A jagged bolt of lightning split the air with a deafening crack, slamming down onto the stage in a blinding yellow flash that lit the entire guildhall like a midday sun. The shockwave rattled every mug on every table, sent loose papers fluttering like panicked birds, and for an instant, the world was nothing but light, heat, and the iron-clad scent of ozone.
When it cleared, one man stood in the heart of the scorched floorboards.
Laxus Dreyar.
Casual as though he'd merely strolled in through the front door, long coat draped over his shoulders, blond hair crackling with residual arcs of lightning, and an expression carved from smug contempt. Eyes half-lidded but sharp as a knife's edge, he swept his gaze across the stunned faces before him, like a wolf stepping into a den of bloodied, half-starved curs.
The whole room was dead silent, save for the low, electric hum bleeding from his skin.
"Damn it," Gray growled under his breath, a note of bitter recognition threading his words. "Freed's here too… and Bickslow's up top with those freaky puppets…"
Sure enough, Freed Justine stood near the entrance, the tall swordsman's gloved hand resting easy on the hilt of his rune blade, green hair catching the flicker of lamplight as he surveyed the room like an executioner awaiting orders.
And high above, perched on the edge of the upper level's banister, Bickslow grinned down with manic glee, tongue darting out between his lips as those four floating seith dolls spun lazily in the air beside him, their empty eyes locked on the crowd like vultures waiting for corpses to drop.
A silence stretched, brittle as old glass, as the weight of Laxus's arrival and his enforcers' quiet, menacing presence settled over the guild like a noose tightening around every throat.
The oppressive silence hung for a beat longer, then Laxus's lips pulled into a slow, humorless grin.
"Well," he drawled, voice like distant thunder, each word carrying sharp and unyielding. "Aren't you all a sorry sight."
His gaze swept the room, taking in the overturned chairs, the scattered mugs, the faces pale and tight with fury or fear or some mixture of both. His eyes lingered a beat longer on the stage where the petrified girls still stood, mid-motion, like a twisted gallery of living statues.
Laxus's grin widened.
"Guess it's about time we sorted out what it really means to be Fairy Tail's strongest."
A low hum of magic rippled from him as he took a step forward, crackling arcs of yellow electricity dancing at his fingertips. The hairs on every neck in the guild rose in warning.
"You've all been getting soft," he sneered. "Playing at being a family, wasting your power on drunks and parties. It's pathetic. So—"
He raised one hand, palm crackling with power.
"Here's how it's gonna work."
A single bolt lanced down from the heavens, landing right next to Lucy, tearing the wooden stage boards apart, charring the stone beneath.
"Starting now, we're holding a little contest. Battle of Fairy Tail. No teams. One-on-one, ten-on-one—I don't give a damn. Magnolia's your battlefield. Beat down anyone you see. Last one standing wins."
He let that settle in for a heartbeat as shocked murmurs rippled through the hall, guildmates exchanging wide-eyed glances, fists clenching.
Freed stepped forward then, his voice crisp and formal in contrast to Laxus's drawl. "I've already placed enchantments across the town's borders. No one leaves, no one interferes. You fight, you follow the rules."
Bickslow's eerie chuckle echoed from the rafters. "Heehee… the dolls are watching~!"
Gray gritted his teeth. "You bastard…"
"And don't worry about the girls," Laxus went on, almost lazily, flicking a glance toward the petrified contestants on stage. "They'll stay like that until this is done. Maybe—" he drew out the word, smirking as he let a lazy bolt arc from fingertip to fingertip "—if you impress me, I'll let Evergreen undo it."
"And if we don't?" Max called, defiance in his voice.
Laxus shrugged, almost bored. "Then in three hours, they turn to dust."
The words landed like a hammerblow.
A stunned silence.
"Three hours," Laxus repeated, raising two fingers. "You got that? That's how long you've got to settle this. Fight or die. Makes no difference to me."
There was a beat—a heavy, suffocating pause where no one spoke, the air thick with tension and disbelief.
Then, from the side, Bickslow let out a high, unsettling laugh, his tongue flicking out between his teeth like some manic snake. He spun his Seith Magic dolls lazily in the air around him, their wide, unblinking eyes tracking every motion in the guild.
"Hehehe… hey, boss," Bickslow called, tilting his head with a wicked grin, "you sure you're not going easy on 'em? I mean—" he gestured broadly with a sweeping motion at the packed guild hall, the mages already rising from their seats, magic pressure beginning to hum in the air like a storm's breath, "—there's only four of us, and what… a hundred of them? Seems real unfair, don't it?"
His dolls echoed him in eerie chorus, their voices high and mocking.
"Unfair, unfair, unfair~!"
The corner of Laxus's mouth twitched upward. "Guess it's not about numbers when every one of you's too soft to win."
A series of heavy thuds sounded as several guild members rose from their places—Gray's fists clenched at his sides, lightning practically crackling around his glare.
"You're a real piece of work, Laxus," Gray growled, teeth bared. "You think this'll prove anything? All you're gonna do is tear this guild apart."
"That's the idea," Laxus shot back, eyes narrowing, grin widening. "Let's see who still deserves to wear Fairy Tail's mark when it's over."
Somewhere near the back, Macao cursed under his breath. Wakaba spat onto the floor.
Max gripped the edge of a table, eyes hard. "You're insane."
Evergreen descended the stage with a triumphant smirk, giving the petrified girls a passing glance like a collector admiring her prize trophies.
"If you want your little girlfriends back," she purred, "all you gotta do is take me down. Think any of you can manage that?"
And right as those words left her lips—
CRACK.
A thick lance of Miasma shot through the air like a dagger.
Evergreen barely had time to widen her eyes before a streak of lightning intercepted the shot mid-flight, detonating it in a flash of yellow and green sparks.
The smoke cleared to reveal Laxus's hand still raised, one lazy tendril of electricity curling off his palm. His gaze locked onto the source.
At the bar's edge, where the shadows hung thick and heavy, Aelius stood. His eyes gleamed, no humor in them now. Jaw tight, shoulders squared, one hand still extended as the fading remnants of his cursed spear shimmered into nothing.
Across the cracked floorboards, the low hum of conversation had died a breath ago. Only the faint clatter of a glass behind the bar broke the stillness. Eyes darted between the two figures, the familiar scent of ozone clinging to the air like a warning.
Laxus shifted his weight, the heavy bulk of him impossible to ignore, a storm barely held in check. The smirk that touched his lips wasn't a friendly one—it was the sharp, ugly kind that meant blood wasn't far behind. He stepped forward, the lightning in his veins crackling faintly at his fingertips, illuminating the jagged scar of tension between them.
"I remember you now, Aelius," Laxus said, his voice rough, half a snarl, words thick with a history most of the room wasn't privy to. "You went and grew up in your time away… but all I hear from the guild since you crawled back is your little sob story. Oh, poor Aelius, what a rough time he had out there," he sneered, the words laced with mock pity.
He took another step, the floor protesting beneath the weight of his boot. His gaze narrowed, electric light catching in the cold gleam of Aelius's eyes.
"And then," Laxus continued, voice lowering like the rumble before a storm breaks, "I hear the Council's got you pegged as a candidate for Wizard Saint. You." The word spat from his mouth like it tasted foul. "After all that pathetic weeping, hiding out like a coward, you come back, throw a couple of tricks, and suddenly you're back in the game? Should've figured these morons would lap that up."
The way he said it—Wizard Saint—it sounded like a curse in his mouth, like it physically hurt him to even utter the words in connection to Aelius. His lip curled, electricity crackling faintly along his knuckles as his gaze bored into the other man like a physical thing.
The words hit the guild like hammer strikes. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Even the air felt heavier—the weight of old grudges and bitter pride filling the space between the two men like thick smoke.
Laxus didn't stop there.
"But for all that whining and for every sorry excuse you've ever thrown out," Laxus continued, his voice lowering further, jagged with contempt, "I'll give you one thing, Aelius—you're strong now."
He lifted a hand, just a fraction, enough for thin arcs of lightning to dance restlessly around his fingers—pale yellow tendrils snapping and curling in the heavy air. The glow caught in his eyes, turning them sharp, glinting with something jagged and mean.
"That spear of yours…" Laxus said, voice low, like gravel dragged across stone, "That would've killed Evergreen."
The words hung there, heavy as iron. The kind of silence that followed wasn't the startled hush of a crowd waiting to see what happened next—it was brittle, the air tight with the threat of something breaking. The guild, scattered across the room like wary animals before a storm, didn't move. Nobody dared to breathe.
Laxus didn't give a damn about them. His attention stayed fixed, locked on Aelius like a hunter sighting down a beast. And there it was. A glint of something sharper than anger, colder than contempt. His mouth twisted in a humorless smirk, one corner lifting like it wanted to be a grin but never quite made it there. It never reached his eyes.
"Funny thing is…" Laxus said, letting the words hang a beat too long. "From what I've heard since you dragged yourself back to this guild, you're all cold and dead inside now. All that 'I don't care about anything' crap you've been peddling like it's armor."
He took a step closer, the lightning around his fingers hissing faintly in the air between them. The magic in the room hummed, sharp as a drawn blade.
"But then," Laxus murmured, eyes narrowing, "soon as Evergreen opened her mouth about beating her being the only way to free the girls… You didn't hold back. You went straight for the kill."
Another beat of brittle silence. His gaze flicked over Aelius, studying him the way a man might study the weight and balance of a weapon he planned to snap in half.
"It doesn't make sense now, does it?" Laxus said, voice quieter now, lower, words like the slow roll of thunder before a storm's edge. "But I get it."
The smirk deepened into something cruel, knowing.
"You got attached. Didn't you? One of those girls she had turned to stone. One of 'em matters to you. Otherwise, you'd have stayed cold, let someone else handle it, kept up your dead-eyed routine. But you lost your temper. Showed your cards. Just like always."
A pause, then a quiet snort of derision.
He leaned in, close enough for the static humming off his skin to lift the edges of Aelius's collar, the air thick with the scent of ozone and sweat-damp wood. His voice dropped into a ragged, predatory whisper.
"So here's what we're gonna do."
Another pulse of lightning danced over his knuckles, flickering in the space between them.
"You're gonna follow the same rules as everybody else. No special treatment because you've got a shiny new title lined up or because half this sorry guild's too soft to hold you accountable. You're under my roof now, and you play my game, by my terms."
He let the words hang, eyes narrowing as the low hiss of his magic crawled along the floor, eager for a reason to lash out.
"And listen real close, 'cause this part's important." A dangerous smile, one without a trace of humor, cut across his face. "If you so much as twitch wrong—if you even think about using that fancy magic of yours to try and tear down Freed's runes… every one of those girls turns to dust. Instantly."
The threat wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It settled over the room like a suffocating weight.
He straightened, lightning snapping off his shoulders as he took a step back, giving Aelius just enough space to feel it—the guild's eyes on them, the crackling strain of magic in the air, the gnawing certainty that this wasn't a fight he could win by sheer will alone.
"You want your little weak spot to walk outta here in one piece?" Laxus shrugged, rolling his shoulders as though it didn't matter to him either way. "Then you keep it clean. Prove you're as cold as you pretend to be… or watch what happens when you're not."
The smirk lingered for a heartbeat longer before he turned his back on Aelius, lightning flashing once as if in warning, a predator content to let the wounded animal limp away—for now.
"Let the Battle of Fairy Tail… begin!" Laxus roared, his voice cracking through the hall like a lightning strike, the words thick with venom and challenge. The sound reverberated through the old wood and stone of the guild like a war drum—one final, cruel decree before the storm truly broke.
In an instant, his body was engulfed in a jagged pulse of golden light, the brilliant glow arcing out like the opening shot of a war. A split second later, he vanished in a burst of electricity, the sharp scent of ozone marking the space where he'd stood.
Freed was gone a heartbeat after him, his green eyes catching Aelius's for the briefest moment—cold, calculating, already two steps ahead. Bickslow gave a wild, unhinged grin, his dolls' mouths flapping open and shut like chattering teeth as his own laughter scraped the air. "Ooooh, this is gonna be fun!" he cackled, Laxus's magic spiraling around him before his form shimmered away.
Evergreen lingered a fraction longer than the others, a hand brushing the corner of her jaw where the spear's wind had singed a lock of hair. Her gaze flicked to Aelius, not with fear, but with thinly veiled disgust and a kind of bitter contempt that only those used to standing above others could muster. "Careful where you aim next time, sweetheart," she hissed, before disappearing in a bolt of golden light.
The guildhall held its breath in the aftermath.
For a moment, it felt like the building itself was waiting to exhale.
Then, murmurs rose like ripples through a pond.
Gray was the first to break the hush, jaw clenched, his voice low and sharp. "That bastard… starting something like this inside the guild? He's lost his damn mind."
No one answered right away. The echoes of Laxus's words still hung in the air like a clinging fog, thick with bitterness and threat. The glow of the scattered lightning lingered along the rafters and floorboards, flickering against faces grim with disbelief and fury.
Elfman's voice followed, low and rough like grinding stone. "It ain't just an attitude anymore." His broad shoulders hunched forward, one fist slamming into his open palm with a sharp crack. "He's turned this into a damn war."
From the bar, Macao spat to the side, a sour grimace twisting his weathered features. "The Battle of Fairy Tail… he's actually gone and done it. Dammit, Laxus." His voice cracked with something between anger and sorrow, the kind of ache a man gets watching a family he helped build rip itself apart.
Wakaba took a long, tense pull from his pipe, his mustache twitching. "We all knew he had a mean streak, but this… this is the kind of thing you don't walk back from."
A hush fell again.
It wasn't just an absence. It was a wound. Half the heart of the guild was cut away and turned to stone, their absence a screaming silence.
Natsu stood near Lucy's statue, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. His jaw was tight, eyes dark with an unfamiliar edge. "They didn't deserve this," he muttered, flames dancing around his fist.
"None of us do," Macao grumbled, clenching his fists.
Then Bixlow's dolls' voices echoed faintly from nowhere, their high-pitched tones mocking:
"Fight-fight-fight~!"
Elfman growled, eyes darting around. "He's watching us already."
At the back of the hall, Aelius still stood where he had been, a shadow amid the electric haze. No one spoke to him, but all eyes flickered his way when Laxus's earlier words came back to them—that spear would've killed Evergreen.
He hadn't denied it.
He hadn't defended it.
The air around him seemed colder than it should be.
Makarov finally rose, his small frame seeming to stretch and harden, shadowed by the flickering light. His face was tight, lips a thin, bloodless line, the years pressing down against him as the weight of the guild bore into his shoulders.
"Listen well," the old master said, his voice quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the storm's edge. "Laxus may think he can force this guild to its knees… but this is Fairy Tail. No one breaks us. Not like this."
He looked around at the remaining members—the hardened old hands, the reckless brawlers, the wounded hearts—and nodded. "We'll fight, if that's what it takes. We'll take our family back."
Elfman cracked his knuckles again. "Like men."
Macao grunted in agreement. "Like a family."
Natsu's fist clenched at his side, his gaze never leaving Lucy's statue. "For them."
Makarov's face was drawn tight with grief and anger, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual, his small frame seeming to bear the weight of a man twice his size. His gaze followed Aelius as the younger mage moved through the thick, oppressive hush that had settled over the guildhall. Every step Aelius took seemed to echo in the silence, the only sound the faint hum of residual magic still clinging to the air.
He came to a halt in front of Erza's statue.
The crimson-haired knight stood frozen in flawless stillness, though considering she was still wearing that gothic lolita outfit, knight may have been a stretch.
Aelius stared at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. The cold detachment he'd worn like armor throughout the confrontation with Laxus and the others flickered, something unreadable moving beneath the surface of his gaze. The shadows from the hanging lanterns played along the line of his jaw, making the sharp angles of his face harsher.
Makarov stepped up beside him, the old man's face carved deep with worry, voice low and heavy with the kind of gravity that settled in your bones. "Aelius," he said, eyes never leaving the line of statues, lingering longest on Erza, "think you can manage one of your old tricks here?"
Aelius didn't answer at once. He stood there, the half-light of the shattered guildhall casting long, warped shadows over his mask as he stepped closer. The usual cold detachment in his gaze flickered—just briefly—as he reached out, his hand hovering an inch from Erza's stone-cold cheek.
"Maybe," Aelius muttered at last, voice rough from magic strain and something hidden. He examined the statue carefully, fingers twitching as faint threads of his magic hummed at their tips. The petrification seemed to shimmer around Erza's form, a delicate web of Evergreen's enchantment magic.
"And the others?" Makarov asked quietly, though his voice carried enough weight to hush even the scattered sounds of debris settling in the broken guildhall. His gaze lingered on the statues—on Cana's frozen defiance, Lucy's stunned surprise, Mira's unreadable, sorrowful stillness—and then back to Aelius.
Aelius didn't turn. He stayed fixed where he was, one hand raised, cursed energy like threads of pale smoke curling around his fingers. His eyes were sharp, focused, and for a moment it looked like he didn't even hear Makarov—until he spoke, low, flat, each word landing like a dropped coin in an empty room.
"I can't."
The admission wasn't ashamed or apologetic. It was factual, cold as the air in the ruined hall.
"Evergreen's magic is singular," Aelius went on, his voice tightening. "It's anchored directly to her will. The moment she locked eyes with them, she spun a thread—one to each target, binding them in stasis. But it's not uniform. It reacts to the individual." He gestured faintly at Erza, his fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air. "Her enchantment on Erza's thinner. Weaker. Could be her false eye, could be sheer force of will, but whatever it is—it's the only one with a fault line."
He exhaled through his teeth, the sound sharp in the stillness. "I can interject my own magic between Evergreen's and Erza's. Force a wedge into that fault, thread my own magic through the gap, eating evergreens away without snapping the structure. But the room I've got to work with…" He held up two fingers, the space between them barely the thickness of a sheet of parchment. "That's it. Less than a breath, less than a heartbeat."
Gray's jaw clenched, and Elfman let out a soft, frustrated snarl under his breath.
Aelius turned his head slightly, not quite meeting their eyes—but his gaze, for the briefest flicker, angled toward Levy. A barely perceptible tilt, like instinct pulling him where his voice wouldn't.
"There's no gap for the others," he said, voice low and unflinching. "If I try what I'm going to with Erza on them… the instant my magic makes contact, they'll turn to dust."
The words hung there, sharp and final, no room for misinterpretation.
Makarov's shoulders sagged—not in defeat, but the way a man sags when the fight he wants isn't the fight he's getting. His eyes remained on Aelius, hard and unblinking.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
"I deal in odds. And Erza's the only one with odds better than none."
Another long pause.
"Then do it," Makarov said at last. "No mistakes."
Aelius gave a humorless half-smile, his magic flaring again in that sharp, pale gleam. "I'll break her free," he murmured. "Or she'll break trying. Either way—better than leaving her like this."
And without another word, Aelius began.
He lifted one hand, fingers splaying in a deliberate, almost ritualistic motion. A faint, unnatural shimmer bled from his palm—a colorless, glassy sheen, like heat waves bending the air. It slithered out, coiling toward Erza's petrified form. The guild hall's hush tightened, every member watching with held breath, as though the very walls of Fairy Tail itself were leaning in to see if the impossible could be done.
Gray tore his gaze away first. Jaw set, shoulders tight, he muttered under his breath, "We can't sit here. Laxus started this—he's out there somewhere." He jerked his head toward the door, addressing Elfman and the others. "I say we track that bastard down and end this."
Elfman grunted, cracking his knuckles, his face set in grim lines. "Damn right. Can't call yourself a man, letting someone pull this kind of stunt and just wait it out."
Natsu, flames curling at the corners of his mouth, growled, "I'm gonna rip him apart."
Without another word, he bolted for the guild's front doors, a streak of wild motion, his boots slamming against the wooden floor with enough force to rattle the tables. Gray shouted after him, but Natsu wasn't listening. Not now. His blood was up, and every instinct in his body screamed for a fight.
He reached the doors, one hand outstretched to throw them open—
And slammed headfirst into an invisible wall.
A crackle of bluish light shimmered in the air where he struck it, knocking him back a step. The heat around his fists flared brighter as he snarled. "What the—?!"
On the surface of the air itself, like a ripple through glass, glowing runic letters flickered to life. Harsh, angular script that hovered a beat too long before settling into a readable line:
NO ONE OVER 80 YEARS MAY LEAVE
The guild's remaining members stared. Gray stalked over, glaring at the runes. "What the hell is this?"
"It's one of Freed's enchantments," Makarov said grimly, his face tight, as though he'd known but hoped it wouldn't be true. "It was part of the trap Laxus laid out for us."
"Yeah, but—" Natsu bared his teeth, jabbing a thumb at his own chest. "I'm not over eighty! What kinda screwed-up magic is this?!" he pounded a fist against the invisible barrier, snarling in frustration as the runes flared in response. "Damn it!"
Makarov's face was grim, his gaze tight on the glowing script. "Those who can go, move. Now."
Elfman cracked his knuckles, stepping up. "I'll bring him back in pieces."
Macao and Wakaba exchanged a glance, then nodded. "We'll cover the west wing."
Gray shot one more look at Natsu. "Stay here. We'll handle this."
"Like hell I—!"
"Natsu." The old man's voice cut through the rising heat in the room like a blade. "You can't leave. That's the end of it."
For a moment, the Dragon Slayer looked ready to tear the place apart, but then, jaw clenched and fists trembling, he backed down with a furious growl.
Gray turned on his heel, Elfman falling in beside him. Macao and Wakaba moved out the other way. The heavy doors creaked as the ones able to leave slipped through them, the oppressive hush returning in their wake.
Back near the statues, Aelius worked in silence, the glow of his magic barely visible, a bead of sweat tracing his temple as he kept his focus sharp between Erza's petrified form and the brittle, volatile curse holding her. The hum of magic in the room was thin and brittle, every heartbeat pressing heavier in the growing quiet.
Natsu snarled, baring his teeth as he hurled himself at the invisible barrier again. The runes rippled like water struck by a stone, flaring angrily each time his fists collided with them, spitting out a sharp crackle of magic with every hit. "Let me through, damn it!" he roared, voice hoarse with frustration.
Happy fluttered nervously nearby, wringing his little blue paws together, tail flicking anxiously. "Natsu, buddy, maybe you should—"
Boom. Another hit. The runes barely budged.
"You know it won't work!" Happy pleaded, darting up beside him. "That thing hasn't moved since you started!"
"Like hell I'm staying behind while those guys fight!" Natsu growled, pulling back to swing again.
But then—without warning—the wall pulsed, shimmering as glowing names began to etch themselves across its surface, floating letters of light that flickered into view like some ancient scoreboard. The names appeared one after the other in curling script:
Wakaba vs. Macao
Gray vs. Bixlow
Elfman vs. Freed
Happy's ears drooped. "Natsu… look."
The Dragon Slayer paused, panting, his knuckles bruised from hitting solid force, and followed Happy's trembling paw. The runes shimmered again, and a square of light opened like a scrying window in midair. Inside, they saw Wakaba and Macao already squaring off in one of the guild's upper halls—Macao swearing as Wakaba ducked a gout of flame, the two old veterans moving like men with decades of rivalry behind them.
"Tch." Natsu stepped back, teeth gritted. "So that bastard turned this into a damn tournament."
Happy's wings drooped. "I don't like this, Natsu. This is bad."
More names flickered onto the wall. Reedus vs. Warren. Alzack vs. Jet.
The screen split into smaller panels, each showing flashes of combat breaking out across the guild's sprawling halls. Shouts, bursts of light, and the sharp ring of clashing magic echoed faintly from the scrying runes.
Back near the statues, Aelius remained still, one palm hovering barely an inch from Erza's cheek, the slender threads of his magic weaving in and around the fragile bonds of Evergreen's petrification spell. Sweat slicked his brow as he worked, tuned out from the rest of it, but the flickering light of the rune screen reflected in his cold eyes.
Natsu growled low in his throat, fire licking from the corners of his mouth. "Soon as these runes drop, Laxus is mine."
Happy swallowed hard. "Yeah… yeah, we'll get him together."
But the runes didn't falter. The names kept appearing. The fights played out like twisted games in the heart of their own guild.
The heavy stillness in the room had thickened like fog, thick and suffocating in the air. Thirty minutes had crawled by like a dying animal, each second dragging its heels. Ten long minutes since Natsu had stopped hurling himself against the cursed runes, his bruised fists flexing restlessly at his sides, the ever-present flicker of fire dimmed but not gone. He and Happy had taken to pacing in tight, anxious circles, their eyes flicking between the shimmering rune screens and the statues of their friends, particularly Erza's unmoving form.
Every so often, a grunt of pain or a burst of light from the scrying windows would draw their eyes—a flash of gray trading punches with Bixlow, Elfman darting around Freed's runes with a snarl—but none of it made the waiting any easier. Makarov sat slumped against the far wall, arms crossed, his lined face grim and unreadable. Nobody spoke much anymore. The sound of battle was distant, the guild's walls thick and muffling. But in this room, it was mostly silence.
Then, a sharp, crystalline crack split the air.
The sound was small at first. A hairline fracture, like ice splitting on a pond.
Natsu's head whipped around instantly, eyes wide. "What the hell was that?!"
Happy, mid-nervous flutter, yelped and dove behind Natsu's shoulder. "I-It's Erza!"
They all turned, just in time to see Aelius lowering his hand.
The thin, green glow of Evergreen's petrification spell shimmered faintly around Erza's statue, the faintest of fissures running across her shoulder like a crack in marble. For a split second, the sight of it made Natsu's blood run cold.
"No, no, no—" he bolted forward. "You idiot, you're breaking her!"
"Aelius, stop!" Happy wailed, wings flapping frantically. "She's gonna shatter!"
But Aelius didn't respond. He just stepped back, his expression still taut with focus, though the weight of exhaustion was beginning to show in the sharpness of his features and the sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes never left Erza.
Another crack.
And then, like glass finally giving way, the spell broke.
A shimmer of light washed over Erza's form, the greenish hue dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The cracks spread, but not through flesh or stone—they ran along the surface of the petrification magic itself. And with a final, sharp snap, the entire enchantment shattered into glimmering motes of harmless light.
Erza doubled over with a ragged gasp, catching herself on one knee, her crimson hair falling over her shoulders as her breathing came in sharp, desperate pulls. Sweat beaded on her brow, her face pale, but her eyes were sharp and burning with life the moment she looked up.
"Thank-" she started, hoarse. "Thank you, Aelius."
"Erza!" Natsu shouted, relief and wild joy in his voice as he bolted to her side, dropping to a knee and grabbing her shoulders like she might vanish again. "Damn it, you scared me! I thought you were gonna break into a million pieces!"
Happy sniffled loudly, tears already building up. "Y-you were stone and everything and then you cracked, and Natsu was yelling, and it was horrible!"
Erza blinked. She looked from Natsu to Happy, then to Aelius, who hadn't moved far, his shoulders tense, his breathing measured but tight.
Makarov approached then, his face softening for the first time in what felt like hours. "It worked," he said quietly. "Thank you, Aelius."
Natsu was already standing before Aelius could respond, fire roaring back into his gut, fury reigniting in his bones. "Good. 'Cause now we've got Erza back—" he pointed toward the flickering rune screens still showing their guildmates forced into Laxus's sick little war. "And we're gonna tear those bastards apart."
Erza rose slowly, rolling her shoulder and cracking her knuckles, her gaze already sharpening on the nearest screen. "Count me in."
Aelius said nothing, turning away and quietly leaning against the wall, one hand over his side as though to steady himself, letting them make their plans.
The battle wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.
Erza didn't waste time.
She pushed herself upright fully, rolling her neck with a low crack and surveying the room like a soldier taking stock of the battlefield. Her eyes settled briefly on the frozen forms of the others—Levy, Mira, Cana, Bisca, Juvia—before flicking toward the glowing rune screens still suspended in the air. Each one showed a different skirmish happening elsewhere in the guild. The battle was well underway. Time was running out.
Without another word, she turned and strode for the exit, her armor already flaring into place with a brilliant flash of light. Her blade shimmered into being at her side. She didn't look back.
Natsu surged forward immediately, one hand slamming into the invisible barrier again. The magic flared but didn't break. "Come on!" he bellowed, teeth bared. "I'm not over eighty! What the hell is this?!"
Happy fluttered next to him, ears drooped. "It's not fair…"
But the runes didn't care.
They didn't flicker. Didn't move. Didn't even seem to notice him. The wall remained solid and impassable. Natsu stood there for a few seconds longer, fists clenched, smoke rising from his skin, before he finally turned and stomped away with a low growl, muttering curses under his breath.
Across the room, Aelius moved.
He walked slowly, methodically, toward the bar at the far wall of the ruined main hall. Bottles still lined the shelves behind it, some miraculously untouched by the chaos of the spellfire and madness outside. He reached over the bar, found a full bottle of something dark and unlabeled, and popped the cork with a practiced flick of his fingers.
He didn't bother with a glass.
He lifted his mask, resting it against his head as he tilted his head back and drank deep, not for celebration, not even for pain. Just to drown the tremor in his bones. The strain of threading his magic between Evergreen's curse and Erza's soul still clung to him like oil. Every nerve in his fingers felt raw.
Makarov stepped up beside him, quieter now, his posture weary but still carrying the old, immovable weight of command. The master watched him drink for a moment, then said softly, "You going after him?"
Aelius didn't answer right away. He lowered the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set it on the bar with a dull clink.
Then he turned his head just enough to look at Makarov sidelong. "Yeah."
"Good," the old man said. But there was something more in his tone. A hesitation.
Aelius picked up on it immediately, his expression tightening. "What?"
Makarov met his gaze directly. "Don't kill them."
That gave Aelius pause.
He didn't scoff. He didn't argue. But his jaw tensed and his shoulders drew back slightly, the edge of tension winding through his lean frame like coiled wire. "They turned on the guild, Master. On their own family, according to you."
"I know," Makarov said, voice low, heavy with emotion. "And they'll answer for it. But they're still our family. Laxus… Freed… the others. I watched them grow. I held them when they were sick, I listened when they cried. That doesn't excuse what they're doing now, but it means something. It has to."
Aelius looked away, back toward the flickering screens.
He exhaled through his nose. "No promises."
"Aelius."
The name stopped him in his tracks.
Makarov's voice was firmer now. "Promise me. No killing. No matter what they do. They lost their way, but that doesn't mean they can't find it again."
For a long moment, Aelius said nothing. The tension lingered. Then he gave the faintest nod—curt, reluctant.
"I'll hold back," he said. "As long as they don't give me a reason not to."
Makarov let that be enough.
But only for a moment.
Aelius still sat hunched at the bar, one hand wrapped around the neck of the half-empty bottle. Whatever had been in it wasn't the sweet stuff—it's bite—if he could feel it anyway—had settled into his core, rejuvenating him better than any doctor, or medicine could hope. His elbow rested on the bar's edge, fingers drumming faintly against the lacquered wood, slow and irregular. His eyes flicked back and forth between Natsu, trying to follow erza, and the rune screens flickering in and out nearby, names shifting, fights continuing without them.
Then the wood beside him creaked.
Makarov climbed onto the barstool with a quiet grunt, his diminutive frame landing beside the younger man. He didn't say anything at first, just folded his hands in front of him, watching the slow rise and fall of Aelius's shoulders.
"Y'know," Aelius muttered without looking, his voice scratchy from magic strain, "if I squint hard enough, you almost look like someone trying not to pass out from stress."
Makarov snorted. "You try keeping a guild like this together when every damn member thinks they're the star of a tragic opera."
Aelius grinned—barely faint, and crooked, barely seen from behind the bottle. "No offense, old man, but you're starting to look like the stress aged you backwards. You sure you're not just three raccoons in a robe trying to pull this off with sheer optimism?"
The Master raised an eyebrow, grumbling, "I'll remember that the next time I patch you up."
"Patch me up, buy me a drink—aren't you supposed to be a father figure?"
"Don't push it, boy," Makarov said, though his tone was more amused than irritated. "I'm old, not deaf. Or stupid."
"I dunno, you let Laxus grow up thinking he was god's gift to the guild. That's either stupid or dangerously optimistic."
That earned a laugh—a dry, bitter one from Makarov's gut. "Don't remind me."
They fell into a beat of quiet after that. Aelius tipped the bottle back again, lips barely touching the rim, but he didn't drink this time. Just let the weight of the glass sit in his hand.
"I'll go after him soon," he said eventually, the humor draining from his voice like water down a crack in the stone. "Just… let me have a few minutes to get my magic back."
Makarov gave a quiet nod. "I know you're hurting more than you let on."
"Don't get sentimental."
"I'm not," Makarov said. "I'm getting realistic."
Aelius didn't argue. Didn't joke again either. He set the bottle down with a dull thud, its bottom clunking hollowly against the scarred wood of the bar. His fingers lingered on the glass a second longer, then slid away. The bottle spun gently once under his palm, then stilled. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to glance at Makarov, and for the first time since the dust had settled around Erza's feet, there was no mask of sardonic distance on his face.
"It's no surprise," he said, voice low, the words carved out with the flat edge of a tired knife. "And for once, not one I care to hide."
Makarov didn't press—he didn't need to. He'd lived through enough wars of emotion and power to recognize the exact weight riding in the boy's voice. And even if Aelius didn't name her, the old man already knew. He had seen the way Aelius glanced toward the statues earlier—one in particular. And he'd seen the way he hadn't looked again since.
"She'll learn," Aelius muttered, not with any bite, but with the weight of someone who'd already accepted the next steps before they arrived. "Probably twist it into something it was never meant to be. Call me her shield. Or worse, act like I'm some damn safeguard she has to protect too."
His mouth twitched—not a smile, not quite. Just a faint shift at the corner, a flicker of irony at his own expense. "And she won't back off. That's not who she is. You've seen it. She'll stay close. Maybe closer now. Thinks she can help."
He reached for the bottle again, more out of habit than need, letting the glass rest in his hand.
"But I'm done trying to keep her away. Keep you all away," Aelius said, quieter now, the edge in his voice dulled by something less volatile—wearier, more worn. His eyes stayed fixed on the bar, on the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. "I warned her. Warned all of you. Told her what happens to people who get close to me. Told her twice. Maybe more."
He exhaled slowly, a dry breath through his nose, and his fingers resumed their slow, rhythmic tap against the side of the glass. Not impatient—just thinking. The kind of thinking that comes after you've already lost the argument with yourself.
"I mean the whole damn guild," he said after a moment. "You, Gray, Erza, hell—even Natsu, loud idiot that he is. I kept my distance for a reason." His hand curled slightly, fingertips tightening against the glass. "But her…"
He trailed off, lips pressing together for a beat.
"Levy never listened. Just kept showing up. Talking. Asking questions. Being there." His voice didn't soften so much as lose its bark—what was left behind was something stripped down, bare. "And maybe I didn't stop her. Maybe I didn't want her to stop."
Another pause. This time, the silence felt like something settled rather than withheld.
"Guess I got tired of pretending I don't care.." He turned slightly, eyes finding Makarov's. "I care about all of you. Enough, I don't want you guys to kick the bucket just yet anyway."
That, at least, sounded like the truth. No anger in it. No despair. Just quiet, reluctant honesty.
Makarov nodded slowly, the smallest flicker of a knowing smile beneath his mustache. "Good. About time you stopped treating every connection like it's a curse waiting to land."
Aelius didn't answer. He didn't have to. His silence said enough—and this time, it didn't sound like retreat.
"I'm too deep in now, I suppose," he muttered under his breath, barely more than a whisper. But Makarov heard it—of course he did. And the faint grin that tugged at the old man's lips grew just a touch wider, a flicker of quiet satisfaction dancing in his eyes.
Aelius finally stood, pushing the bottle aside with a dull scrape across the bar top. He stretched his shoulders once, rolled his neck, then exhaled slow through his nose—like a man stepping into something inevitable.
"Well, old man," he said, casting a sidelong glance toward Makarov, a wry edge just barely clipping the corners of his voice, "I'm off to go kick your grandson's ass."
Makarov chuckled, low and tired, but deeply amused. "Do me a favor and don't put him through a wall. Or at least not too many."
"No promises," Aelius muttered, already turning away, his coat catching the dim light as he moved—quiet, steady, and for the first time in a long while, no longer walking alone.