Himmel the Hero, his silver armor polished to a blinding sheen, waved to the adoring masses with a radiant smile. He was the picture of a legendary savior. Beside him, the stout warrior Eisen grunted, more interested in the weight of his own axe than the applause. And Heiter, the jovial priest, offered blessings with a mischievous glint in his eye, already scheming for his next cup of wine.
Frieren stood in the rain at Himmel’s funeral. The townspeople wept openly. Eisen, now an old, grizzled warrior with trembling hands, stood stoic but red-eyed. Heiter, frail and pale, leaned on a staff, his holy robes soaked through.
It was Himmel.
And Frieren… Frieren finally understood.
A week later, the news arrived by a courier pigeon: Hero Himmel had passed away, peacefully, in his sleep.
As they walked through a forest dappled with autumn sunlight, Fern looked up at her new master.
