She had told herself there would always be time. And now, time had betrayed her.
“Frieren,” he said, staring up at the constellation of the Goddess’s Harp. “The next time we see that meteor shower… the one that falls every fifty years… let’s go see it together.”
Frieren remembered Himmel’s words with the lazy recollection of remembering an old book. She traveled alone to the hilltop they had once camped on—a hill that had been a grassy knoll and was now a quiet park within a bustling town.