Chapter Text
Fifty-Four Years Before the Death of Himmel the Hero
Six Years After the Heroes Began Their Quest
Near the Harz Mountains
She wished there were a spell to plug one’s ears. If there was, she would personally thank its creator—in person, if possible, or more realistically, at their grave—for their invaluable contribution to society.
The wails were incessant. Demanding.
They were also loud. Painfully loud. Piercing in a way that felt less like sound and more like a direct assault on her skull. Frieren was fairly certain the noise gave away their location—or, perhaps more accurately, repelled anything with even a shred of survival instinct. She could have sworn she’d seen a dragon that had been dozing nearby snap awake, hesitate, and then immediately take flight in the opposite direction.
Honestly, she couldn’t blame it.
She observed the situation from a safe distance, where the noise was only marginally unbearable, hands firmly clamped over her ears. Her already heightened elven hearing did her no favors; the crying seemed to bypass her ears entirely and settle directly into her brain. A headache pulsed insistently behind her eyes.
This was, without question, worse than most demons.
Himmel, Heiter, and Eisen were gathered around a basket containing the source of all suffering: a red-faced, furious baby.
They passed the child between them like a cursed artifact.
Himmel tried first, smiling with the same gentle confidence he used to reassure entire villages. It did not work. He bounced the baby. He spoke softly. He even attempted a heroic pose, as if that might somehow inspire calm.
The baby screamed louder.
Heiter took his turn next, declaring with great authority that he had “experience with children,” which Frieren immediately doubted. He attempted to swaddle the baby, wrapping it in cloth with increasing urgency as the child wriggled free with alarming efficiency.
“I think it prefers tighter wrapping,” he insisted, as the baby escaped entirely and resumed screaming with renewed vigor.
Eisen, after watching this unfold, silently offered one of his weapons as a distraction.
“…No,” Himmel said, intercepting it just as the baby grabbed the dulled weapon and, with impressive accuracy, launched it directly at Heiter’s head.
There was a pause.
Then Heiter clutched his forehead. “I’ve been attacked.”
Himmel dragged a hand through his blue hair, shoulders tense in a way Frieren had never seen before. She had watched him face down overwhelming odds without hesitation, but this—this had clearly broken him.
“What else can we do?” he asked, sounding genuinely defeated.
Eisen shook his head, as if accepting their fate.
Heiter, after one final failed attempt at swaddling, gently placed the baby down on a blanket spread across the ground. The infant’s tiny fists flailed violently, its cries escalating as if fueled by their incompetence.
The baby’s grasping hands inched closer to their scattered belongings. Frieren’s eyes widened in horror as she spotted her bag—carelessly dropped in the chaos—lying open. An old grimoire rested just within the child’s reach.
Absolutely not.
Her stomach dropped.
She moved instantly.
Frieren darted forward, slipping between Heiter—who had retreated into something resembling a fetal position—and Eisen, who was attempting to pull his helmet down far enough to block out the sound entirely. Dropping to her knees, she reached out and snatched the grimoire just as the baby’s fingers curled into its pages, crumpling them with terrifying enthusiasm.
She exhaled, cradling the book protectively.
Crisis averted.
Then—
A sharp tug.
Frieren froze.
Slowly, she turned her head.
And found herself staring directly into a pair of watery blue eyes.
The baby had her hair.
They stared at each other.
The crying hitched.
Paused.
Stopped.
The baby blinked at her, as if reassessing its entire worldview. One tiny fist remained tightly tangled in her ponytail, grip unyielding. For a long, suspicious moment, it simply… looked at her.
Frieren, equally suspicious, looked back.
Then—
The baby beamed.
A wide, toothless grin spread across its face as it let out a delighted coo, as if it had just discovered something wonderful. Its free hand shot up, grabbing her other ponytail and pulling her closer with alarming strength.
Frieren did not resist.
Mostly because she couldn’t.
The baby giggled, tugging her in until their faces were uncomfortably close, clearly thrilled with its decision. It made a series of happy, bubbling noises, entirely pleased with itself.
“…Let go,” Frieren said flatly.
The baby laughed.
Its grip tightened.
With the resignation of someone who had just lost a battle she did not realize she was fighting, Frieren carefully lifted the child by its arms, holding it at arm’s length in an attempt to untangle herself.
The baby kicked its legs happily, giggling as if this were all part of an elaborate game.
Behind her—
Silence.
Complete. Utter. Unnatural silence.
“…It stopped,” Heiter said, slowly uncurling from his position.
Frieren glanced over her shoulder.
Himmel stood frozen, one hand still half-raised, as if afraid to move and undo whatever miracle had just occurred. Eisen had lifted his helmet slightly, staring.
“…Why?” Eisen asked.
Frieren looked back at the baby, who was now happily chewing on a strand of her hair.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said.
She tried to pull the slimy strand from its gummy mouth, but the baby only shoved more fistfuls of her hair inside with determined enthusiasm. It felt a bit like being caught in a mimic—except instead of snapping jaws, it was tiny fists trapping her in place.
Himmel broke the silence, cautiously stepping toward them with his arms outstretched.
“Frieren,” he said hesitantly, “…could you pass him here?”
He didn’t have to ask twice. She immediately handed the child over to his waiting hands.
The moment the baby saw Himmel’s face—
A dramatic inhale.
Its face scrunched.
Then—
A scream.
Heiter and Eisen instantly clutched their ears again.
The baby kicked and squirmed furiously in Himmel’s grasp, twisting his body back toward Frieren. His stubby arms reached out desperately, grabbing onto her hair with renewed determination until he managed to latch himself around her neck, burying his face into it like a man clinging to a lifeline.
Himmel blinked, then thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
“Huh… I see.”
The cries quickly softened, then muffled entirely as the baby settled against Frieren, once again attempting to consume her hair.
“Gross,” she muttered.
The baby giggled in response, his wispy hair brushing against her cheek. A contented hum followed as his small body relaxed, his grip loosening just slightly. She felt his eyelashes flutter faintly against her neck as his uneven breathing slowly evened out.
He had fallen asleep.
Himmel, Heiter, and Eisen stared.
“Incredible,” Himmel said.
Frieren stood stiffly, awkwardly holding the baby as drool began to seep steadily into her clothes. She winced.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
Heiter stepped forward, raising a finger.
“Well, first of all, it’s a he, not an ‘it’” he said, as if delivering critical information. It had been one of the first things they checked upon finding the baby.
“Second, I believe we should take a moment to rest. He’s been crying for over an hour.”
He reached for the flask at his side and took a long drink.
“Ahh…” he sighed. “Much better.”
Frieren shot him a glare as she adjusted the baby, who was now nuzzling further into her shoulder, his face rubbing against her neck.
“Corrupt priest,” she muttered.
Himmel shook his head. “You’re a terrible example to children.”
Heiter, undeterred, took another sip.
“The baby can’t even see me,” he said. “And he’s finally sleeping, thanks to Frieren.”
Feeling her back begin to ache from sitting so rigidly, Frieren carefully leaned against their pile of belongings, making sure not to jostle the child. She could not endure another round of crying.
“Well,” Himmel said, clapping his hands softly, “we should finish setting up camp. Eisen, could you find something for dinner? Heiter—”
He smoothly snatched the flask from Heiter’s hand.
“—set up the bedrolls and organize our supplies.”
Heiter frowned. “You wound me.”
“I’ll gather firewood and survey the area,” Himmel continued.
Frieren peered over the baby’s shoulder. “What about me?”
Himmel smiled.
“You’re on baby duty. He seems to like you.”
“So I just… hold him?” she said flatly. “Can’t I put him down?”
She glanced toward the basket, now filled with discarded blankets. The baby was already starting to feel heavier than it looked.
Himmel’s eyes widened in alarm when he saw her shift.
“Wait—!” he hissed, then quickly lowered his voice when the baby stirred. “At least for now, just hold him. Let him sleep. We can’t risk waking him.”
Frieren did not appreciate being assigned this responsibility.
Her gaze drifted mournfully toward her rescued grimoire, sitting just out of reach. She couldn’t even read it like this.
Himmel seemed to follow her line of sight.
“Just for a little while,” he added gently. “We’ll try putting him back in the basket later.”
She nodded, still clearly dissatisfied.
After a moment, Himmel crouched down, retrieved the grimoire, and carefully placed it on the side where the baby wasn’t blocking her view. He gently opened it, revealing the slightly crumpled pages where the baby had gotten to it first.
Frieren’s eyes brightened immediately.
Using her free hand, she began to flip through the pages, balancing the awkward position with practiced determination. It wasn’t ideal, but it was manageable.
Himmel chuckled softly. “I’ll be back soon.”
She didn’t spare him a glance, already absorbed in the text.
His footsteps faded as he walked away.
As she read, she became faintly aware of the warmth pressed against her—the small, steady weight of the baby, his breathing slow and even now. Fortunately, it didn’t bother her much.
Not enough to distract her from the grimoire.
She had just reached a particularly fascinating section about mana density—specifically how different mediums, such as water or magma, affected a spell’s overall strength—when Himmel stepped into her line of sight, arms full of firewood, ready for her to set ablaze with magic.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s try putting him in the basket.”
He crouched down and carefully adjusted the blankets lining the inside, making sure they were soft and properly arranged.
Frieren gently lifted the baby from her shoulder. His head immediately lolled to the side, and she quickly adjusted her grip to support it, frowning slightly. Slowly, carefully, she lowered him into the basket.
She held her breath.
The baby shifted.
Paused.
But his eyes remained closed.
Frieren exhaled, relief washing over her as she straightened, rolling her shoulder where his head had been resting. It ached faintly. She pressed her fingers into it, massaging the sore spot.
Himmel, meanwhile, watched the child with an almost reverent fondness.
As if the baby hadn’t spent the last several hours unleashing a level of destruction rivaling a natural disaster.
Frieren glanced at him.
Was this what it had been like when she threw one of her so-called “legendary tantrums”?
…No.
Hers had been far more refined.
And justified.
She didn’t understand the fascination with babies. The way people cooed over them, calling them cute. To her, they were small, loud creatures with far too much energy and absolutely no self-sufficiency.
They were also messy.
And, apparently, had a strong preference for her hair.
Her gaze drifted back to the baby.
She had been the one to find him.
When their party had arrived at the ruined town—torn apart by a horde of beasts—Himmel had immediately ordered them to spread out and search for survivors. Frieren hadn’t expected to find any. Unfortunately, scenes like that weren’t unfamiliar.
Still, she searched.
And then—
She felt it.
Mana.
Faint, but unmistakable.
It led her to a barn at the edge of the village. Inside, a cluster of farm animals huddled together protectively around a pile of hay. They shifted as she approached, parting just enough to allow her through.
Beneath the hay, she found a woven basket.
Inside was a sleeping baby, swaddled in a worn brown blanket. Light brown tufts of hair shifted gently when one of the cows huffed a warm breath over him.
At her touch, the baby stirred. The barn was dim and shadowed, so she whispered a light spell, a soft glow blooming in her palm to see him better.
Slowly, his eyes opened.
They met hers.
And then—he smiled.
A small, bubbling sound escaped him, as if he were delighted by the mere sight of her.
Frieren had been about to call out to the others when—
A surge of mana.
Large.
Fast.
Approaching.
She stilled.
There were only a few things it could be.
Without hesitation, she covered the basket and lifted it, turning and rushing back toward the others. They were still in the process of burying the village’s dead when the roar came—low and thunderous—as a massive shadow passed overhead.
Himmel recovered first, hand already on his sword.
He was ready to fight.
Then Frieren held out the basket.
There was a brief moment where his expression shifted.
Then—
“Run,” he said.
He took the basket in one arm and, without warning, slung Frieren over his shoulder with the other. Heiter did the same with Eisen, and within seconds, they were fleeing into the forest.
“Stabilize it!” Himmel shouted.
Frieren, jostled but unfazed, recalled a spell designed to keep objects steady despite movement and cast it hastily over the basket.
It helped.
Somewhat.
Not nearly enough to stop the baby from waking up.
Or crying.
Which led them here.
Back in the present, Himmel leaned over the basket, gently adjusting the blanket around the now-sleeping child. Heiter and Eisen joined him, all three of them staring down at the baby with softened expressions, as if he hadn’t previously reduced them to near madness.
Himmel straightened slightly.
“We’ll need a name for him.”
There was a quiet pause.
His expression dimmed just a fraction.
“…Especially since we may never know what it was.”
Frieren understood.
It was very likely the baby’s parents had been among the dead they had buried.
Eisen stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We do.”
Himmel nodded. “And I think we all know what it should be.”
They all nodded in silent agreement.
“Himmel Jr.”
“Axt.”
“Becks.”
Silence.
Then—
“What do you mean Himmel Jr.?” Heiter snapped. “That’s a terrible name. I don’t think the child wants to be named after a fool.”
“At least it’s not the name of a drink,” Himmel shot back. “Seriously, Heiter?”
“Well, at least mine has taste,” Heiter retorted. “Unlike naming him after a weapon that nearly killed me when someone handed him a miniature version of it.”
“The kid has good aim,” Eisen said calmly. “He deserves a strong name. Like my axe.”
They continued bickering.
Louder.
And louder.
Frieren closed her eyes.
Then—
A small, ominous sound.
The baby stirred.
“…Don’t,” she muttered.
Too late.
The baby’s face scrunched.
A breath—
And then—
Crying.
Again.
Frieren resisted the urge to hit all three of them or turn them all into frogs.
Himmel quickly scooped the baby up, trying to soothe him. “It’s alright, Himmel Jr.—”
The baby screamed.
Heiter immediately tried. “Now, now, Becks—”
The crying somehow got worse.
Eisen took his turn. “Axt—”
The baby flailed violently, entirely unconvinced.
They passed him between them again, each attempt more desperate than the last.
It didn’t work.
It never worked.
Eventually—
Small hands reached.
Grabbing.
Searching.
For her.
Frieren stepped back.
“…No.”
Not again.
But Heiter, noticing exactly where the baby was reaching, quickly took him from Eisen and, without hesitation, shoved him toward Frieren.
The moment the child was unceremoniously plopped into her arms—
Silence.
He immediately stopped fussing, hands eagerly tangling into her still-damp hair as if reclaiming something that belonged to him. He climbed higher with surprising determination, little legs kicking—
One of his feet collided directly with her jaw.
“…Ow.”
He found her ear.
Oh no.
She felt the unmistakable warmth of drool as he enthusiastically decided it was his next target.
She drew the line there.
“No.”
Frieren adjusted her grip, firmly but carefully redirecting him away from her ear. He huffed in mild protest, still squirming, though noticeably calmer now that he was back where he wanted to be.
As she watched him press his face against her chest, nuzzling with increasing insistence, something clicked.
“…He’s hungry.”
The three men froze.
Silence.
A very telling silence.
Frieren glanced at them.
“…You don’t know what to do.”
None of them answered.
She sighed.
Well. It wasn’t as if she knew much more about babies than they did.
She pulled him back slightly. He immediately retaliated by stuffing another fistful of her hair into his mouth.
Heiter recovered first, clearing his throat.
“Based on his size, I’d say he’s just past the newborn stage,” he said, slipping into a tone of authority that sounded only partially convincing. “Which means… I’m not entirely certain if he can handle solid food yet.”
“So what can he eat?” Himmel asked. “It’s not like we can give him Eisen’s stew.”
Eisen looked faintly offended.
“Ideally,” Heiter continued, “we would need a wet nurse. But the nearest town is at least a week away—longer, considering we’re carrying him.”
Himmel frowned. “Don’t you have a spell that lets someone survive without food or water for two months?”
Heiter nodded. “I do. But that only works once the body is capable of processing normal intake. This little one…” He gestured vaguely. “Is not there yet.”
He paused, thinking.
“…I wish we had a priest or nun trained in childbirth and child-rearing. I can manage a delivery, but this…” He sighed. “This is beyond me. There is a spell to assist women who have difficulty producing milk, but…” He coughed. “…that’s not particularly useful here.”
The others visibly decided not to comment.
Frieren, meanwhile, considered her options.
In her moment of distraction, the baby began wriggling out of her hold. Himmel caught him just in time.
The baby whimpered.
Himmel brightened slightly. “Ah—see? He’s warming up to me.”
He began speaking in an oddly gentle, exaggerated tone.
“Hello there… yes, you’re very brave, aren’t you…”
Frieren stared at Himmel, curious at the nonsense spurting from his mouth.
Why did humans do that?
Now considerably lighter without the baby in her arms, she resumed thinking.
“…I have a spell that can turn water into milk,” she said.
All three of them looked at her.
“Of course, it’s for cow’s milk—typically used for breakfast,” she continued. “So it wouldn’t be suitable as-is.”
Himmel, perhaps emboldened by the sudden and suspicious absence of screaming, began lightly tossing the baby into the air and catching him.
The baby looked deeply uncertain about this, but tolerated it.
“I would need a sample of the mother’s milk,” Frieren went on, “to properly adjust the composition.”
“Where are we supposed to get that?” Heiter asked.
“I don’t know,” she said plainly. “I could approximate human composition, but without a sample, there’s no guarantee it would be safe. It might do more harm than good.”
Heiter frowned. “Still… it may be better than nothing. I can monitor his condition if we try—”
A strange gurgling sound interrupted him.
Then—
A soft splatter.
All three turned.
Himmel stood frozen, arms still raised from mid-toss.
The baby, held above him moments earlier, had… spit up.
Thoroughly.
Across Himmel’s face.
And shirt.
There was a long pause.
Himmel did not move.
A single drop slid slowly down his cheek.
The expression that followed was nothing short of heroic restraint.
Heiter, moving quickly, took the baby from him and passed him straight back to Frieren—who, upon seeing Himmel’s face, immediately burst into laughter.
The baby, delighted, giggled as well, then buried himself into Frieren’s neck again as if seeking refuge after his crime.
Himmel slowly reached up to wipe his face.
Frieren caught his wrist.
“…What?” he asked, squinting at her, still visibly processing his circumstances.
She smiled.
“I think we found our sample.”