Stark trudged back up the slight rise of the clearing, boots caked in marsh mud, the fat silver-green fish slung over one broad shoulder. Water dripped steadily from its scales, darkening his tunic in uneven patches. Percia followed a half-step behind, rod tucked under her arm, expression cool and distant as always.
Fern looked up from sorting the last of her foraged mushrooms, knife paused mid-slice. Her violet eyes widened noticeably at the size of the catch.
"That's… enormous," she said, voice soft but laced with genuine surprise. "Stark, you caught that?"
Stark puffed up immediately, grin splitting wide. "Yeah! Took some real work, but—"
Fern's gaze slid past him to Percia. "Are you sure you didn't catch it, Percia?"
Stark deflated like a punctured waterskin. His shoulders slumped; the grin wilted. "It—it really was me! I swear! She didn't even get a single bite!"
Percia gave the barest shrug. "Its true."
Fern blinked once, then nodded slowly, returning to her chanterelles with a small, almost imperceptible hum. "I'm surprised."
As Stark launched into an increasingly exaggerated retelling of the fight—complete with dramatic arm gestures—Percia's attention drifted. A few paces away, half-hidden behind a thick clump of reeds and low bushes, Frieren was hunched over, white hair spilling forward as she rummaged single-mindedly through the undergrowth.
Percia blinked.
She stepped closer without sound. As she knelt beside the smaller elf, her hand brushed—lightly, almost incidentally—across Frieren's hips, steadying herself against the damp earth. Frieren didn't seem to register the contact.
Frieren's head finally poked out. Her white hair was thoroughly mussed, strands sticking out at wild angles and clinging to her damp forehead from the humid air. A streak of dirt smudged one cheek; her green eyes were bright, focused, and unmistakably pleased with herself.
Percia tilted her head. "What are you doing?"
Frieren blinked at her once, then grinned—small but distinctly smug. "Looking for something. I left it here last time."
Before Percia could press, Frieren ducked back in. A moment later she emerged holding a fist-sized blue crystal between thumb and forefinger. It caught the light and scattered faint prismatic flecks across the reeds.
The instant it cleared the foliage, Percia felt her mana collapse inward—suppressed, nullified, gone. Completely.
She blinked slowly. "Oh. That's a rarity."
Frieren's grin widened. "I know, right? Couldn't bring it with me last time. Probably can't this time either."
Behind them, Fern had just tried to coax the low fire higher with a small pulse of magic. Nothing happened. She frowned, tried again—then paused, puzzled.
Frieren turned, holding the crystal up like a prize. "Magic-nullifying crystal. Worth a mansion, easy."
Stark's jaw dropped. "A whole mansion?!"
Fern leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "It nullifies ambient mana completely within… ten paces?"
"About that," Frieren said carelessly. "It can also do this."
She held the crystal higher, then channeled a deliberate surge of her own mana into it. The blue facets lit up instantly, brightening from soft glow to blinding white-blue radiance in seconds. The light flared so intensely that even Frieren winced, eyes narrowing against the glare.
"Too bright," she muttered, and promptly lobbed the crystal back into the thickest part of the bush with a casual flick of her wrist. It vanished into the leaves with a soft rustle. The blinding glow cut off as abruptly as it had started.
Everyone blinked spots from their vision.
Frieren turned back to the group as though nothing had happened. "Interesting, right?"
Fern blinked again, then glanced at her fingertip. A small flame sparked to life without effort—magic restored the moment the crystal was out of range.
Stark let out a long, wistful sigh. "Man… if we could carry that thing around, we'd never be short on funds. Just sell one and live like kings for years."
Frieren shrugged. "We have a walking wallet with us anyway."
She gestured vaguely toward Percia without looking.
Percia sighed—long, faintly exasperated—and moved to help Fern with the cooking. She took the knife, began gutting the fish with precise, practiced strokes.
"I hope you see me as more than just a wallet," she said offhandedly, eyes on the blade.
Frieren drifted closer, hovering just above her. Her grin softened—less smug now, more sincere, edges gentling into something almost tender, the way sunlight filters through leaves after a long storm.
Percia looked up from the fish, knife still in hand, scales glinting wetly on the blade. She met Frieren's gaze for half a second—those unchanging green eyes gleaming with mirth and something more.
"Of course I do," she said simply. "You're my first love."
Percia's hand stilled for half a heartbeat. She looked away sharply and resumed scaling the fish with slightly more concentration than necessary.
Stark shuddered theatrically. "Ugh. Cheesy."
Fern glanced up from arranging the sliced roots into the pot, expression calm and utterly unfazed, as though she'd heard every variation of this exchange before.
"You'll cut yourself gutting the fish like that," she said to Percia, "Let me prepare it."
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The meal passed quickly and quietly. Fern portioned the fish and mushrooms with precise care; Stark ate like he was still proving something; Frieren nibbled absently while flipping through a grimoire balanced on one knee. Percia ate in silence, gaze occasionally drifting toward the white-haired elf across the low fire.
They packed up with minimal words. Fern doused the embers, Stark shouldered the cooking pot, and the four set off along the narrow dirt path that wound through the Saum Marshes toward firmer ground. The afternoon sun slanted low, turning the reeds gold.
In the distance, half-buried in the thicket where Frieren had tossed it, the blue crystal caught a stray beam and gleamed—sharp, almost accusing.
Stark glanced back over his shoulder. "How long's that thing gonna keep glowing like that?"
Frieren shrugged without breaking stride. "Until the mana I fed it runs out. Could be hours. Could be days. Depends how much it likes the taste."
Stark whistled low. "Creepy."
Percia said nothing. Her mind felt heavy—something pressing behind her ribs that she couldn't quite identify. Not quite grief, not quite longing, not quite fear. Just… weight. She watched Frieren walk ahead, white hair swaying gently in the humid breeze like snow caught in a slow current. The sight tugged at her in a way that was both familiar and newly unsettling.
Frieren turned her head just enough to catch Percia staring. A small, easy smile curved her lips—not teasing, not smug, just… there.
Percia blinked. She tilted her head in silent question.
Frieren only turned forward again, resuming her idle conversation with Fern about some obscure mana-flow theory from three centuries past. Her voice drifted back soft and even.
Beside Percia, Stark was whistling idly—arms folded behind his head, steps loose. The sound cut through the marsh drone louder than she was used to, jarring against the quiet inside her skull.
That was when she felt it.
Up ahead—maybe thirty paces—the ground felt wrong.
Too empty. Hollowed out. Mana thinned to nothing, like a breath held too long. Yet something waited inside that emptiness. A pull. A twist in her gut.
The world seemed to lean toward that patch of earth, urging her closer.
Percia's jaw tightened. It was too soon for the world to call upon her again. She didn't acknowledge it. She kept walking.
The group passed directly over the spot.
Frieren paused mid-sentence.
Fern glanced at her. "Frieren-sama? What's wrong?"
The ground gave way without warning.
They dropped.
For one surreal heartbeat they hovered. Fern's hand shot out on instinct, grabbing Stark's sleeve. Stark flailed once, a startled yelp escaping before he clamped his mouth shut.
They began to fall slowly at first. The faint ambient magic that had let them float vanished. Gravity remembered them all at once.
They fell.
Fern landed on top of Stark with a muffled thud. He groaned, wind knocked out. "Ow—Fern, you're heavy—"
She smacked his shoulder without looking. "Hey."
Frieren landed against Percia—hip brushing hip, one small hand bracing on Percia's shoulder for balance, white hair falling forward to curtain their faces for a brief instant. Close enough that Percia felt the warmth of her breath before Frieren shifted back.
Frieren blinked down at her, calm as ever. "Are you okay?"
Percia nodded once—short, controlled. "Fine."
They disentangled and stood. Around them stretched a wide cavern lit by soft, cold blue glow. Jagged crystalline structures jutted from floor and walls—hundreds of magic-nullifying crystals, some small as fists, others taller than Stark. The air tasted thin, dead. No ambient mana at all.
Percia's own mana remained suppressed, a hollow echo where it should have been. That alone was expected—it didn't bother her much.
What bothered her was the silence beneath the silence.
The usual gentle tug of the world—the faint, constant presence of mana in every leaf, every breath of wind, every stone—was gone. Not just dampened. Absent. As if the planet itself had fallen silent.
A thin swirl of ink flickering at the corner of her vision, coiling between two large crystals like smoke.
The miasma vanished the instant her eyes found it.
Something was off about this place.
Very off.
Frieren dusted her robes with absent fingers, already scanning the crystalline walls with mild curiosity. Fern helped Stark to his feet; he rubbed his back with a wince, muttering about "rocks being unfairly pointy."
Percia stayed silent. She did not mention the pull. Did not mention the missing miasma. Did not mention how the silence of the world felt louder than any scream she had ever heard.
She only watched Frieren's back—white hair catching the blue glow like frost under moonlight—and felt that same unnameable weight settle heavier behind her ribs.
Something was waiting here.
And she had no means to defend them from it.