Frieren: Understand Humans, Aura!

Frieren would silently accept it. Gratitude was not something she voiced aloud, but her actions often spoke for her.

Before leaving an old man's house, she would pause at the door, a flicker of thought passing through her green eyes. Then, with a quiet chant and a subtle shimmer of mana, she would leave behind small acts of magic—stairs made sturdier for aging knees, broken shelves seamlessly mended, or creaky doors fixed to swing silently. She never said a word about it. The humans often discovered these changes much later, when Frieren was already long gone.

In this way, Frieren continued to travel quietly while observing the various aspects of human life.

Until today, when she met a mage on the road who invited her for a meal.

Now, Frieren sat at a small, makeshift street-side stall in Morlei City across from an unfamiliar mage. The thin wooden table between them wobbled slightly, but neither seemed to mind. The late afternoon sun burned orange against the canvas awnings, casting long shadows across the dusty street. The scent of roasting meat and sizzling oil hung in the air, mingling with faint notes of fresh fruit juice.

The orange-haired mage introduced herself first, tilting her head with a calm, appraising gaze.

"I'm Flamme. Just call me by my name. Titles feel unnecessary, don't they?" Her voice was steady, casual.

"I'm Frieren."

Their words hung in the air before silence crept back between them. The faint clinking of plates and laughter from another table filled the space.

Frieren sipped from her fruit juice, drawing it through a thin bamboo straw. The first burst of sweetness hit her tongue, and her narrowed eyes glimmered with faint contentment. For a brief moment, her long ears shifted upward, betraying her pleasure.

Human culture was incomparable to that of elves. While elves lingered in the primitive societies of the last millennium, these short-lived beings, evolving in mere centuries, had already established incredible city-states and wondrous creations.

And—produced powerful mages.

Frieren's gaze shifted subtly upward, observing Flamme. She could easily tell that this mage, who had intercepted her on the road, was not as was not as weak as she seemed. Suppressing one's mana was a skill Frieren also possessed and could perform far better than Flamme.

However... in other aspects, this human might surpass her.

Even as she sat facing Flamme, knowing the human bore no hostility toward her, Frieren still felt a suffocating sensation as if her life could be taken at any moment.

Frieren reached a conclusion—this mage far surpassed her.

Just as Frieren was pondering why such a powerful mage would approach her, Flamme spoke:

"Aura, the purple-haired demon—you remember her, don't you? She appeared with you at the border."

The straw slipped slightly from Frieren's lips. Her fingers froze against the smooth wooden cup.

She set it down carefully before responding. "A demon is a demon. I am myself. How could an elf have anything to do with demons?"

Flamme tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp but curious. "She was seen carrying you as she fled."

"I didn't tell her to do that," Frieren replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. "How would I know what demons are thinking?"

Flamme watched her intently, her expression unreadable. Her words were measured, prodding. "What do you think of her?"

Frieren's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't care."

Flamme smirked faintly, as if testing her. "After that sighting of the purple-haired demon, the human army tracked her for weeks. But no trace of her was found. Perhaps she's dead."

There was a pause. Too long of a pause.

Frieren's voice came quieter this time. "If she's dead, then so be it. A demon's death—what's the big deal?"

Clink.

The cup slipped slightly in her grip, and juice sloshed over the edge, dripping onto the table. Frieren snatched a cloth and wiped the spill with careful, deliberate motions. Her hands, however, trembled faintly.

Flamme didn't look at the mess. She didn't need to. Her gaze remained fixed on the elf's expression—calm, aloof, yet betrayed by her hands.

'She's lying,' Flamme thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. 'That demon means something to her.'

Frieren avoided her gaze, her eyes darting toward the nearby street instead, where children's laughter rang out as they chased each other through the dusty road. For a moment, the world felt too loud.

After a moment of contemplation, Flamme continued:

"Do you remember the bounty the human army issued on you? It was later withdrawn because I assured the general you would do no harm to humans."

"Should I thank you, then?"

"I don't expect it."

"Then I won't," Frieren replied curtly, leaning back slightly in her seat. She swirled the fruit juice in her cup, the thin film of liquid catching the light as she observed it. "I'm penniless, so you'll probably have to pay for this meal."

Flamme shook her head lightly, a faint, almost amused smile ghosting across her lips. "That's fine." She took a deliberate sip of water, the glass clinking softly as she set it back down.

A pause followed as she studied the elf across from her, taking in Frieren's stoic demeanor that barely masked her disinterest—or perhaps defiance. Then Flamme added, almost casually:

"I have an experimental project involving demons. Would you like to participate?"

Frieren's expression didn't shift, but her grip on the cup tightened imperceptibly. "Why me?"

"You're very talented," Flamme explained evenly. "And for some reason, you've even learned the demons' magic system. You're the person most knowledgeable about demons among humans. With your help, the experiment might see a breakthrough."

"Can I refuse?"

"You can."

"Goodbye—"

Frieren's answer was immediate. She stood abruptly, the wooden stool scraping against the ground with a faint screech. Her long cloak swished behind her as she turned to leave, her steps brisk and without hesitation. She didn't intend to waste another moment entertaining this mage or her strange proposal.

Flamme, however, didn't move. She remained perfectly composed, watching Frieren's retreating form as though she had anticipated this response. A quiet breeze stirred the dust along the street, rustling the fabric of Flamme's sleeves as she reached into her satchel.

"I don't think you'll refuse," Flamme said suddenly.

Her voice, calm yet cutting, reached Frieren's ears with precision. The elf paused mid-step, though she didn't immediately turn back. It wasn't until something rose into the air—suspended above Flamme's outstretched palm—that Frieren's gaze shifted over her shoulder.

Her pupils constricted at the sight.

A necklace hung there, glinting dully in the fading sunlight. It was a simple thing, seemingly carved from a dark, curved material, yet its significance struck Frieren like a physical blow.

A demon horn.

But not just any horn.

Frieren's breath hitched, though she quickly schooled her expression. Her mind reeled, memories she had buried clawing their way to the surface. 'Aura…'

The last time she had seen it was on the day Aura carried her away from that battlefield. Frieren had woken up later to find one of the demon's horns broken clean off—a mark of a brutal encounter she hadn't witnessed.

Yet here it was, in the hands of a human mage.

'How did she get that? Aura… is she still alive?'

Frieren's thoughts spun wildly as she turned back toward the table. Her steps were slower this time, more deliberate, though her narrowed eyes betrayed her growing unease. She sat down again, almost reluctantly, and took a slow sip of her juice as though trying to buy herself a moment to steady her thoughts. The fruit juice tasted cloyingly sweet on her tongue, making her stomach churn.

Flamme said nothing, giving Frieren space to collect herself. There was a quiet satisfaction in her calm gaze, as though she knew she had won something unspoken.

Finally, Frieren broke the silence, her voice low and carefully controlled. "What kind of experiment involving demons?"

Flamme tilted her head slightly, as if appreciating the elf's subtle shift in demeanor. "Live experiments."

"And the content?"

"Still undecided."

Frieren's expression darkened faintly, her sharp gaze piercing through Flamme. "The subjects?"

Flamme's answer came without hesitation. "Almost captured."

"....."

"Will you join?"

Frieren's fingers lingered on the rim of her cup, the faint tremor betraying the weight of her decision. Her eyes locked onto the horn once more, that unassuming token that carried far too much meaning.

"I'll join."

The words left her mouth before she had fully processed them, but she didn't take them back. Frieren leaned back slightly, her gaze lowering as if to hide the myriad of emotions flickering across her usually impassive face.

Flamme smiled faintly, setting the horn down gently onto the table. Its dull surface caught the light once more, gleaming like an unspoken promise.

——————

The Human Nations, Internal Affairs.

The City of Magic, Kribi.

At the Headquarters of the Continental Magic Association, in the President's Office.

The golden light of late afternoon spilled through the tall, glass windows of Zanze's office, illuminating dust motes that floated lazily in the air. The room was massive and coldly elegant—a space befitting her rank as the President of the Continental Magic Association—but it felt empty despite the shelves of ancient grimoires, stacks of scrolls, and ornately engraved furniture.

Seated at the center of this expansive office, Zanze adjusted the thin spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose. She had passed the age of forty—a milestone many mages seemed to dismiss as trivial, given their slower aging compared to warriors or common folk—but even magic had its limits.

'My body feels heavier every day,' she thought, absently brushing at a lock of hair that had turned noticeably white. "I can't keep up with the young anymore," she muttered under her breath, though there was no one to hear her.

Her words, however quiet, hung in the still air like an unspoken admission of her mortality. With a resigned sigh, she returned her attention to the clutter of documents spread before her—a sea of parchment, seals, and ink.

Requests for reinforcements from first- and second-class mages. Battle reports streaming in from the frontlines. Applications for research grants. Diplomatic missives demanding her recommendations or intervention. 

As the president of the Continental Magic Association, Zanze had to deal with countless matters every day.

Whether it was managing internal affairs within the association or navigating diplomacy with the royal families of various nations, Zanze's responsibilities drained much of her energy.

Perhaps this was precisely why she could no longer make progress in magic or maintain her mana training. It accelerated her aging. While her face had not yet shown obvious changes, she could feel it in her increasingly heavy steps.

After dealing with a document concerning a royal family's attempt to send a direct bloodline heir to study at the Continental Magic Association—and providing her recommendations—Zanze pulled out the next file.

She paused as her fingers brushed across its heavy, crimson-sealed cover. The weight of it felt more significant than the others, as though it carried a burden far greater than its parchment and ink. Her brow furrowed in mild curiosity as she slid it from the stack and unfolded the document.

"Hmmn?"

The handwriting was sharp and deliberate, each stroke of the quill etched with purpose—a style Zanze recognized instantly. A small, knowing sigh escaped her lips as she scanned the name at the bottom of the proposal.

It was Flamme.

As the most powerful and theoretically advanced human mage recognized by all, it was not unusual for Flamme to independently conduct experiments to verify certain magical theories. However, this time, the topic she chose was strange.

Her gaze flicked to the title scrawled at the top of the page.

"Research on the live study of demons?"

The words seemed to hang in the air. Zanze read them again, slower this time, as though testing the truth of them. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the details.

"And the proposed location is Kribi… the headquarters of the Continental Magic Association?"

A quiet chuckle escaped her, though it held little humor. The absurdity of it—of such a proposal crossing her desk—might have made her laugh louder in another time. But now, it only served to deepen the shadows on her face. She set the file down carefully and leaned back, removing her thin glasses to press her fingers against her tired eyes.

For a long moment, she stared out the window of her office. Her desk felt heavier than it had minutes ago, the tapping of her fingers a restless echo on the polished wood.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Cla…

She stilled her hand, the weight of the proposal pulling her thoughts inward.

Live demon research was forbidden. It had been so for centuries, ever since Lady Serie herself—the founder of the Continental Magic Association—conducted and concluded the matter over a thousand years ago.

Her decree had been final: there was no value in the live study of demons.

Even the elven mages of legend, who once pried into the deepest mysteries of magic, had dismissed it. Demons, for all their cunning and danger, were simply a force to fight—not something to dissect and understand. There were no truths to be gained, only risks too great to ignore.

And the risks were real.

Zanze's gaze darkened as her thoughts wandered back through history. Too many times, humans had fallen prey to demons' honeyed words and silver lies. Border nobles, desperate or arrogant, had trusted demons and brought ruin upon themselves. Cities had burned, families had been slaughtered, and entire bloodlines had vanished—all because of a single whispered promise or clever deception.

And now, Flamme proposed to bring a living demon into Kribi itself. The heart of the magical world. The center of human progress and power.

Zanze exhaled slowly, steadying herself. It was reckless. Dangerous. Unthinkable. Any sane leader would stamp a rejection over this without a second thought.

But Flamme wasn't just anyone.

As a great mage, she had privileges that few could question. Proposals that brushed against forbidden subjects—like this one—were rare, but not impossible. And while great mages operated under the laws of the Association, they were also granted the freedom to pursue research of immense consequence.

Still, Zanze's hand hovered over the brass seal on her desk. Her thumb brushed across its cool surface, her hesitation betraying her conflicted thoughts.

Her gaze returned to the parchment. She reread the proposal's justification, though she already knew the truth hidden between the lines. Flamme wasn't just chasing theories. This wasn't about magic alone.

Zanze leaned back in her chair, her face softening with something close to sorrow.

"She should be returning soon…"

The words left her lips as little more than a whisper, their weight heavy with memory.

She knew who the demon in question was.

'If only all of the demons are like her...'

Her hand came down with a soft, final thud as the brass seal pressed into the crimson wax.

The document was approved.

Zanze lingered for a moment, her fingertips resting on the stamped parchment as though reluctant to let it go.