Several days slipped by, each sunrise painting the high windows of the Fairy Tail guildhall in hues that still felt subtly wrong, yet achingly beautiful. The routine Endralian had fallen into – chores, observation, cautious magical practice – was slowly carving out a space for itself amidst the persistent, low-grade anxiety that had become his constant companion.
He continued the sensing exercise Makarov had prescribed, seeking out quiet corners or the relative solitude of the storeroom that served as his makeshift bedroom. The cold, static hum deep within his chest hadn't lessened, an unsettling reminder of the alien power fused to his soul, a constant, low-frequency thrum beneath his skin. But the raw panic it initially inspired was slowly being replaced by a wary familiarity. He was learning, painstakingly, to acknowledge its presence without immediate recoil, like cautiously learning the habits of a dangerous, unpredictable animal that inexplicably shared his cage. It didn't feel like his power; it felt like something other, something watching him from within.
One sun-drenched afternoon, he was near the guild's informal training area behind the main hall, ostensibly sweeping stray leaves and debris that had blown in from the nearby East Forest, but mostly using the repetitive, mindless task as cover for observation. Several of the guild's younger members – those not yet old or skilled enough for serious missions – were practicing basic techniques under the loose, smoke- wreathed supervision of Wakaba Mine. Endralian watched Macao Conbolt struggle to sustain a controlled purple flame, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. Nearby, Cana Alberona practiced shuffling her worn deck of cards with a dexterity that seemed almost unnatural for her age, faint trails of blue magical energy tracing intricate, fleeting patterns in the air around her nimble fingers. His attention, however, inevitably, magnetically, drifted towards the whirlwind of volatile energy that was Luxia Dreyar.
She stood apart, as always, radiating an aura of intense concentration heavily laced with her usual haughty disdain for what she clearly considered elementary practice beneath her prodigious talent. Crackling sparks, far more potent and numerous than anything the others produced, danced around her small frame like angry yellow fireflies trapped in her personal atmosphere. She wasn't just practicing; she was performing, her every movement calculated, theatrical, designed to demonstrate her innate superiority. Her signature blonde hair was pulled back tightly from her face, emphasizing the fierce, almost desperate determination etched in her young features as she gathered lightning magic between her outstretched hands, the air around her visibly distorting with contained power. Endralian could feel the very atmosphere prickle and ionize, the sharp, metallic scent of ozone stinging his nostrils.
"Hmph! Pay attention, amateurs! This is how true power looks!" Luxia declared loudly, though no one had actually asked for a demonstration, her voice sharp with youthful arrogance. She thrust her hands forward, unleashing the gathered energy towards one of the battered, straw-stuffed training dummies. For a breathtaking, terrifying moment, brilliant yellow lightning surged, blindingly bright, promising immense, destructive power... and then it sputtered, collapsing in on itself with an audible fizzle. The bolt launched, yes, but it lacked cohesion, structure, dissipating halfway to the target in an embarrassing, chaotic shower of uncontrolled, frantic sparks that skittered harmlessly across the dusty ground. Worse, the unstable energy seemed to backlash violently, grounding itself through her. The lightning danced wildly across her own body, making her yelp in surprise and sharp pain, a sound starkly different from her usual confident pronouncements. Her meticulously styled hair instantly frizzed out in all directions, standing on end like a startled cat's caught in a particularly violent thunderstorm, several strands smoking faintly with the acrid smell of burnt hair filling the air. The sudden, violent energy drain left her visibly pale beneath her tan, her small body trembling uncontrollably. She stumbled back a step, her usual confident, arrogant posture completely collapsing for one revealing split second, exposing a surprising, almost shocking physical frailty beneath the immense magical power she wielded. She caught herself quickly, straightening up with sheer force of will, but not before Endralian, standing nearby with his broom frozen mid-sweep, saw everything – the spectacular failure, the ridiculously fried hair, the momentary, undeniable weakness.
Luxia whipped her head around, her face flushed a furious crimson that warred dramatically with her pallor – a volatile mixture of physical exertion, acute embarrassment, and pure, unadulterated fury. Her stormy eyes, wide with mortification and disbelief at her own failure, immediately locked onto Endralian, who stood paralyzed, broom still held aloft, unable to hide the flicker of stunned surprise from his own face. "What are you looking at, Glow-boots?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking humiliatingly on the last syllable, betraying her carefully cultivated composure. The uncontrolled sparks still popping erratically around her fried hair only emphasized her utterly flustered, undignified state. "Stop staring! It's not funny! Turn around! Go away!"
Ordinarily, years of ingrained social caution and the recent, raw fear of survival would have screamed at Endralian to retreat. He would have offered a neutral, placating murmur, averted his gaze instantly, prioritized de-escalation and self-preservation above all else. But something about the raw, unfiltered humanity of the scene – the mighty, prideful Luxia Dreyar, granddaughter of the Master, wielder of terrifying lightning, standing there looking like she'd picked a fight with a storm cloud and emphatically lost, utterly mortified and trying desperately, transparently, to cover her vulnerability with sheer volume and bluster... it bypassed his carefully constructed defenses entirely. It wasn't just data to be logged for future social maneuvering. It wasn't just a character moment confirming lore about her potential frailty. It was... real. And unexpectedly, absurdly... funny. Endearingly, vulnerably funny. The carefully constructed wall around his emotions, the one he'd been reinforcing brick by painful brick since arriving in this impossible world, didn't just crack; it crumbled into dust, letting something unexpected flood through. A small, involuntary sound escaped him – not quite a laugh, more of a surprised, choked chuckle, startling himself as much as her. It was followed, astonishingly, by a genuine, unguarded smile spreading across his face, lighting up his features in a way that felt foreign, rusty, yet undeniably real. It was the first truly spontaneous, positive emotion he'd allowed himself to feel, let alone express, since the Ender Dragon's defeat.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis, snapping into sharper, more vibrant, more present focus. The guild wasn't just a setting from a story he watched on a screen. Makarov wasn't just a powerful character archetype fulfilling a narrative role. Luxia wasn't just an arrogant rival trope destined for a certain role in the future. They were real. Flawed. Vulnerable. Prone to spectacular failures and embarrassing bad hair days caused by magical mishaps. The invisible barrier he'd unconsciously maintained between himself – Leo, the anomaly from another world – and this tangible, breathing reality dissolved in that single, shared moment of unexpected absurdity. He wasn't watching a show anymore. He wasn't playing a game. He was in it, breathing its Ethernano-rich air, feeling its chaotic currents wash over him.
Luxia, momentarily stunned into silence by his unexpected reaction – the spontaneous smile, the soft chuckle instead of the anticipated fear or careful indifference – seemed utterly lost for words, her anger momentarily short-circuiting. She just gaped at him, her face still flaming red beneath the glorious disaster zone of her static-charged hair, her mouth opening and closing silently like a stranded fish gasping for air. Finally, letting out an incoherent sputtering sound that was equal parts incoherent fury and profound humiliation, she spun on her heel with a dramatic flourish that almost made her stumble again, and stormed off towards the main hall, presumably in desperate search of a comb, a mirror, and the swift restoration of her shattered dignity.
Endralian watched her retreating back, the smile lingering on his face, a warmth spreading through his chest that felt entirely unfamiliar. He felt... lighter. The constant, crushing weight of anxiety, the pervasive feeling of being utterly adrift and fundamentally alone in an alien universe, had noticeably lessened, replaced by a strange, buoyant connection. He lowered the broom, the mundane task forgotten, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight suddenly seeming brighter. He turned, heading back towards the main hall himself, his steps feeling less hesitant, more grounded on the solid earth beneath his glowing boots. As he passed through the archway connecting the training yard to the guild proper, he happened to glance at a large, ornately framed, polished metal shield hanging on the wall – likely a trophy from some long-ago guild victory, now serving as gleaming decoration. He caught his reflection in its mirror-like surface and stopped dead, captivated, truly seeing himself for the first time.
He'd subconsciously avoided mirrors, avoided truly looking at himself since waking up in this world, perhaps afraid of confronting the full extent of the change, the loss of his old self. Now, he stared, truly stared, taking in the details. The face looking back was undeniably younger, the features softer, rounder than he remembered his own being at that age, still holding a trace of childhood innocence he felt utterly disconnected from. The eyes were wide, startlingly bright violet, still feeling alien in their unnatural intensity but undeniably his eyes now, reflecting the warm light of this world, holding a new spark of awareness. The short, tousled black hair with its subtle violet tips, catching the light. The strange, sleeveless black and purple jacket that had materialized with him, somehow translating the blocky pixels of his Minecraft skin into tangible, worn fabric – it no longer looked like a costume, but simply... his clothes. This small, lean, violet-eyed boy wasn't just a vessel he was piloting, an avatar in a terrifying new game. It was him. Leo. Endralian. Existing here, breathing this Ethernano-rich air, standing on this solid Fiorean ground, casting a reflection in a Fairy Tail trophy.
The sudden, sharp clarity of this realization, the undeniable proof of his physical presence here, combined with the lingering warmth sparked by the unexpected, humanizing connection with Luxia – the shared moment of imperfect reality – solidified something deep within him, something that had been tentatively forming for days. He couldn't just drift anymore, observing from the sidelines, hiding behind a crumbling mental shield, waiting passively for a game over screen that would never come. This world, these people, they were real, flaws and all, capable of surprising vulnerability and unexpected warmth. If he was going to survive, truly live, not just exist in a state of perpetual fear, he needed to anchor himself. He needed to belong somewhere, even in this impossible, terrifying, beautiful world. He needed to stop being just a guest, a stray taken in by the Master's kindness, and take the step to become part of this chaotic, loud, destructive, fiercely loyal family.
With a newfound, quiet resolve firming his steps and squaring his small shoulders in a way that felt less like acting and more like settling into his own skin, he sought out Makarov. He found the Master sitting at his customary table near the bar, nursing a tall mug of something frothy and observing the guild's usual afternoon boisterousness with a fond, paternal eye that missed little. Endralian approached respectfully, weaving through the bustling tables, waiting for a brief lull in the nearby shouting match over a dropped piece of cake before speaking, his heart pounding a steady rhythm of nervous determination against his ribs.
"Master Makarov?" he began, his voice clearer, steadier than it had been just hours before, the childish pitch less jarring now that he felt more settled, more present within himself.
Makarov looked up, his gaze sharp but welcoming, raising an inquisitive white eyebrow. "Yes, lad? What is it? Need more chores already?"
Endralian took a deep breath, meeting the Master's gaze directly, holding it, letting him see the shift within. "I want to join Fairy Tail," he stated, the words simple, direct, imbued with the weight of his hard-won decision. "Officially. If... if you'll have me."
He braced himself instinctively, expecting questions, hesitation, perhaps a test of his unstable magic, a trial period to prove his worthiness or loyalty – something, anything to acknowledge the inherent risk of accepting someone like him, someone with unknown origins and volatile, alien power pulsing beneath his skin.
Makarov observed him for a long, silent moment, his gaze sharp, perceptive, seeming to read the layers of fear, loneliness, and newfound resolve etched onto the boy's young face. Endralian thought he saw a flicker of deep understanding, perhaps even relief, soften the old man's features, a recognition of the subtle but profound shift in the boy's demeanor, the newfound clarity shining in those strange violet depths. Then, the Master's weathered face broke into a wide, warm, utterly genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Hoh hoh!" Makarov chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, momentarily drawing the attention of those nearby, who quickly looked away again under his mild glare. "About time, lad! I was wondering when you'd finally decide to make it official! Thought you might just keep sweeping floors forever!" He waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away any notion of formality or doubt. "Of course, we'll have you! No need for such a serious face! Welcome, Endralian, welcome officially to the Fairy Tail family!" He turned and gestured towards Macao, who was nearby attempting to mediate the cake dispute. "Macao! Forget the cake for a moment and get the stamp ready! We have a new member joining the ranks! A proper welcome is in order!"
Endralian blinked, momentarily speechless, taken aback by the sheer, uncomplicated ease of it all. No tests? No trials? No probing questions about the void humming beneath his skin or the world he came from? Just... welcome? It was exactly like the story he remembered, the almost reckless, unconditional acceptance that formed the very core of this impossible, wonderful guild. The warmth sparked by Luxia's mishap spread further, a comforting tide chasing away some of the persistent internal chill.
Macao grinned broadly, abandoning the cake argument with visible relief and fetching a small, intricately carved wooden box containing the guild stamp and an array of different colored ink pads. "Alright, newest recruit!" Macao announced cheerfully, approaching Endralian with the open box. "Big decision time! Where do you want the mark of the fairy, and what color? Gotta make it official, show off your guild pride!"
Endralian hesitated, looking down at his own thin arms, suddenly uncertain and self- conscious under Macao's expectant gaze. Where did he want this permanent symbol of belonging? On his arm like Natsu? His chest like Gray? He felt a strange pressure to choose correctly. As he pondered, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the simple choice, a familiar, slightly haughty voice cut in sharply from beside him. He hadn't even noticed her approach. "Put it on his shoulder. Right here." Luxia had reappeared, her blonde hair mostly tamed (though still retaining a certain defiant, static-charged puffiness), her composure seemingly restored, though a faint pink tinge still colored her cheeks, betraying her earlier embarrassment. She pointed decisively, almost imperiously, to Endralian's left deltoid, the spot where the arm met the shoulder, clearly visible with his sleeveless jacket. "It's practical. Won't get in the way during fights. And make it dark purple," she added, glancing pointedly at his eyes before quickly looking away, as if the suggestion cost her something. "Matches his weird eyes."
Endralian looked at her, surprised by the unsolicited, oddly specific, almost... considerate suggestion. He glanced down at the indicated spot on his shoulder. Visible, yes, but not overly prominent. A good balance between pride and discretion. Dark purple... it did match. He looked back at Luxia, who met his gaze briefly with a challenging look, chin tilted up, daring him to disagree or question her aesthetic judgment, before pointedly examining a loose thread on her tunic. He considered it for a moment, the unexpectedness of her input oddly grounding. He gave a small, decisive nod. "Okay," he said, turning back to Macao, his voice firm. "There. Dark purple sounds right."
Macao chuckled, seemingly unfazed by Luxia's imperious interjection. "Dark purple it is! Good choice, kid. Matches the jacket too. Alright, hold still now, this stings a bit, but it's worth it." He carefully inked the stamp with the deep purple pigment, took aim, and pressed it firmly against the skin of Endralian's left shoulder. There was a sharp, magical sting, intense but surprisingly brief, that felt incredibly, grounding-ly real, another anchor tethering him firmly to this world, this moment, this decision. Macao pulled the stamp away with a flourish, leaving behind the iconic, stylized fairy symbol, rendered in a deep, vibrant, void-like purple against his pale skin.
Endralian looked down at the mark. It felt strange, tingling slightly with residual magic, undeniably alien yet profoundly significant. Permanent. A symbol of belonging in a world he still barely understood, a world that shouldn't exist but undeniably did. He thought back to watching the anime on his computer screen, a lifetime ago in another universe, seeing Natsu and Lucy and the others proudly display their marks, symbols of their unbreakable bonds, their chosen family. Joining had seemed so simple, so straightforward in the story, and incredibly, impossibly, it was that simple here too. Fairy Tail... what a ridiculously warm, accepting, reckless, chaotic, wonderful guild. A complex, swirling vortex of emotions washed over him – a surge of genuine warmth, a tentative sense of belonging he hadn't dared to hope for just days ago, profound gratitude for the simple, unquestioning acceptance, all sharply contrasted with the cold, alien void-energy still humming beneath the new mark, a constant, chilling reminder of his otherness, and the lingering, deep-seated fear of his impossible situation. He was part of the family now, marked as one of them, bound by magic and symbol. But the journey, the struggle to understand himself, his power, and his precarious place in this vibrant, dangerous, impossible world, was only just beginning.