The seasons passed slowly, but for the first time in centuries, Fafnir no longer counted them in solitude.
The ritual that restored his human form left him drained, but alive truly alive in a way he hadn't felt since he was five years old. With Irene at his side, he began rediscovering the world not as a dragon hiding in shadows, but as a man walking the lands again.
The white-haired Dragon Slayer, tall and broad-shouldered, golden eyes lined with wisdom and wariness, no longer moved like a weapon. He moved like someone relearning joy.
And Irene, for all her own torment, smiled more often than she once thought possible.
---
Their first journey together after his transformation was to the ruins of Draconis, a long-forgotten city built by ancient Dragonkin worshippers in the far north. It was said that the last traces of pre-dragonification enchantments were buried there.
Wrapped in snow-dusted cloaks, they traveled on foot by day and flew as dragons by night. Fafnir, in his massive white dragon form, sometimes carried Irene through the clouds, wind curling through her crimson hair as she laughed freely for the first time in a hundred years.
They explored the ruins like scholars reading etched runes, triggering ancient traps, arguing over forgotten rituals like an old married couple.
"You're misreading the phrasing," Irene said, brushing snow off a pedestal.
"I lived with a dragon, remember?" Fafnir said with a teasing grin. "The dialect's shifted over time, but I know that symbol. It means 'bind the spirit,' not 'seal the flesh.'"
Irene smirked. "Show-off."
That night, they sat by a frozen lake beneath the aurora.
Their hands brushed.
Neither pulled away.
---
In the scorching deserts of Desierto, rumors of ancient dragon remains surfaced bones infused with enchantment that could empower or curse anyone who touched them. Irene and Fafnir hunted the ruins, this time encountering desert bandits who had discovered the truth the hard way.
Fafnir, even in human form, could unleash localized earthquakes, crack the sand into quicksand pits, or collapse entire caverns with a wave of his hand.
"You're terrifying when you want to be," Irene said afterward, breathless and flushed.
"I get that a lot," he said, turning his golden gaze on her. "But you never flinch."
She didn't.
And that night, she kissed him.
Slowly. Carefully. But with purpose.
He returned it, just as slow, just as certain.
---
In the forgotten eastern woods, they found a forest where magical creatures long thought extinct still lived kept alive by enchantments tied to the land itself. Fafnir befriended a young spirit wyvern, Irene studied the ley lines, and they camped under starlit canopies.
They began to laugh more.
Talk more.
Share old wounds like old songs.
One night, Fafnir said quietly:
"I think I loved you when you touched my snout the first time."
Irene looked up from the fire. Her eyes shimmered in the light.
"I think I loved you when you let me see the man inside the dragon."
They didn't say anything else.
They didn't need to.
---Time Skip
X777
That peace, like all things, was not eternal.
Fafnir stirred from sleep one morning with a strange tightness in his chest. It wasn't pain it was familiarity. Like a forgotten song echoing through stone.
He rose without a word, bare feet touching the grass of their mountainside refuge, and looked to the sky.
He felt it.
Their return.
The Dragon Slayers.
His siblings.
They were here.
Back from the time gate.
Alive.
---
"They're back," he whispered.
Irene stepped out beside him, her hand in his. "The ones sent through Eclipse?"
Fafnir nodded, golden eyes glinting. "Wendy. Natsu. The others. I can feel them. Their magic. It's… different. But it's them."
Irene tilted her head. "So you're going after them."
He looked at her, uncertain. "You don't have to come."
She smirked. "Try stopping me."
---
Wendy Marvell.
The smallest of the Dragon Slayers.
The one Fafnir always watched over like a sister, gently correcting her posture during training, protecting her during sparring with Natsu.
They followed the threads of magic until they arrived at the outskirts of a quiet forested region where a small, unknown guild was stationed.
A guild with an unusual name:
Cait Shelter.
A temporary wooden hall sat at its center. Fafnir frowned, the air around it strangely… thin. Magical traces were hollow, like the echoes of an illusion.
"Strange," Irene muttered. "There's nothing anchoring this guild. It feels... conjured."
Fafnir's golden eyes narrowed. "But her magic is real. Wendy's in there."
They entered the clearing as Wendy and a few other "guildmates" emerged from a morning meeting. She looked... young. Seven, maybe eight. Just like before.
When Wendy saw Fafnir, her gaze paused for a heartbeat. Her expression showed polite confusion.
"Hello… um, do I know you?" she asked cheerfully.
Fafnir's heart stilled.
She didn't recognize him.
He forced a smile. "No. I'm… sorry. Mistaken identity."
Wendy nodded kindly and walked away.
---
Fafnir didn't speak as he watched her disappear into the false guildhall. Irene placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"She didn't remember you," she said quietly.
"I know," he whispered. "But she should have."
His voice trembled.
"I would have died for her. For all of them. I waited centuries… and she looked at me like a stranger."
"It's not her fault," Irene said, examining the lingering magic. "There's a powerful memory suppression enchantment in place. Old. Deep. Built to hide something."
Fafnir turned to her, golden eyes burning. "Can you break it?"
"I could try," she said. "But it's not just a lock it's a seal. Someone wanted her to forget. This wasn't random."
Fafnir hesitated.
Voltigern's lessons echoed in his memory.
"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."
He exhaled slowly.
"Don't," he said. "If someone went to this length to erase us from their minds… then there's a reason. Maybe it's part of a larger plan."
Irene nodded, but her gaze was soft.
"You're a stronger man than most."
Fafnir chuckled bitterly. "I don't feel strong."
She stepped closer, resting her head against his chest. "You are."
---
They didn't search for Natsu or the others.
Fafnir felt them. But the same fog clouded their auras scattered, sealed, hidden behind illusions or fate. He knew instinctively they were alive.
But also that he wasn't meant to be part of their lives yet.
Not yet.
"Wendy's safe," he told Irene. "That's enough."
"Do you regret not telling her?"
"No," he said. "I'll wait until she remembers on her own."
They left Cait Shelter that day in silence.
But not with despair.
With hope.
---
Back on their mountain, Irene leaned against Fafnir as the sun set, bathing the cliffs in gold. He rested his head against hers.
"You still love them," she said.
"I always will," he replied.
"And you have me," she added softly.
He looked at her truly looked. At the woman who saw past the beast, who stood beside him in silence, in pain, in joy.
"I do," he said. "And I'm not losing you too."
She kissed him again.
It was no longer tentative.
This was not the kiss of a woman who pitied a broken man, or a man clinging to what he lost.
It was the kiss of equals.
Survivors.
Lovers.
And somewhere, deep in the distance, the magic of old fire stirred in the wind, whispering of futures yet to come.