Date: July 11, X791 — Morning, Crocus rooftops
The morning sun spilled across Crocus, turning broken streets and battered rooftops into a wash of gold. Light caught in drifting motes of ash, making them shimmer briefly before they vanished into the air. Merchants were already at work, sweeping rubble from their doorways. Children peeked from behind corners, wide-eyed but no longer afraid, their curiosity returning with the light.
High above, Romeo Conbolt stood alone on a rooftop. The wind tugged at his dark hair, carrying the scents of ash, baking bread, and the faint sweetness of summer blooms. His flame sword rested against his shoulder, its polished blade catching the sun like a signal.
"I'll stand beside you… not behind you," he murmured.
The words were for her — the Pale-Winged Valkyrie who had walked away at dawn without a word. In his mind, he could still see her silver eyes, calm and unflinching, and that faint smile she had given him once, vanishing as quickly as it came. She had chosen the solitude of the blade. He had chosen the weight of echoes.
From the street below came the shouts of children playing with wooden swords.
"I'm Natsu! You can't beat me!" one boy shouted.
"I'm Lucy! Star Dress!" a girl called back, spinning dramatically.
Their laughter bounced off the walls, bright and unburdened.
Romeo chuckled softly. That's why we fight. He tightened his grip on his sword's hilt. For them. For the future.
But the wind carried another voice to him — or maybe it was only in his head. Cold, measured, unmistakable.
A blade stands alone. Echoes only weigh it down.
He shook his head firmly. "Then let it weigh me down. I'll carry them all."
Footsteps approached behind him — slow, steady, familiar.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Macao's rough voice broke the quiet.
Romeo turned slightly. His father stood there, mug of tea in hand, eyes still heavy with the kind of tiredness that no night's rest could fully erase.
"Too much on my mind," Romeo admitted.
They stood together, looking east as the sun climbed higher, washing the rooftops in warm light.
"She's gone, huh?" Macao said after a moment.
"Left at dawn," Romeo replied. "No note. No goodbye."
"That's her way," Macao said, taking a sip from his mug. "Cold wind — cuts through, keeps moving."
Romeo hesitated. "Think she'll come back?"
"Maybe," Macao said. "Maybe not. But she's part of us now, whether she knows it or not. We'll carry the echoes she left."
Romeo's eyes flicked down to his sword. A faint glow rippled along the blade, catching the sunlight. "I will. For her, too."
A gust swept over the rooftops. Romeo closed his eyes, and for a moment, he saw her again — silver eyes against the dawn, walking away without looking back.
"Next time," he said quietly, lifting his blade toward the sky, "I won't be behind you. I'll be beside you."
The sword caught the sun in a flash, sending a bright streak across the tiles.
"That's my boy," Macao murmured, pride tucked into the edges of his voice.
Below, Crocus continued to wake. Shops opened their shutters. Voices called greetings across the streets. Life moved forward.
But far away from the rooftops and sunlight, in a cavern lit by the cold glow of blue crystal, figures cloaked in shadow knelt in a wide circle. The air here smelled of dust, rot, and the faint sting of magic too old to be safe.
"The gate was only the beginning," one voice rasped.
"The netherworld will open," another hissed, breath curling like smoke in the cold air.
At the circle's center, a tall figure sat unmoving, the hood over their head shadowing their face. When they spoke, their voice was low and certain.
"The humans think they have won. They think their roar was the loudest. But we are the true roar in the dark. We are Tartaros."
Dark magic stirred at their words, coiling upward in twisting streams until it licked against the glowing crystal overhead. In its shifting light, a shadowed image formed — the faint outline of a man whose smile was colder than the stone walls around them.
Zeref.
The leader's voice dropped to a whisper. "Prepare. When the kingdom sleeps again, we strike."
The magic pulsed, casting long, sharp shadows against the walls.
Back on the rooftop, Romeo lowered his sword. His eyes stayed on the sun climbing over the horizon, but something in his chest tightened.
"I can feel it," he said. "A new storm is coming."
"Then stand ready," Macao told him.
Romeo nodded. "I will. With my edge… and my echo."
Macao's hand came down on his son's shoulder — solid, grounding. "Strongest flame of all."
Romeo's mouth pulled into a tired but certain smile.
Overhead, a hawk cried and wheeled into the open sky. Romeo followed its path until it vanished into the blue, heading toward the far-off mountains and whatever waited beyond them.
No matter how far she runs, he thought, I'll catch up. I'll show her that warmth isn't weakness. It's life.
The sun lifted fully above the horizon, spilling light across the rooftops, the streets, the faces of those who had survived.
In the distance, the wind carried the sound of the city waking — shop bells, children's shouts, the soft clink of tools as rebuilding began anew.
And somewhere far beyond Crocus, in places the sun hadn't reached yet, other forces moved. Quiet now, but waiting.
Romeo took one last breath of the cool morning air, then rested his sword against his shoulder again. The steel caught the light a final time, gleaming like a promise.
The day had begun.
And with it, the next roar.