Sixth year of married life—
On a sunny morning, inside the study of the castle atop the Sky Vein Dragon's back.
Agusheed was, as usual, working on deciphering the Spell book of the Sage Ewig.
His fingers lightly traced the faded runes on the old parchment.
He frowned unconsciously, puzzled by the meaning behind a few of the symbols—
"Ewig... Why would a sage from the mythological era use such phrasing in a spell book?"
"Or... did I make a mistake in my translation?"
Suspecting a possible misinterpretation in his decoding—
Agusheed occasionally marked the margins with his quill.
Sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across his desk—
And onto Frieren, who was half-dozing in a chair across the room.
She was curled up in an oversized armchair, covered with the custom mage's robe Flamme had tailored for her.
Her silver hair spilled loosely over the armrest, her body tucked into the cushions.
"Snore... snore... snore..."
Tiny snores slipped from the corner of her slightly parted lips, rising and falling with each breath.
The sound wasn't loud, but in the otherwise silent study, it was disturbingly intrusive.
Rustle—
With a page freshly deciphered, Agusheed gently turned to the next one in the Spell book.
He paid no mind to his disciple's disruptive presence.
He didn't even think to wake her.
Years of living together had made him used to it—
What used to annoy him now passed as background noise.
Proof enough of just how much Agusheed had tolerated for his foolish disciple.
Ignoring the "ambient noise," he continued his work.
The only movement aside from occasional page flips was the slight shake of his head when a symbol baffled him.
Yet the faint scratch-scratch of his quill stirred Frieren from her light slumber—
Her eyelids twitched open, bleary and annoyed.
She turned toward the noise—
"Agusheed, your writing's too loud… I can't sleep."
—The scratching stopped.
Agusheed's quill paused over a divine-era rune.
"Frieren... This is my study, not a place for naps."
For his shameless disciple who didn't know the meaning of boundaries—
He continued scanning the page without lifting his head:
"You should be grateful I haven't tossed you out for disturbing my work."
Faced with a statement she couldn't refute, Frieren rubbed her eyes and mumbled:
"Can't help it…"
She yawned and stretched lazily.
"If I don't nap now, I won't have energy for class this afternoon."
At that, Agusheed finally looked up.
Watching his perpetually sleepy disciple, his calm eyes showed faint exasperation.
He set down his quill and sighed.
"If you're really that tired, Frieren—"
"Why not go sleep properly upstairs instead of dozing off here?"
"Because this room is the most comfortable place to nap in the whole castle…"
She murmured while stroking the red-scale dragon leather cushioning of the chair, then snuggled deeper.
Agusheed shook his head and picked up his quill again.
"Go sleep upstairs."
"Flamme just changed the sheets in her room—try not to mess them up."
Realizing from his tone that he was serious, Frieren pouted—
Then slowly crawled out of the chair with a big stretch, her silver hair glittering in the sun.
"Geez…"
"Can't you dote on your cute disciple the way you dote on Flamme?"
She grumbled as she shuffled toward the door.
"When Flamme naps in your lap in the study—"
"You put your work down without a word."
"Another word and I'll hang you from the Sky Vein Dragon's horn."
Agusheed answered curtly, already back in his Spell book.
Frieren took that as a joke and trudged up the spiral stairs.
With Flamme not around at the moment—
The stairwell was unusually quiet, her slippered steps echoing softly against the stone.
She pushed open the oak door at the end of the second-floor corridor—
This was Flamme's private room in the castle for resting during travels with Agusheed.
The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight gently spreading over the navy bedspread.
Frieren practically dove into the bed—
Burying her face into the lavender-scented pillow, breathing in the lingering fragrance.
She exhaled contentedly, ready to return to sleep.
Just as her consciousness began to drift—
Her drowsy gaze caught a faint glint of purple peeking from the wardrobe.
The color was subtle, nearly translucent, but striking against the dark wood.
Frieren blinked—curiosity quickly overcame sleepiness.
"What's that?"
She recalled Flamme never being fond of purple—let alone putting something so bold in plain sight.
Curiosity awakened—
Frieren got up and padded barefoot across the soft carpet toward the wardrobe.
"As her favorite disciple... Flamme probably won't mind me taking a peek, right?"
She muttered to herself, soothing her guilt with flimsy reasoning.
Holding back her excitement, she gently slid the wardrobe door open.
Behind a row of neatly hung robes—
She found a glass vial filled with an unknown liquid standing quietly in the corner.
The bottle was clear, but the liquid inside shimmered with a dreamy lavender hue.
Frieren carefully lifted it and held it to the light.
There was no label, making it impossible to tell what kind of potion it was.
But as she gently swirled it, the movement of the liquid sparked a memory.
"Hmm…"
She furrowed her brows, pressing a finger to her temple, trying to recall.
Then suddenly—a vivid memory surfaced—
It was years ago.
Flamme, grinning mischievously, held a similar bottle in her hands.
"This is…"
Frieren gasped, nearly dropping it.
She quickly caught it with both hands, heart pounding.
"A potion that only dissolves clothes?!"