Date: July 7, X791 — Midnight
Location: Crocus, cathedral bell tower, and rooftops
Crocus slept beneath the quiet gaze of the moon. The fires had died down, leaving a city of shadows and broken streets. Here and there, small clusters of light glowed—lanterns, fire pits, and candles gathered around by survivors who hadn't yet found rest. The city was healing, little by little, in the soft hush of midnight.
High above it all, a faint figure floated like a breeze caught in moonlight. Her long, pale hair drifted behind her, and her bare feet made no sound as they touched down on the worn stones of the cathedral bell tower. She was not alive—but she watched as if she still felt every heartbeat below.
Mavis Vermillion—first master of Fairy Tail, and its eternal ghost.
From this high perch, she could see everything. The broken streets, the patches of light, the guildhall still buzzing with laughter and voices, even this late into the night. But her attention wasn't on the warm glow of the guild. It was drawn to the rooftops beyond, where a lone figure sat in silence.
Teresa.
She was alone, as always. Her sword lay across her lap, and her hands moved slowly as she polished the blade. Her white cloak fluttered softly behind her in the breeze. Her silver eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, stared down into the streets without blinking.
Mavis drifted closer, her glowing form as light as mist in the wind. Her golden eyes were full of something deeper than sadness—an understanding that came from watching too many lifetimes pass.
"A blade without an echo," Mavis murmured, her voice lost in the wind. "So powerful… and yet so alone."
Below, Teresa paused in her work. For a moment, her reflection shone in the steel—her face calm, but distant. Then, for just a second, her expression shifted. Something flickered in her eyes. Not warmth exactly, but maybe the ghost of it. A memory. A feeling she couldn't quite kill.
It disappeared as quickly as it came.
Mavis folded her arms, more out of habit than anything else. She didn't feel cold anymore, but she remembered the shape of it. She remembered what it meant to watch others from the outside.
"When you see them," she whispered, her voice aimed at the figure far below, "Romeo, Asuka, the others… do you feel anything? Even for a second?"
She thought back to the battlefield. The way Teresa had moved. Her wings slicing the sky, her eyes empty, her blade cutting through dragons like they were nothing. She hadn't fought like someone protecting her friends. She had fought like someone erasing obstacles.
It wasn't cruelty, Mavis knew. It was survival. It was how Teresa had learned to live.
But it came at a price.
"She's not heartless," Mavis said softly. "She's hurt."
She drifted lower, staying just outside of Teresa's sight.
"She thinks caring makes her weak. That warmth is dangerous. Maybe it was, once."
Mavis knew that belief well. She had seen it before, in others. She had even believed it once herself.
But Fairy Tail had taught her differently.
Warmth was what gave people strength. Bonds gave people reasons to rise again after falling. The ones in the guild—Natsu, Lucy, Erza, Gray—they were strong because of their connections, not despite them.
Teresa had chosen the opposite. She had turned her back on the echoes. She'd decided that staying sharp meant staying alone.
"But maybe," Mavis whispered, "it's not that warmth hurt you. Maybe it's that you couldn't stop it from reaching you. Maybe that's the real fear."
She hovered above the rooftops, eyes on the pale-haired figure below. Teresa had returned to her quiet polishing, her movements precise and careful, as if each stroke was meant to keep her grounded.
"She thinks she's just a weapon," Mavis said. "But even the sharpest blade can break… if it never rests."
She thought of Romeo—the way he had spoken about Teresa, the way he looked at her. Not like she was a monster. Not even like she was a hero. Just… someone he wanted to understand. Someone he wanted to stand beside.
"Maybe he'll be the one to reach her," Mavis said. "Maybe his voice will be the one she hears."
That thought gave her hope.
Not the loud, fiery kind. Just a quiet one. A steady one. The kind that grows slowly, like a seed buried deep in cold ground.
Teresa shifted again below, standing now. Her sword was back in its sheath, her cloak catching the light of the moon as it swayed behind her. The Fairy Tail mark on the back moved with her—faint, but there.
Mavis watched her turn. The silver eyes scanned the rooftops, sharp as ever. For a heartbeat, she seemed to pause. Not because she saw Mavis—but because maybe, just maybe, she felt her.
That small pause, that flicker of stillness, stretched into something more.
A thread.
Thin, fragile, invisible to anyone else. But it was there.
And then Teresa stepped back into the shadows, her pale hair shining one last time in the moonlight before it disappeared.
Mavis stayed where she was, hovering quietly over the cathedral. She watched the place Teresa had stood, long after it was empty. Then she turned her gaze toward the horizon.
"Goodnight, Teresa," she whispered. "May your blade never break… and may your echo find its way back."
As the first light of dawn began to rise, the city slowly came to life again. Small groups of people moved through the streets. Some carried wood. Some searched for loved ones. Some just stood and stared at the ruins, unsure of what came next.
But they weren't alone.
Fairy Tail was still here.
And so was Mavis.
She remained at the top of the bell tower, arms folded gently, golden eyes calm. Watching. Waiting. Not rushing anything. Hope didn't need to shout. It only needed to stay.
And somewhere out there, in the cold, quiet shadows of Crocus, a lone blade still walked the rooftops—silent, guarded, and unseen.
But maybe, not forever.