Frieren opened her book on the bed, resting on her stomach.
She dipped her pen into the ink, her gaze shifting to the bullet on the desk.
She sketched the half-broken bullet with practiced calm.
Frieren paused her drawing for a moment, tapping the quill lightly as if comparing the weight of memory to the metal before her.
"It's more like a crossbow..." she whispered as she stared at her book.
Her fingers barely twitched, each stroke controlled and quiet.
"The room around her felt still, as if wrapped in quiet dust."
A faint scent of old paper and ink hovered over her shoulders.
"What else..." she whispered as she yawned.
"I might draw the Blue Army as well."
Frieren exhaled quietly, thinking, "Those who… so concerned with rules."
Her eyes dimmed, and she rubbed them slightly.
Her gaze drifted to the curtain, where a small bird slept peacefully.
She let the bed hold her weight, sinking into the familiar softness.
"...Humans have grown stranger with every century…" she whispered.
"Yet predictable," she thought, a hint of amusement in her mind.
She kept staring at the ceiling.
The ceiling's dull patterns blurred slightly as her eyes softened.
A slow breath left her, almost a sigh, almost a thought she didn't voice.
Somewhere outside, a branch tapped the window, a small reminder of the quiet world around her.
A faint shimmer of mana gathered at her fingertips as she summoned the brimmed hat.
"Get in."
She slid her ears beneath the brim, adjusting it with practiced ease.
The hat settled over her head like a familiar weight.
Then she slept.
The fabric warmed slightly against her palms, carrying traces of old journeys as she drifted deeper into rest.
Her breathing evened out, each inhale softer than the last.
The room dimmed further, folding quietly around her form.
Frieren's eyelids fluttered once, as if confirming the world was calm enough to rest.
Once she fell asleep, The last trace of pink magic sank into the darkness."
It was a few hours before the sun brushed the window, the bird's shadow emerging in the room.
Morning crept in slowly, its light tracing gentle shapes across her face.
She turned to the other side. "Just five more minutes," she hummed.
She pressed her cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing the morning's insistence.
A faint warmth settled on her back as the sun rose higher.
Someone knocked on the door, but Frieren only rolled over, uninterested in the disturbance.
"Hello… breakfast…" the voice called, faint yet understandable.
Frieren hummed unconsciously, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
"Okay, I'll be back later," the person said before leaving.
After a few hours,
Frieren's eyes opened. A figure stood beside her bed, her book in hand, studying it as though it belonged in a museum.
The stranger didn't notice her awakening, too absorbed in the sketches on the page.
Frieren's eyes narrowed slightly, still heavy with sleep yet watchful.
The quiet rustle of turning pages filled the room, oddly intrusive in the morning stillness.
Once the stranger realized Frieren was awake, she dropped the book in surprise.
Thud!