Chapter One – A Forgotten Tomb
The sky stretched endlessly above, painted in hues of deep blue as the sun crept toward the horizon. A crisp wind rustled through the tall grass, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain.
Frieren walked ahead, as she always did, her golden hair swaying in the breeze. Behind her, Fern followed with a composed expression, carrying their supplies, while Stark trailed slightly behind, arms crossed, looking somewhat bored.
They had been traveling for weeks now, journeying toward their next destination—a small village rumored to have a mage who could decipher ancient spells.
But today, their path had taken them somewhere unexpected.
A ruined city, half-buried beneath layers of time.
Massive stone pillars, covered in moss, jutted from the earth like the bones of a forgotten civilization. The remains of ancient structures stretched across the landscape, their once-grand designs now reduced to crumbling silhouettes against the evening sun.
"This place… it's old," Fern murmured, studying the architecture with narrowed eyes.
Frieren nodded. "Very old. It was once an elven city."
Stark let out a low whistle, kicking a loose stone. "And here I thought elves liked to live in forests."
"Some did," Frieren said, glancing around. "But there were once great elven kingdoms, long before humans began recording history."
Fern frowned. "If that's true, why haven't we heard of them?"
Frieren didn't answer immediately. Instead, she placed a hand against a nearby wall, running her fingers across the ancient carvings. The symbols were familiar—old elven script, faded but still readable.
"They vanished," she said at last. "Or perhaps… they simply chose to be forgotten."
As they moved deeper into the ruins, something pulled at Frieren's senses. A faint trace of magic, ancient and undisturbed.
She paused before what appeared to be the remains of a temple, its grand entrance still standing despite the weight of centuries. A large door, adorned with intricate golden patterns, remained sealed shut.
Fern stepped beside her. "This place feels… different."
Frieren nodded. "There's something inside."
Stark tensed. "You mean something dangerous?"
"Not necessarily." Frieren pressed a hand to the door. "But something powerful."
Without another word, she pushed.
The moment the door creaked open, a rush of pressure filled the air—thick and suffocating, as if time itself had been disturbed. The scent of something old and untamed drifted outward, carrying the weight of history upon it.
At the center of the chamber, upon an elevated platform, a figure lay motionless.
A man, golden-haired, dressed in regal attire that had not aged a day. His presence alone exuded a suffocating power, as if the very air around him dared not stir without his permission.
And then—
His eyes opened.
Twin orbs of molten gold flickered to life, gazing upon the world once more with an unreadable expression.
The sleeping king had awakened.