The town square of Stillwater was empty except for scattered leaves blown by the evening wind. Riven stood in the center of it all, staring at the mission request paper in his trembling hands. The words seemed to blur together as the horrible realization settled over him like a cold blanket.
"Two weeks ago," he whispered to himself, reading the date on the report again. "The lightning strikes started exactly two weeks ago."
That was the same day he had awakened Baal's power in the desert temple. The same day his entire magical core had been rewritten by ancient forces he barely understood. The same day he had felt power beyond imagination flowing through his body before collapsing from exhaustion.
His legs felt weak as he walked toward the largest of the burn marks—a crater in the village square that was easily ten feet across. The grass around its edges was still black and brittle, and the air carried the faint smell of ozone that lingered after lightning strikes.
Riven knelt beside the crater and extended his magical senses, the way Levy had taught him when they studied ancient magical signatures in old ruins. What he found made his blood run cold.
The residual magic wasn't just similar to his own—it WAS his own. The same electrical frequency, the same golden undertone that marked Baal's influence, even the same chaotic pattern that appeared when he lost control during training.
"No," he breathed, pressing his palm against the scorched earth. Small sparks jumped from his fingers to the burned ground, responding to the familiar energy like lightning seeking a conductor. "This can't be right. I've never been here before. I've never cast any spells in this village."
*"Haven't you?"* Baal's voice whispered in his mind, carrying a note of something that might have been sympathy. *"Power such as ours does not sleep quietly, young bearer. In your dreams, in your moments of unconsciousness, the magic seeks release."*
The full horror of what the Djinn was telling him crashed down on Riven like a physical blow. "You mean while I was sleeping? While I was unconscious? My magic was... leaking out somehow?"
*"The awakening of ancient power creates ripples across the world. Your untrained spirit has been unconsciously reaching out, testing the boundaries of our merged strength. This village sits atop several ley lines—natural channels of magical energy. It became a target for these unconscious discharges."*
Riven looked around at the peaceful farming community that had been terrorized by his uncontrolled magic. Children had been afraid to play outside. Farmers had lost entire crops. Livestock had been too terrified to graze in their own pastures. All because of him.
"How many people could have been hurt?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
*"None were, thanks to fortune and the fact that your unconscious mind retained some measure of restraint. But that will not last forever. The leaking grows stronger each day you fail to achieve proper fusion."*
Before Riven could ask what that meant, footsteps approached from behind. He turned to see Toma walking toward him, flanked by several other villagers. Their faces showed a mixture of hope and desperation that made Riven's chest tighten with guilt.
"Young mage," Toma called out, raising his hand in greeting. "Have you discovered what's been causing our troubles? The Council mages who came through last week couldn't find anything conclusive."
Riven stood slowly, the mission request paper crumpling in his clenched fist. He looked at these good people who had scraped together what little money they had to ask for help, and the weight of his responsibility felt crushing.
He couldn't tell them the truth. That their mysterious lightning strikes were caused by a Fairy Tail mage who couldn't control his own power. That every bolt that had destroyed their crops and frightened their children was his fault. The knowledge would shatter their faith in legal guilds and leave them feeling helpless against future magical threats.
"I think I understand what's happening," he said finally, forcing his voice to remain steady. "The magical disturbances are connected to the ley line network that runs beneath your village. Something has been disrupting the natural flow of energy."
Toma's weathered face creased with concern. "Can it be fixed?"
Riven nodded, though the motion felt mechanical. "I'll need to study the patterns for a day or two, but yes. I can redirect the energy safely. The lightning strikes should stop."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He could redirect his unconscious magical discharges by setting up a network of lightning rods deep in the forest, far from where they could hurt anyone. It would be exhausting work requiring precise magical manipulation, but it was the least he could do for these people.
"Thank you," one of the other villagers said, an elderly woman with kind eyes and flour-stained hands. "Our granddaughter hasn't been able to play in the fields for weeks. She keeps asking when the scary lightning will go away."
The simple gratitude in her voice hit Riven like a physical blow. These people trusted him to fix a problem that he had caused. They were looking at him like he was a hero when he was actually the source of their suffering.
*"Self-recrimination serves no purpose,"* Baal observed gently. *"What matters now is preventing further harm and learning to contain what cannot be undone. But know this—the unconscious discharges will only grow stronger until you achieve full fusion with my power."*
"And if I can't achieve fusion?" Riven asked silently.
*"Then every village within a hundred miles will suffer the same fate. Or worse."*
As the villagers dispersed back to their evening routines, Riven found himself alone in the growing darkness of the town square. Above him, the first stars were beginning to appear in the clear sky—the same stars that had witnessed his transformation in the desert temple two weeks ago.
He pulled out the journal Lisette had given him and began to write by the light of a small flame spell. If he was going to master this power, he needed to document everything. Every sensation, every loss of control, every moment when Baal's consciousness brushed against his own.
But as he wrote, one thought kept returning to haunt him: if his unconscious magic could reach this far and cause this much damage, what would happen when other Djinn began to awaken?
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he could swear he felt something else stirring—a distant presence that resonated with the same ancient power as Baal, but colder, more patient. Waiting.