Inside the cottage at dusk—
Frieren swallowed a bite of stew dripping in rich sauce and gently set down her knife and fork.
The silver utensils clinked lightly against the porcelain plate.
She chewed slowly, her curious eyes flicking between the silent pair across from her.
Though she was glad they had given her a full day off—
Frieren couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off.
As always, the little mage's intuition was spot-on—
But unfortunately, neither of the two adults seemed willing to explain things to a child.
Agusheed didn't even lift his head.
Even Frieren had never seen him this unnervingly quiet.
"No way… Did you two have a fight?"
She boldly voiced her suspicion to Flamme.
Flamme idly traced circles along the rim of her teacup, causing tiny ripples on the surface.
She smirked faintly at Frieren's question.
"'A fight'? What gave you that idea?"
"Because he hasn't said a single word to you all evening."
Frieren replied naturally, holding up her fingers as if listing examples.
"Usually by this time, the two of you would've started bickering about something."
"And normally, he would've waited for you, right?"
Still smiling faintly, Flamme shook her head—
Quietly denying Frieren's speculation.
"So, it's not a fight. Then what is it?"
Frieren leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"You're not old enough to understand yet. Adult matters aren't for kids to pry into."
Flamme swiftly crushed her student's curiosity with one line.
She popped the final piece of stew into her mouth and chewed slowly.
Under Frieren's pouty glare—
Flamme stood and gently tapped her on the forehead.
"Frieren… right now, you wouldn't be able to understand the answer."
"There you go again… How can you be so sure I won't understand if you don't even explain?"
Frieren's stubbornness was, as ever, unyielding.
Flamme's hand paused, and her reflection shimmered softly in the tea.
"Because just like with magic, our worries right now… are beyond your imagination."
This time, Flamme chose not to explain, even bit by bit.
With a flick of magic, the dishes floated to the kitchen and began washing themselves.
She walked toward the bedroom—then suddenly turned back.
Flamme's voice was soft, her words carrying a heavy sincerity:
"If someday in the future you find yourself wanting to understand humans more deeply—"
"Then maybe, at that time, you'll understand how Agusheed and I feel right now."
"I don't want you to be alone in the future…"
That foolish line Flamme blurted out at noon still lingered in Agusheed's ears.
He lay alone in the bedroom, staring silently at the ceiling.
In five centuries, the times he wasn't alone were the exception.
Most of the time, Agusheed had wandered the world aimlessly—
Trying every method imaginable to regain his lost "emotions."
He murmured the name that had only accompanied him for fifteen short years.
Agusheed closed his eyes heavily, deep in thought.
The bedroom door creaked open as usual, and Flamme quietly approached the bed.
A soft magical lamp cast a gentle glow across the room—
Outlining the curve of her husband's face in warm light.
"Still thinking about what I said today?"
Her voice was softer than usual, as if afraid of disturbing the weight in the room.
Agusheed didn't respond. He merely opened his eyes and turned his head slightly.
Seeing he wouldn't speak, Flamme didn't press him.
That unspoken understanding had always existed between them.
Agusheed's eyes followed her graceful figure—
Until she stopped before the coat rack.
A silhouette he knew all too well—
Her swan-like neck shimmered like a pearl beneath the lamplight.
The sash of her robe was tied in a neat bow at her waist.
Her voice was neither a command nor a plea—it was simply habit.
Agusheed sat up and slowly reached toward her back.
The moment his fingers touched the sash, Flamme's breath caught.
He moved carefully, letting the silk ribbon slide free—
The robe slipped from her shoulders, revealing the delicate white shirt beneath.
Agusheed turned to hang the robe—
And when he looked back, Flamme was already facing him.
In the dim light, her eyes were as deep as emeralds at twilight.
He noticed her lashes trembling slightly.
But Flamme said nothing.
She simply stepped closer, erasing the last bit of distance between them.
Her cool fingertips brushed his cheek—
Agusheed felt her touch, neither flinching nor returning it.
Flamme gently cradled his face in both hands, her touch firm yet tender.
And rested their foreheads together.
A gesture more intimate than any embrace.
Burying countless unsaid words once again, Flamme whispered to her husband.