The next few days passed rather quickly, most of it spent on basic tasks before he set off to find Laxus. Or at least, that had been the original plan. The news of Fairy Tail's "event" had already traveled fast enough that Aelius was fairly certain the man was already making his way toward Magnolia, if only to verify the rumors himself, and perhaps, in that quiet, prideful corner of him he'd never fully let go of, to see whether there was still a claim left worth staking on the guild he'd been exiled from.
Laxus aside, Aelius spent most of his remaining days in town handling the smaller, more tedious necessities of preparing to disappear again for an unknown length of time. He acquired several new cloaks, enough to replace the ones he'd ruined or outgrown over the past several months, and then spent an irritating afternoon enchanting them himself. He hated the process every time. Most fabric, by its nature, resisted enchantment in ways most materials didn't, fraying at the edges of the spellwork like it physically objected to being made useful, and more than once he found himself muttering threats at a half-finished cloak as though it could actually hear him and choose to behave.
He also hired a small crew to repair the worst of the damage to his house, the lingering evidence of the meltdown he'd had upon first returning from Tenrou, when grief and exhaustion had briefly outpaced his control entirely. The workers were quiet, paid well enough not to ask questions, and smart enough not to comment on the strange, rotted patterns still faintly visible in places along the support beams. He let them work without supervision for the most part, choosing instead to spend the bulk of his remaining time with Vanessa, who had taken to shadowing him through Magnolia with the quiet, watchful persistence of someone still only half convinced he wouldn't vanish the moment she looked away.
He didn't mind it as much as he probably should have. If anything, the routine of it, simple errands, simple conversations, the occasional argument over something inconsequential, was the closest thing to peace he'd be allowed for likely years to come.
The one persistent thorn in all of it was the frog. One of the Council's envoys, a squat, unfailingly polite creature who insisted on formal titles and proper procedure even when nobody around her seemed remotely interested in either, had taken up semi-permanent residence at the guild hall. She'd been waiting for nearly three days now, patient in that particular way only bureaucratic envoys seemed capable of, for Aelius to accompany her back to Council headquarters to provide what she insisted on calling "a full and proper accounting of recent events."
Aelius had no intention of providing anything full or proper. He'd delayed seeing her at all for as long as decency allowed, mostly out of spite, and partly because he genuinely had better things to do than rehearse a story for men who would twist his words regardless of how carefully he chose them. When he finally did agree to speak with her, he had no plans to posture, negotiate, or play the careful political game the Council usually expected from Wizard Saints summoned for questioning.
He intended to tell them exactly what happened, in the fewest words necessary, and make it abundantly clear that further interruptions to his time would not be tolerated twice.
He was sure his attitude wasn't going to be received well, but he was done caring. Mostly done, anyway. There was still some part of him that understood the value of not openly antagonizing the single largest magical governing body on the continent, but that part had grown considerably smaller and considerably quieter over the past several months. Already expected to be unfavorable, and partly because he had no interest in another repeat of Jet's outburst, not this soon after the first one. They sat together on the low stone wall bordering the canal, the kind of mundane, ordinary spot that made the entire conversation feel almost surreal given the weight of what needed saying.
Aelius told him everything. Tenrou, Grimoire Heart, Zeref's presence on the island, the brief, devastating reappearance of Acnologia, and the desperate gambit that had ultimately saved what remained of the guild by sealing them away for seven long years. He explained Makarov's absence, Macao's promotion, and the fragile, uncertain state the guild now found itself in without its strongest members to defend it. He didn't soften any of it, and he didn't ask for sympathy either. He simply laid the facts out, the way he always did, and let Laxus draw his own conclusions.
Laxus listened in silence for most of it, jaw tight, hands clasped loosely between his knees. When Aelius finally finished, the silence stretched on a while longer before the other man spoke.
"They're really gone for seven years."
"They are," Aelius confirmed. "But they're alive."
Laxus exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down over his face. "I should've been there." His voice had none of its old arrogance in it now, none of the casual contempt he used to wear like armor. Just quiet, genuine shame. "Instead, I was out there because I had to act like a brat."
"You weren't there because we removed you," Aelius said evenly. "That's not the same thing as failing to show up."
"Feels the same."
"It isn't." Aelius let the silence settle again before continuing. "I'm not here to forgive you, Laxus. That's not mine to give, and you know exactly who actually deserves to hear an apology when they return." He watched the other man's shoulders tighten further at that, the unspoken weight of Makarov's name settling between them. "But the guild needs people capable of defending it until then. If you're willing to actually help, rather than wait around for your own redemption story to write itself, I'm offering you the chance."
Laxus was quiet again for a long moment, staring out over the water. When he finally spoke, his voice had steadied considerably. "I've had a lot of time to think, these past few months. About what I did. About why I did it." His jaw worked briefly before he continued. "I'm not proud of any of it. I wanted to prove something, I guess, that I was strong enough to matter without needing the old man's name attached to mine. Ended up nearly destroying the only home I ever actually had instead."
"And now?"
"Now I just want to actually be useful for once. Properly useful. Not for some point I'm trying to prove." He looked over at Aelius then, something steadier in his eyes than Aelius remembered seeing before. "If you're offering, I'm taking it. Even if it means waiting seven years before anyone else gets the chance to actually forgive me."
Aelius studied him a moment longer, searching for any trace of the old performance, the practiced bravado Laxus used to wear like a second skin. He didn't find it. Whatever exile and isolation had done to the man, it seemed to have stripped away most of the parts that used to make him insufferable.
"Good," Aelius said simply, rising from the wall. "Then come with me. There's someone you should meet before you start."
He led Laxus back through Magnolia toward the guild, where Vanessa had been waiting with the particular restless impatience she reserved for anything involving people she hadn't decided yet whether to trust. She looked Laxus over once, violet eyes narrowing slightly in open assessment, the way she did with anyone Aelius brought near her, that she didn't already know.
"This is Laxus," Aelius said. "He's going to help protect the guild until the others return."
"The one who got himself exiled?" Vanessa asked bluntly, with the kind of tactlessness only she seemed capable of getting away with.
Laxus, to his credit, didn't flinch. "That'd be me."
Vanessa studied him a moment longer before something shifted in her expression, curiosity edging out suspicion. "You're fast, aren't you? I can practically taste it on you."
Laxus raised an eyebrow at the odd phrasing but nodded slowly. "Faster than most. Why?"
"Because I'm fast too." A faint, sharp grin tugged at her mouth, the first real one Aelius had seen from her in days. "Most people around here fight like they're standing still. It gets boring."
Aelius watched the exchange with something close to relief loosening in his chest. He hadn't been certain how the introduction would go, whether a rivalry over speed or simple unfamiliarity would make the arrangement more difficult than necessary. But there was an easy understanding passing between them already, the particular kinship shared by two people who relied on speed over brute strength, who measured fights in fractions of a second rather than raw power alone.
"Try not to break my house," Aelius said dryly, already turning to leave the two of them to it. "Either of you."
Neither of them answered him directly, already too absorbed in sizing each other up, trading quick, clipped questions about reaction speed and reflexes like old warriors sniffing out a worthy opponent. Aelius allowed himself a small, tired smile as he walked away; things, for now, were going smoothly.
The next day, Aelius left. He had two destinations in mind, though only one of them he intended to voice aloud. The first was the Council, an obligation he had no genuine interest in fulfilling but understood well enough was unavoidable if he wanted them off Fairy Tail's back for the foreseeable future. The second, the one he kept folded quietly behind his teeth, was the Labyrinth and, by extension, Nameless.
He didn't tell Vanessa that part. Didn't tell Laxus either, though the man had given him an odd, searching look before he left, as though he suspected there was more to the trip than a simple Council summons. Aelius said nothing to confirm or deny it. Some things were easier carried alone, and the Labyrinth was not a place he wanted anyone following him into. Laxus was easier to brush off than Vaness, which saved him some headache.
The frog envoy escorted him personally, practically vibrating with the particular relief of someone who'd spent days worrying her assigned task might never actually conclude. Aelius said little to her on the journey, offering even less than the bare minimum required for civility, which seemed to suit her just fine. She didn't push for conversation. She'd clearly learned that lesson already.
The Council chamber, when he finally reached it, was exactly as insufferable as he remembered. High vaulted ceilings, draped banners bearing crests nobody outside the building cared about, an entire row of officials seated like judges passing sentence on someone who hadn't actually committed a crime. Aelius tuned out most of it almost immediately, the long-winded preambles, the formal introductions nobody needed, the ceremonial nonsense that existed solely so men in expensive robes could remind everyone present how important they considered themselves. He answered the simple questions when asked, flatly and without elaboration. Yes, Tenrou had been attacked. Yes, Zeref had been present. Yes, Acnologia had appeared, and yes, the Fairy Sphere had been used to seal away the survivors for seven years. He offered nothing beyond what was strictly necessary and made no effort to dress up the details for an audience he had no respect for.
Most of it slid past him the way water slides off stone, irritating in volume but ultimately harmless.
Then Gran Doma spoke, and Aelius's attention sharpened all at once. The old Council chairman didn't bother with the same theatrical buildup the others favored. He simply waited for a lull in the proceedings and inserted himself into it with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to being the final word in any room he occupied. His voice was calm, measured, deceptively pleasant, the kind of tone people used right before delivering something considerably less pleasant.
He made it clear, in the polite, bureaucratic language the Council favored for threats it wanted to pretend weren't threats at all, that Fairy Tail's continued existence remained, in his words, a matter of ongoing review. Tenrou had cost the guild its strongest members and its standing reputation. Should there be even one further incident, one more disruption to public order, one more excuse for the Council to justify intervention, Gran Doma assured the room, with the same mild courtesy he might use discussing weather, that Fairy Tail's status as a guild would be revoked.
Aelius felt something cold settle behind his ribs, the boredom of the last hour burning away in an instant. "You'll forgive me," he said, each word measured and unhurried, "if I find that threat somewhat premature, given that the guild in question hasn't actually done anything to warrant it."
"Tenrou Island was a significant magical event," one of the other Council members began, already reaching for the same tired justification.
"Tenrou Island was an attack," Aelius corrected, voice flat. "One the guild did not provoke, did not invite, and very nearly died preventing from becoming considerably worse for the rest of the continent."
"Fairy Tail's history of destruction extends well beyond Tenrou Island, and you know that better than most." Gran Doma's voice remained level, almost gentle, the tone of a man laying out an inevitability rather than an accusation. "Property damage claims attributed to your guild outnumber every other legal guild on the continent combined, and that figure was already concerning before this latest incident. Magnolia's own treasury has filed formal grievances on no fewer than six separate occasions this year alone."
"And yet the town still stands," Aelius said. "Funny how that works."
"You, specifically, are not exempt from this pattern." Gran Doma's gaze didn't waver. "The forest to the west remains diseased after your encounter with Oración Seis."
Aelius's jaw tightened slightly. "Funny," he said again, quieter this time, "that the man responsible for that particular mess seems to have escaped your concern entirely. I don't recall the Council pursuing him with anything close to the energy currently being directed at me."
"That is a separate matter," Gran Doma replied smoothly.
"Is it?" Aelius's gaze swept the chamber slowly before settling back on the chairman. "You'd think a body so concerned with property damage might spend a fraction of that concern on the men actually causing it, rather than the guild left cleaning up afterward. I don't recall asking to be thrown across a forest. I simply made sure the man responsible didn't cause more harm to both your 'property' and the people with me."
A ripple of uncomfortable murmuring passed through the chamber. Gran Doma's expression didn't shift, though something in his eyes sharpened slightly, the look of a man recalculating how much patience this particular conversation warranted.
"We are aware of the circumstances," Gran Doma said evenly. "That awareness is precisely why the guild has not already faced consequences for the disruption it caused."
"How generous," Aelius said, dry enough that more than one Council member shifted in their seats. "Tell me, while we're discussing all the things this body seems aware of and chooses not to act on, how many dark guilds are currently operating uncontested across this continent? Two dozen? Three?" He let the silence stretch a beat before continuing. "Guilds full of mages strong enough to level towns, and somehow it's always legal guilds left to actually handle them, while the Council holds meetings about who's allowed to file the paperwork afterward."
"That is an oversimplification of a complex—"
"It isn't," Aelius cut in. "It's the honest version of what you'd rather not say out loud. Fairy Tail deals with threats your enforcement arm either can't or won't, and somehow that consistently translates into less leniency for us, not more. You should be thanking whatever competence remains in that guild for keeping dark mages from slaughtering civilians long before your forces ever arrive to do paperwork over the bodies."
"I would advise caution," Gran Doma said, unbothered, though something in his tone had cooled several degrees, "in how you choose to address this body, Wizard Saint or not." He folded his hands atop the table in front of him, the picture of calm, immovable authority. "Fairy Tail's history affords it some leniency. That leniency is not infinite. One more incident, regardless of cause or justification, and the matter will no longer remain open for discussion."
"I would like to remind you," Aelius said, "that my being a Wizard Saint was not by choice."
"Ah, yes." Gran Doma glanced down, riffling through a small stack of papers in front of him with the unhurried air of a man who already knew exactly what he'd find there. "The seemingly permanent scar you left on the Great Forest, due to a… temper tantrum, it would seem?" He looked up again, the faintest edge of something pointed beneath the otherwise pleasant tone. "The very reason you were asked to become a Wizard Saint, so the Council might have something to distract from the incident, rather than face the inconvenient questions surrounding it."
Aelius's expression didn't change, though something behind his eyes went very still. "That is true, yes, I'll be the first to admit my temper is less than saintly. Though that is not an accurate representation of the circumstances.:
"It's an accurate one." Gran Doma set the papers down with deliberate precision, aligning the edges as though the gesture itself carried weight. "The Council required a narrative the public could accept. A plagued forest and a mage no one had heard of, with downright evil magic, made for considerably worse press than a newly appointed Wizard Saint demonstrating restraint in a supposed victory. You provided a convenient solution to an inconvenient problem. That is, in the end, the entire reason you hold the title you currently resent so visibly."
"Convenient for you," Aelius said. "I don't recall being consulted."
"Few of you ever are." Gran Doma's tone remained mild, almost amused, though nothing about his eyes matched it. "That is rather the nature of the arrangement, Wizard Saint. You are useful. The Council ensures that usefulness is properly contextualized for the public, and in exchange, you receive the rank, the authority, and the leniency that comes with it." He spread his hands slightly, an almost theatrical gesture of reasonableness. "I would think a man so quick to point out the Council's failings might also recognize when that same Council has done him a favor."
"A favor." Aelius's voice had gone flat again, the dry amusement from earlier entirely vacated. "You mean a leash."
"I mean a title," Gran Doma corrected smoothly, "that has afforded you considerably more freedom to operate than most mages on this continent will ever know. Including, I might add, the freedom to stand in this chamber and speak to this body the way you currently are, without immediate consequence." He let that settle for a moment before continuing, voice cooling further. "I would not test how long that freedom remains unconditional."
The chamber had gone quiet enough that Aelius could hear the faint scratch of a scribe's pen somewhere off to the side, dutifully recording every word for whatever archive this conversation was destined to rot in.
"Out of curiosity," Aelius said, tilting his head slightly, "what exactly binds me? Or perhaps that's too vague." His gaze settled fully on Gran Doma again, calm and unhurried. "Who, precisely, can stop me?"
The question landed differently than the rest of the exchange had, because it was the kind of question that didn't sound like posturing because it wasn't asked like one.
A few of the Council members shifted in their seats. One, a thinner man near the end of the table whose name Aelius hadn't bothered to remember, opened his mouth as though to answer, then seemed to think better of it.
Gran Doma didn't answer immediately either. He studied Aelius for a long moment, the same unhurried, calculating look he'd worn through most of the meeting, though something in it had sharpened now, the look of a man recalculating risk rather than simply asserting authority.
"That is an unwise question to ask out loud," Gran Doma said finally.
"It's an honest one," Aelius replied. "You've spent the better part of this meeting reminding me what I owe this body. Leniency. Restraint. Gratitude, apparently, for a title I never asked for." He let the silence stretch a moment before continuing. "I'm simply curious what enforces any of that, beyond the assumption that I'll continue cooperating out of some sense of obligation I don't actually feel."
"The Council holds authority over every registered guild and Wizard Saint on this continent," one of the other members said, recovering some of his composure now that Gran Doma hadn't immediately answered for him. "That authority is not merely theoretical."
"No," Aelius agreed. "I imagine it's backed by something. Soldiers, perhaps. Other Saints, if it ever came to that." His tone remained perfectly even throughout, conversational almost, as though discussing logistics rather than implications. "I'm simply asking whether anyone in this room has actually considered what that would require. Practically speaking.
"You are testing a line you do not want to cross," Gran Doma said, and for the first time since Aelius had entered the chamber, something in the old man's voice had lost its careful, theatrical calm.
"I'm not testing anything," Aelius said. "I'm pointing out that this entire conversation has operated under the assumption that the leash you keep mentioning actually exists in any meaningful sense. I'd simply like clarity on that, since you seem so fond of reminding me how generous this body has been." He paused, letting his gaze move once across the assembled Council before returning to Gran Doma. "Generosity implies a choice on your part. I'm asking whether that choice was ever actually yours to make, or whether you've simply been fortunate enough that I haven't tested the alternative."
"That is enough," Gran Doma said, sharper now, though still controlled.
"It usually is," Aelius said. "Right up until it isn't." He let the words sit there, unembellished, no further explanation offered, because none was needed. He hadn't raised his voice once during the entire exchange, hadn't moved from where he stood, hadn't given them a single tangible threat to formally object to. Just a question, asked plainly, that none of them had a comfortable answer for.
Gran Doma recovered his composure first, smoothing his expression back into something measured and diplomatic, though the effort it took was more visible now than it had been at the start of the meeting. "I believe," he said, "this session has run its course."
"Smartest thing you've said," Aelius agreed.
He turned without waiting for further dismissal, the heavy chamber doors swinging shut behind him hard enough that it echoed down the corridor beyond.
Once Aelius was out of the Council's halls, he pulled a communication lacrima from his requip space. A new piece of gear, one he'd bought and linked to the crystal ball that used to sit on Mira's desk and now sat on Macao's instead, gathering dust more often than not if the man's track record with paperwork was any indication. Aelius turned the lacrima over once in his palm, activating it with a small pulse of magic, and waited for the connection to settle.
Macao's face flickered into view after a few seconds, faintly distorted around the edges the way most lacrima communication tended to be, squinting at the image like he hadn't expected the contact at all.
"Aelius?" Macao's voice carried a note of immediate wariness, the kind a man develops quickly after inheriting a guild mid-crisis. "Everything alright?"
"For now," Aelius said. "I spoke with the Council."
Macao winced visibly, even through the warped lacrima image. "That bad?"
"About what I expected," Aelius said. "Gran Doma made it clear Fairy Tail's leniency isn't infinite. One more incident, and they'll use it as justification to push for the guild's disbandment." He let that settle a moment before continuing. "I don't think they'll act immediately. They prefer paperwork and patience over anything direct. But I'd be lying if I said they won't look for an excuse, especially with Makarov gone and the guild weaker than it's been in years."
"Wonderful," Macao muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "So what, we just sit around hoping nobody sneezes wrong for the next seven years?"
"Not exactly." Aelius's voice remained even, practical, the tone of a man laying out logistics rather than offering comfort. "Keep the guild's head down where you can. Discourage anything reckless, especially anything that draws unnecessary attention from outside guilds or the Council itself. It won't stop every incident; Fairy Tail's never been good at staying quiet, but it buys time."
"And if something does happen anyway?" Macao asked. "Something we can't avoid?"
"Then you contact me." Aelius's gaze stayed steady through the lacrima's faint distortion. "If it ever reaches a point where the Council is seriously moving against the guild, genuine, immediate danger rather than posturing, I want to know immediately."
Macao studied him for a moment, something complicated passing behind his eyes, equal parts gratitude and quiet exhaustion. "You're really not planning on sticking around to deal with any of this yourself, are you?"
"I have somewhere else I need to be," Aelius said, which wasn't an answer, and they both seemed to recognize it as such.
Macao didn't push, though the look on his face suggested he wanted to. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on things here. Try not to get yourself killed wherever you're actually headed."
"No promises," Aelius said. "But I'll do my best."
The lacrima's connection flickered once before cutting out entirely, leaving Aelius alone again in the quiet corridor outside the Council's halls. He tucked the device back into his requip space, adjusted the strap of his bag over one shoulder, and finally allowed himself a slow breath now that the more tedious obligations of the day were behind him.
One destination remained.