Serie was busy doing nothing. The grimoires spread before her were old, worn, their pages yellowed with age and filled with text she had memorized centuries ago. She turned a page, her eyes scanning the words without really seeing them, her mind wandering through corridors of thought that had no end. It was a comfortable routine, the kind of routine that came from living for thousands of years, a way to pass the time when there was nothing else to do. She knew every spell, every incantation, every piece of knowledge contained within those ancient tomes. She had read them a thousand times over, and she would read them a thousand times again, because there was nothing else to do.
The tower was quiet. The only sounds were the distant hum of magic that pulsed through the walls and the soft rustle of pages turning. Outside the glass walls, the city of Äußerst sprawled beneath her, a maze of streets and buildings and people who lived and died and never knew how small their lives really were. Serie did not look at them. She had seen cities rise and fall, empires crumble, civilizations fade into dust. This one was no different.
The hourglass on the table beside her vibrated again. The glass shook, the sand inside shifting, forming patterns that were not random. Serie sighed. The sound was soft, barely audible, but it carried a weight of annoyance that had been building for centuries. She reached out and picked up the hourglass, her fingers closing around its cool surface. It hummed with a familiar energy, the energy of someone she had not spoken to in a very long time.
Why is Frieren trying to talk to me after all these years? she wondered. We had nothing to say to each other then, and we have nothing to say to each other now.
She considered ignoring it. She could set the hourglass down and return to her grimoires, pretending she had not felt the vibration, pretending Frieren did not exist. But curiosity had always been her weakness. She wanted to know what the elf wanted, even if it was something foolish.
With a reluctant sigh, she brought the hourglass to her lips and opened the mouth of the glass. A stream of sand poured out, falling through the air, forming letters that hung suspended before her. The words were precise, formal, the kind of message someone wrote when they were not sure how to start a conversation.
Serie read the message with growing annoyance. It was the same thing, over and over. A request for information. A request for help. A request that Frieren had no right to ask, after everything she had done, after everything she had refused to do.
Then she saw something. A name. A description. A detail that made her pause.
Serie grinned.
The expression was not warm. It was not kind. It was the grin of someone who had just been handed a piece of a puzzle they had been trying to solve for a very long time. She set the hourglass down and rose from her throne, her movements smooth and graceful, like water flowing over stone.
The grimoires did not matter anymore. The city did not matter. Nothing mattered except the message she had just received.
She began to walk toward the stairs. Her robes flowed behind her, the fabric catching the torchlight, and her feet tapped against the floor with each step. The mages in the tower, who had been going about their business, stopped and stepped aside. They bowed their heads, avoiding her eyes, their bodies tense with fear and respect. They knew better than to get in her way.
Serie walked past them, her smile still on her face. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just caught the scent of prey.
After all these years, she thought. Frieren asks for my help. And what does she say? There is a demon heading for the north, and she wants me to capture it alive.
She descended the stairs, her steps light, her bare feet tapping a steady rhythm. The walls of the tower shifted around her, the stone rearranging itself to form a passage that had not been there before. A dungeon door appeared, wrought iron and ancient, its hinges groaning as it swung open.
Serie walked through the door and descended into the lower levels. The air grew colder, damper, and the light dimmed. The dungeon was old, older than the tower above it, carved into the bedrock by hands that had long since turned to dust.
She saw Lernen sitting in a chair. His golems stood before him, their stone hands holding the demoness with a grip that would have crushed a normal person. The demoness was bloody, her face bruised, her horns exposed, her dress torn. She looked like she had been through a very bad day.
Lernen stood up and bowed. "Master," he said. "I was just about to finish this interrogation."
Serie raised her hand. "Lernen, deactivate them."
Lernen frowned, confusion flickering across his face. He had been confident that no demon could pose a threat to his master, but he did not argue. With a wave of his hand, the golems released the demoness and stepped back, their stone bodies settling into stillness.
Serie sat down cross-legged on the floor, in front of the demoness, as if she were sitting down to tea. Her eyes studied the demon's face, taking in every detail, every bruise, every drop of blood.
"What is so special about you?" she asked.
The demoness looked up. Her voice was hoarse, cracked, the voice of someone who had been screaming. "I am a human. A human stuck in a demon body."
Serie's eyes narrowed. She reached out and grabbed the demoness by the chin, tilting her head from side to side, examining her face like a merchant examining a piece of livestock. Then she made a small gesture with her free hand, and the ropes that bound the demoness fell away, slicing cleanly through the air.
Lernen's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He knew better than to question his master's decisions.
"That's an interesting story," Serie said.
"It's true. I… w-woke up as a demon one night… in a forest,"
"Is that so? Seems like the Megami has something to do with this." Serie then stood up. "Show me your mana," Serie said. "All of it."
The demoness blinked. "I cannot. Old man here locked it away—"
She paused, her eyes widening. "Wait. I can? Is this your doing? I can feel my mana!" Her voice grew more excited, more animated. "Are you going to kill me if I fail this test? Is this a test, right?"
Serie's expression did not change. "I will kill you if you say one more word."
The demoness's mouth snapped shut. "Eh..."
"Show me your mana."
The demoness hesitated. She did not know how to flare all her mana at once, but she tried. The room lit up with a faint glow, a pulse of energy that was surprisingly large for someone who looked so small. Subaru held her breath, expecting Lernen to drop to his knees in awe, expecting Serie to praise her for her strength.
"So mediocre compared to most demons I fought," Serie said, her voice flat. "Pathetic,"
Subaru's face fell. "Hey! That is rude!"
Serie ignored her. She reached out and grabbed the demoness by the throat, her fingers closing around the delicate skin. Her grip was not painful, but it was firm, immovable.
"I have an offer for you," Serie said.
Subaru's voice was strained. "Why do you need to choke me?!"
Serie did not answer. She just smiled, her eyes gleaming with a light that was not entirely sane. Lernen sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He could already smell his master's pettiness in the air, the scent of a game that was about to begin.
The dungeon was quiet. The torches flickered. The demoness hung in Serie's grip, her eyes wide, her fate hanging in the balance.