An Assassin's Journey Beyond The End

[McPhoenixDavid]

An Assassin's Rebirth


​

Tatsumi had honestly thought that was it. The end. His story, his struggle, his everything... It was all supposed to stop right there. He'd felt it, that sharp, sinking pull when the Supreme Imperial Arm was destroyed. Like his life got yanked out along with it. His knees buckled, the rush of pain and exhaustion hit harder than any enemy ever had, and he just collapsed. Right into Akame's arms. The last place he thought he'd be when it was all over. She was trembling, holding him like she could physically stop death if she clung hard enough. Her voice cracked when she said his name, but he could barely hear anything. His vision was going dark, ears muffled, whole body numb.

"S-sorry, Akame," he muttered, lips barely moving, voice barely audible. "I couldn't keep my promise…"

That one promise. The dumbest, most important one. Don't die. He had looked her in the eye when he made it. Her expression had been cold and sharp like always, but he knew her well enough by then to see the quiet desperation behind it. She'd lost so much. So had he. They all had. But that promise was his way of trying to give her something—hope, maybe, or just a little peace. Now it was broken. Another failure.

He couldn't even tell what was happening anymore. The ground trembled, people screamed, the capital was probably in chaos, but his mind had already begun floating away. Somewhere far. Thoughts strayed to his home village, the small one with the windmills and dusty roads and faces he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. Would they ever know what happened to him? Would they care? Would they even understand what he'd done, how far he came, who he'd become?

And Night Raid... What now? With the Emperor down, the war was technically over. The Revolutionary Army had won. All the bloodshed, all the lives lost—maybe it hadn't been for nothing. Maybe they'd finally get that peace they dreamed about so often, sitting around the fire, eating bad stew, sharing stories in between missions. Maybe people could live normal lives again. Laugh. Build things. Start over.

Akame was yelling something at him, her voice rising, cracking in panic. She was crying, too, he thought. And if not, then his mind was making it up because it felt right. She never cried, not even when Bulat died, not when Chelsea didn't come back. But maybe now, for once, she did. And then…

Nothing.

Just black. Cold. Quiet. Like everything was done. Like he could finally rest.

He figured the next thing was the afterlife. Maybe he'd meet Bulat again, with that big goofy grin and that ridiculous tank top. Maybe Sheele would be there too, holding her giant scissors and smiling gently like she never meant to kill a single soul. Chelsea might be lounging somewhere with a lollipop in her mouth and an attitude like she owned the clouds. Susanoo would be cleaning. Mine would probably punch him in the face before hugging him. That's what he was expecting. That's what he wanted.

But instead of glowing white light or familiar faces, he just… waited. In silence. And waited more. And the weird part was he could still think. Still feel things in a distant, fuzzy way. Like floating underwater with no surface in sight. Then slowly, so gradually it almost didn't register, warmth started spreading through him. Not spiritual warmth. Not metaphorical. Actual, physical warmth. Like being wrapped in something soft and alive. He felt... oddly comfortable.

Then came the weirdest thing.

A slap. Right on his butt.

What the hell?

The hell kind of afterlife slaps your ass when you show up?

He tried to yell, to complain, to curse whoever decided that was appropriate—but all that came out of his mouth was a high-pitched, wobbly noise.

"Wawawawawa~."

His brain nearly short-circuited.

What the actual—?!

Someone smacked him into reincarnation?! No, seriously, that had to be it. Either this was some twisted joke from the gods, or he'd just been reborn in the most humiliating way possible. Someone had literally slapped him into life.

"It's a boy," a flat, emotionless voice said somewhere close by. "Apparently."

Deadpan. Totally deadpan. Like the announcement of his rebirth was just another Thursday.

Then silence.

Everything drifted again. Time didn't seem to work right. Sometimes he'd be wide awake for a few seconds, taking in weird shapes and blurry colors, and other times he'd be knocked out cold, waking up to realize days had passed without warning. He spent most of his time asleep. Not that he had a choice.

And when he was awake, the world made no sense.

First off, there was this tall guy with bright blue hair who looked like he'd stepped out of a fairy tale or something. Handsome in a stupidly perfect way, like those knights from children's storybooks. He had this warm, genuine smile that felt annoyingly trustworthy, and he kept calling Tatsumi "my little boy" in this ridiculously affectionate tone that made Tatsumi want to gag. Not because it was bad, but because it was so... sincere. Like the guy actually meant it.

Then there was the woman. Girl? Elf? She was hard to place. She had silver hair that spilled past her shoulders like snow, and her face barely moved. Always deadpan, always unimpressed, like life itself bored her. Her eyes were sharp, though. Like she was always watching. Always thinking. And those ears. Long, pointy, twitching sometimes when she got annoyed—which was often, especially when she had to feed him.

Yeah. That was the worst part.

She breastfed him. And he remembered.

She'd hold him in her arms like he was some delicate porcelain cup, her expression somewhere between resignation and pure regret. Every time he cried, she sighed. Every time he shit himself, she made the same blank stare, cleaned him up, and muttered something like, "This is stupid." Sometimes she mumbled other things too. Things like, "Why did I agree to this," or "Himmel, you said this would be easy," or "Next time, we're adopting a dog."

Himmel. That was the name of the blue-haired man. He'd heard the woman call him that more than once. And the elf woman? Frieren. That name echoed in his sleepy haze often enough for it to stick.

His new parents.

Great. Just great.

One was a knight straight out of a fairytale with a personality like sunlight, and the other was a tired, awkward elf woman who looked like she'd rather be doing literally anything else. He had been born into a fantasy sitcom.

It was bizarre, surreal, and he was way too aware of everything for a damn baby. He couldn't move much, couldn't speak, but he could think. And boy, did he think a lot. About his old life. His friends. The war. The peace they fought for. And now this. A second chance, maybe. He wasn't sure what the rules were here. Was he supposed to live a peaceful life this time? Become a baker or something? Was he allowed to remember? Would his past ever come back to haunt him?

One night, Himmel picked him up like he weighed nothing, cradled him gently, and started humming some old lullaby that probably meant something in this new world. Tatsumi blinked slowly, watching the guy's face, studying it. So damn earnest. So damn kind. It was stupid. Infuriating. And it made him feel safe in a way that scared him.

Frieren walked in halfway through, looked at them for exactly three seconds, then muttered, "You're spoiling him."

Himmel grinned. "He deserves it."

"He cried for six hours because you wouldn't let him chew on your sword hilt."

"He's exploring his environment."

"He's a menace."

Tatsumi gurgled in response. Frieren shot him a look.

"See? He agrees with me."

Tatsumi mentally flipped her off.

She rolled her eyes, turned around, and walked off with the same sluggish pace she did everything with. But the truth was… she always came when he cried. Always fed him, cleaned him, held him just right. She never smiled, but she never left. There was a rhythm to her care. Mechanical, sure, but steady. Reliable. Safe.

And honestly, even if she was sarcastic and cold and emotionally stunted—he kinda liked her.

He was still wrapping his head around everything. Still not sure what this new life meant. But if he had to be reborn anywhere, at least it was with people like this. Weird, but oddly comforting. Familiar, even.

Still, that didn't mean he was okay with getting slapped into existence.

That part could go to hell.

Ø~Ø


​

Time moved in a way that didn't make sense anymore. It wasn't just the slow ticking of days passing like back when he was with Night Raid, constantly planning, fighting, running. It was different now—like he was caught in syrup, slow and thick and stretchy. Moments blurred together. One second it was raining outside, the next there were wildflowers blooming up to the sky. And yet, through it all, he stayed… the same. A baby. A toddler at most. Stuck. Conscious, aware, understanding full sentences and complicated emotions—but physically, just a little squishy thing with stubby limbs and no control over his bladder.

What made it weirder was the language. From the moment he first opened his new eyes, he could understand everything around him. Not just bits and pieces, not just vague meanings—everything. Syntax, slang, sarcasm, tone, context. Like his brain had skipped the baby tutorial completely and jumped to graduate level comprehension. It was frustrating as hell. Imagine listening to deep philosophical debates about good and evil while shitting yourself and crying because you couldn't roll over. He hated it.

Himmel and Frieren didn't seem to notice just how much he grasped. Or maybe they did, and just chose to keep treating him like a normal baby out of convenience. Either way, they kept up their roles as the doting dad and perpetually tired mom. Himmel would carry him around wrapped in a soft blanket and point things out with this proud glint in his eyes like everything was new and exciting.

"Look, Tsumi," he'd say, crouching down near a pond. "That's a rainbow trout. They swim upstream to lay their eggs. Isn't that incredible?"

Tatsumi—no, Tsumi now—would just stare at the fish like, wow, cool, I used to kill people for a living, and now I'm learning fish trivia.

Frieren, on the other hand, rarely explained things. She'd just silently guide his attention toward something with a slight tilt of her head or a gentle movement of her hand, expecting him to figure it out on his own. Which he usually did. Because she was a quiet kind of genius. Efficient. Cold. A little funny sometimes, though he wasn't sure she even noticed when she was being funny.

And the world they lived in? It was everything Night Raid had hoped for and more.

Tsumi had spent his entire previous life fighting for something like this. A world without tyrants. Without fear. Without corruption and mass executions and sick, twisted nobles treating peasants like bugs. And here it was—quiet villages, merchants laughing on roads, kids chasing chickens in open fields. He'd seen Himmel lift a fallen cart for an old lady without even expecting thanks. He'd watched Frieren patch up a sick dog without saying a word and walk off before the owner could even thank her. There was a kind of peace here that made the chaos of the past feel like a fever dream.

Through quiet observation, Tsumi learned a lot. More than most kids his age—though, of course, his age didn't match his appearance. He wasn't quite sure how old he was supposed to be anymore. Mentally? He felt around thirty. Physically? He looked like a damn toddler, even after years had passed. It was obvious something was off.

And eventually, it started making sense.

There was a moment—maybe when he was six, or maybe ten, or maybe fourteen—when he really noticed it. Himmel's hair had started showing silver strands. Just a few, but they were there. And his laugh had gained a deeper tone, like time was finally catching up to him. He was still strong, still bright and sharp and full of that weird optimism that never dulled, but it was clear: he was aging. He was changing. Becoming a man, then a seasoned one.

Frieren didn't. Not even a little.

She was the exact same. Hair as silvery and smooth as ever, face blank and ageless, voice just as dry and unimpressed as the day Tsumi first heard it. Her clothes barely changed, her pace didn't quicken or slow, her eyes remained unchanged. That alone told Tsumi something important. Something about himself.

He wasn't human.

Not fully, anyway.

At first, the idea freaked him out. He remembered dying. He remembered pain. Human stuff. Now he was here, growing at the pace of a glacier, speaking full sentences in his head while his baby body flailed and drooled. Something wasn't lining up. The pieces only fell into place once he saw Frieren stay the same across the seasons, through dozens of festivals, over countless sunrises and sleepy campfires.

And then there were the others.

Eisen. This short, buff dwarf who showed up every once in a while. He had this gruff but warm vibe to him, like a blacksmith dad who'd seen a lot but still liked kids. He'd pat Tsumi's head gently and tell stories about ancient dungeons and traps and fights with monsters bigger than castles. Tsumi loved it, even if he couldn't respond properly yet. Eisen didn't seem to mind the silence. He just chuckled and kept talking, occasionally passing him cookies that Frieren always tried to confiscate.

Then there was Heiter. The priest. Always showing up with booze in hand, wearing robes that looked more stained than sacred. But he had this deep, quiet sadness about him that Tsumi recognized from a mile away. The guy had regrets, buried deep beneath sarcasm and laziness. He'd look at Tsumi sometimes with this strange fondness, like he knew something others didn't. Sometimes he'd say stuff like, "You're gonna outlive us all, kid," or "Enjoy the slow days while you can. Fast ones'll come back eventually."

Tsumi didn't fully understand what Heiter meant at first, but over time… yeah. It started making sense.

Because even after two decades passed, his body barely looked five years old.

It was only around the twentieth year of this weird second life that something shifted. His throat didn't burn when he tried to speak anymore. His tongue didn't stumble. One afternoon, while Himmel was humming a tune and Frieren sat nearby pretending to read but actually keeping an eye on both of them like always, Tsumi opened his mouth and muttered, "That song's a little off-key."

Both of them froze. Himmel's lute slipped from his hands. Frieren blinked once. Then twice.

Himmel leaned in, eyes wide, smile stretching ear to ear. "Tsumi? Was that…? You talked!"

Tsumi nodded, deadpan as hell. "Took twenty years, apparently. I blame my biology."

Frieren squinted at him, her voice as flat as always. "What kind of baby talks like that?"

"I'm not a baby," Tsumi said. "I'm twenty."

Himmel laughed, this loud, joyful laugh that echoed across the hills. He actually picked Tsumi up and spun him around, even though his body was still tiny and toddler-sized. "You've been faking it this whole time?!"

"No."

Frieren didn't laugh, but a small twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away. The faintest hint of amusement. "You're more annoying than I thought you'd be."

And just like that, the weird silence that had followed him since his rebirth started to lift. He could finally speak. Finally ask questions. Finally voice thoughts that had been stuck in his head for decades. And he did. All the time. Nonstop. He asked about the Demon King, about their adventures, about why Frieren never changed and what it meant to live like this. He asked why Himmel always looked tired even though he smiled like nothing was wrong. He asked about magic, about legends, about gods and mortality and what came after.

They didn't always have answers. Sometimes they just sat with him under the stars and listened.

And slowly, painfully slowly, he began to understand what it meant to live like them. What it meant to watch the world move while you barely moved at all. What it meant to love things that would eventually vanish. And maybe… what it meant to protect those things anyway.

Ø~Ø


​

Tsumi had Himmel's soft light blue hair that shimmered like the morning sky and Frieren's sharp, beautiful green eyes that always looked a little distant, a little tired. His ears, too, had that slight curve—pointy like hers. And it wasn't just his appearance. The way time barely scratched him, how he watched days pass without ever feeling like he was moving forward with them, how he stayed tiny and delicate long after the other village kids outgrew him—that was her, too.

He was an elf.

It finally made sense.

He remembered sitting on that big rug in the living room, legs crossed awkwardly like he was trying to get comfortable in a body that still didn't feel right, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. Frieren sat across from him, hands wrapped around a chipped teacup, her expression unreadable as usual. Himmel leaned against the window, quiet, his fingers drumming a light rhythm against the glass.

"Tsumi," Frieren had said, voice low, calm. "You've noticed, haven't you?"

"Yeah," he replied, arms wrapped around his tiny knees. "I don't grow."

She nodded once. "You're an elf."

That word hit different than expected. He didn't know why. Maybe because it carried weight, ancientness. Not just a fantasy race—no, it was something real, something strange, something lonely.

"I'm like you," he muttered, not looking at her.

"More than you think," she said, and took a sip of tea. "Elves age differently. Time… stretches for us."

"How slow are we talking?"

There was a beat of silence. Himmel shifted uncomfortably. Frieren looked down into her cup like the answer was steeped in her drink.

"I'm 1,344 years old."

The silence after that was suffocating.

Tsumi blinked. Once. Twice. He turned toward Himmel, his gaze searching for some kind of punchline, a laugh, a wink. But Himmel only gave him this soft, sheepish smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.

"That means…?" Tsumi's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're going to outlive any human," Himmel said gently, his voice cracked slightly at the edge. "Even me."

It wasn't even dramatic. No loud explosion of grief. No yelling or flailing. Just those words. That quiet truth. It dropped on him like cold water, soaked through skin and bone, and settled in his chest like a frozen weight.

And then he was running.

His tiny legs carried him through the hall, out the back door, to the terrace overlooking the hills. The wind slapped his face, and he didn't even care. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor, knees scraped, palms flat, and let the tears fall.

He'd finally felt like he had a family. Something normal. Something warm and stable. Himmel's laugh, Frieren's awkward kindness, the quiet moments shared under stars and next to rivers—they had become his world. And now? Now he had to live centuries while they faded?

It was just like before.

Bulat. Sheele. Chelsea. Lubbock. Susanoo. All of them—brave, kind, strong—and gone. One by one. He was always the one left behind. And now history was repeating itself, cruel and slow.

Why did he always survive?

Why was he always the one who had to remember?

"Tsumi…"

The voice was soft. Behind him. Then he felt those arms. Strong, steady. Himmel wrapped around him from behind, holding him close like he was afraid he'd disappear. Tsumi buried his face in the man's chest and sobbed, muffled and raw.

"My son," Himmel said, pressing his cheek against Tsumi's hair, "I may die what feels like a few days to you—though they'll be years to me. You'll grow so slow you might barely feel the time pass, but for me, every second counts."

"That's not fair…" Tsumi whispered, voice thick.

"I know," Himmel said. "I know it isn't."

"Why do I have to be alone again?"

"You won't be," he murmured. "Not completely."

Tsumi didn't believe it. Not really. But he stayed still, letting the words fall anyway.

"Your mom—well, as deadpan as she is," Himmel chuckled lightly, "she's a nice person. Weird, quiet, doesn't always say the right things—but she'll be with you. She'll guide you in her own way. And Eisen, Heiter… they care about you, too. You're not as alone as you think."

Tsumi wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic, sniffling. "But you… you're my dad."

"I still will be," Himmel said. "Even when I'm gone."

"That doesn't help."

"I know," he whispered again. "But that's why… you've got to cherish this. The time we do have. Every moment. Every trip to the lake. Every time we sit by the fire and I mess up a song. Every time your mom hands you an herb and doesn't explain what the hell it's for."

Tsumi let out a weak laugh through his tears.

"That's what happiness is, Tsumi. It's not some big thing. It's not eternal. It's just… the little things. The memories you can hold onto when everything else disappears."

Tsumi didn't say anything. He just pressed himself tighter into Himmel's chest. Felt the rise and fall of his breathing. Heard the steady beat of his heart. And maybe… maybe that was enough for now.

He knew it would hurt later. Knew he'd cry again. Knew there would come a day Himmel wouldn't be there to sing him to sleep or carry him on his shoulders or tell him dumb jokes about dwarves and dragons. But for now, in this small moment, he could pretend that forever existed. Just for a little while.

That night, they didn't go back inside. Frieren came out eventually, standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable as always. But she sat near them, quiet, close enough that her presence felt like a promise.

They watched the stars rise together. Himmel hummed a lullaby under his breath. Frieren leaned back against the cold stone, eyes half-lidded, and Tsumi, nestled between the two of them, let the rhythm of their breathing lull him into a strange, bitter, peaceful sleep.

The kind of sleep that comes only after knowing you've found something worth losing.

Ø~Ø


​

Tsumi made a promise to himself, the kind that doesn't need to be said aloud. He'd already lost too much in his last life—too many faces, too many smiles, too many hands that reached out only to vanish before he could grasp them for long. So now, in this life, in this strange peaceful world with pointy-eared moms and heroic dads and cozy sunlit mornings, he was gonna make every single moment count. No holding back.

He didn't tell anyone about his past. Not Frieren, not Himmel, not even Eisen or Heiter. Some truths were just too weird to unpack, like being a dead guy reincarnated as an elf baby. No one needed to know that the tiny pointy-eared kid with the slow-growing body and stubborn gaze used to be a revolutionary warrior who fought empires and loved a girl with pink hair. He'd keep that to himself. What mattered now was the present, the people in front of him, the warmth in the air, and the sword in his hand.

Yeah—swords. He still had it. The form, the balance, the instinct. Maybe not the muscle memory, since his arms were barely thicker than a birch branch, but the fundamentals? Those were carved deep into his soul. Tsumi was good. Silent good. Secret good. And Himmel… Himmel was insane.

The first time they sparred, Tsumi had tried to show off a little. Just a bit. A few clean steps, a sharp swing—like he used to do when training under Bulat's watchful eye. But Himmel? Himmel didn't even flinch. He parried like he'd seen the move before Tsumi even decided to make it. Then he grinned and said, "Not bad, but you dropped your shoulder a little," like he hadn't just exposed Tsumi's entire technique in half a heartbeat.

From that day on, they sparred almost every afternoon in the backyard, behind the little house Frieren refused to admit she was emotionally attached to. The field behind it was open, grassy, and perfect for long hours of training. Himmel would tie back his hair, roll up his sleeves, and draw his sword with the kind of relaxed confidence that made Tsumi realize just how far he still had to go.

They'd duel under the blue sky, with the wind brushing through their hair and the clang of metal ringing like bells in the peaceful village. And every time Tsumi landed a strike—rare as those were—Himmel would give him this goofy proud smile, like a dad watching his kid learn how to ride a bike for the first time. Not pitying. Not fake. Just… happy.

Meanwhile, Frieren would hover by the kitchen window, not watching but totally watching. She'd stir a pot that smelled like something illegal and half-poisonous, and once in a while she'd mumble, "Don't trip over your own feet," without even glancing up. Her way of cheering, probably.

Himmel was on a whole different tier. Like if you dropped Esdeath into their world, she wouldn't last more than ten seconds against him. That man fought with a grace that felt effortless, like dancing. He didn't waste motion. He didn't need to overpower you. He made you fall into his rhythm and beat you before you even realized the duel had started. Akame and Kurome? They were talented. Trained. But Himmel was beyond. He made their skills look like schoolyard scuffles. And Tsumi knew it wasn't just brute strength. It was experience. Heart. Purpose.

"I've lived for others my whole life," Himmel said one day, while handing Tsumi a cup of water after practice. "That's what gives the sword its meaning."

Tsumi nodded, winded and sweaty. "Yeah… I get that."

"Do you?" Himmel asked, smiling. "You're too quiet sometimes. Like there's a lot in your head you're not saying."

"I said I get it," Tsumi replied. "And I'm not quiet. You just talk too much."

Himmel laughed so hard he choked on his own water, and Frieren, from the window, sighed and said, "Told you."

People loved Himmel. Worshipped him, honestly. He was the Hero who helped take down the Demon King. He had this vibe, like a mix between a rockstar and the village grandpa. Wherever he went, people smiled. Grown men bowed. Kids chased after him, and elderly folks told stories about how they saw him once in the capital. So naturally, Tsumi being his "son" made him sort of a local celebrity too.

Especially with the teenage girls.

When they visited new towns or strolled through markets, girls would bend down and pinch Tsumi's cheeks or coo about how adorable he looked with his snowy hair and giant green eyes. "He's like a doll!" they'd squeal, completely unaware that this "baby" was mentally older than all of them combined.

The best part? Watching their reactions when he opened his mouth and casually said something like, "I'm actually twenty-five. But thanks."

The expressions ranged from awkward laughter to full-blown horror. Himmel, of course, would double over wheezing every time it happened.

"Stop doing that," Frieren said once, after a particularly dramatic girl ran off shrieking.

"Why?" Tsumi shrugged. "It's hilarious."

"She's probably traumatized."

"She touched my face. That was mutual trauma."

Eisen and Heiter visited often. Eisen always brought a bag full of weird, shiny rocks he thought Tsumi would find "cool," and Heiter, despite pretending to be annoyed at the noise and the swordplay, would end up sitting in the shade, listening to stories and chuckling at Himmel's over-the-top retellings of their adventures.

"You should've seen him back then," Heiter told Tsumi, once, poking Himmel in the ribs. "Always charging ahead, swinging that sword like he was invincible."

"I was invincible," Himmel said, puffing out his chest.

"Sure, sure," Eisen snorted. "Tell that to the wyvern that broke three of your ribs."

"Which I still defeated," Himmel added.

They'd laugh. Talk about the past. The great battles. The towns they saved. The monsters they felled. Tsumi never got bored. Listening to those stories was like breathing in a whole new world. And they weren't just tales of glory—they were about friendship, love, sacrifice. He saw the way Frieren's eyes softened when Heiter mentioned certain names. The way Himmel went quiet when talking about one battle in particular. There was grief in those memories. But also joy. Deep, glowing joy.

Life was good.

He knew it wouldn't last forever. Not with how humans aged. Not with how elves didn't. But for now, the mornings were bright, the afternoons were full of laughter and swordplay, and the nights were warm with stories and dreams.

And every moment? He was saving them. Storing them away. Because that's what happiness was—tiny memories stitched into a life.

Ø~Ø


​

They were deeper into the woods than Tsumi had ever been, even back when he was a full-grown man fighting for a revolution. The air smelled wild, like moss and pine and damp wood, the kind of scent that clung to your skin and made you feel like you were standing in a memory. Trees towered above them like ancient guardians, their leaves rustling in slow waves. Birds chirped high overhead, and somewhere in the distance, water gurgled over stones. It was a forest, yeah, but it stretched for miles—more like a quiet, untouched jungle where time didn't seem to matter.

Frieren had picked the place. She didn't say much, as usual, but her face had this kind of subtle softness when she talked about it, like she was trying not to sound too excited. Apparently, once every fifty years, there was a meteor shower that painted the whole valley sky in light. Something you couldn't find in a book or recreate with magic. She just said, "It's worth seeing," and Himmel agreed instantly, even though it was clear he wasn't as strong as he used to be.

Himmel rode slowly these days, his old white mare plodding gently along beside Frieren's own steed. His once vibrant blue hair had gone completely white, but his eyes—those eyes were still sharp. Still him. Every time Tsumi looked at him, there was a weird twist in his chest, like part of him was refusing to accept that time was finally catching up to the hero he'd always thought would never fall.

Eisen and Heiter had shown up too, arriving with their usual banter and warmth. Eisen looked the same, more or less—still short, still gruff, still walking like he could tear a tree in half if he felt like it. Heiter, on the other hand, had a few more wrinkles but still held his chin high, like he refused to let the years make him look weak.

Tsumi, despite being forty-five years old, still looked like a damn kid. Eight years old, give or take. He was the same height as always, same small hands, same baby face. It wasn't weird to him anymore—it just was. Elves aged slow. Real slow. So even if he felt like an adult in his head, he still got asked if he needed help climbing onto his horse.

They reached the valley late afternoon. It was stunning, the kind of place that didn't even need magic to feel magical. There was this massive, circular lake right in the center, still and clear like glass, reflecting the sky above. The trees opened up just enough to let the sun spill in golden rays across the water. The whole place looked like it had been waiting for them.

They set up camp near the edge of the lake. Himmel did more supervising than actual helping, but no one complained. He still cracked jokes the whole time—dumb, dad-tier jokes that made Eisen roll his eyes and Heiter pretend he wasn't laughing. Frieren didn't say much, just kept glancing at Himmel whenever he wasn't looking. Tsumi noticed. He noticed everything that day.

That twist in his stomach hadn't gone away. It sat heavy, low in his gut, like something inside him already knew what the night was going to bring. But he kept ignoring it. Kept forcing himself to smile, to laugh at Himmel's jokes, to sit close when they started swapping stories over firelight.

"So," Himmel said, turning to Tsumi with a playful glint in his eyes, "you still haven't grown a single inch, huh? What are you, trying to win a bet with Frieren?"

Tsumi smirked. "I'll grow when I'm ready."

"You've been saying that for three decades."

"You've been making the same jokes for four."

Himmel burst out laughing, this deep, warm sound that filled the camp and made the stars above feel just a little brighter. Then, after a while, his voice dropped. "You know, Tsumi… you've made my life even better than I ever thought it could be."

Tsumi didn't reply right away. He just stared into the fire. "You're gonna make some sappy speech, aren't you?"

"I'm eighty. I'm allowed," Himmel said, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "You don't get to run from these kinds of talks forever."

Tsumi didn't pull away. He just closed his eyes for a second, taking in the warmth of that hand. The strength was still there, but just barely. And it hurt more than he expected.

"You were always the kind of person I wanted to be," Tsumi whispered. "Even before I knew you."

Himmel smiled but didn't say anything. He just let the fire crackle between them as the sky darkened and the first streak of starlight appeared.

When the meteor shower finally started, it was quiet. The kind of silence that wrapped around you gently, like a soft blanket. Then the first light zipped across the sky, blazing a golden trail. Then another. And another. Soon, the whole sky was alive—ribbons of color and light cascading across the darkness, reflecting off the lake like a thousand stars were falling into the water.

Heiter leaned back on his pack with a soft whistle. "Well, damn."

"Even better than I remember," Eisen muttered, his eyes wide.

Frieren didn't say anything, but her face—her usually impassive, blank face—held the faintest hint of awe. Just a whisper of something emotional.

Tsumi couldn't stop staring. The lights danced overhead, so beautiful it made his chest ache. The kind of beauty that made you feel small, but in a good way. Like the world was so much bigger than your pain, your worries, your regrets. For a long time, none of them spoke.

Then Tsumi turned, just barely. "Hey, Dad, you're missing—"

But Himmel didn't respond.

His head was leaned back gently, his eyes closed.

At first, Tsumi thought maybe he'd just dozed off. The day had been long, the ride tiring, the stories probably draining for a man his age. But then something inside him froze. He looked closer. No movement. No breath. Nothing.

His voice caught. "Dad?"

Still nothing.

His hands shook as he reached out, touched Himmel's shoulder, gently, then with a little more force. "Dad. Come on."

But Himmel didn't wake up.

Tsumi's breath hitched. A strange numbness crept through his limbs. He couldn't hear the meteor shower anymore. Couldn't hear the fire. Everything felt far away, like he was watching from under water.

Frieren moved next. She stepped over, her expression unreadable. She knelt, placed two fingers against Himmel's neck, then gently closed his eyelids with one hand. The motion was soft. Reverent.

Heiter lowered his head. Eisen didn't say a word.

And Tsumi… he just sat there. Hands in his lap. Eyes fixed on the sky above. The meteor shower continued, painting the heavens in silver and gold.

Himmel, the Hero who defeated the Demon King, the man who laughed like thunder and fought like light, had passed away peacefully, surrounded by the people who loved him most. No pain. No struggle. Just silence and stars.

Tsumi didn't cry. Not yet. Not with everyone watching. But inside, a part of him broke—quietly, cleanly. Like a string snapping somewhere deep.

Because he knew what came next.

The centuries.

The loneliness.

The world continuing without the one person who made it feel like home.

But still, the sky kept glowing.

Ø~Ø


​

The funeral had been everything Himmel deserved—grand, full of people who loved him, people whose lives he'd touched just by existing. Heiter had taken the lead, naturally. He kept his voice steady, formal even, as he read the rites and offered words of remembrance, but Tsumi could see the redness in the old man's eyes, the quiver he tried to hide in his fingers. People came from all across the region—kings, nobles, merchants, common folk. All standing shoulder to shoulder for the hero who had once saved the world.

Tsumi had thought he'd be ready. He'd told himself for years that this day would come, had reminded himself over and over what it meant to be an elf, what it meant to outlive nearly everyone he loved. He'd even thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to get through the whole thing without breaking down. But when they carried Himmel's body to the center of the field, wrapped in a hero's cloth, and laid his sword across his chest like the final chapter of a story that could never be retold... Tsumi cried.

He cried, even though he tried not to. Even though he clenched his fists and bit his tongue and told himself not to sob like some grieving child. It didn't matter. The tears came anyway, because losing someone like Himmel was too heavy for quiet acceptance. It hurt.

Some of the mourners glanced his way, murmuring low about how strange it was that Himmel's wife—Frieren—stood there like a statue. Cold. Silent. Barely blinking. They didn't understand. They never would.

But when the moment came—when it was time to lower Himmel's body into the grave, to toss the first handfuls of soil—something cracked. Tsumi watched her step forward, watched her stiff fingers tremble as she took the shovel and pushed it into the dirt. Her movements were mechanical, slow, but then, suddenly, she paused. Her eyes stayed fixed on the grave as the corners of her mouth tugged down and her shoulders sagged. She didn't make a sound, didn't wail or cry out. But the tears finally fell. Silent. Steady.

Frieren, the thousand-year-old mage, cried.

After the burial, people trickled away one by one. Some lingered longer, sharing stories about Himmel's adventures and jokes, his idiocy and heroics, the way he'd always smiled even when things were falling apart. Tsumi listened, grateful, but it all started to feel like a blur. A noisy, bright blur around a cold, quiet truth.

Eventually, only a few remained.

Heiter ruffled Tsumi's hair on the way out. "He was proud of you, you know. Talked about you every damn time we met."

Tsumi sniffed and muttered, "Thanks," but he didn't meet the priest's eyes. He couldn't.

Heiter didn't push. He just patted Tsumi on the back once and walked off, straight-backed and slow.

Eisen left not long after, quiet as always. He simply placed a hand on Tsumi's shoulder—huge and warm—and gave him a nod. It said everything words couldn't. Then he was gone too.

And then it was just the house. The home they had shared. It had never been noisy, not with Frieren around, but Himmel had always filled it with this... light. He talked too much. Made jokes at weird hours. Sang off-key. Greeted Tsumi every morning like it was the first time they'd seen each other in months. He'd snuck sweets into Tsumi's packs whenever they traveled, winked conspiratorially when Frieren scolded him for it. The man was joy incarnate, even when his bones started aching and he needed to rest between steps.

Now, the silence pressed in like fog.

Tsumi sat by the window, knees to his chest, arms looped around them. The sun was going down outside, and the shadows in the room stretched long. He stared out at nothing, ears twitching faintly. His thoughts drifted without shape, without color.

He thought of Heiter. Old, but still strong.

He thought of Eisen. Stoic, steady.

He thought about how both of them would be gone one day, just like Himmel. Maybe in a decade. Maybe in five. It didn't matter. The weight was the same.

And after them?

Would it just be him and Frieren?

Would she leave too, eventually?

He didn't hear her footsteps until she was standing right next to him. Frieren ruffled his hair, fingers soft and slow.

He blinked, startled. "I'm not a child," he mumbled, pulling his head away, trying to shake the touch off like it didn't matter.

"You are 1,350 years younger than me," she replied without missing a beat.

Tsumi frowned and looked back out the window.

"Your father wouldn't want you to sulk like this," she added, and her tone didn't change much—but something in it softened. Just a fraction.

He huffed through his nose. "Hmph."

Frieren crouched beside him, one hand on her knee, the other resting on the floor for balance. She looked at him directly, her green eyes calm. "Then it's decided."

Tsumi turned, confused. "What is?"

"Pack your things," she said. "It's time you started your real journey. With me."

"Huh?" His ears perked in confusion, twitching involuntarily. "You're not serious."

"I'm always serious."

"You mean... travel? Like... leave the village?"

"I mean exactly that."

Tsumi stared at her, heart thumping faster now. "What about the house? What about Himmel's grave?"

"We'll visit it," Frieren said. "But Himmel wouldn't want us to freeze here. He wouldn't want his son to become a shut-in over grief."

"I'm not a shut-in."

"You haven't changed your clothes in two days."

Tsumi looked down. He had, in fact, not changed his clothes in two days.

She stood up again, brushing off her knees. "We'll leave tomorrow. I already restocked the food supplies."

"You... already decided this without me?"

"I decided it when you started crying at the funeral."

"That's cold."

"You're an elf. You'll live for centuries. The world is too big to hide from it."

Tsumi felt a strange mix of annoyance and gratitude bubbling in his chest. He stood slowly, stretched out his limbs, and looked at the sky through the window. The stars were just starting to peek out.

"What kind of journey?"

Frieren walked away, cloak trailing behind her. "The usual," she said over her shoulder. "Dungeons, forgotten tomes, ancient ruins. Maybe some sweets, if you behave."

Tsumi cracked a half-smile, then turned toward his room. He stared at his pack, empty on the floor. His fingers hovered over it for a moment.

He still felt heavy. Still missed Himmel so much it hurt to breathe sometimes.

But something about Frieren's voice—her quiet insistence, her calm certainty—it gave him just enough to move forward.

He started packing.

Ø~Ø


​

Author's note: So, here's the idea. An ex-assassin dies, then wakes up in a quiet, peaceful world: reborn as the son of a hero.

I always thought Akame ga Kill was straight fire. Brutal, emotional, and just… raw. But man, there's barely any fanfics out there for it. So I figured, screw it, I'll write one myself.

And then there's Frieren: Beyond Journey's End. That show hit me differently. It's slow, it's quiet, but it says so much with so little. Watching someone who cares so deeply about her friends, knowing she'll outlive every single one of them… it's heartbreak in slow motion.

So I started thinking: what if someone like that existed in a world like Akame ga Kill? Someone who fought for others, someone who once killed without blinking, now reborn into a calm, peaceful life… and slowly realizing that no matter how warm this world feels, the past never really lets go.

This is Tsumi's story. A boy with too much blood on his hands and too much time left to feel it. A journey that doesn't end, even when everything else does.

Join my Discord Server and read this story ahead via early access if are feeling generous!