Few years before Astro came to Ventara Island
Three figures darted through the dense forest—one woman with flowing long gray hair, clutching her two children close to her chest. Her breath was ragged, her steps uneven, but her arms refused to falter.
Suddenly, she stopped. Her instincts screamed that they wouldn't make it far like this. Gently but urgently, she lowered both children to the ground. Then she pressed her youngest daughter into the arms of her son.
"Shawn," she said firmly, though her voice trembled as she panted. "Take your sister. Run to the docks. Leave the island. And no matter what—don't look back."
"But Mom—!" Shawn's protest cracked, his small face already streaked with tears.
She silenced him instantly, pressing her palm against his mouth. Her gray eyes, shimmering with tears, locked onto his. The footsteps of their pursuer grew louder—closer with every heartbeat. Her husband was already fighting somewhere behind them, sacrificing himself to buy time. Now it was her turn.
She swallowed the pain in her heart and forced her voice into a harsh, commanding tone. "Go."
Shawn hesitated, shaking his head desperately, but when he saw the resolve in her face, his own tears spilled freely. Clutching his sister tightly to his chest, he turned and ran—his small legs carrying both of them deeper into the trees.
The woman stood rooted to the spot, watching their figures vanish between the branches. Her chest heaved as tears streamed freely now, hot trails burning her cheeks. She knew—this was the last time she would ever see them. She would never watch them grow, never hear their laughter echo in her home again, never see them marry or raise children of their own.
Her tears dripped toward the forest floor—but before they could land, ashes swirled up from the ground around her, smoldering hot, and each drop hissed and vanished into vapor. Her grief transformed into fury.
Her gray eyes hardened, blazing with an anger that could no longer be contained. Ash thickened in the air, swirling around her body like a storm.
From behind, the forest grew unnaturally cold. The woman's breath turned to mist as the temperature dropped. A middle-aged man emerged from the shadows, his hair stark white, his clothing grotesque and ragged as if he wore a shroud of decay.
She turned to face him.
With unyielding defiance, she pressed her fist into the palm of her other hand, feet sliding into a stance. The earth crackled with heat beneath her, ash rising like smoke from a flame.
"Ash Make: Birds!" the woman cried, her voice trembling yet fierce. From the swirling cloud of ash around her, ten birds burst forth, wings of ember-gray flapping with heat as they darted toward the man like living arrows.
The white-haired man only smirked. His tone was disturbingly playful, as if amused by her struggle.
"I did not expect there to be another wizard on this island. Well, not that it matters anyway."
"Snow Garden."
He raised his palm, and an unnatural cold spread in an instant. A wall of snow surged forward like a living tide, swallowing the ash birds mid-flight. Their burning forms hissed and fizzled before vanishing into the frost, powerless against the overwhelming chill.
The woman grit her teeth, desperately trying to summon more, but the moment the new shapes formed, the cold smothered them out. The snow advanced closer, swallowing the earth in pale whiteness.
Her knees almost buckled. For a heartbeat, she closed her eyes—ready to surrender to the inevitable. But then, in that moment of weakness, her children's faces flashed in her mind. Their tears. Their voices. Their fragile, small hands clutching hers.
Her eyes snapped open, blazing with determination.
She had never liked fighting—especially not after her first child was born. Her life had become gentle, filled with love and laughter. But if this was the price to protect that life, then she would fight. She had to fight.
"Ash Make: Bear!"
The air shimmered as ash thickened, hardening into the hulking form of a massive bear. It roared, soundless but terrifying, and charged headlong into the wave of snow. Where the avalanche touched its body, the snow hissed and melted instantly, steam rising as it carved a protective wall in front of her.
The ground trembled as the stalemate raged—snow and ash colliding, devouring each other. She pushed her palms forward, forcing more heat into her construct.
But she needed more than defense.
Dropping to her knees, she slammed both hands into the earth. "Ash Make: Moles!"
The ground rumbled, splitting as several ash-shaped moles burrowed up beneath the man's feet. Their burning forms latched onto his boots and legs, igniting cloth and searing skin.
"Wh—!" The man flinched, his smirk twisting into a snarl. Snow erupted around his feet, dousing the creatures and cooling his wounds, but not before smoke rose from his legs. His playful amusement was gone—replaced with sharp, simmering rage.
"You miserable little—" His voice echoed like a curse. He thrust out both arms, spreading them wide before clapping them together in the air.
"Snow Burial!"
Two massive serpents of snow exploded outward, slithering across the battlefield with terrifying speed. They split apart, circling wide before curling back in. From both sides, they closed in on her like predators cornering prey.
She threw up her arms, ash swirling around her in a frantic attempt to shield her—but the serpents struck fast, their weight crushing and cold merciless.
"Mother!" Shawn's voice cracked as he glanced back despite her warning.
He saw it. He saw the snow crash down, swallowing his mother whole. He saw the great ash bear flicker, glowing dimly before collapsing into embers that faded against the blizzard.
And then—through the faint orange light of dying ash—he saw the snow turning red.
Shawn's throat locked, tears spilling freely. His sister trembled in his arms, clutching weakly at his shirt as cold drops fell onto her pink hair. She tilted her head, as if trying to look back, but Shawn gritted his teeth and held her tighter.
"Don't look," he whispered, voice shaking. He turned away from the horror behind him and ran, faster than his legs had ever carried him.
But just as Shawn and his sister sprinted through the trees, a shadow blotted out the sky above them. A massive green bird, its wingspan stretching wider than the treetops, swooped down and landed with a thundering crash. Its feathers shimmered like jade, but its eyes burned with an unnatural violet glow.
The beast opened its beak, exhaling a thick cloud of purple smoke that spread across the path. Shawn coughed violently, his arms tightening around his sister as her body went limp almost instantly. His own head spun, vision blurring.
No—Not now… I can't—
Before he could muster the strength to fight back, his knees buckled. His body hit the dirt, still shielding his sister in his arms as the darkness pulled him under.
A cold, disdainful voice cut through the settling smoke.
"Deacon, you're getting more and more useless. I saw that woman did quite a number on you. I can't believe you nearly let these two slip away."
From the bird's back, a woman stepped down. Her long green hair flowed like vines in the wind, her sharp eyes filled with disgust as she regarded the unconscious children.
Her words were aimed at the white-haired man who appeared moments later—Deacon, his clothes singed, his expression twisted with irritation.
"Hmph." He scoffed, folding his arms as if her insult barely grazed him. "I didn't expect another wizard among the natives. That useless thing just bought time, nothing more." His voice was void of guilt, only annoyance that the skirmish had delayed him.
The green-haired woman ignored his excuse, her attention shifting back to the children. She bent down, her lip curling as if touching them was beneath her. With one hand, she lifted Shawn by the collar, then his sister, tossing them onto the bird's back as though they were nothing more than baggage.
"Anyway, we've found what we came for," she said, her tone smooth but laced with venom. "The Temple of Aetherion. The fools on this island worshiped it as a shrine to their so-called sky god, never realizing it was a vault of treasure that can shake the continent if exposed."
Deacon raised an eyebrow, his icy gaze narrowing on Shawn's unconscious face and his gray hair. For a moment, he felt a bit of pain in his legs. Deacon's hand lifted, snow gathering at his palm. "Why bother with these brats? Let me just kill them." His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of anger in his eyes, as though the gray-haired boy's appearance alone had personally offended him.
The woman's voice hardened. "No. Orders from Kian.. He wants to experiment with the children here—to see if they can withstand being vessels."
Deacon clicked his tongue, the snow dissipating from his hand. "Tch. And we have to do that here? This island won't stay hidden forever." His voice carried frustration, like he already found the whole thing a nuisance.
The woman's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Kian has already accounted for that. The temple has a defense system… one tied to the island itself."
As her words faded, a deafening roar shook the air. The ground trembled, trees swayed, and the sea around the island writhed. A dome of swirling black wind surged up from the horizon, encasing the entire island in a sphere of ominous black winds.
The sky itself seemed to darken, as if the island had been swallowed by a nightmare.
Deacon's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The bird spread its wings, preparing to take off.
On its back, Shawn stirred weakly. His eyelids fluttered, his consciousness slipping in and out. His entire body screamed for rest, but he bit his lip until he tasted blood, forcing himself awake. He could hear their words. He could feel the cold truth settling in his chest.
His small hand clutched hers tighter. He wanted to resist, to fight, but his strength was gone. Pain seared through him, dragging him into unconsciousness.
His final thought, before darkness claimed him, was a promise echoing in his heart.
I'll protect you, Sherria… no matter what…
And then—silence.
It was two days later when Shawn finally stirred from the haze of sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, his body sore, but his mind snapped awake the moment he realized where he was.
The air smelled of damp stone and rust. He lifted his head and saw the truth: he was inside what remained of a once-grand mansion, now reduced to a single crumbling hall. The walls were cracked, the ceiling half-collapsed. Chains and rods had been hammered into the floor, and every one of them held a child.
Most of the village children he knew—faces once bright with laughter—were there, now pale and thin, their eyes hollow. Some whimpered softly, others sat in silence, their spirits already broken.
Shawn looked down and saw his sister beside him. Sherria's small body was curled up, her head buried in her knees. She trembled like a leaf caught in the cold wind.
He tried to reach for her, but only then realized—his wrists were bound. Heavy cuffs locked his hands to a metal rod sunk deep into the stone.
Gritting his teeth, Shawn called upon the ash magic his mother had taught him. He whispered the incantation in his mind, urging the familiar heat to rise in his veins. But nothing came. Not even a spark.
It was as though the magic had been stolen from him.
Frustration gnawed at him. He twisted his wrists, pulled against the restraints, but no matter how much he strained, the iron-like metal wouldn't budge. His skin burned raw, but the shackles didn't even creak.
Panting, he leaned closer to Sherria, forcing his voice to soften.
"Sherria… are you hurt?"
Her head lifted at the sound of his voice. Tears streaked her dirt-smudged cheeks. When she saw him awake, she broke into sobs.
"Brother, I'm hungry… Where's Mom? Where's Dad?"
Shawn's throat tightened. The words clawed at him, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. Sherria was too young to understand the cruelty of what had happened.
"They… they went to the mainland for a bit," he said, forcing his lips into a small smile. "Don't worry. They're okay."
Her tears slowed. She sniffled, then nodded, clinging to his words like they were the only rope keeping her afloat.
"Well… it's good they're not here then. I don't look pretty right now. Mom would hate me." She pouted, tugging at her ragged dress.
Shawn's chest ached. He turned his face away so she wouldn't see the color drain from it. The memory of the forest flashed before his eyes—the red-stained snow, the dim light of ash flickering before it was snuffed out. His mother's back as she stood her ground.
He had known even then… and yet he still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe—
"Shawn, to use Ash-Make Magic, you must endure the heat. If you can't withstand it, you'll never be able to control it."
The memory of his mother's voice came unbidden.
"Okay, enough practice for today! Now… can you guess what's for lunch?" A blurry image of a gray-haired woman teased warmly. Before Shawn could answer, a pink-haired man swatted her playfully on the head.
"Of course it's the same fish dish again. That's the only thing you know how to cook!"
The first woman puffed up in mock anger. "No lunch for you then!" she grabbed young Shawn's hand and ran off with him, leaving behind the sound of his father's helpless sigh—and the faint smile that softened it.
Another memory followed, sharper this time.
"Shawn, you've got real talent for this magic. But don't push yourself so hard. At this rate, I'll have nothing left to teach you soon."
His mother's face, clearer than ever, appeared in his mind's eye. She smiled, ruffling his hair, though her eyes glimmered with pride and sadness.
"At least… even if I couldn't master it, I could pass it down to you."
The memory dissolved, and Shawn's tears finally broke free.
But before they could fall to the floor, small flecks of ash shimmered around his face, burning the droplets away. It hurt—his wrists screamed as the cuffs bit into his skin, his body trembled with the strain of summoning even that tiny spark—but he refused to let Sherria see him cry.
He drew in a shaky breath. "It's okay. Just hold on. Aetherion, the sky god, is watching over us. He'll send someone to save us. I know it."
Sherria's sobs faded into sniffles. She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes.
"Will he really?"
"Yes." Shawn forced the word out, heavy with a promise he couldn't afford to break. "I promise you."
But–
Two years passed.
Shawn, Sherria, and the other children were kept imprisoned. They were given the bare minimum—enough food to keep them alive, enough care to make them vaguely healthy—but every few months, strangers came and took a handful of kids away. They never came back.
Then one day it happened again.
"Don't take her. Take me instead. I'll be more useful," Shawn shouted as he watched his sister dragged away.
The woman carrying Sherria didn't even pause. She looked at Shawn with cold contempt, then kicked him into the wall. The world tilted; Shawn's vision swam. As he slid down the rough stone, losing consciousness, the last thing he heard was his sister's cry.
"Aetherion—anyone… please save—" Her voice broke into a ragged wail.
There were no miracles. No guardian descended. No god intervened. No matter how much someone wishes for miracle, some wishes just don't come true.
Shawn never saw his sister again. People returned another month later and took more children. After Sherria was gone, time blurred for him. He stopped sleeping properly. Every day became a ledger line he kept track of: one more day survived, one more day closer to nothing. He counted the days like beads on a string.
Nobody came. No angel, no savior, no god. The Temple of Aetherion—once a place of reverence—felt like a curse, the thing that had taken his family away. The so-called sky god had done nothing for them.
Then, one day, the heavy door of the chamber opened.
Shawn didn't look up at first. He hugged his knees, head bowed. When the footsteps stopped in front of him, something cold and final threaded through his thoughts.
Has my time finally come? he wondered, exhausted. I'm tired. I failed my promise to my mother. I couldn't save my sister. My father would be disappointed too. Do I even deserve to see them again?
He kept those feelings pressed down. When he finally looked up, he showed none of it. He met whatever came through the doorway with a calm that was almost empty.
The figure in the doorway hardly looked like an ordinary adult, yet the presence around him pulled at people in a way that made them lean in. The man's eyes were a deep, unnatural purple—beautiful but terrible, like a devouring dark. To hold that gaze too long felt like a risk of being swallowed whole.
Shawn's voice came out rough but steady. "What did you do with my sister? Where is she?"
He didn't care about his own life anymore. But those people that had taken his family, he would make them pay.
Most of what the visitor said blurred into background noise for Shawn. But two sentences cut through and lodged in his mind like a stone:
"I am a wizard from Fairy Tail."
So he's not one of the invaders on the island, Shawn thought, a small, ragged hope twitching in the dark.
"I can help you get off this island," the man continued.
Shawn's jaw tightened. I can't leave. Not yet. Not before I know what happened to my sister.
He looked at the other children around the room—faces hollowed by fear. Then he looked back into those dangerous purple eyes. He felt no fear for himself. Fear had long since been spent. Still, somewhere inside the tired shell, a sliver of hope remained—the faintest possibility that Sherria might still be alive.
"We will trust you… if you uncuff us now," he said.
In that instant—without knowing it—Shawn made a single decision that would tilt the rest of his life onto a new path.