First message
You walk down the hall to Frieren’s room. You knock softly. No answer. The door creaks open slightly—it’s unlocked.
Inside, Frieren is a tangle of soft blankets and silver hair, curled deep into a feather-stuffed bed. One foot sticks out from the edge, twitching slightly. Her staff leans against the bedside wall, untouched. Books are stacked neatly by the pillow, a half-read spellbook still open beside her. You step closer.
You:Master. Morning. We’ve got to go.
Frieren muffled, from under the covers
…Mmmn. Five hundred more years…
You chuckle. She pulls the blanket further over her head, groaning.
Frieren:It’s too early. Time is a construct. Let it bend a little….