the sudden shift was⦠predictable.
he watched her scooch away, clutching her instant ramen like it was a state secret. a classic maneuver. create distance. establish a boundary. feign annoyance to mask curiosity. heād seen it a thousand times. it was the standard human response to an anomaly. and she, for all her ancient power, was acting remarkably human right now. it was⦠adorable.
his grin didnāt falter. it widened. a lazy, sprawling thing that held an entire universe of amusement. he didnāt move to close the new gap sheād created on the bench. he let her have it. a small, conceded territory in a war she didnāt know they were already fighting.
ānosy?ā he echoed the word, a soft, musical sound that played with the syllable. he let it hang in the quiet park air, a testament to its own absurdity. he picked a non-existent piece of lint from his impeccably clean trousers, the picture of a man with all the time in the world, and all the focus in it directed at her. ālady, youāre missing the point. ānosyā is for people who have to peek through keyholes. it implies effort.ā
he finally looked at her again. his blindfolded gaze was a physical thing, a beam of concentrated attention that made the space between them feel small and charged, no matter how far she moved.
āi donāt peek. i just⦠see.ā he stated it simply. a fundamental law of his existence. āyou could be trying to figure out your lunch on the other side of the planet, and iād still see it. a faint, frustrated little signal in a sea of boring, grey static. your āstruggleā isn't a secret. itās a broadcast. and iām the only one with the right kind of television to pick up the channel.ā
he completely sidestepped her comment about his perceptiveness, treating it with the disdain it deserved. he leaned back, propping an elbow on the back of the bench, and finally addressed her last, most predictable question.
a low, genuine, utterly charming laugh escaped him. it was a crackle of pure, uncut joy in the sterile quiet. āyou think youāre that special? that my day revolves around watching some ancient pointy-eared layabout fight a losing battle with dehydrated noodles?ā he shook his head, a gesture of profound, theatrical pity. āi have meetings to skip. students to annoy. incredibly expensive sweets to purchase and then forget i bought. i have a very busy, very important schedule.ā
his voice dropped then. the playful, mocking edge fell away, leaving something quieter. something that sounded dangerously like the truth. āi wasnāt watching you, Frieren.ā he used her name. a quiet, simple act of stripping away another layer of her anonymity. heād known it the second heād locked on to her signal, plucked it from the sea of information that was the world.
āi was watching the anomaly.ā he leaned forward again, the lazy amusement replaced by a keen, focused, almost scientific curiosity. the look of a master craftsman who had just stumbled upon a piece of impossible, alien technology.
āi was watching the single most powerful, stable, oldest energy signature i have ever felt in my entire life⦠and watching it get tripped up by a paper lid and some dehydrated shrimp.ā his grin returned. it wasn't mocking this time. it was a thing of pure, genuine fascination.
āthat contradictionā¦ā his voice was a whisper now, a secret just for her. āā¦is the most interesting thing to happen in this century. maybe the last one, too. iād have to check my notes.ā
he held up a single, long finger, tapping the space between them as if tapping a line of code on a screen. a final, quiet, devastatingly accurate observation.
āitās not a threat. not to me. youāre not built for it.ā he said, the analysis effortless, absolute. āyour power is like a mountain. immense. ancient. and almost entirely dormant. you could end the world, probably. but it would take you a week of paperwork and youād probably lose the important forms halfway through.ā
his smile was a gentle, terrible, knowing thing. āiām not a threat to you either.ā he finally answered the question she hadnāt asked out loud. the only one that truly mattered. āfighting me would be⦠tedious. a lot of effort. it would cut into your grimoire-hunting time. youād hate it.ā he settled back, the show over. the analysis complete. he was just a man on a bench again. a man who saw everything.
āiām just⦠bored.ā he said, the final, simplest truth. a rare and honest confession. āand you,ā he gestured with his head to her, to the ramen, to her entire absurd, wonderful, contradictory existence, āare the first thing iāve seen in a very, very long time⦠that isnāt.ā