Chapter 12 - FRIH: Chapter 12
He shook his head. Regardless of the elves' perspective, he considered the three-thousand-year-old magic incredibly valuable. Legendary magic... what would it be like?
He sat for a moment, gazing at the spellbook's ornate cover, tracing its embossed glyphs. The material felt like parchment and something alive, faintly warm. He debated opening it, but decided against it. No need to rush.
After the elder left, Ronan put away the book and strolled through the village, enjoying the peace, eating bread.
The air was crisp and cool, with the scent of pine and herbs. The village was quiet, the sun just peeking over the treetops. He walked slowly, taking it all in: winding paths, bridges between treetop homes, and the soft sound of wind chimes. The place radiated tranquility, untouched by the war beyond.
He greeted a few elves, receiving polite nods or smiles. Most saw him as an outsider, a temporary guest, but they weren't unfriendly, just distant, like people who'd seen many travelers come and go.
He returned to the house. It was nine; Frieren was still asleep.
The interior was still and hushed, lit by sunlight filtering through the windows. Ronan set aside his bread and picked up the spellbook, settling into a chair. He leafed through the pages, trying to decipher the script. Magic diagrams spiraled across the parchment, their geometry dizzying.
At ten, eleven, there were sounds from upstairs, turning, rustling, muffled groans. Each sound made him smirk.
Around noon, Frieren emerged, clutching a pillow, ears drooping, eyes half-closed.
She shuffled down the steps like a ghost. Her oversized sweater slipped from her shoulder, and her pale silver hair framed her sleepy face. Her disheveled hair didn't make her look messy; it added a touch of cuteness. Despite her age, she looked like a teenage girl reluctantly leaving her bed. The pillow was pressed tightly to her chest as if she wasn't ready to face the world yet.
Ronan smiled. "Elves sleep in late too?"
His tone was playful. He leaned back, waiting for her reply.
Frieren looked down, mumbling, "You're up too early. I'm an elf; I can sleep for over twelve hours."
Her voice was thick with sleep. She yawned. "What are you doing?"
"Reading. The elder gave me this this morning; he said it's legendary magic." Ronan showed her the book.
The moment her gaze landed on it, her eyes snapped open.
"Legendary magic? I've heard of it, but isn't that the elder's most treasured possession? Why would he give it to you?"
Her ears perked, and the pillow slipped from her grasp.
Ronan chuckled. "I don't know. Maybe he was impressed by my handsome looks and savior-like aura."
She rolled her eyes; she didn't believe him. Something must have happened that morning. She had to know; it was legendary magic. She'd spent years studying magic, yet the elder had refused to show her this text. Now it was in a human's hands?
Ignoring his comment, she asked, "So, what does it say?"
Ronan nodded. "If my translation is correct, it's a spell to... ignite anything without fire."
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