The teleportation was instant.
One moment, we stood in the ruins of a battlefield drenched in death and eldritch remnants. The next, we were home.
Fairy Tail stood before us, its familiar wooden walls glowing under the soft evening light. The air here was warm, filled with the distant laughter and chatter of guildmates inside—completely unaware of what had just transpired.
The newly revived staggered slightly, blinking in confusion. Some of them hesitantly touched the walls of the guildhall, as if confirming it was real. Others let out shaky breaths, overwhelmed by the sheer normalcy of it all.
They didn't remember.
They had no idea what had actually happened to them.
That was intentional.
Alma and I had made sure of it. The moment I pulled them back, I altered their memories—not drastically, not enough to change who they were, just enough to keep them from breaking.
They didn't remember dying.
They didn't remember the pain, the fear, the eldritch horror that had torn them apart.
As far as they knew, the mission had been rough, brutal even, but they had survived. Barely.
It was a necessary lie.
One I could live with.
But there was still one person who hadn't stopped staring at me since we arrived.
Alma's grip on my arm tightened, her fingers digging into my coat. She hadn't said a word since we left the battlefield, but I didn't have to look at her to know what she was thinking.
She knew.
She had seen the truth.
And she was waiting for me to say something.
I didn't.
Because before I could, the doors of Fairy Tail slammed open.
Makarov stepped out, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene before him. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on each of the returning mages. I saw the way his brows furrowed slightly, the way his lips pressed together.
He hadn't expected this many to return. Deep down, he knew that when mages went missing for this long, the odds of them coming back were slim. It wasn't a new reality for him—throughout his tenure as guildmaster, there had been too many times when members simply never made it home.
"…You're back," he finally said, his voice steady but laced with quiet surprise.
I stepped forward before he could ask the question I knew was coming.
"Mission's done. The threat's gone."
Makarov's gaze shifted to the others, then back to me.
"These people." he said slowly. "I was told they were missing in action."
"They were," I replied smoothly. "Things got… messy. But I handled it."
Makarov's frown deepened. He looked at the group again. Some of them were still adjusting, shaking off the disorientation. A few exchanged glances, trying to piece together gaps in their memories.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Makarov's stare turned sharper, the weight of his years pressing into me.
"…What was the enemy?" he asked.
I kept my expression neutral. "A rogue dark guild. They were experimenting with forbidden magic. Dangerous stuff."
That was a lie.
A complete fabrication.
Makarov sighed, rubbing his forehead. "And you dealt with them?"
"Completely."
There was a long pause.
Then, finally—he nodded. "I see."
I knew that tone.
It meant he didn't believe me.
Not completely.
Makarov wasn't a fool. He had known me long enough to recognize when I was hiding something.
But he let it go. For now.
"Good work, Aiden," he said at last. "You did well bringing them back."
If only he knew.
I turned to leave before he could press further—before anyone else could start asking questions. But as I did, I caught Alma's gaze again.
She didn't say a word.
She didn't have to.
She knew I had lied.
—
Fortress Leonhart
Alma stood beside me, arms resting on the railing, her expression unreadable as she stared into the night. She wasn't shaking. Wasn't panicking. But she wasn't speaking either.
She had seen everything. The impossible mass of shifting limbs, the way reality itself seemed to bend around it, the sheer wrongness of its existence. She had watched as I fought it, as I killed it—if something like that could even be called alive in the first place.
And now, she wanted answers.
I exhaled, running a hand down my face. "Alright. Just ask."
Alma didn't look at me immediately. Instead, she kept her gaze on the stars, her voice quiet but steady. "That thing… what was it?"
I clenched my jaw. That was the problem—I didn't know. Not exactly. I had read enough, seen enough back in my old world to have a vague idea, but knowledge from fiction wasn't the same as understanding.
"…Something bad."
Alma's fingers tightened against the railing. "That doesn't tell me anything, Aiden."
I sighed. "Because I don't have an answer." I turned to her. "I don't know where it came from, how it found me, or what it even was. The only thing I do know is that it wasn't here by accident."
She finally looked at me. "It came for you."
I nodded. "Yeah."
Alma's gaze was sharp, searching my face for something. "…Why?"
I hesitated.
"I don't know."
Her brows furrowed.
Alma didn't say anything after that. Just furrowed her brows a bit more, then went quiet again.
She looked calm, but I knew her well enough to tell she wasn't. Not really.
—
A few days had passed since the eldritch nightmare in that far-off town. The memories still lingered, the weight of the lives lost hanging heavy in the back of my mind
"OI, AIDEN! SPAR WITH ME!"
I barely had time to react before Laxus came barreling toward me, a crackle of electricity following in his wake.
"Not in the guild!" Macao's voice rang out from the bar, but it was already too late.
Laxus swung. I sidestepped at the last second, watching his fist blow a hole through the table where I'd been sitting. Wood splintered, debris flew, and the entire room went dead silent.
I slowly turned back to him. "...Really?"
He grinned, completely unapologetic. "You dodged, didn't you?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "That's not the point."
Macao sighed and rubbed his temples. "This is coming out of your reward money, Laxus."
"Tch." He crossed his arms. "Fine."
From across the room, Gray and Cana were bickering over something, Erza was organizing some weapons with ridiculous intensity for a nine-year-old, and Lyon was trying (and failing) to look uninterested while stealing glances at the quest board.
It was just another day.
And for once, I was grateful for the normalcy.
I leaned back against the counter, watching the scene unfold.
Makarov had barely questioned what happened in that other town.
That was probably the best outcome.
The last thing I wanted was to explain eldritch abominations and cosmic horrors to the old man. He had enough on his plate without dealing with the knowledge that things existed beyond our comprehension.
Still, he had looked at me for a long moment after I came back. Not asking, just… watching.
In the end, he had only said one thing.
"You're still standing. That means it's over."
And that was that.
No long speeches. No probing questions.
Just trust.
It was a strange feeling, knowing that even after all that, life just moved on.
—----------
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