I woke up with a horrible taste in my mouth, which was an intriguing combination of salt water, regret, and possibly small crustaceans. And to make matters worse, sand. There was sand stuck in places on my body that I would rather never have to mention out loud, or even in thought. The first thing my ancient mind, still hazy and deeply irritated by the rude awakening, noticed was not the miraculous fact that I was still alive, nor the ominous and sinisterly clichéd sight of Galuna Island rising before us like a rotten tooth in the ocean's smile… but rather the tragic and unforgivable absence of my favourite teacup.
Yes. That delicate porcelain cup, with the subtle design of a black lotus, which had accompanied me on so many boring mornings, had been cruelly snatched from me and lost in the dark depths of the ocean, probably to serve as a home for some crab with good taste. The universe is a cruel and unjust place. And if there is a god, he definitely has a sadistic sense of humour and a clear aversion to a good tea service.
The second thing, almost as tragic as the first, that my outraged consciousness noticed was the calamitous state of my tail. Wet. Soaked. Heavy as lead and completely, utterly, irredeemably full of sand. It was an indescribable aesthetic horror. Every strand of white, once-silky fur seemed to have declared independence and decided to form an individual, stubborn knot, like an organised and meticulously planned conspiracy against my sanity and my fluffy dignity. I could already foresee, with a shiver of pure terror, the torture that awaited me: hours and hours of patiently drying, of untangling infernal knots, and of carefully combing each lock, all while, most likely, I would be silently judged by my guildmates for my apparent 'excessive lupine vanity'. They simply didn't understand the importance of a well-groomed tail. Barbarians.
[Red Alert Aesthetic Crisis: frustration level with the current condition of your caudal appendage is rapidly rising to dangerously unstable levels,] Eos's voice, ever so helpful in pointing out the obvious, sounded in my mind. [Logical recommendation to mitigate the damage: prepare a metal comb, an industrial quantity of infinite patience, and, if all else fails, possibly a small, discreet bonfire to burn it all off at once and start afresh with a new, gleaming wig.]
"My tail... my precious, immaculate tail is completely and utterly ruined," I muttered to the wet sand, staring at the tangle of fur and stuck-on sand with a horror worthy of a war scene. "This, this is a true and unforgivable curse."
It was then that the other members of this glorious expedition of walking disasters began, one by one, to show signs that they were still in the land of the living. Lucy, covered in sand and seaweed, was coughing violently and cursing the sea gods with a surprisingly creative vocabulary, still hugging her knees as if they were her only emotional survival resource in this cruel world.
Happy, the small, useless blue cat, was sprawled on the sand like a dehydrated starfish, babbling incoherent things about "never eating raw fish again", ironically with a real dead fish still comically stuck in his teeth. And Gray, who, by some miracle, had managed to free himself from Natsu's ropes during the shipwreck (probably out of sheer rage and stubbornness), was now on his feet, soaked to the soul and visibly furious, cursing Natsu's name with language so colourful, so creative, and so anatomically questionable that even I, a veteran of countless pirate taverns, was modestly impressed.
And Natsu… ah, our dear Natsu. The same, pathetic Natsu who had spent the entire journey looking like a greenish corpse about to be buried at sea… was now, to my total and absolute irritation, jumping and running along the sand as if he were in the middle of a summer festival, with fireworks and cotton candy. With a renewed energy, an infectious enthusiasm, and a brain capacity inversely proportional to it all. His recovery was simply an insult to all who truly suffered from motion sickness.
"Finally! Solid ground! I'm refreshed! I'm ready! I'm going to save everyone on this island and end this curse with a single punch!" he roared, with his usual subtlety, punching the air with such enthusiasm that a cloud of sand flew directly into the face of poor Lucy, who was still trying to recover from the trauma of nearly drowning.
Lucy coughed violently, spitting what looked like half a beach from her mouth. "Natsu! You idiot! Can you at least wait two minutes before turning into a human hurricane and throwing sand at people?!"
I, still dealing with the trauma of my wet, heavy, and sand-caked tail, just observed the scene with the bitter serenity and philosophical resignation of one who has accepted absurdity as a universal constant.
"Excellent. Simply wonderful. Our great and brave hero, who a mere five minutes ago was nearly drowning in his own sick, now wants, with all his confidence and stupidity, to face moon demons. I am absolutely brimming with confidence in the success of this mission." My voice dripped with a sarcasm so thick it almost solidified in the air.
Gray, still wringing the water from his clothes (or what was left of them), grumbled something unintelligible in agreement, but I'm sure it involved the word "idiot" repeated at least three times. Happy, who had already recovered from his raw fish trauma and swallowed the fish that was in his teeth, flapped his little wings and announced with a completely inappropriate enthusiasm: "Adventure, aye sir!"
"And a hellish knot of sand in my tail, aye hell..." I muttered to myself, trying in vain to loosen the dishevelled tangle of fur with my fingers.
[Chaotic Situation Alert: the group's emotional chaos level has reached new and impressive heights. The collective stupidity factor is also dangerously elevated. System's logical suggestion: either you accept the inevitable aesthetic ruin of your caudal appendage for the time being, or you seriously consider investing in a high-quality synthetic wolf wig for future missions. It could be practical.]
With great effort and a sigh of pure resignation, I finally managed to get up, shaking my soaked tail which continued to drag me down like a personal anchor of pure, absolute aesthetic suffering. Natsu, with his total lack of sensitivity, was already running ahead of us, kicking up sand and shouting challenges to the island as if it were an opponent in a ring and he had just won an award for surviving the shipwreck. Lucy, for her part, was still trying to spit out what seemed to be the equivalent of a small sandcastle from her mouth. And Gray, drenched, shirtless (of course), and terribly grumpy, looked one step away from freezing our entire team, just to have some peace and quiet. What a functional team.
"Come on, everyone! The cursed village must be just ahead!" Natsu shouted with an enthusiasm that was almost an offence.
"He was nearly dying exactly ten minutes ago, and now he looks like a hyperactive dog that's just been let loose at a sausage fair," I grumbled, delicately trying to dislodge a small, sharp piece of shell from my poor tail. "This miraculous recovery of his is scientifically and profoundly irritating."
[Biological Paradox Alert: an absurd and entirely inexplicable discrepancy between the almost non-existent physical resistance to modes of transport and the superhuman mental and physical resistance to actual damage of the specimen known as 'Suicidal Fire Dragon Slayer' has been detected. Suggestion: an in-depth medical case study would be fascinating... if anyone survives this mission to publish it.]
We crossed the edge of the beach, leaving the sand and sea behind, and entered a dark, winding path, surrounded by tall, ancient, and twisted trees that seemed to watch us with their dry branches, whispering dark secrets among themselves with every gust of cold wind that passed through them. The air in the forest was heavy, cold, damp, and I could swear, with my heightened senses, that even the shadows were following us with a morbid, hungry interest. Lucy, clearly feeling the same thing, was trembling beside me; I couldn't tell if it was from cold, from fear, or a combination of both. And little Happy was flying low, almost glued to our heads, flapping his wings with a nervousness that was almost palpable.
"This… this island has an absolutely and terribly awful aura…" Lucy murmured, her voice little more than a frightened whisper.
"Not at all! It's just your imagination!" Natsu said, with a wide, carefree smile, which, somehow, only made the atmosphere even more sinister and oppressive.
"No, my dear, frightened Lucy, it is not your imagination. It is simply basic physics," I commented with a professorial tone and a yawn. "When you combine, in a single equation, a dark and oppressive setting, terribly deformed trees that look like they've come out of a nightmare, and a persistent smell of dead fish and decaying organic matter, the inevitable and scientifically proven result is an 'awful aura'. It's pure science. Nothing supernatural. Yet."
Gray huffed, his breath forming a small cloud of vapour in the cold air. "If we don't find this bloody village soon, I swear I'm going to freeze myself out of sheer, absolute irritation, just to stop listening to your constant complaints about the state of your tail."
"You simply don't understand, Gray. You can't understand the depths of my suffering," I sighed dramatically, my hand on my chest like a tragic heroine. "A wet, sandy tail, full of knots that defy the laws of physics, is the true, literal hell on earth. That, my dear ice mage, *that* is a curse worthy of note."
Hours, or perhaps, in reality, only about thirty-five minutes, but which, with the noisy and irritating company of Natsu shouting at the front, felt like a true and torturous eternity, passed until the dark, twisted trees finally opened up, and we saw something beyond the dense, oppressive, and probably cursed nature.
A tall, crude wooden wall, clearly built without a competent engineer, surrounded what looked like a small, poor, and silent village. The wooden stakes that formed the wall were sharp and pointed, erected in a desperate improvisation, as if someone, with a lot of fear and few tools, was desperately trying to keep terrible monsters out… or, an even more sinister possibility, to keep something even more terrible locked in.
Lucy gasped with relief. "A village! Finally! People! Civilisation!"
Gray narrowed his eyes, his expression serious and suspicious. "But... why such a tall, defensive wall like this…?"
Natsu, with his usual subtlety and his total disregard for others' property, was already approaching the closed gate, his foot raised, clearly ready to kick it down as if it were the door of our own guild on a fight day.
"Excellent," I murmured to myself, observing the makeshift watchtowers and the heavily locked doors of the village. "Nothing says 'welcome, noble, tired, and innocent travellers, come in and enjoy our hospitality' quite like a gigantic defensive wall in the full, glorious style of an 'imminent zombie apocalypse'."
The massive wooden gate creaked as if it had been opened with extreme and understandable reluctance, which was probably exactly what happened. As soon as we entered the silent, gloomy village, I immediately felt dozens of frightened, curious, and deeply suspicious eyes fixed on us, coming from the cracks in the closed windows and the half-open doors of the houses. The village looked like a cluster of rustic, poorly lit huts, built with dark wood and straw, and all of them surrounded by that tall, oppressive wall, as if they were desperately trying to keep out the very, literal hell they lived in.
A group of men, probably the leaders or the bravest of the village, stopped before us, with makeshift weapons in their hands and expressions that were a mix of fear and defiance. One of them, the one who seemed to be at the front, had one of his arms completely covered in thick, green, reptilian scales. Another limped painfully, with one of his legs looking as if it had been replaced by a misshapen, twisted claw. Their faces were human, tired and worn, but the details... ah, the details. The details screamed "curse" with a silent, terrifying voice. Lucy took a small, instinctive step back, gasping in horror. Happy, the small, brave Exceed, quickly hid behind her, his blue tail visibly trembling. And Gray frowned hard, visibly uncomfortable and shocked by the sight.
And Natsu? Well, Natsu, to my surprise and slight admiration, widened his eyes for an instant, but his expression of shock quickly turned into a determined smile full of an unexpected compassion. "So... so this is what the curse does... this is the island's curse."
"Congratulations, Natsu. You've finally connected the dots and reached a logical conclusion. You have eyes," I murmured with a yawn, my voice drawn-out and full of boredom. "Very good. A point for you in the 'stating the obvious' competition."
It was then that a short, bald old man, his back so bent by the weight of years and suffering that he looked like a human question mark, approached us slowly, leaning on a crooked wooden staff. He carried on his shoulders a weight much, much greater than his advanced age: an ancient fear, a deep despair, and something even heavier and more crushing than both, a palpable guilt.
"Outsiders…" his voice came out hoarse, fragile, but still surprisingly firm. "You… you came because of the mission, didn't you?"
Natsu, with his heart of gold and his total lack of tact, took a step forward, full of a renewed energy and a promise he probably couldn't keep. "Yeah, gramps! We're here! And we're going to end your stupid curse and save all of you, I promise!"
Lucy, ever the voice of reason and panic, grabbed his arm tightly. "Natsu! Be careful what you promise! We don't even know what's going on here!"
I just shook my head slowly, with the resignation of one who has seen this scene repeat itself countless times. Empty promises were, undoubtedly, Natsu's speciality. But, curiously, and to my eternal perplexity, sometimes, somehow, inexplicably and against all odds, they turned out surprisingly well.
The other villagers, encouraged by our apparent lack of hostility, began to gather slowly, forming a tense, silent circle around us, observing us with a mixture of deep suspicion and a fragile, almost painful hope. Men, women, and even a few frightened children hiding behind their parents' legs. And all of them, without exception, carried the visible, grotesque signs of that curse on their bodies. They weren't complete monsters yet, but neither were they entirely, completely human. They were something in between, trapped in a physical purgatory of pain and deformity.
The old man, who introduced himself as the village chief, told us everything, in a tired voice full of a pain that seemed as old as time. He told us of the sick, malevolent purple moon that had mysteriously appeared in the night sky a few years ago, like a watchful, evil eye. He spoke of the slow, painful, and inevitable transformation they all suffered under its sinister light. And of the constant fear of losing control completely, of becoming the beasts their bodies already foreshadowed. And, with a choked voice and silent tears running down his wrinkled face, he also told us of his own son, a brave fisherman who had been the first to lose control completely and who, on a night of horror and despair, had been killed by his own terrified fellow villagers to prevent him from killing them first.
When he, with trembling hands, showed us a small, faded photograph of his son, a man with an easy smile and an adventurous gaze, Lucy brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears of shock and compassion. Happy nearly fell backwards in fright. And even the usually so tough and insensitive Gray widened his eyes in genuine surprise and disbelief.
"It's… it's the fisherman… our boat guide... the one who brought us here…" Lucy whispered, her voice trembling with horror.
I yawned, stretching my still-slightly-damp and now-finally-sand-free tail. "Yes, apparently, the ghost, the cursed one, the boat guide with a secret agenda. He apparently had many roles. And now, it seems, he's also your traumatic memory and personal motivation for this mission. What a convenient and rather clichéd plot, don't you think?"
The silence that followed my cold and entirely unnecessary observation was as heavy as a tombstone. The villagers lowered their heads in a renewed grief. The elder closed his eyes tightly, and in that simple gesture, there was more despair, more pain, and more helplessness than in a thousand words or screams. And I, for a brief, uncomfortable moment, almost felt a pang of... remorse. Almost.
And it was then, at the height of that moment of sadness and desolation, that the night finally and mercilessly fell upon Galuna Island.
And with the night, came she. The purple moon. It appeared in the dark sky suddenly, large, sickly, with a pale, malevolent glow that seemed to suck all the life and all the hope from its surroundings, like a gigantic, purple, hungry eye, watching us from above. And, as if responding to its silent call, the villagers began to contort, to scream, to groan. Bones cracked with horrible sounds, dark purple scales spread rapidly across their skin, teeth grew and transformed into sharp, dripping fangs, and long, black claws replaced human nails and fingers. Screams of pure, absolute agony echoed through the silent square as the human bodies transformed, before our shocked eyes, into their grotesque, demonic forms.
What stood before us, in the square now bathed in the purple light of the moon, were no longer humans with some monstrous details. They were... they were complete demons. With twisted, bestial bodies, with horns, claws, and an appearance that would make a nightmare seem like a pleasant dream. But… but there was something wrong. They weren't like the demons I had faced before. They weren't wild. They weren't furious. They were... conscious. Demons with terribly, painfully, and unmistakably human eyes. And those eyes... those eyes were crying.
"We... we're still aware of who we are… of who we were…" one of them, a huge creature with goat's horns and purple skin, said, his voice now deep, distorted, guttural, but laden with a human emotion, with a pain that was almost unbearable to hear. "But... but these bodies of ours... they don't belong to us anymore… they're not ours…"
Many of them fell to their knees on the ground, unable to bear the weight of their own monstrous transformation, silent tears streaming down their now-completely-deformed and demonic faces.
"Please… please, mages of Fairy Tail… destroy the moon! End this terrible curse! Free us from this torment!"
Lucy was completely gobsmacked, her hand covering her mouth in a gesture of pure, absolute horror and compassion.
"D-destroy the moon?! B-but that's… that's completely impossible! It's… it's the MOON!"
Natsu, with a stubbornness that defied logic itself, clenched his fists tightly, staring at the cursed, purple sky with that stubborn, suicidal, and totally irrational glint in his eyes that some people, mistakenly, called determination. "So that's it. No problem. I'll do it! I'll destroy your stupid, purple moon! I'll end this curse of yours once and for all!"
Lucy nearly choked on her own breath out of sheer disbelief and panic.
"HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY MAD?! IT'S THE MOON, YOU IDIOT! YOU CAN'T JUST... PUNCH THE MOON UNTIL IT EXPLODES!" Her logic was flawless. And utterly useless against Natsu's stupidity.
And Happy, ever so brave, shrank behind Lucy's leg, repeatedly muttering to himself, "this is very, very scary… and I want fish…".
Gray, with a sigh of pure, absolute resignation, grumbled, "With this flaming idiot and his total lack of understanding of the laws of physics, you never know…"
I, who until then had just been observing the unfolding of this tragic and hilarious drama with an almost academic interest, rolled my eyes so hard I almost felt my brain do a full rotation inside my skull. I was already mentally picturing poor Master Makarov receiving, the following month, an astronomical bill from the Magic Council for the "failed, unauthorised, and utterly irresponsible attempt at redecorating the lunar satellite" and, consequently, drinking himself into a stupor to try and forget the hole in his finances.
It was at that exact instant, while I was contemplating the infinite stupidity of my companions, that my eyes began to burn gently. The world around me darkened for a brief, fleeting moment, and then, with a clarity that was almost painful, the "Six Eyes", my ancient ability to see beyond the veil of reality, opened. And my perception of the world changed drastically. The village, the transformed villagers, the cursed, purple moon itself. Everything revealed itself to me in its true, intrinsic layers of energy, lines of ancient magic pulsing like rivers of old light, every detail, every particle, every atom, screaming at me the hidden, shocking truth of that island.
And, with a crystal clarity, I saw. I understood.
That purple moon, so large, so threatening, so apparently real... was not truly purple. It was a veil. An illusion. A thin but incredibly powerful film of magical gases and psychic energy, vibrating at a low, almost imperceptible frequency to normal senses. But its energy, I realised immediately, was not of transmutation; it did not reshape flesh, it did not create claws, it did not turn humans into demons. The distortion it caused was purely and solely... Mental. That vast, powerful field of magical energy altered the minds of all who lived under its light, day after day, night after night.
And Eos, with her usual, cold clinical precision, completed my discovery with an immediate mental report:
[Anomaly analysis report concluded, Azra'il. The data is unequivocal: the inhabitants of this village have always been and continue to be demons. No bodily transmutation or genetic alteration has occurred or is occurring. The gaseous film they identify as a 'purple moon' actually functions as a powerful, large-scale illusion filter, likely a side effect of some magic created by a mage of considerable power and with a particularly cruel sense of humour. Its primary function is to implant false memories, in this case of a complete and detailed human life, into the minds of all the demons on the island, rewriting their memories, their identities, and their very perceptions of reality. The end result, as we can observe, is an entire community of demons who believe, with an absolute and unshakeable conviction, that they were once human beings and are now suffering under a terrible curse that transforms them into what they truly are.]
The cruelty of that spell, its sadistic perfection, was almost... admirable. I saw, with my 'Six Eyes', the genuine tears streaming down monstrous, demonic faces. I saw misshapen hands with sharp claws trembling with a pain and a suffering that were, in their minds, entirely human. It wasn't theatre, it wasn't an act. They truly and genuinely believed in the pain, the loss, the curse, in the memories of a life they had never had. It was an implanted dream, a perfect lie, a cruel mental prison, and in its conception, absolutely genius.
[If you, Azra'il, tell them the truth now, if you reveal the nature of the illusion, the mission, for all practical purposes, will be over,] Eos suggested, with her flawless logic. [An illusion spell dispelled, the 'cursed villagers' problem technically concluded. Do you wish to reveal the truth and complete this mission quickly and efficiently?]
I closed my eyes slowly, deactivating the "Six Eyes" and returning to the limited and blissfully ignorant perception of the normal world. A slow, lazy, and perhaps slightly cruel smile curved my lips.
(No. Absolutely not, my dear, efficient Eos. This is their mission, not mine. And besides, where would be the fun, the entertainment, and most importantly, the learning opportunity for my small, naive teammates in that? I didn't come to this godforsaken island to give ready-made answers and easy solutions on a silver platter. I came, against my will, only and solely to ensure they don't accidentally kill themselves in the process. That's it. The rest, the truth, the solution... let them learn for themselves. Growing up hurts, my dear Eos. And that pain, that confusion, that struggle... will teach them much more about themselves and about the world than I, with all my ancient wisdom and my limited patience, could ever teach.)
[Decision duly logged in your personal files under the category "cruel pedagogy with remote supervision and a high degree of well-intentioned sadism". Understood. The probability of chaos, destruction, and emotionally misguided decisions on the part of your team has just increased by 47.3%. The potential for personal entertainment, however, has been duly guaranteed. Proceed, Azra'il.]
To everyone else around me, the moon remained purple, malevolent, and terribly cursed. To me, now, it was just a cheap light trick, an optical illusion, a side effect of some powerful, ancient spell. I sighed, a sigh that was a mix of boredom, admiration for the genius of the spell, and a slight pang of... envy. I wish I'd thought of it first.
With my arms crossed over my chest and an expression of deep, calculated indifference, I leaned back against one of the few wooden posts in the village that still seemed minimally stable.
"Have fun with your impossible mission to destroy the moon, children," I muttered to the void, a secret smile playing on my lips. "Auntie Azra'il, for now, will just watch. And maybe take a nap. Wake me up when the interesting part starts." The fun, I knew, was just beginning.