The Great Elven Mage Frieren and her Apprentice, Fern. I guess Stark is here too.

EVERYONE IS OVER EIGHTEEN

—30 years after the **** of Himmel the Hero, the Northern Plateau—

Three figures trudged through a blizzard in a single line, heading towards the shelter of a nearby grove of trees they could just barely make out through the storm. The well-paved road that they'd been travelling along had vanished beneath the snow hours ago.

They had been expecting to find a village to spend winter in, but that was yesterday.

Now they were truly lost.

"Agh! How are we stuck out here, in the middle of winter, again!?" The lead figure complained, shoving his way through the waist high snow with brute **** so his shorter companions could walk easier. He was a young man with deep red hair and a lean frame that spoke of constant training for endurance and steady strength over speed or pure power. A sharp war axe was slung over his back, seeming to weigh him down not at all, despite being made of a single slab of steel.

The tall young woman with long violet hair behind him glared at the space between his shoulders. "Because, Mister Stark," Fern made the 'mister' sound like an insult, "there are no spells that can predict the weather!"

"I guess there aren't any spells to shovel snow either?"

"Not one specific and efficient enough that it won't leave us exhausted in minutes. Not yet at least." The third and shortest figure added with a whimsical tone to her voice. As if this was a stroll on a warm spring day. She was an Elf, short and slender with hair as white as the snow falling from the sky. "Though who knows what is out there to discover. Waiting for someone to stumble upon it."

"Ugh! Frieren, how can you say something so wise-sounding while keeping your face straight!" Stark spun on his heel to stare at his friends, and tripped over something, falling back into the piled snow. It was so deep he disappeared with a quiet *whumph!*

The girl behind him sighed. "Are you alright?" She asked gently, leaning down with a hand outstretched.

"I'll survive somehow." Stark missed the helpful hand entirely as he rolled to his feet easily, shaking off the snow. "Just tripped on some hidden roots..." He looked up to see Fern glaring at him in a full pout, arms crossed under her chest. "What?"

The girl stomped past him without another word, eager to rest in the shelter of the trees.

Stark grumbled to himself as he strode after her. Thought we'd moved passed this already! I can't know what's bothering you if you don't use your words! Two years traveling together, and it sometimes felt like they were strangers.

The snow was thinner on the ground, and it was somewhat less frigid out of the wind, but still to dangerous to spend the night exposed like this.

"So..." Stark tapped a finger to his axe as he took in the stout trees with strong, dry branches. "Should I get to chopping? We can have a shelter set up before the sun sets. Huddling around a fire will suck, but we won't freeze."

Fern simply grunted from her seat on a fallen log, rubbing her hands together to stay warm. She didn't even look to Stark.

"We could do that..." Frieren pointed to the deeper shadows of the grove. "Or we could spend the night in there?"

Stark and Fern turned to see a small castle. Sturdily built of local stone and in good condition, but obviously abandoned judging by the overgrown ivy and other detritus.

"Huh."

"Hrm."