a mountain valley. At the far end, a detached hot spring villa stands away from the hustle and bustle of the main building. Paper lanterns hang under the independent wooden eaves, swaying gently in the morning breeze carrying the fragrance of grass and trees, casting warm and swaying shadows on the wooden corridor.

Inside the room, the bedding was in disarray.

Lowell woke up first.

He stared at the wood grain on the ceiling for a while; the patterns looked soft and familiar in the dim morning light filtering through the paper window. Beside him, he heard even, shallow, and long breaths. This sound had long transcended the realm of "habit," becoming a background rhythm more deeply rooted than his own heartbeat, unchanged for thousands of years, whether in the snowy plains of the far north, the bustling Imperial Capital, or the warm, misty steam of a mountain hot spring.

He rolled over.

Frieren had her back to him, her long, silvery hair, like silk woven from moonlight, spread out on the dark pillowcase, a few strands sticking up unruly, trembling slightly with her breath. The blanket—undoubtedly—had been rolled up most of the way again, tightly wrapped around her, forming a huge, full "cocoon" that rose and fell slowly with her breath, leaving him only an edge and a few corners of the blanket.

Lowell reached out and gently tugged at the corner of the blanket.

It couldn't be moved.

He applied a little more force.

The cocoon twitched slightly, and from deep within came a muffled, soft, and slumbering sound:

"... It's still early, I'll sleep for another five hours."

"I slept really well after soaking in the hot springs," Lowell said.

"Mmm..." Frieren buried her face in the pillow, her voice even more indistinct, "The hot spring... so comfortable..."

Lowell remained silent for two seconds.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"... oh."

After a moment of silence, Frieren finally moved. She slowly untied the blanket, sat up, her hair sticking up in a mess. She squinted at the window, the morning light filtering through the paper window, casting a pale golden, hazy glow in her pupils.

"Who's going to buy breakfast today?" she asked, her voice still heavy with sleepiness, the words drawn out.

Lowell thought for a moment.

"Last night's late-night snack was something I brought back from the kitchen in the dark," he stated. "Hot milk and honey cake."

"I bought breakfast the time before last and the time before that," Frieren retorted immediately, her tone much more sober.

"Is there?"

"Have."

The two gazed at each other for a while in the morning light. Their faces were indistinct, only the outlines of their eyes and the subtle reflections within them were visible.

Rock, paper, scissors.

Frieren nodded, her movements still sluggish from just waking up. She stretched her hand out from the warm blankets and clenched it into a small fist. The cool morning air seeped in through the cracks in the paper window, causing her pale fingers to curl slightly.

"One," Lowell began counting, his voice exceptionally clear in the quiet morning.

"Second," Frieren repeated, her emerald green eyes fixed on his hand.

"Three--"

Lowell made his move—his five fingers spread wide; it was cloth.

Frieren made her move—her small fist clenched tightly; it was a stone.

She stared at her outstretched fist, lingering in the morning light for two seconds, as if confirming this unfortunate outcome. Then, her gaze shifted to Lowell's steadily outstretched palm, representing "cloth."

Silence.

Silently and without a word, she withdrew her hand, quickly pulling the "lost" hand back into the warm blankets, sliding her whole body down as she tried to wrap herself up in that safe "cocoon" again. A muffled voice, clearly carrying a hint of cheating, came from deep within the covers:

"... Best of three." A muffled voice came from under the covers.

"You said the same thing last time, and the time before that," Lowell bluntly exposed.

"This time it's for real." The voice from under the covers insisted, though it didn't sound very confident.

Lowell sighed. In that sigh, helplessness was feigned, but indulgence was real. He sat up and raised his hand to vigorously grab his head of black hair, which had become messy even in his sleep. For thousands of years, this routine, this conversation, this act of whining had become a reassuring ritual that was performed almost every morning.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked, groping for a yukata scattered around the bedding and starting to put it on. The soft fabric rustled against his skin.

There was a moment of silence under the covers, as if someone was deep in thought. Then, the muffled voice rang out again, carrying a clear and undeniable expectation:

"... Bread. Freshly baked, with a crispy crust. Spread lots and lots of jam, apple jam and strawberry jam. And a whole big glass of hot milk."

"Alright, apply it all, and fill the milk tank too." Lowell fastened his belt, his tone conciliatory, but a smile played on his lips. "You've truly mastered the magic of 'never getting tired of eating'."

He stood up, stepped onto the wooden clogs placed at the edge of the tatami mat, and walked to the sliding door. His hand rested on the cool wooden frame; he paused, turned back, and glanced again at the huge, quiet "cocoon" on the floor.

A few strands of silvery-white hair peeked out from the edge of the "cocoon," shimmering with a soft, silky sheen in the increasingly clear morning light seeping in through the crack in the door.

"Don't fall asleep again," he said, his voice unconsciously softening.

"No, I won't." Frieren's voice came from deep within the covers, still heavy with drowsiness, like honey that wouldn't melt, but she tried hard to make each word clear, as if fulfilling an important promise, "I promise."

Lowell gently pulled open the sliding door.

The old wooden axle emitted a long, soft "creak," a sound that stood out clearly in the still of the morning, as if heralding the start of a new day. The clear, spring-like morning light, mingled with the moist scent of mountain vegetation, flooded the corridor, casting a long, quiet shadow of his tall, upright figure in a dark blue yukata onto the dark tatami mats in the room.

He turned and gently closed the sliding door behind him, his movements slow and almost silent. He shut out that little world, still filled with sleepiness, warmth, and the familiar scent of their connection.

The corridor was long and silent, deserted. Only the faint sound of a mountain stream flowing day and night over smooth blue stones could be heard, like the steady pulse of the earth. He walked on the smooth wooden corridor in his wooden clogs.

"Despair."

"Despair."

"Despair."

The wooden clogs made a regular, crisp sound as they touched the floor, a sound that traveled far in the stillness of the mountain in the early morning.

The voice was steady, calm, and familiar.

Just like countless mornings before.

Just like the countless new dawns that will inevitably arrive in the future.

[Over]