Date: July 11, X791 — Pre-dawn, Royal Castle outskirts
The sky was still heavy with night, only the faintest line of silver brushing the horizon. Crocus lay in silence, its streets washed in dim blue light. The ash from battle had long since settled, soft and fine as gray snow, covering the wounds of the city but never erasing them.
From the highest balcony of the royal castle, Teresa stood alone.
Her armor had been polished until it gleamed cold and perfect under the faint glow of the pre-dawn. The short cloak at her back shifted with each slow breath of wind, the Fairy Tail emblem catching a whisper of light before vanishing again into shadow. Her sword was gone — requipped away — leaving her unburdened for the road ahead.
Below her, the last lights from the victory feast still glimmered faintly through the castle windows. Somewhere inside, Fairy Tail slept off its triumph. Their voices, their laughter, still lingered in the stone, warm and living. But none of it belonged to her.
Her hands rested still at her sides. Once, long ago, they had carried warmth — the soft weight of a child's head against her shoulder, the tight clasp of a comrade's hand before battle. She had let that warmth in. She had let it open the first crack in her edge.
That choice had led to her death. And yet, she had no regrets. She had chosen it freely. She had died for it willingly. But the lesson had been carved into her all the same.
It would not happen again.
A voice from the night before brushed her thoughts, unbidden: I will walk beside you, not behind you. My warmth is not weakness.
A faint curve touched her lips — a shadow of a smile — and vanished as quickly as the memory.
She turned from the railing, boots silent on the marble floor. The guards stationed along the hall nodded at her as she passed, but didn't stop her. They already knew — Makarov had spoken with the king. She was free to come and go.
The main hall of the castle was empty now, the echo of the night's celebration still faint in the air. At its far end, the great Fairy Tail banner hung from the wall, shifting slightly in the draft from an open window.
She paused beneath it. Her silver eyes traced the emblem's bold lines.
"A guild built on echoes," she murmured to the space. "A place I can never belong."
The words were neither bitter nor sad. They were simple truths.
She turned away and stepped outside into the cool predawn air. The world felt clean and sharp, the chill cutting against her cheeks. Somewhere in the trees beyond the courtyard, birds stirred and gave tentative calls. The horizon was softening into pink, spilling the first light across the stone and touching her pale hair with a faint glow.
She walked toward the outer archway — and stopped.
Two figures waited in the shadows there.
Macao stood with his arms crossed, the lines under his eyes darker than usual. Beside him, Kinana kept her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze steady but tinged with sadness.
"You're leaving," Macao said. It wasn't a question.
Teresa inclined her head once in answer.
"Going without a word… that's you," he said, a small, wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Kinana took a step forward. "Will you come back someday?"
Teresa was quiet for a moment before answering. "Perhaps. But the road I walk doesn't turn back easily."
Macao's smile didn't fade, but it softened. "Figured as much. Still… thank you. For everything. Even if it was in your way."
Kinana's eyes shone faintly in the dim light. "Be safe, Teresa."
She gave them the slightest of bows — more than she might have once — before moving past them into the growing light.
Her boots struck the stone softly, each step carrying her farther into the open air. Neither Macao nor Kinana called after her, and she did not look back.
Behind her, Macao exhaled slowly and rested a hand on Kinana's shoulder. "She's like a phantom wind. Shows up when she's needed, never stays long enough to catch."
Kinana's voice was quiet but sure. "She's still Fairy Tail… in her way."
Beyond the city's walls, the land opened into a wide expanse of fields and low mist. The dawn stretched across it like a veil, the first gold of the sun breaking over the horizon. It painted her armor in pale fire, but her eyes remained silver and cold.
"Echoes bring warmth," she whispered into the morning air. "Warmth burns. Burns leave cracks. Cracks break blades."
She paused for a heartbeat.
"I will not change… just a little."
Her gaze lifted toward the distant hills. "The one still standing at the end is the victor."
And with that, she walked on — through the mist, into the rising sun — until she was nothing more than a shimmer on the horizon.
No note left behind. No promise to return.
Only the quiet rhythm of her steps faded into the breath of the new day.