"So," Makarov said, sitting on the barrel like it was the most natural thing in the world, "is this your way of dragging me out to the middle of nowhere to kill me?"
Aelius snorted. The cart rattled beneath them. He still had no idea why it was even there. He'd rented the thing for travel; it was supposed to be empty. Either the rental guy forgot it, or it was meant to be a seat. Or a backrest. Or fate was just being annoying again.
"I already told you, you didn't have to come," Aelius replied. "And I'm going back for my sword. Besides, a fight between us would alert half the country. Last time two Saints had an issue, it did. Surely I don't need to remind you how Jose got the drop on you. Or is your memory failing in your old age?"
"Don't remind me," Makarov muttered, shifting as the cart hit a bump. "So why did you want me to come anyway?"
"I didn't," Aelius said flatly. "I asked you to contact Bob and tell him I was heading back to get my sword. You're the one who insisted on coming. Because, and I quote, 'If Natsu or Gildarts break one more thing, I'm going to break them.'" He rolled his eyes. "Still, it works out. I'm… trying to get better. And right now, you're the only person I want to deal with."
Makarov sighed at that, not annoyed, just tired. "I'm glad you're trying, son. But it's been a day. No one expects you to be magically better. And you could talk to Levy. Or Vanessa. Gildarts said you two had a good conversation."
"I'm going to try to make it a habit," Aelius said quietly. "Talking, I mean. I don't want to slip. I don't want to dissociate like before." He looked away. "Levy's going to be… a lot. And Vanessa's still sore. For the same reason. And Gildarts….maybe, I don't want him speaking like I'm fragile like the rest of the guild."
Makarov watched him for a few seconds instead of answering right away. The cart rolled on, wheels knocking against uneven stones, the horse snorting every so often like it was tired of being part of serious conversations.
"You say that like talking to people is a trap," Makarov said at last. "Like if you pick the wrong one, you fall through the floor."
"Sometimes it feels like that," Aelius replied. "One wrong sentence and suddenly I'm explaining why I didn't die when I had the chance."
"That again," Makarov muttered.
"It doesn't go away just because you don't like it," Aelius said. "Neither does guilt."
Makarov shifted on the barrel seat, cane resting across his knees. "Levy is emotional, yes. Vanessa is angry, yes. That doesn't make them unsafe."
"It makes them loud, and there will be too many tears," Aelius answered. "And I don't have the patience for loud right now, or being drenched."
"You handled a battlefield full of dark S-class dark mages."
"Battlefields are simple. No one asks how you feel while trying to stab you."
That got a short laugh out of Makarov. "Fair."
They rode a little farther in silence. Trees were thicker here, older. The road narrowed, less traveled. Aelius kept his eyes forward, but his shoulders stayed tight, like he expected trouble anyway.
"Tell me about the sword," Makarov said. "You never actually explained why no one else can touch it."
Aelius shrugged, "Sure, it's not something I care to hide. It's like if I let my magic run loose all day, no filter, cloak, or mask suppression. You remember what I was like when I was younger, right?" Aelius asked, eyes turned toward the road behind the cart instead of the master.
Makarov snorted. "Of course I remember. We had fake plants in the guild for years because of you. Plastic trees, plastic flowers, the works. Lisanna kept trying to bring real ones anyway. Every single time they withered in her hands, because she kept wanting to show them to you. She never learned."
Aelius let out a quiet breath. "Yeah. I remember that."
"She must have tried a dozen times before your control improved," Makarov continued. "Got mad every time, too."
"I didn't have control," Aelius said. "I had a lid. Different thing." He shifted his shoulders against the wood, cloak pooled around him. "The sword is like that version of me," he went on. "Except worse. No lid or safety net. It's my magic given shape. It leaks plague and rot the same way fire gives off heat."
"And you just left it lying around?" Makarov said.
Aelius almost took the question seriously, if not for the way the old man was clearly fighting a laugh. "Yeah," Aelius shot back with a dry huff. "Next time I get vaporized, I'll make sure to grow ghost hands, so I can clean up after myself."
"Very responsible," Makarov murmured.
"Tell that to my disintegrated organs," Aelius went on. "Kind of hard to retrieve personal belongings when you're busy being dead."
Makarov's shoulders shook once. He didn't bother hiding the grin anymore.
"You know," Aelius added, glancing sideways at him, "next time some idiot shows up who eats magic, I'm letting you deal with it."
"I already do that," Makarov said.
"Yeah, yeah. Enhancement magic," Aelius muttered. "I realized that halfway through saying it. You're annoyingly well built for that matchup. Punch him instead of casting at him. Very primitive. Very effective."
"Experience," Makarov replied. "Try living as long as I have. You learn to hit problems."
"Comforting leadership philosophy."
They rode on in silence for a while after that, the cart wheels creaking softly as the forest swallowed the clearing behind them. "...Hey," Aelius said at last, breaking the quiet. His voice was casual, but there was something tight under it, like he hadn't meant to let the thought out. "You ever hear the phrase 'no one mourns the wicked'?"
Makarov glanced at him, his expression shifting just a little. "Can't say I have, son. Why do you ask?" His tone tightened, not alarmed exactly, but attentive. A question like that rarely came from nowhere.
Aelius shrugged, eyes still forward. "Might just be something I picked up somewhere." He paused, then added, "Feels like it fits with no rest for the wicked."
Makarov didn't interrupt.
"No one to mourn you means no one left to care," Aelius went on. "Means even after you die, you're stuck in the same hell. Nothing ends. Nothing changes."
Makarov didn't answer right away. He hopped off the cart as they stopped, eyes forward, attention split between the mansion grounds and the boy beside him. When he did speak, his voice was steady, not soft, not sharp, just grounded.
"That sounds like something people say when they want permission to give up on someone," he said. "Or when they want permission to give up on themselves."
Aelius gave a small shrug, as if it didn't matter. "Or when it's true."
"Is that what you think you are," Makarov asked, "wicked?"
Aelius let out a quiet breath through his nose. "I think outcomes matter more than intentions. My magic ruins things. Twists them. Kills them. Intent doesn't really change the result on the ground."
"You're measuring yourself like a weapon," Makarov said. "Weapons don't get mourned. People do."
"People die because of weapons," Aelius replied flatly. "Same math."
Makarov stopped walking.
Aelius took two more steps before noticing and turned slightly. The old man was watching him now, not the woods, not the path, just him.
"You're not a storm," Makarov said. "You're not a curse crawling around in boots. You're a person using dangerous magic. That's a difference whether you like it or not."
Aelius clicked his tongue. "You always say that like it changes the body count."
"It changes responsibility," Makarov answered. "And responsibility means choice."
Aelius looked away first. "Choice is overrated."
"Spoken like someone who keeps choosing anyway."
That earned him a look. They started walking again.
"The saying you mentioned," Makarov went on, tone lighter but still deliberate, "even if no one mourned the wicked, you're already wrong."
"Oh?"
"I would," Makarov said simply.
Aelius's jaw tightened behind the mask. No clever reply came out this time. Just a faint exhale.
"Don't romanticize damnation," Makarov added. "It's not deep. It's just lonely."
"I'm not slipping," Aelius replied immediately. "Not this quick. Or this obvious. I'm just… thinking." He hesitated, then added, quieter, "Nehzhar's the one who gave me the phrase. No idea why it popped up now."
They'd passed Bob's mansion by then. Aelius didn't look at it. His attention was on the land ahead. The closer they got, the worse it became. Trees twisted at wrong angles, bark split and reknit in ugly seams. Grass blackened in patches, then surged back too long, too thick, choking itself out. Nature caught in a loop of dying, regrowing, changing into things it was never meant to be.
Makarov saw it too. He didn't comment, but his steps slowed a fraction.
"Yeah," Aelius said, gesturing vaguely at the warped landscape. "No offense, Master, but for most people, especially the smart ones, this is usually more than enough to justify my… expulsion. Let's call it that." His tone stayed light, but there was no humor in it. "Not that I'm totally opposed to you trying. Just saying."
Makarov stopped again, this time on purpose. "You really like doing that, don't you, Aelius?" he said. "Pointing out everything that's wrong with you, then acting like you didn't mean to."
Aelius didn't turn back right away. "It saves time. Gets it out of the way."
"No," Makarov replied. "It builds a case. And you've been prosecuting yourself for years."
Aelius finally looked over his shoulder. "Someone has to be honest."
"So do we," Makarov said. "And honestly? If this was enough to make me throw you out, you wouldn't still be standing next to me."
Aelius scoffed quietly and faced forward again. "You say that now."
"I've been saying it," Makarov answered. "For a long time."
Just before they broke into the clearing, Aelius caught sight of the perimeter. Poles driven deep into the ground, crude but sturdy, each one etched and stamped with the Fiore royal crest. Totems, too, half-buried and linked by faint threads of magic. Seals, or stoppers, more accurately. Not elegant, but effective enough to keep whatever was inside from bleeding farther out.
He hadn't expected that much competence from the army mages. That part was actually interesting.
Inside the barrier was worse. Patches of the air still shimmered, bending wrong. Colors that didn't belong slid through one another, and shapes flickered that his eyes refused to settle on. Words without language drifted and dissolved before they could be read. Nehzhar's residue. Without the man himself feeding it, the corruption had shrunk, but it hadn't died. The ambient magic alone was enough to keep it breathing, even if on life support.
The rest of the clearing was his.
Bushes swollen and blistered, pustules splitting open and leaking thick fluid into the soil. Trees sagged under their own weight, bark split, and weeping something black and slow. Where there wasn't a crater, the ground had collapsed into sludge, viscous and restless. It shifted when they weren't looking directly at it. Reaching, grabbing, reacting to movement like a predator.
"You might want to wait here," Aelius said. He didn't wait for an answer. The moment he stepped through the barrier, it hit him. Power, thick and everywhere, in the ground, the air, the rot itself. It slammed into his core all at once, pressure stacking on pressure, like being force-fed when he was already full. Magic pushed and pushed, trying to fill space that didn't exist, spilling against the edges of him, crawling under his skin.
He shuddered once, then forced himself forward. The grass clawed at his boots, the sludge pulling like hands that didn't know how to let go, needy and frantic, like a child grabbing at a parent's coat. He ignored it and stepped through it, letting it tear harmlessly at his legs and drag against his weight without slowing.
The sword was where he left it, or rather lost it.
Half-buried, driven deep into the ground like a spike pinning the whole clearing in place. The metal looked wrong, dark and dull, veins of something faintly pulsing along the blade as if it were breathing. The ground around it quivered, already aware of what he was about to do.
Aelius wrapped his hand around the hilt. The reaction was immediate. The sludge surged, the air tightening like it was bracing for impact. With one firm pull, he wrenched the sword free.
Everything froze. For a heartbeat, the clearing went dead still. Then it shuddered.
The bushes sagged in on themselves, boils collapsing and drying out as the fluid leaked away into nothing. Trees cracked and slumped, black seepage slowing, then stopping entirely. The sludge lost its grip, sagging back into inert muck, no longer reaching, no longer alive.
With its source cut off, the corruption began to die. Not fast, it would take days, maybe a week, for everything to fully rot away and settle. But it was done. The worst of it was over.
Aelius stood there with the sword in hand, feeling the pressure finally ease. The magic stopped shoving itself into him, stopped clawing at his core like it wanted to crawl inside his skin. For once, it was quiet.
"I don't know why I thought this would turn into some kind of deal," Aelius muttered. He sent the sword back into his Requip and turned away. By the time he reached Makarov, the worst of it had already faded, leaving only that familiar, hollow calm. They started back toward the cart together.
"Have you ever thought about being guild master?" Makarov asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Aelius choked on his next breath and nearly tripped over a root, catching himself on a tree with a sharp hiss. "No," he said immediately, then louder, incredulous. "And with all due respect, that is the dumbest thing you've ever said. Why? I'm barely stable on a normal day. Dealing with those idiots full-time would get someone killed. Probably me. Or them. I'd end up right next to José."
"Not now, idiot," Makarov said calmly. "And trust me, I'm not rushing anything. I'm just saying." He glanced at Aelius sideways. "You're doing better than you think. Right now, at least."
"Lots of practice repressing things and focusing on what needs doing instead of what already happened," Aelius muttered under his breath.
The cane cracked lightly against his shin.
"Since when did you start using a cane?" Aelius asked, scowling.
"Since your friend Vanessa pointed out it'd hurt more," Makarov replied easily. "And besides, it feels right."
"Old bastard."
The cane hit him again, harder this time. Aelius snorted despite himself, shaking his head as they climbed back into the cart. The forest rolled past them, quiet and unbothered, like it always was. For the moment, that was enough.
"Someone needs to take over when I retire," Makarov said, clearly ignoring every signal that Aelius wanted this conversation dead. "Gildarts is too free. Erza isn't a bad choice, but she wouldn't fit the role. She's a warrior first, not a leader."
"Neither am I," Aelius shot back. "I've led wars, not guilds. There's a difference. One's about keeping people alive long enough to win. The other's about keeping them together when there's nothing to fight."
Makarov hummed, like he'd been expecting that answer. "You think leadership is about wanting it."
"It isn't?" Aelius glanced back at him.
"No," Makarov said. "It's about being the one people listen to when things fall apart. Whether you like it or not."
Aelius scoffed. "That's exactly why it shouldn't be me. When things fall apart, I make them worse. Or I remove the problem entirely."
"That's still leadership; people will look to you when things go wrong," Makarov replied.
Aelius went quiet at that, jaw tightening. "You're giving me too much credit."
"Maybe," Makarov said. "But I've been wrong before. I survived it."
"No," Aelius said, shaking his head. "I'll put it simply. I'm too tired. Too done with everything." He leaned back against the cart's side, eyes half-lidded as the road rolled beneath them. "I just want to live peacefully. Maybe, way off in the far future, I'll change my mind. But not anytime soon. Not within the next decade, at least."
Makarov looked genuinely saddened by that. It showed in the way his shoulders dipped, just a little. Still, he smiled anyway, soft and unforced. "That's fine," he said. "It was just a question. I'm not going to force it on you."
He shifted on the barrel, cane resting across his knees. "I know better than anyone what this position does to you. Managing this lot…" he chuckled quietly, "it takes years off your life. Sometimes decades."
Aelius snorted. "You say that like it's an occupational hazard and not self-inflicted."
"Oh, it's both," Makarov replied easily. "But I chose it. That's the difference."
The cart rattled again, the sound filling the space between them. For a while, neither spoke.
Then Makarov added, more gently, "Wanting peace isn't weakness, Aelius. It just means you've had enough war."
Aelius didn't answer right away. He watched the trees slide past, branches swaying in the breeze.
"…I don't trust peace," he said finally. "Every time I think I've earned it, something comes along and proves I haven't."
Makarov nodded. "That's fair."
"It is if you're a Fairy Tail mage," Aelius replied dryly. "Especially now that Vanessa joined. She's going to be worse than Natsu ever was, just because she thinks it's funny." There was a small smirk under his mask, fond despite himself.
Makarov laughed at that, a short bark of genuine amusement. "That bad, huh?"
"She set a tavern on fire because the drinks were watered down," Aelius said. "Didn't even look surprised when it caught. Just laughed and said it added atmosphere."
Makarov winced. "Yeah. That sounds like Fairy Tail."
He was quiet for a moment, then glanced over at Aelius. "Speaking of that girl, if you want, why don't you tell me about her? You've told me about her magic, but not her. She seems like she'll fit in just fine." He smiled. "It'll pass the time while we head back, anyway."
"Sure," Aelius said, "hmm. Well, we first met when I got blown through a wall."
"INCOMING!" Aelius barely registered the shout before a massive boulder slammed into his torso. This wasn't a storybook where he could catch it gracefully. He tried, he really did, but inertia had other plans. The rock smashed into his arms, didn't snap them in the usual sense, but his elbows went where his shoulders were supposed to be, and his shoulders sprawled behind him, a grotesque imitation of wings. The boulder did manage to keep his chest mostly intact, though only from the front, as the force hurled him through a thick wall and into what looked like a random bar.
Screams echoed around him, but when he opened his eyes, a little girl hovered over him. "Little" was a stretch, she looked maybe fifteen, a few years younger than him. Her eyes weren't wide with shock but with an energy bordering on excitement.
"You need a hand? Or is it shoulder? Hands? Shoulders?" she asked, tilting her head like she wasn't staring at something that should've been horrifying.
Aelius couldn't argue with help. "Sure. Rock should keep me steady. Mind pulling what's left of my arms? Hopefully, it pops my shoulders back into place. Names Aelius, by the way."
The girl adjusted, bracing herself for leverage. "Vanessa. And you look like a T-Rex by the way. Not a bad look. Green hair too, like scales."
"Bit of a stretch," Aelius grunted, voice tight. "Pretty sure T-rexes don't usually have their arms folded backward like that."
Vanessa snorted. Actually snorted, like this was the funniest thing she'd seen all day. "Details. On three."
"Wait, what—"
She yanked.
There was a wet, ugly series of pops, not quite cracks, not quite breaks. Pain detonated up his spine, sharp enough that his vision went white for a second. His shoulders snapped forward into something resembling the correct orientation, his arms slamming back down at his sides like they'd been forcibly reminded of how anatomy worked.
Aelius sucked in a breath that came out halfway between a hiss and a laugh. "Okay. Yeah. That worked."
"Told you," Vanessa said cheerfully, letting go and stepping back. "You make a great noise when things go back where they belong."
He rolled his shoulders experimentally. Everything screamed, but it screamed in a familiar way. Damage, not ruin. His magic was already crawling over the worst of it, knitting and reinforcing, even if it was sluggish and irritated about the whole ordeal.
He finally looked at her properly.
She was dusted with rubble, clothes singed at the edges, hair a mess of silver locks that caught the light wrong, almost metallic. Her violet eyes were bright. Not adrenaline shock bright, but interested bright. Like she'd just found a puzzle worth keeping.
"…You're enjoying this," Aelius said, somewhat confused.
"Yeah," she replied without hesitation. "You took a boulder through two walls and didn't die. That's neat."
"How is that your response?" Aelius asked, genuinely thrown.
She made a vague noise that barely counted as a shrug. "Dunno. Probably because your taste is really odd. Not bad. Not good either. Just… weird. Fun weird. I've never tasted anything like it before."
Aelius stared at her for a beat. "…Okay." He shifted his weight, then deliberately let his magic pulse. The rock pinning him fractured and crumbled, breaking apart enough for him to stand. He rolled his shoulders, testing them. "That is somehow more uncomfortable than the rock."
She grinned, unapologetic. "I can't explain. Well. I could. But do you actually have time? Shouldn't you be chasing whatever threw that thing at you?"
"Nah," Aelius said, brushing dust off what was left of his shirt. "Alaric's got it."
Her eyes went wide. "You know Princy too?"
He paused, then squinted at her. "Wait. Are you his… sister thing?" He looked her over again. "That tracks. Unfazed by everything, silver hair and constantly talking about tasting stuff."
"Sister thing?" Vanessa pouted. "Don't tell me he calls me that."
"So that's a yes," Aelius said dryly. "And yeah. He absolutely does."
"Oooooh!" She lit up instantly. "You're that Mister Mask. Mister King is always writing about you in his letters."
Aelius winced. "…I hate that nickname."
Makarov chuckled to himself. "You really do make some interesting friends. She hasn't changed much since then."
"Not really," Aelius snorted. "At least not how she acts in public." He glanced ahead, expression softening just a fraction. "That's… one of the better memories from that place."
"So she's Alaric's sister?" Makarov asked, softer. "How'd she end up a God Slayer, then?"
Aelius huffed. "Adopted. Or she forced her way in. Bit of both." He leaned back against the side of the cart. "Alaric kept her around like a stray he couldn't get rid of. Trained her, fed her, yelled at her. You know. Family stuff."
Makarov raised a brow but didn't interrupt.
"She's kind of like Natsu," Aelius continued. "Her mother… disappeared. Then she somehow ended up there." A pause. "Vanessa doesn't survive because she's careful. She survives because she refuses to stop."
"That sounds familiar," Makarov said quietly.
Aelius smirked under the mask. "Yeah. Guess that's why she stuck."
He paused, then added, lighter, "Actually, speaking of stuck. She bit me once. More than once."
Makarov blinked. "She what?"
Aelius waved it off like it was nothing. "When she found out I was dying to my own magic, she latched onto my arm like a leech. Said she could suck the poison out, like a snake bite." A short huff of a laugh. "Which, for the record, does not work."
"And you let her?" Makarov asked, already knowing the answer.
"I was tired, half delirious, and she was very determined," Aelius said. "Also, she wouldn't let go. Just stared at me and said it tasted wrong, like rusted iron. Then she bit harder out of spite."
Makarov rubbed his temple. "Fairy Tail attracts the strangest people."
He went quiet after that, the cart wheels filling the space for a few seconds.
"I'm all she has left after the labyrinth," he muttered, lower now. "Everyone else is gone. Dead, missing, or worse." His jaw tightened. "And I left her. The moment we escaped, I left."
Makarov didn't interrupt.
"I can't really blame her for hating me," Aelius continued. "Or for being angry when I let Edolas Erza try to kill me. From her side, it probably looked like I chose death over staying." A humorless huff. "Wasn't fair to her. Still isn't."
He leaned back against the side of the cart, eyes on the road. "Vanessa doesn't do subtle. If she's mad, she's mad. If she cares, she goes all in. Biting included, apparently."
Makarov glanced at him. "You think she hates you."
"I know she does," Aelius said flatly. Then, after a beat, "Or she did. Haven't really given her a reason not to."
"You left a lot of people behind when you realized your magic was killing you, Aelius," Makarov said, voice steady. "I promise, she understands your reasoning, even if she doesn't like it. I can tell she doesn't hate you; she wouldn't have come to that talk yesterday if she did."
Aelius huffed, leaning back against the cart. "I hate when you make sense."
Makarov chuckled warmly. "Perk of old age, my boy. Perk of old age."