Phantom Lord.
One of the many guilds scattered across the Kingdom of Fiore. And yet, one of the few whose name alone carried weight.
It was said that the Phantom Lord possessed magic of overwhelming density.Not merely power, but quantity.
Mages, resources, knowledge, influence.
A guild whose foundations were built not on unity, but on dominance.
Many whispered it rivaled the strongest guilds in the country.
And the reason was simple.
Jose Porla.
A Guild Master.
A title reserved for those who stood at the absolute peak of their organizations.
In any guild, the Guild Master was law, authority, and final judgment.
Often the strongest mage within its walls.
Each guild bore an insignia, a crest that embodied its name and ideals.
Phantom Lord's crest was not worn lightly.
---
The guild hall loomed like a beast at rest.
A vast, towering chamber, less a home, more a den of predators.
Its interior resembled a rough underground pub, a place where discipline was optional and strength spoke louder than manners.
Heavy wooden tables were scattered across the hall, paired with long, worn benches scarred by years of use.
The floor was made entirely of wood, arranged in square patterns like a massive chessboard, each square formed by four thick planks laid at sharp angles.
Time had beaten the surface down.
Some sections were polished smooth by countless boots. Others were splintered, cracked, and uneven.
Above, massive wooden beams crossed the ceiling like exposed ribs.
Lanterns hung from them, their dim glow stretching shadows across the hall,
shadows that clung to walls and pooled beneath tables.
At the entrance stood a single, nameless boy.
'So this… is my new home', he thought quietly.'It resembles chaos itself.'
Yet his expression did not change.
'Still… I should be grateful. I have food and Shelter. Not every child is afforded such fortune.
He stood calmly, hands at his sides.
The boy had medium-length black hair, smooth and untouched by any attempt at style. It framed his face naturally, unremarkable—until one looked at his eyes.
Fuchsia.
A reddish-pink hue, ringed and sharp, unnatural against his otherwise gentle appearance.
They carried weight far beyond his years.
His skin was fair, almost fragile in contrast.
He wore a deep purple hoodie, loose and soft, its sleeves extending past his wrists.
Black trousers followed.
No shoes, bare feet pressed against the cold wooden floor.
'I am grateful to Master Jose, he reflected.
The clothing he has provided is… comfortable.'
He began to walk, thoughts steady, expression neutral.
'Guilds function as organizations', he recalled.
'They accept requests. Complete jobs. Earn Jewels. In essence… a profession.'
A sudden roar shattered his thoughts.
Near one of the reinforced pillars, a crowd had formed. A loose ring of bodies shouting, betting, laughing.
Coins slammed onto tables.
"What—seriously? That's it?" a voice said. "That's all you got?"
At the center stood a single figure.
Around him, grown men lay sprawled across the floor. Unconscious, broken and beaten.
'All adults', the boy noted.
The figure's hair was long, thick, and violently spiked, falling down to his upper back.
Loose strands framed his face, partially covering his ears, giving him a guarded, feral look.
His eyes were red. Not human red, but Sharp. Slitted.
Metal studs lined his face and body.
Three above each eye, forming artificial brows. Two along each side of his nose.
Two beneath his mouth.
His ears were pierced excessively, rows of earrings glinting in the lantern light.
Dark, flame-like markings curled along his forearms, etched into his flesh as if burned there.
"Even at nine, Lionheart stood," someone muttered.
"At nine…" another whispered.
The wild boy inhaled deeply through his nose.
His expression shifted.
"…Huh," he muttered. "That's weird."
He turned his head slowly, scanning the hall.
"Not here."
Another glance.
"Not there either."
Then, his eyes locked onto the boy with fuchsia eyes.
"Yo." He jerked his chin forward. "You."
'Is he addressing me?' the boy wondered.
He stepped through the crowd calmly, arriving at the center.
His eyes widened slightly.
'He… isn't much older than I am.'
The wild boy's outfit was simple, but loud.
A sleeveless beige top hung loosely over his frame. A massive pale scarf draped over one shoulder, oversized and heavy.
Dark trousers bore vertical gold stripes and red flame motifs along the thighs.
Worn boots grounded him. Studded leather bands wrapped his wrists.
The wild boy pointed at himself.
"Name's Gajeel Lionheart."
Then he pointed directly at the boy.
"So," he said casually, eyes sharp.
"Who—or what—the hell are you?"
A storm of voices erupted from the surrounding ring.
"Again! Again!"
"Break something already!"
"Ten Jewels says he bleeds first!"
"Make it fifty!"
Their words carried excitement, not concerned.
The boy did his best to ignore them.
He lowered his head slightly and answered Gajeel's question with measured calm.
"My name is Albion Ebonveil. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
He raised his head once more, eyes steady.
"As for what I am… I would say I am an average five-year-old child."
His tone was flawless.
His thoughts were not.
'These people take joy in hurting others.'
'They are nothing more than worthless bags of flesh.'
"That's not what I'm asking!" Gajeel snapped.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Your scent's off, Way off. Doesn't match anyone else here."
"…Are you even human?"
Albion maintained his neutral expression, raising a single brow.
"Are you implying that I am a Animal?"
Gajeel shrugged casually, "Honestly? No idea."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Anyway, guess that makes you the only other kid here besides me, huh?"
"I suppose so," Albion replied mildly. "I only joined this guild recently."
His gaze drifted downward.
Across the floor lay grown men, unconscious, sprawled, and broken.
"…Did you do this?"
Gajeel nodded, "Yeah. So?"
He scoffed.
"They were chumps, Weak as hell. You can't seriously call those guys fighters, right?"
"I wouldn't know," Albion answered calmly. "I have never fought before."
"Tell me, Gajeel… why do you fight?"
A wide grin split Gajeel's face.
"Why?" he asked "'Cause I like it. Straight up, I fight for the love of the game."
He flicked his hand dismissively.
"Oh—and don't worry. Didn't even use magic on 'em. They'll wake up eventually."
'He defeated adult men with nothing but his fists…'
'What a monster.'
"Magic?" Albion turned his head slightly.
Gajeel blinked. "Wait—seriously?"
"You don't know?"
"Magic?" Albion repeated thoughtfully. "I am afraid I have only heard of it today."
He tilted his head.
"Does this establishment possess a library? If so, I would appreciate being shown its location."
Gajeel nodded, "Yeah, it does." Then he smirked. "But I can't just show you."
He gestured around the hall.
"In this guild, your place is earned. Strength talks, You feel me?"
Albion exhaled slowly. "I was hoping you would not say that."
His voice remained polite, almost regretful.
"I am not fond of violence. Should I fight, I would only do so reluctantly, as I do not wish to harm others."
"…However, it seems I do not currently possess a choice."
A grin crept back onto Gajeel's face as
Understanding dawned.
"Didn't you just say you don't wanna fight?" he chuckled "Sounds kinda hypocritical, doesn't it?"
"I said I would prefer not to," Albion replied calmly. "Not that I am incapable."
He shifted his stance, feet spreading slightly against the wooden floor.
"You and I, Gajeel."
His eyes met Gajeel's.
"Let us throw hands."
Gajeel's grin widened, delighted.
"Oh, you're messed up," he laughed. "That's crazy."
Then his eyes gleamed.
"I like that. I really, really like that."
The fight began in an instant.
Albion kicked off the floor, his bare feet skimming the wood as he circled Gajeel in a wide arc.
"Oh?" Gajeel tilted his head. "Didn't expect that."
Albion pivoted on his heel and shot forward.
He threw clean straight jab.
Gajeel slipped it by a hair.
Another jab. Then another. Albion pressed in, fists snapping forward in rapid succession, his footwork tight.
Gajeel weaved through them all, his grin widening.
"Damn," he laughed. "You ain't scared to get in close."
"I don't care what you like," Albion replied flatly.
He shifted his weight, hips twisting, and whipped out a roundhouse kick.
This time Gajeel caught it.
One hand clamped around Albion's leg.
"A textbook roundhouse," Gajeel said casually. "Horizontal swing, good rotation."
He smiled. "But you gotta commit."
The back of Gajeel's knuckles slammed into Albion's jaw.
The impact lifted Albion off the ground.
Before gravity could reclaim him, Gajeel bent his knees and launched upward, twisting midair. His body snapped like a whip.
BOOM.
A spinning kick sent Albion flying.
He hit the floor hard, rolling across the wood as splinters jumped loose.
Albion coughed violently, clutching his ribs as his breath came in ragged pulls.
'Not just reflexes…'
'His strength is abnormal.'
A metallic taste filled his mouth.
Blood.
'Two strikes… and this much damage?'
Pain exploded in his side.
"Oi!" a guild member barked, kicking Albion hard."I didn't pay to watch you get folded!"
He then did Another kick.
"Get up, brat! At least make it worth the Jewels!"
"Ah—!" Albion gasped, pain ripping through him.
Before the next kick could land, an iron club smashed into the man's chest, launching him across the hall and into a table that shattered on impact.
Silence.
The iron weapon retracted, flowing back into Gajeel's arm as metal peeled away like liquid steel.
"This ain't your fight," Gajeel said coldly.
"So back the hell off."
The hall erupted with cheers and laugher.
Albion pushed himself up slowly.
"So… this is the magic you mentioned earlier?"
"Bingo." Gajeel grinned.
'Unbelievable.'
Gajeel vanished.
Albion raised his guard, 'He's going to overpower me again—'
No.
Gajeel was already behind him.
An arm wrapped around Albion's waist, a body lock.
"You got instincts," Gajeel muttered near his ear. "But that's all you got."
When—?!
"Your body's weak."
Gajeel lifted him and drove him straight into the floor.
CRASH.
The wood beneath them shattered. Albion's head struck hard, blood spilling freely.
Before he could react, Gajeel was already airborne.
Albion rolled backward just in time, Gajeel's descent cracking the floor where he'd been a second earlier.
There wasnt anytime to rest, Gajeel was already on him again.
Punches. Elbows. Knees.
Albion blocked, although barely.
I'm guarding but I'm still taking damage?!
Every blow felt heavier than the last.
'Speed. Strength. Endurance'.
'Everything about him is inhuman!'
With a savage grin, Gajeel forced his way through Albion's defense.
One hand seized Albion by the head.
He lifted, and slammed him down.
The last thing Albion saw was Gajeel's fist descending.
Then, Darkness.
And a memory surfaced.
◆ ◇ ◆
A cramped bedroom.
The air was stale, heavy with the scent of sweat and rusted metal.
A woman with fair skin and shaggy hair stood in the center of the room, pacing in tight, erratic circles. Her fingers were shoved between her teeth, biting down until blood welled at the edges of her nails.
"He said he loved me…" she muttered.
"Loved me… loved me… loved me…"
Her voice rose, fraying with every repetition.
"Love—! Love—!"
She bit harder.
"HE SAID HE LOVED ME!" she screamed. "So WHY DID HE ONLY USE ME?!"
Her cries shattered the silence.
"WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!"
Her hand shot toward the dresser. Fingers wrapped around a small knife.
"It isn't my fault…" she whispered, dragging the blade across her skin. "It isn't my fault…"
Blood ran down her arms.
"He assaulted me," she murmured, voice trembling. "He used me. Threw me away."
Soft footsteps echoed from the doorway.
A small child stood half-hidden behind the wall, fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his shirt.
It was a younger Albion.
The woman turned.
Her gaze locked onto the boy's reddish-pink eyes.
Something in her snapped.
She rose slowly, a manic gleam twisting her expression as she stepped toward him, knife still in hand.
"It's your fault," she said quietly. "You're the reason he left."
Her lips trembled.
"Those fuchsia eyes…" she muttered. "They're the same as his."
The boy's breath hitched.
Blood dripped from her arms, The knife caught the light.
He stumbled backward, panic flooding his small body as his gaze fell to the blade.
"He forced me to have you," she said, looming over him. "So now…"
Her grip tightened.
"Now it's your turn to feel pain."
His body shook violently.
Pain exploded through both of his arms, sharp, burning, and absolute.
Back then, all he wanted was his mother's love. And, to an extent he believed she did love him. But at the same time he believed she hated him.
◆ ◇ ◆
The battle came to an end.
Gajeel exhaled lightly as he stood over Albion's motionless body.
"You know… you weren't bad for a kid," he admitted. "But without magic, you'll never take down a wizard."
Blood pooled beneath Albion's head, trickling from a gash on his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly.
Turning his back, Gajeel began to walk away.
"Well, guess that's it," he muttered. "Wonder what I'll grab for lunch."
Step.
He stopped.
Something felt… off.
Slowly, Gajeel turned around…
and froze.
Albion was standing.
Wobbling, bruised, bleeding, but upright.
"…Hey, hey, hey," Gajeel said, disbelief giving way to a wide grin. "You're still on your feet? That's some toughness."
Albion's body was battered with marks and swelling, yet he refused to fall.
"Your like me, ain't ya?" Gajeel ask. "Someone born with a natural knack for fighting. The difference is, I was trained."
"My head…" Albion murmured, voice low and unsteady. "It's… really pounding. How long was I out…?"
"That's the spirit!" Gajeel's arm hardened, transforming into an iron club. "I knew you had that dog in you!"
The iron extended in a straight line, rocketing toward Albion's face.
"You smile the same way I do, Gajeel."
The club stopped, barely inches from Albion's forehead.
"…What did you just say?" Gajeel asked slowly.
"When the person who was supposed to protect you disappears," Albion said, limping forward, "they leave a hollow space behind."
His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. He looked ready to collapse.
"A place nothing ever really fits into again… no matter how strong you become."
Gajeel didn't move.
"I know this," Albion continued softly, offering a fragile smile, "because I can feel what others feel. But being human… taught me something deeper."
Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks.
"What my mother gave me wasn't love," he whispered. "I just wanted to believe it was."
His voice trembled.
"I'm lonely. And I don't want to be alone anymore."
"I want to matter. I want to be needed. I want to know it's okay for me to exist. But I was scared—too scared to leave my house. So I waited…"
His steps slowed.
"Hoping someone would come looking for me. Hoping someone would choose me."
"What are you doing, Lionheart?!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Finish him! I want my money's worth!"
"Yeah! End it already!"
Gajeel didn't hear them.
His iron arm slackened, the metal slowly retracting.
'This kid… does he know?' rhe thought unsettled him. How could someone he'd met minutes ago dig so deep?
Albion reached him, his tears wouldn't stop.
"Maybe that's what we all do in the end," he said quietly. "We only reach out with our hands when we want to hurt… because we forgot how to use them to hold someone instead."
With shaking strength, Albion grasped Gajeel's hand.
"So… is it okay," he asked, voice barely above a whisper, "if we start… right here?"
A voice echoed in Gajeel's mind.
A voice he hadn't heard in a long time.
"Gajeel… one day, I won't be here anymore.
That's just how time works."
"When that day comes—when you're at your lowest—someone will reach out a hand to you."
"Not because you deserve it. Not because you asked. But because they chose to."
"You're rude. Impulsive. Loud. Basically a pain to deal with."
"And you've got a temper hot enough to melt iron."
"And still… if someone offers you their hand despite all that…"
"I hope you take it."
"…Or don't. It's your life. I'm not your keeper."
When Gajeel finally came to, Albion was on his knees before him, still holding his hand with both of his.
"…Did he pass out?"
Gajeel crouched down and carefully pried Albion's fingers loose, easing his hands back to his sides.
"Tch… congratulations, kid," he muttered. "You've got my respect. And my curiosity."
Straightening up, he hoisted Albion over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Me and you are taking a little walk."
He glanced toward the hallway.
"Time to visit the library."