Chapter 81: The Dragon's Return
Another week passed. The Harvest Festival decorations multiplied, flowers and banners and lights draped across every corner of Magnolia. The guild hall had been scrubbed and polished and polished again. The café had expanded its menu. The souvenir shop had restocked three times. The pool had been drained and refilled and heated to the exact temperature Mirajane insisted was "optimal for relaxation."
And still no Natsu.
Lucy sat at the window table, a cup of tea gone cold in front of her, watching the road. Erza sat across from her, a stack of pageant paperwork untouched, doing the same thing. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to.
"He's fine," Lucy said for the hundredth time. "He's always fine."
"He set himself on fire training for the Tower of Heaven," Erza replied. "He ate crystals that should have killed him. He turned into something with scales and claws. His definition of fine is not the same as ours."
Lucy's fingers tightened around her cup. "He'll come back."
"You don't know that."
"I feel him." Lucy pressed her hand to her chest. "The resonance. It's faint, but it's there. He's alive. He's just... far away. Or deep. I don't know how to explain it."
Erza was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and took Lucy's hand. "He'll come back."
Lucy almost laughed. "You just said…"
"I know what I said. But I choose to believe you." Erza's grip tightened. "I have to."
The door to the guild hall opened.
Every head turned. Every conversation stopped. Every card game, every drink, every argument, everything.
Natsu Dragneel stood in the doorway.
He was a disaster. His vest was gone, burned away to nothing, leaving his chest bare and raw and covered in soot. His pants were more hole than fabric, the edges blackened and smoking. His boots were melted at the toes. His skin was streaked with ash and sweat and something that looked like old blood. His hair was longer, wilder, tangled into knots that would probably need scissors to remove.
His scarf was perfect. White and pristine, the scales gleaming in the afternoon light, untouched by the fire that had consumed everything else.
He smelled like smoke. Like a forest fire. Like the end of something.
Lucy was on her feet before she knew she had moved. Erza was beside her. They crossed the hall together, past the frozen tables, past the staring guild members, past Happy who had dropped his fish and was making a sound that was not quite a cry and not quite a laugh.
Lucy stopped in front of him. Erza stopped beside her.
Natsu looked at them. His eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted, but they were his eyes. Not gold. Not slitted. Just Natsu.
"Hey," he said. His voice was rough, scraped raw by something that might have been screaming. "I'm back."
Lucy hit him.
It was not a gentle hit. It was a closed fist, right in the center of his chest, and he was too tired to block it, too tired to dodge, too tired to do anything but stand there and take it.
"TWO WEEKS," Lucy screamed. "TWO WEEKS, NATSU. NO MESSAGE. NO SIGN. NOTHING. WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. WE THOUGHT…" Her voice cracked. She hit him again, weaker this time. "We thought you left us."
Natsu opened his mouth to speak. Erza's fist connected with his stomach before he could get a word out.
He doubled over, wheezing, and Erza grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up so he could see her face. Her eyes were wet. Her jaw was tight. She was shaking.
"You do not get to do that," she said. Her voice was low and terrible. "You do not get to disappear into the forest for two weeks with no word. You do not get to make us wonder if you are alive or dead or something in between. You do not get to make us wait at the window every day, watching the road, waiting for you to come back."
"I'm sorry," Natsu gasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"You didn't mean to what?" Lucy demanded. "You didn't mean to vanish? You didn't mean to make us worry? You didn't mean to come back looking like you crawled out of a volcano?"
"I was training."
"Training." Erza's voice could have frozen the ocean. "You were training."
"I had to. The power from the tower, the crystals, it was too much. I couldn't control it. I had to burn it out before it burned me out." He straightened slowly, his hand pressed to his stomach where Erza had hit him. "I thought it would take a few days. It took longer. I couldn't stop. I couldn't leave until it was done."
Lucy stared at him. At the soot on his skin, the burns on his arms, the exhaustion in his eyes. "And now? Is it done?"
Natsu looked at her. At Erza. At the guild hall behind them, the rebuilt walls and the new windows and the people watching. Something flickered across his face. Something that might have been pain or might have been relief or might have been something else entirely.
"I don't know," he said. "I think so. For now."
He looked around the hall. At the café. The souvenir shop. The pool. The second floor with its sign about S-Class and above. His face went through something complicated.
"This place," he said. "It doesn't feel the same."
"It's not supposed to," Erza said. "It was destroyed. We rebuilt."
"I know. It's just..." He trailed off, looking at the polished floors, the new bar, the flowers on the tables. "It's different. Everything is different."
Lucy's anger flickered. She saw him looking at the hall like it was a stranger, like he was seeing it for the first time. She saw his hands shake at his sides. She saw the way he was standing, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be here.
"We're not different," she said. "Erza and I. We're still here. We were waiting. We're always waiting."
Natsu looked at her. His eyes were wet. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Happy launched himself off the souvenir rack and slammed into Natsu's face, his tiny arms wrapped around his partner's neck, his wings beating frantically. "AYE! NATSU! YOU'RE BACK! YOU'RE BACK! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! I THOUGHT SOMETHING ATE YOU! I THOUGHT…"
"I'm here, buddy." Natsu's arms came up, holding Happy against his chest. "I'm okay. I'm back."
"You smell like smoke," Happy sobbed. "You smell like fire. You smell like burning. You smell like…"
"I know. I need a bath."
"You need a hospital," Lucy said. "You need food. You need sleep. You need…"
She stopped. Natsu was looking at her, and there was something in his eyes that made her chest tight.
"I missed you," he said. "Both of you. Every day. I kept thinking about coming back. Kept thinking about the guild. About you. About…" He stopped. Swallowed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't send word. I'm sorry I worried you. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry."
Erza stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. It was not gentle. It was the hug of a woman who had been waiting for two weeks, who had been watching the road every day, who had felt something pulse through the forest and had been afraid to find out what it meant.
Lucy wrapped around him from the other side, her face pressed against his shoulder, her tears soaking into the soot that covered him.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"I know."
"A stupid, reckless, infuriating idiot."
"I know."
"If you ever do that again, I will kill you myself."
"I know."
They stood like that for a long time, the three of them, and the guild watched in silence, and no one said a word.
The moment broke when Makarov appeared on the bar, his small form somehow taking up the whole room. He was wearing his formal robes, the ones he only brought out for important occasions. His face was serious, but his eyes were bright.
"My children," he said, and his voice carried across the hall. "I am glad to see our wayward dragon has returned. But before we celebrate, there are two matters to address."
He gestured, and a figure stepped out from behind the bar. A woman, young, with dark hair and kind eyes and a Guild mark on her shoulder that was fresh, still pink around the edges.
"This is Kinana," Makarov said. "She has recently joined our guild. She will be working with Mirajane at the bar. I trust you will all make her feel welcome."
There was a murmur of greeting. A few people waved. Kinana smiled, nervous, and Mirajane put a hand on her shoulder and said something that made her relax.
Makarov waited for the noise to settle. Then his face changed. Became something harder.
"There is one more," he said. "And I expect you to treat him with the same courtesy you would show any new member."
The doors opened.
Gajeel Redfox walked in.
He was wearing simple clothes, no armor, no spikes, just a dark shirt and pants. His Guild mark was on his arm, fresh and red against his pale skin. His face was the same, sharp and hard, the studs glinting in the light, but something in his posture was different. Smaller, almost. Like he was trying to make himself less than he was.
The hall went silent. The kind of silent that happens before something breaks.
Gray's hands were already moving, ice forming at his fingertips. Elfman stood up from his chair, his face dark. Macao's hand went to his fire. Everywhere, people were reaching for their magic, their weapons, their anger.
Makarov raised his hand. "Stop."
"Stop?" Gray's voice was sharp. "Master, he destroyed our guild. He attacked our friends. He hung Levy from a tree like a piece of meat. He…"
"I know what he did." Makarov's voice was quiet, but it cut through Gray's rage like a blade. "I was there. I saw what he did to my children. I felt the iron spikes in my home. I carried Levy to the healers myself."
He looked at Gajeel, and Gajeel did not look away. There was something in his face that might have been shame or might have been fear or might have been nothing at all.
"He was following orders," Makarov said. "Jose Porla was his master. Jose Porla gave him commands. And Jose Porla is gone. Phantom Lord is gone. What remains is a young man who has nowhere else to go and no one else to be."
"He tried to kill us," Gray said.
"He tried to kill you," Makarov agreed. "And you tried to kill him. That is what happens when guilds go to war. That is what happens when children are given weapons and told to hate. But the war is over. And I will not punish a man for loyalty to his guild any more than I would punish you for loyalty to yours."
Lucy was staring at Levy. Levy was at a table in the corner, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, her face pale. Jet and Droy stood on either side of her, their bodies angled in front of her like shields. She was shaking.
Natsu saw it too. He was standing at the front of the hall, still covered in soot, still smelling of smoke, and he was watching Gajeel with an expression that no one in the guild had ever seen on his face before.
Gajeel saw him watching. His eyes met Natsu's. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Natsu walked forward.
He stopped a few feet away from Gajeel. Close enough to fight. Close enough to burn. Close enough to do something that everyone in the room was thinking about doing.
"Hey," Natsu said.
Gajeel's jaw tightened. "Salamander."
"You joined the guild."
"I joined the guild."
"Why?"
Gajeel's eyes flickered. Something moved behind them, something that might have been anger or might have been something else. "The old man gave me a chance. Not many people do that."
"You hurt my friends."
"I hurt a lot of people."
Natsu's fists clenched at his sides. Lucy saw the heat rising off his skin, the way the air around him was starting to shimmer. She saw Erza tensing beside her, ready to move, ready to stop whatever was about to happen.
"You hung Levy from a tree," Natsu said. His voice was low, rough, scraped raw. "You put iron through her. You left her there to bleed."
Gajeel did not look away. "I did."
"She's afraid of you."
"I know."
"She sits at that table every day and she pretends she's not afraid and she is. She is terrified. Every time someone walks in the door, she looks to see if it's you. Every time there's a loud noise, she flinches. You did that."
Gajeel's face was stone. "I know."
Natsu stood there for a long moment, his fists shaking, his fire building. The guild watched. Lucy held her breath.
Then Natsu turned away.
He walked back to Lucy and Erza, his hands still shaking, his skin still hot. He did not look at Gajeel again.
Makarov spoke into the silence. "Gajeel will be monitored. Erza has volunteered to watch him, to ensure he is not a spy, to ensure he earns the trust he is being given. He will be judged by his actions, not his past. That is the rule of this guild."
Erza nodded. Her face was composed, but Lucy saw her hand on her sword, ready.
Makarov looked around the hall. "Are there any objections?"
No one spoke.
"Good. Then let us welcome our new members properly. Mirajane, if you would."
The lights went out.
It was sudden, complete, the kind of darkness that comes from magic, not from any switch or fuse. The guild hall went black, and for a moment, no one moved, no one breathed.
And then Mirajane began to sing.
Her voice rose out of the darkness, clear and pure, filling the hall like light. It was a song about the sea, about sailors lost and found, about the stars that guide them home. It was old, older than the guild, older than any of them. It was beautiful.
Lucy felt something loosen in her chest. The fear from the past two weeks, the waiting, the not knowing, the watching the road. It began to ease.
Erza's hand found hers in the darkness. Squeezed.
The song built, Mirajane's voice rising, and one by one, candles lit around the hall. Small flames, soft, flickering, casting shadows that danced on the walls. The guild members watched, listened, remembered why they were here, what they had built, what they had survived.
And then Gajeel stepped on Natsu's foot.
It was an accident. Or it looked like an accident. His foot came down, his boot landing square on Natsu's bare toes, and Natsu, who had been standing in the dark with his eyes closed, listening to Mirajane sing, let out a yelp that was not quiet and not small and not appropriate for the moment.
"WHAT THE HELL?" Natsu grabbed Gajeel by the collar. "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE STEPPING, SCRAP METAL!"
Gajeel's hand closed around Natsu's wrist. "Maybe you should move your feet out of the way, Salamander."
"MY FEET WERE FINE WHERE THEY WERE! YOU STEPPED ON ME!"
"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"
"NOTHING YOU DO IS AN ACCIDENT! YOU'RE PROBABLY TRYING TO START A FIGHT!"
"IF I WANTED TO START A FIGHT, YOU'D KNOW IT!"
"OH, I KNOW IT? I KNOW IT? YOU WANT TO GO RIGHT NOW? RIGHT HERE?"
"ANYTIME, ANYWHERE, SALAMANDER!"
The first fireball hit Gajeel in the chest. The first iron fist hit Natsu in the face. The candles went out. The song stopped. The guild erupted.
Chairs flew. Tables overturned. Macao was throwing fire at anyone who got too close. Wakaba was using his smoke to blind anyone who wasn't already blinded by the chaos. Elfman was roaring about manliness while simultaneously trying to separate Natsu and Gajeel with his bare hands. Gray had joined the fight on principle, ice forming around his fists, and Juvia was trying to pull him back, and Happy was flying around screaming about fish, and Cana was laughing, and Lucy was trying to get to Natsu, and Erza was trying to get to Gajeel, and no one was listening to anyone.
Then Makarov grew.
He did not shout. He did not throw fire or lightning or any of the things that might have stopped a fight in a normal guild. He simply grew. Taller, wider, filling the hall, his head brushing the ceiling, his hands big enough to crush tables, his face the face of something ancient and terrible.
"I SAID STOP."
The fight stopped. Every single person in the guild hall stopped. Natsu froze with a fireball in his hand. Gajeel froze with his fist raised. Gray froze with his shirt missing. Everyone froze.
Makarov looked down at them. At the overturned tables, the broken chairs, the soot on the new floors, the blood on the new walls. At his children, who had survived war and loss and destruction and who were now fighting each other over a stepped-on foot.
He sighed. It was a very small sound for a very large man.
"The reporter from Sorcerer Magazine arrives tomorrow," he said. His voice was soft. It was somehow more terrifying than his shouting. "She is coming to write about our rebuilt guild. About our new members. About how Fairy Tail has risen from the ashes of war to become stronger than ever."
He looked at the wreckage around him.
"This is what she will see."
No one said anything.
Makarov shrank back to his normal size. He walked through the ruined hall, stepping over broken chairs, around spilled drinks, past his silent, frozen children.
"Clean it up," he said. "All of it. I want this place spotless by morning. I want the floors polished. I want the windows washed. I want the flowers replaced. I want the café restocked. I want the souvenir shirts folded."
He stopped at the door and looked back.
"And if there is any fighting tomorrow, any blood, any fire, any iron, any ice, anything that makes this guild look like anything less than the family it is, I will personally ensure that the next three months of your lives are spent on jobs so unpleasant, so remote, so utterly miserable, that you will beg for the return of the war."
He left.
The guild stood in silence. Natsu looked at Gajeel. Gajeel looked at Natsu.
Gray, who had found his shirt somewhere in the chaos, picked up a chair and set it right. "I'm not cleaning this up alone."
Lucy grabbed a broom. Erza started gathering the broken glass. Happy flew around collecting napkins. Elfman righted a table. Mirajane, who had been watching from behind the bar with an expression of serene amusement, began to pour drinks.
Natsu and Gajeel stood in the center of it all, surrounded by the wreckage of their fight, not moving, not speaking.
Then Natsu bent down and picked up a chair. He set it right. He walked to the next one and set it right. He kept walking, kept setting chairs right, and after a moment, Gajeel bent down and started doing the same.
They did not speak. They did not look at each other. But they worked, side by side, cleaning the mess they had made, and the guild watched, and no one said a word.
Tomorrow, the reporter would come. Tomorrow, they would be perfect. Tomorrow, they would show the world what Fairy Tail had become.
But tonight, they cleaned. And Natsu, who had been gone for two weeks, who had come back covered in soot and ash, who had fought a man he hated because he did not know what else to do, worked beside his enemy in silence, and wondered what came next.
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Next Time: The Reporter's Visit