The third day dawned with a gray sky, as if the weather itself were evaluating the group's boldness. The courtyard was nearly empty—most had already finished their preparations and retired to rest before takeoff the next day. The sound of Cassandra's wings, practicing rapid movements in the air, echoed in the background, while Monica sharpened her blade with an almost unnerving calm.
Strax stood near the walls, watching Frieren's solitary figure leaning against a column, her gaze lost on the horizon. She seemed calm, but Strax knew that stillness—it was the silence of someone reflecting on much more than they let on.
He approached slowly, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked bluntly, stopping beside her. "There's still time to change your mind."
Frieren tore her eyes from the sky and looked at him with a slight arch of her eyebrow. "Change your mind?"
