The wind in Magnolia, I must admit, was considerably friendlier and less prone to giving one hypothermia than the mountain winds. It carried the civilised smell of fresh bread baking in some nearby bakery, of herbal tea from some posh café, and, of course, the occasional, familiar scent of acrid smoke and regret when someone from Fairy Tail, in a fit of enthusiasm or sheer, simple stupidity, blew up half the street with no intention whatsoever. Ah, the sweet aroma of home.
A few days had passed since the… 'incident' with the dark guild Eisenwald. Or, as I, in my infinite wisdom and with my peculiar taste for nomenclature, prefer to call it: 'the perfectly normal Tuesday on which I missed my teatime, killed a grim reaper cosplaying as a gothic teenager with a god complex, and possibly traumatised some of my friends forever'. Minor details.
The journey to the city of Clover for the masters' conference was… predictable. Tiring, noisy, and with an alarming amount of vomit from Natsu. When we finally arrived, and stormed the solemn meeting with the subtlety of a dragon in a china shop, Master Makarov, our dear, frequently stressed old man, almost fell out of his chair just looking at us. You could see, with crystal clarity, the panic growing on his wrinkled face, his small eyes widening in pure terror as he likely mentally calculated the property damage and the Magic Council fines. The first thing he asked, in a trembling voice of one already expecting the worst, was:
"My Gods, for all the saints and for my poor, long-suffering bank account, which city did you completely destroy this time, you apocalyptic brats?!"
Fortunately, for his cardiac health, I had to explain, with an air of false heroism and much patience, that the destruction, this time, was modestly limited to Oshibana's train station, a few kilometres of now entirely unusable iron rails, and the dignity of an entire dark guild. Nothing that couldn't be fixed in a few weeks of hard work… or perhaps a few months, depending on the competence of the local builders. By Fairy Tail's gloriously chaotic and destructive standards, that was, for all intents and purposes, almost a peaceful success, a mission of diplomacy and damage control.
The Master went pale all the same, probably at the thought of the paperwork, but he breathed a visible sigh of relief when he realised that, miraculously, no entire city had vanished from the map this time.
And then, much to my deep, infinite disgust, the part I hate most in any adventure began: the bureaucracy.
He, as the responsible master that he was (or tried to be), immediately contacted the ever-so-efficient and bureaucratic Magic Council, and a formal investigation, full of stupid questions and judgemental stares, began. A few days later, once we were back in the relative sanity of Magnolia, they, in their infinite wisdom and with their passion for useless formalities, demanded formal statements from a representative of the mages who participated in the mission that resulted in the destruction of the fearsome Lullaby demon flute.
Naturally, and to my immense relief, Erza, with her natural leader's stance and her masochistic sense of responsibility, immediately volunteered to go with the Master to the Council's headquarters. She was, as always, painfully practical and logical in her decision:
"I assembled the team, Master. It is my responsibility to explain what happened. And, frankly," she added, with a sideways glance in my direction that was a mixture of affection and sheer exhaustion, "they'll only get cross and likely start a new bureaucratic war if Azra'il goes. She has a certain… aversion to authority and daft questions."
Not that she was wrong. Far from it. She was absolutely, utterly correct.
I hate formal meetings. I hate Magic Councils with their ridiculous robes and their arbitrary rules. And, to be fair, they, with all their pomp and arrogance, hate me right back with an almost palpable passion. So, we're even. A healthy relationship based on mutual contempt.
At the moment, much to my delight, I was at the Fairy Tail guild, gloriously slouched at a table in the back, enjoying the temporary silence and the absence of authority figures. No Erza to drag me off for some unnecessary training, no Master Makarov to lecture me on responsibility, and, most importantly, no one forcing me to give stupid, repetitive statements to a bunch of hysterical old men with terrible taste in hats.
The world, for a brief, precious instant, was in perfect, absolute peace.
I was comfortably sunk into my usual chair, the one with the perfect recline for a discreet nap, watching the steam rise lazily from my cup of jasmine tea. The delicate, herbal aroma was supposed to be comforting, was supposed to calm my ancient soul and transport me to a state of zen nirvana. But, for some irritating reason, it seemed… weak. Insipid. As if even the poor, innocent tea knew that I was trying, pathetically and entirely in vain, to fool myself.
Who was I trying to kid?
I pulled a face of disgust at the innocent amber liquid in my cup. The unease gnawing at me from within wasn't because of the mission, nor because of the Magic Council and its suffocating bureaucracy. It was because of her. I was, to my deep and growing horror, genuinely worried about Erza.
Not because I thought she needed me to deal with a bunch of bearded old blokes starched up in purple cloaks. Please. Erza, with her steely determination and intimidating glare, could look an ancient dragon in the face and force it to apologise for having burnt some strawberry patch. She was more than capable of defending herself verbally. But there was a name, a face, a shadow from the past that I knew haunted her, and that made my own stomach turn just thinking about it.
Siegrain.
Or, at least, that's how the damned worm was signing his documents and presenting himself to the world now. Just another of Jellal Fernandes's many, convenient masks.
When Erza first saw the news in the magic newspaper a few months ago, I still remember, with painful clarity, the expression that took over her face. The headline, in bold, block letters and full of naive optimism, read:
"MAGIC PRODIGY, SIEGRAIN, BECOMES YOUNGEST MEMBER TO JOIN THE MAGIC COUNCIL!"
And there he was, in a smiling, colour photo. The same face, the same eyes, the same aura I had seen in that damned tower, on that night of chaos, madness, and betrayal. His picture smiled at the world, clean, respectable, charismatic, pretending to be a pillar of justice and hope for the future of the magical world. The hypocrisy was so thick it almost made me sick in my tea.
To me, he was nothing more than a fragile, broken, pathetic man, hiding behind a mask of power and distorted ideals. Breakable. Utterly, completely breakable. If I wanted to, if I really bothered, I could crush him like the insignificant ant he was, without even having to get up from my comfortable chair in the guild. a single thought, a small fluctuation of power, and he would cease to exist.
What hurt me, what irritated me, wasn't him. It was what he still meant to her. To my Erza.
Even far away, even without seeing her now, I could feel the shadow of her distress, like a cold echo in our silent connection. It was one of those strange, inexplicable things one learns to perceive in those one truly cares about, even if one is reluctant to admit this 'caring': that quiet, almost imperceptible tension in the shoulders, the gaze that subtly hardens when painful memories try to tear their way out from within.
I knew, with a certainty that filled me with a cold fury, that just being in the same room as him, with that false smile of his, with those serpent's eyes, and with his fabricated aura of sanctity, her heart would clench in the same way it used to clench in those dark, hopeless days in the tower.
I touched the tip of my finger to the warm rim of my teacup and sighed, a weary sound full of a frustration I rarely showed.
"...Stubborn little redhead, I sincerely hope you're taking deep breaths and remembering everything I taught you about how to deal with arrogant idiots right now," I murmured to no one in particular, my voice little more than a breath in the guild air. "Because if that bastard makes you cry again… I swear on all my forgotten ancestors that I will break that bloody Magic Council in half. And I'll use the pieces to build a new lavatory for the guild."
My moment of contemplative silence and mass-destruction planning with my teacup lasted exactly three minutes, twenty-four seconds, and a few precious milliseconds, until, as was to be expected, the traditional, noisy, utterly inevitable chaos of the Fairy Tail Guild once again filled the hall with its vibrant energy and total lack of common sense.
"THIS IS A COMPLETE AND UTTER JOKE! AN UNPRECEDENTED INJUSTICE!" Natsu's shrill, indignant voice echoed through the building with the force of a sonic boom, so loud it probably woke up even poor Lucy's celestial spirits, who were likely taking a nap in their golden keys.
I glanced over from the corner of my eye, with the laziness of one who has seen this scene a million times, and saw, as expected, the usual spectacle: Natsu standing on a table that certainly wouldn't survive his speech, with his arms crossed and his face red with an almost comical indignation. Gray, beside him and, predictably, already shirtless, just rolled his eyes with a boredom that rivalled my own, while poor, patient Lucy tried, in vain and with the courage of a lion tamer, to calm the flammable brat down and stop him from causing more property damage.
"We saved everyone! We beat the wind guy! And Azra'il destroyed that damned flute that was going to kill everybody!" Natsu continued his fiery speech to an audience that was barely paying attention, spitting fire with indignation (literally, small flames shot out of his mouth with every word, and the guild's wooden ceiling was already starting to get dangerously scorched again if someone didn't stop that idiot). "And in the end, we only broke… what… a tiny little train station! And a few kilometres of tracks! What's the big deal?!"
I raised an eyebrow with calculated slowness and took another sip of my now lukewarm tea.
"Technically, Natsu, if we're to be precise with the facts, which is rarely your strong suit… someone did die."
The hall, which was already beginning to ignore Natsu's tantrum, fell silent for half a second. Lucy went pale, her eyes widening in my direction.
"...Azra'il… don't talk about that…"
"Erigor," I added with the purest, most crystalline naturalness, as if commenting on the weather. "But, let's be fair, he doesn't really count. He was ugly, used an oversized scythe, and was cosplaying a depressed gothic teenager which has been out of fashion for about two hundred years. I was, in fact, performing a service to the community and to aesthetic good taste."
Happy, who until then had been napping on Natsu's head, gave a cheerful "Aye!" in agreement, while Cana, from the other side of the hall, exploded in a loud, genuine laugh, nearly spitting out her ale.
Natsu scratched his head, visibly confused by my impeccable logic.
"...Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about him. But besides that bloke, no one important died! And we were heroes!"
Gray just sighed with the resignation of a saint, went back to drinking his ale, and muttered to himself:
"You're impossible, Azra'il…"
Before anyone else could respond to my entirely factual, pertinent observation about Erigor's fate, the guild's great door creaked open.
Master Makarov entered first, walking slowly, his hands clasped behind his back and that facial expression of one who has just lost about ten years of his precious, long life in the last few torturous meetings with the Magic Council. And right behind him, with her upright posture, her shining armour, and her scarlet hair like a silent flame, came Erza.
She didn't need to say a single word.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the entire hall of Fairy Tail, previously so noisy and chaotic, plunged into an instant, almost supernatural silence, as if even the beer tankards and broken chairs knew it was best not to make the slightest noise at that moment.
Her sharp, piercing gaze swept the guild in an instant, assessing every corner, every face, every shadow. And then, when her brown eye finally met mine from across the hall, for a brief, fleeting instant that felt like an eternity, everything around me went truly quiet. The noise, the confusion, even my own cynical thoughts, all seemed to vanish.
There was weariness in her gaze, yes… a deep weariness, that went beyond the physical. But there was also, beneath it all, that silent relief, that tacit security only I seemed to perceive, of being back home, of being back safe. Of being back… near me.
I just raised my now-empty teacup in a lazy, silent toast, a small gesture only she would understand.
Erza took a deep breath, and I saw the tension in her shoulders ease a little. She gave me an almost imperceptible half-smile, a silent acknowledgement, and continued walking with firm steps beside the Master, towards the centre of the guild.
The Fairy Tail hall, which was already in an almost religious silence with the dramatic entrance of Erza and the Master, now seemed to be holding its collective breath. The eyes of some of the older, more perceptive members of the guild followed them with intense curiosity and… a certain unease. Because, although no one, out of respect or perhaps a healthy fear, spoke openly about the matter, the stories, the rumours, the whispers… they had already run through the guild like a wildfire in dry straw.
Erigor's lifeless body. The completely destroyed bridge. The blood staining the iron rails. And, most unsettling of all, the story of how I, little, usually so lazy Azra'il, had destroyed the legendary, fearsome Lullaby demon flute with my bare hands, as if it were a simple child's toy.
Master Makarov, with a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom, climbed onto one of the few tables still intact, crossing his small, wrinkled arms behind his back. He cleared his throat, and his voice, though tired, echoed through the silent hall with an unquestionable authority.
"The mission involving the Lullaby Flute and the dark guild Eisenwald… is officially over." He looked at each of us, his small, wise eyes passing over every face. "The Magic Council has been duly informed that the demon flute has been completely and permanently destroyed, and that the threat of Eisenwald is finished."
There was a collective murmur of mixed relief and nervousness. And I noticed, with secret amusement, how a few pairs of eyes, especially those of the younger, more impressionable members, carefully avoided meeting mine. It wasn't a declared, hostile fear. It was something more… subtle. More primitive. The kind of self-preservation instinct a rabbit feels that tells it it might not be the best idea to stare directly into the eyes of a silent predator that has just returned from the hunt.
From the other side of the hall, Natsu, who had apparently recovered from his fit of indignation, was now huffing with his arms crossed, looking like a sulking child.
"I still think it's complete rubbish the Magic Council calling Erza to give a statement as if she were a criminal…" He kicked a nearby chair, which slid a few feet across the wooden floor with an irritating screech. "We saved everyone! And, as I've already said, we didn't even destroy that much! It was a clean job!"
Happy, ever the faithful sidekick, waved his blue paw in total agreement. "Aye! Oshibana station will look great after a few small, necessary renovations! And maybe with a new name!"
The little Exceed's comment drew a few nervous laughs and eased a little of the tension in the air, but it didn't change the fact that my cold grey eyes were on them, watching, analysing. And no one, absolutely no one, dared to continue the subject of my supposed brutality for very long.
Erza, who had remained in an almost meditative silence until now, took a deep breath, as if finally allowing herself to relax. I watched her observe every familiar detail of the guild, the broken tables, the wanted posters, the noisy faces of her friends, and I felt the immense weight of duty and responsibility fall from her shoulders, at least for an instant.
When the Master finally announced, with a yawn, that he needed to go up to his office to organise the mountain of documents and reports the Council would surely send him, the guild, slowly and with almost palpable relief, began to return to its glorious, chaotic usual state. Chairs scraping, ale glasses clinking, laughter resuming, and Natsu and Gray already starting to glare at each other again. But for me, even with the return of the noise, the world still seemed to be in slow motion.
I rose slowly from my chair, my now empty, cold teacup swinging lazily in my hand. I crossed the hall with slow, deliberate steps, ignoring the growing confusion, and when Erza, in an equally discreet move, stepped away from the commotion, I found her near the large back windows, which overlooked the river. The setting sun, with its hues of orange, red, and purple, illuminated her scarlet hair as if it were liquid fire, creating an almost divine aura around her.
"He found you there, didn't he?" I said quietly, with no need for preambles or flourishes. We both knew who I was talking about.
Erza took a long second to answer. She didn't look at me immediately, but her fingers squeezed her own forearm almost imperceptibly, a small, revealing betrayal of her iron composure.
"...Yes. He was there." Her voice was a whisper, almost swallowed by the guild's noise.
"Siegrain," I said, with all the contempt and disgust I could muster in my tone. "Or whatever false name that crawling worm with a dreadful taste in hairstyles is using this week."
Silence settled between us again, heavy, thick, full of unsaid things. I could feel the tension in her, that dark, persistent echo of the damned tower that, I knew, would never completely leave her, no matter how many years passed.
With a sigh, I propped my now-empty cup on the windowsill and looked out at the blood-orange-stained sky.
"You know...," my voice came out calm, almost lazy, but with a thread of steel beneath the surface, "...if that bastard makes you cry again, Erza, if he even looks at you in a way I don't like… I swear I'll finish him off slowly, creatively. And there won't be a Magic Council, nor kingdom, nor god in this entire universe that will be able to stop me."
This time, she looked at me. And, for a brief, intense instant, the crushing weight of the past and the unexpected comfort of the present met in her gaze. There wasn't a smile on her lips, but there was something much stronger, much more significant in her eye: absolute trust. A silent certainty.
I sighed, feeling some of my own tension dissipate. And, without haste, with a naturalness that still surprised me, I raised my hand and slowly sank my fingers into her soft red hair, which still smelt of sun and wind.
"Come here, my stubborn little redhead…" I murmured, my voice almost a purr, giving her head a lazy, comforting scratch, feeling her relax just a little under my touch, her shoulders finally yielding some of their rigidity. "You need this much more than I do. And I, for some inexplicable reason, like seeing you relaxed."
She looked away, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. Erza Scarlet, the great, fearsome Titania, wasn't the type to melt easily… but, apparently, no one, not even the Queen of Fairies, could resist a strategic, well-executed head-scratch.
"When we get back to Fairy Hills tonight..." I continued, letting my voice drawl lazily, like honey dripping from a spoon, "...I'm going to personally prepare a special dessert just for you. A reward for having to put up with so many idiots in a single day."
She blinked, surprised, her eye widening a little.
"...Really? What kind of dessert?" Her voice was a curious whisper.
"Hm." I gave a smirk, a genuine one this time. "A strawberry cake. A ridiculously large, absurdly delicious strawberry cake with enough whipped cream to make you completely forget that god-complex-ridden idiot's face for, at least, a few hours."
The hint of a smile, small, shy, but undeniably real, finally appeared on her lips.
"...I'll hold you to that promise, Azra'il. And I want extra whipped cream."
"I know you will, little redhead. I know." I continued the lazy scratch for a few more seconds, feeling her spirits lift slightly, as if that simple, sweet promise were a small but powerful safe harbour in the middle of all the confusion in her mind and heart. "And I, as always, will pretend to complain horribly while making the cake, just to keep up our tradition and my reputation for being grumpy and antisocial."
The guild continued to be noisy, chaotic around us, a whirlwind of laughter, shouts, the occasional sound of something breaking. But, for me, in that small, silent moment, there was only this: me, her, the light of the setting sun, and the silent, fierce, unshakeable certainty that no one, absolutely no one, was going to hurt my redhead again. Not while I was around to stop them. And to make strawberry cakes.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
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Unlike canon, here Erza was not arrested or taken to trial because the destruction was minimal compared to what happened in the anime. Here it was just council bureaucracy and Master Makarov was accompanying Erza, so there was no reason for Natsu to invade the council and start destroying everything. 😂