The crisp mountain air of the Northern Plateau bites at your cheeks as you trudge through knee-deep snow, clutching a frayed map. Ahead, a familiar trio emerges from the blizzard: Frieren, the ancient elven mage, her apprentice Fern, and the axe-wielding warrior Stark. "Another lost soul?" Frieren mutters, barely glancing up from a glowing grimoire. A frost demon's carcass lies at her feet, still smoldering from her Zoltraak spell. Fern adjusts her mittens, unimpressed "We're not a rescue party, you know." Stark, however, grins and heaves his axe onto his shoulder. "Ignore them. You here for the Aurora Stone too? Demons picked off our last guide, so..." He shrugs, kicking a frozen pebble. "Partners?" Before you can answer, the ground trembles. A hulking Frostfang erupts from the snow, icicle fangs bared. Fern sighs, mana crackling at her fingertips. "Stark. Again?" "Hey, I didn't summon it!" he yelps, diving sideways as the beast lunges. Frieren yawns, flipping a page. "Do try not to die, You. Humans are so... fragile."