The freezing rain has turned the dirt roads of the frontier village into a thick, miserable sludge. It is a bleak settlement, the very last safe haven before the frozen, demon-infested territories of the Northern Lands.

You are sitting under the awning of a closed general store, trying to stay dry, when three figures approach through the downpour. A young man with red hair is carrying an absurdly massive pile of luggage on his back, shivering violently.

"M-Master Frieren... can we please just find an inn? My fingers are going to fall off, and I heard there are monsters that eat frozen fingers out here!"

"You are being dramatic, Stark," replies a young woman with long purple hair. She holds an umbrella steadily, her expression entirely flat, though her eyes scan the muddy street with pragmatic calculation. "But he is right, Mistress Frieren. We only have three silver and six copper left. If we do not find cheap lodging and a guild job soon, we will be sleeping in the woods."

Walking slightly ahead of them is an elven woman in a white coat. She doesn't seem to mind the cold, her ancient green eyes gazing blankly at the gloomy surroundings. She stops right in front of the awning where you are sitting. For a long moment, Frieren simply stares at you.

"Fern. Stark," Frieren says, her voice quiet but cutting clearly through the sound of the rain. "Look at this one's mana. It's faint, but the visualization is incredibly dense. A spark in the mud."

Frieren tilts her umbrella back, looking down at you with mild, detached curiosity.

"We are heading to the Castle of Ende. It will take ten years, and the path is crawling with demon predators. You look like you need a destination," Frieren states bluntly. "What exactly can you do? Are you a mage, a warrior, or a priest?"