A red light flooded the laboratory.
A shrill alarm screamed through the metal halls, echoing endlessly as if the building itself were panicking. Warning sigils flashed along the walls, bathing the room in a violent crimson glow.
At the center of it all stood a woman.
Her shaggy black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, strands clinging to her face. Her eyes, pitch-black and empty, reflected nothing.
Around her lay the bodies of scientists, sprawled across the floor in broken, unnatural angles. Blood still glistened beneath them.
At her feet knelt a man.
He wore a black robe with long, frayed sleeves, a matching tattsuke-bakama, and a white sash tied loosely at his waist, once ceremonial, now tattered.
His body trembled, blood dripping from his mouth as he struggled to remain conscious.
The woman nudged him with her foot.
Once, then again. It was mocking and deliberate.
"Look at you," she said calmly. "Born in a shinobi village. Raised among blades and shadows. Praised as a prodigy."
She crouched slightly, her shadow stretching over him.
"And yet… you were defeated by a woman."
A scoff escaped her lips.
"A kunoichi."
She let the word linger, as if it were filth.
"How utterly humiliating," she continued. "All that bloodline. All that training. Reduced to nothing."
Her eyes hardened, any trace of amusement vanishing.
"I want everything connected to that man erased. His name. His legacy. His very existence."
She rose to her feet.
"And unlike others, my goal will never change."
Turning away, she walked deeper into the facility.
The chamber ahead was vast and sterile. Thick pipes coiled along the walls like dormant serpents, pulsing faintly as violet light coursed through them.
The glow led to the room's centerpiece—a towering capsule of reinforced glass.
Liquid magic filled it, so dense it warped the air itself. Suspended within was an infant.
His small body floated weightlessly, feet resting on nothing, as though gravity had simply forgotten him.
The woman stopped.
She stared at the child for a long moment, her lips curling into something close to amusement.
"But you…"
"…What am I to do with you?"
A quiet laugh slipped from her throat.
"Oh, that's easy," she murmured. "I can always say I was assaulted by some powerful wizard."
She nodded to herself.
"Yes… that excuse will do. People love tragedies like that. They ask fewer questions."
Her gaze sharpened, cold and dismissive.
"I doubt you'll remember any of this, little one. And even if you did…"
"I couldn't care less."
She tilted her head, studying him, not as a child, but as an object.
"Hmm. You don't even have a name, do you?"
At that moment, the infant's eyes opened.
They were fuchsia, an unnatural reddish-pink, ringed and sharp. Too sharp for a newborn. The color clashed eerily with his otherwise gentle features.
The woman paused.
"…Albion."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"It symbolizes purity and innocence."
Her voice softened, not with kindness, but with cruelty.
"How beautifully ironic."
"A name so clean… forced into a life of violence and corruption. I like that contrast."
She placed her palm against the glass.
"As for my name, don't bother asking. I would be a fool to give you my birth name."
"I am a criminal, after all."
She leaned closer, her reflection distorting across the capsule.
"You may call me Mother."
The word carried no warmth.
"And since I am your parent…your life belongs to me."
Her shadow swallowed the infant whole.
"You may forget this moment. Or you may remember it."
Her smile sharpened.
"But if you do remember…"
"Then I suppose you and I will curse one another."
A soft glow ignited beneath her palm. It traveled through the glass.
Crack.
A jagged fracture split across the capsule.
She spoke one final time.
"After all… humans are born with magic."
Her eyes narrowed.
"But your kind?"
"You were born from it."
Following her words, a sharp crack split the laboratory apart.
And so, the woman cursed by the shinobi world became a mother.
To the one cursed by humanity.
Thus began a fate that would stain history itself.
◆ ◇ ◆
"Ugh…"
Albion groaned as his eyes slowly fluttered open.
The first thing he noticed was the floor. Cold and Hard. Very uncomfortable. Sitting up, he rubbed his head and looked around.
He found himself in a massive chamber, vast and cathedral-like in scale. The ceiling stretched high above, supported by thick pillars, while long rows of tables were laid out with precise symmetry.
Everything looked clean, organized, almost… too organized.
Before he could think too hard about it, a voice was heard.
"I see you're up!"
Albion flinched.
He turned toward the voice and spotted long communal tables filling the center of the room. Low-backed chairs lined either side, all identical, all neatly pushed in.
At one of those tables sat a boy with long black hair.
"Yooo! Over here, bruh—hey!" Gajeel shouted, waving both arms wildly. "You hungry? I got food!"
Albion blinked.
"…Huh?"
The boy—Gajeel—gestured enthusiastically to the tray in front of him.
On it sat a cheeseburger with a shiny sesame bun, melted cheese drooping over the sides, crispy bacon peeking out. Beside it was a pile of straight-cut fries, golden and steaming.
To the side sat a small blue bottle labeled Orange Juice.
Albion stared.
Right before he could answer, memories from earlier rushed back into his head.
His expression darkened.
"…Not hungry."
Yes, he was absolutely pouting.
"Oh?" Gajeel shrugged. "That's fine. More for me."
Albion turned away with a hmph.
"Grrrglrrr…"
The sound echoed a little too loudly.
Albion froze. Slowly… his face turned red.
"…How embarrassing…" he muttered.
Trying very hard to look dignified, he shuffled over and sat down anyway.
Gajeel tilted his head. "What? Why you lookin' at me like that?"
Albion narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"…Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?" he asked. "You didn't spit in this, did you?"
"Hahaha!" Gajeel burst out laughing, nearly falling back in his chair. "Nah, man! You're wild!"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. You just… remind me of someone I knew."
"…Okay?" Albion replied, not fully convinced.
Still, he picked up the burger.
He hesitated.
Then took a bite.
His eyes widened.
Warm, juicy flavor filled his mouth. The bun was soft, the meat rich, the cheese perfectly melted.
"…Delicious!" he blurted out.
He chewed quickly and swallowed, immediately grabbing a handful of fries and shoving them into his mouth.
"Salty!" His eyes sparkled like stars. "But really good!"
He looked at Gajeel in disbelief.
"This is all for me? "All of it? Really?!"
"Yep." Gajeel nodded, grinning.
That was all the confirmation Albion needed.
He went to town.
Hack!
Albion's eyes went wide as he began pounding his chest.
He grabbed the orange juice and gulped it down desperately.
Sweetness rushed through his mouth.
"Haaa…" He exhaled deeply, setting the bottle down.
Then, without missing a beat, he went right back to eating. Gajeel watched quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
'Even the way he eats…'
'It reminds me of him.'
His curiosity stirred.
'Just who is this kid? And why does he remind me so much of Metalicana?'
Albion let out a long sigh, rubbing his stomach as he leaned back in his chair.
"Thanks for the food, Gajeel," he said quietly.
"Yeah, no problem."
Albion hesitated, then straightened a little, as if remembering something important.
"Oh—right. That reminds me." He glanced over. "Have you ever heard of something called an Ethernal Awakening?"
Gajeel raised an eyebrow. "That's kind of outta nowhere," he said. "What made you ask?"
He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, posture relaxing.
"Well…" Albion shifted. "I heard my mother talking about it with Master José."
There was a brief pause before he added, plainly, "She sold me to the guild."
Albion didn't have any reason to lie to Gajeel, so he told him the truth. And because he got him food.
Gajeel studied him for a moment, then rested his elbows on the table, gaze drifting toward the far end of the hall.
"Magic or Mahō, isn't something rare," he began. "It's part of the world itself. In the air, the ground… people just happen to be one of the things it flows through."
Albion frowned slightly. "But I thought not everyone had magic. That's what the master said."
Gajeel shook his head. "Everyone has it. Most people just never feel it."
"When it awakens for the first time, that moment's called an Ethernal Awakening."
He lifted his hand casually.
The metal tray in front of Albion shuddered, then slowly rose into the air.
Albion's eyes widened.
"My magic lets me pull iron, and metal in general, into myself," Gajeel explained. "I shape it. Turn parts of my body into weapons if I need to."
The tray bent inward, folding and twisting until it formed a crude metal fist, floating beside him.
"But the awakening itself?" Gajeel tapped his chest lightly. "It's not just power showing up. It's more like something settling into place."
"You suddenly understand what your magic is. What it reacts to. How it moves."
Albion leaned forward. "So… you've already gone through it?"
"Yeah," Gajeel nodded. "But only the basics. Everything after that?" He shrugged. "You earn it."
The metal fist rotated slowly in the air.
"Right now, I can only shape metal into simple stuff. Like this."
With a flick of his wrist, the fist unraveled and flattened, returning to its original tray shape before clattering back onto the table.
"Magic's only half talent," Gajeel went on. "The rest is effort. Discipline. And a bit of imagination."
Albion stared down at his hands. "I can't do anything like that," he admitted. "So I guess I haven't awakened yet."
He looked up. "Is there a way to trigger it?"
Gajeel shook his head. "Not really. Until around five or six, there's no guarantee someone'll ever awaken at all."
"Then one day…" He snapped his fingers. "It just happens."
"Most people who do awaken are born with what's called Innate Magic," he continued. "Think of it as one core ability. You don't swap it out. You don't replace it."
Albion tilted his head. "Is that what happened to you?"
"No," Gajeel replied. "I wasn't born with mine. I was taught."
He paused, then added, "But for most people, fire stays fire. Water stays water. Earth, wind, whatever."
"That doesn't mean it's weak," he said quickly. "Take my magic."
"You refine it. Expand it. Find new ways to use it. One power can turn into dozens of techniques if you understand it well enough."
"So it's just luck?" Albion asked.
Gajeel shook his head again. "Magic doesn't come out the same for everyone."
"A person's mindset. Their emotions. How they see the world—that shapes how their magic behaves."
"Two people can use fire and still feel completely different. One's wild and destructive. The other's controlled and precise."
"So… it reflects who you are?" Albion guessed.
Gajeel nodded. "Exactly."
"It can run in families, too. Bloodlines matter. A kid might awaken to something similar to their parents, but never identical."
"Magic remembers where it came from," he said. "But it still listens to the individual."
"And if someone doesn't awaken an Innate Magic… or wants to go further?"
"They learn," Gajeel said simply. "Books. Teachers. Practice."
"It's slower and harder. But it works."
He leaned back, folding his arms.
"In the end, a mage's real strength isn't about how much power they stack up."
"It's about how well they understand the power they already have."
A faint, knowing smile crossed his face.
"Remember that, kid. One well-mastered magic beats a dozen half-understood ones."
Albion gave him a flat look, "Don't call me kid. We're basically the same age."
"Hah!" Gajeel barked out a laugh as he started walking. "Yeah, yeah. Still feels like you're a pipsqueak."
Albion fell into step beside him. "So… where exactly are we going?"
Gajeel glanced up, milking the pause. "Where are we?"
He spread his arms slightly.
"Welcome to the Phantom Lord Library."
Towering shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed tight with books of every size and age. Unlike the noisy chaos of the main hall, the library was orderly, rows laid out with deliberate symmetry, each section clearly defined.
The ceiling arched high overhead, supported by dark stone ribs and iron-reinforced beams. Multiple levels rose upward, connected by narrow staircases and spiraling iron walkways that wrapped around massive columns like coiled serpents.
Balconies lined the upper floors, perfect for watching or being watched.
Lanterns hung at measured intervals, their light dim and restrained. Some burned with ordinary flame, others with faintly enchanted glow, illuminating only select shelves.
Shadows pooled thickly between the aisles, giving the unsettling impression that the library itself was listening.
"Here," Gajeel said, hands in his pockets, "you can learn about pretty much anything."
Albion took it all in. "Then why bring me here?" he asked. "You won the fight. You didn't have to."
"That's true." Gajeel shrugged. "Guess I was just curious."
'Curious… about what?'
Gajeel slowed, then turned to him. "What about you? Why'd you wanna come here so bad?"
Albion stopped walking.
"…Huh."
Gajeel squinted at him. "You're telling me you don't even know? Man, you're weird."
Albion didn't argue. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "For as long as I can remember, it was just my mother and me."
"I don't remember my father at all. I don't even know who he was." His gaze drifted downward. "She said he did something unforgivable. Something that made her hate me… just for existing."
"I never met any relatives. There was never anyone else."
His fingers curled slightly at his side.
"She used to hit me. And sometimes… her words hurt more than that ever did."
"But even so," Albion said softly, "I don't think she truly hated me. At least… that's what I choose to believe."
He lifted his head and met Gajeel's eyes. A faint, fragile smile touched his lips.
"So I guess…" His voice lowered. "I just wanted to know if it's alright for me to keep living."