The day of the premiere arrived faster than anyone had expected.
The dress rehearsal had been almost perfect, Natsu had only singed one curtain (the seventh, but who was counting?), Lucy had only cried twice during her scenes, and Gray had managed to maintain his composure even when Hannes fainted from emotion for the fifteenth time.
Almost perfect was the best we could hope for from this group.
Now, backstage at the Onibus Theatre, the nervousness was palpable.
Lucy was pacing back and forth like a crazed pendulum, her lips moving in silent murmurs as she repeated her lines for the thousandth time. The white and gold robes of Miquella rustled with every step, the cape flowing behind her like water.
"'I will find a cure'… no, wait, that's from act three… or is it act four? Azra'il, is it from act three or—"
"Four," I answered without moving from my spot leaning against the wall, a teacup in my hands.
"Four! Right! So in act three I say… I say…" Lucy stopped, her eyes widening in panic. "WHAT DO I SAY IN ACT THREE?!"
"'Do not hide your wounds from me, sister'," Erza answered calmly from the other side of the room.
The redhead was sitting on a wooden bench, Malenia's armour already on, the helm with its golden wings resting in her lap. She seemed serene, frighteningly serene, in fact. The kind of calm that came before a battle.
Or before a complete nervous breakdown.
Hard to say which.
"How can you be so calm?!" Lucy practically shrieked, her hands flying to the hair she had spent an hour styling.
"I am not calm." Erza adjusted one of her greaves with methodical movements. "I am mentally preparing."
"That's the same thing!"
"It is not. Calm implies an absence of nervousness. Mental preparation implies channelling nervousness into something productive."
Lucy opened her mouth to argue, but Natsu interrupted her.
"Oi, can someone help me with this thing?" He was struggling with the straps of his breastplate, his hands covered by gauntlets making the task impossible. "I can't—"
"You put the gauntlets on BEFORE the breastplate, you idiot," Gray said from the corner where he was standing, arms crossed over the dark robes of Mohg. The horned crown cast sinister shadows on his face. "What's the logic in that?"
"I LIKE THE GAUNTLETS!"
"Liking them doesn't mean you have to put them on first!"
"YOU DON'T BOSS ME AROUND, DEMON-FACE!"
"I AM LITERALLY A DEMON IN THIS PLAY, YOU—"
"Boys." My voice cut through the argument before it could escalate into property destruction. They both froze, turning to me with the expressions of children caught misbehaving. "Fight later. Natsu, take off the gauntlets and come here, I'll help you."
He reluctantly obeyed, stumbling to where I was while trying to take off the gauntlets with his teeth.
Happy was in a corner, sitting in a lotus position, his eyes closed in concentration.
"Happy?" Lucy called, her brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"
"Shh." The blue cat didn't open his eyes. "I am channelling my inner energy to become one with Lux."
Everyone exchanged looks.
"…How long has he been like that?" Gray asked.
"Two hours," Natsu answered as I adjusted the straps of his breastplate. "I think he's gone into a trance or something."
"Or fallen asleep," Lucy suggested.
"I am not sleeping!" Happy protested, one eye opening indignantly. "I am in spiritual communion!"
"It looks like you're sleeping."
"Spiritual. Communion."
I finished adjusting Natsu's armour and gently pushed him aside, going back to pick up my teacup.
"Where did you get that tea?" Lucy asked, finally noticing. "There wasn't a kettle here."
"I have my methods."
"That's not an answer!"
"It's the only one you're getting."
Before Lucy could protest further, the dressing room door opened and Hannes stuck his head in, his eyes red from crying (from happiness, presumably), his purple hair more dishevelled than ever.
"FIVE MINUTES!" His voice cracked mid-sentence. "Five minutes until, until—" He sobbed. "Until the most glorious moment in the history of this theatre!"
"You said that about yesterday's rehearsal too," Gray observed drily.
"AND I WAS RIGHT! BUT TODAY is even more glorious!" Hannes sniffed dramatically, a handkerchief appearing from nowhere to wipe his nose. "The theatre is SOLD OUT! There isn't a single seat left! People are STANDING at the back!"
Lucy turned pale. "S-sold out?"
"COMPLETELY!" Hannes looked like he was about to faint from joy. "And— and there are important people! People from your GUILD!"
That made everyone straighten up.
"From the guild?" Erza stood up, the helm still in her hands. "Who's come?"
"I saw a short, white-haired gentleman in the front row—"
"Master Makarov," Erza identified, something changing in her posture.
"—and a very beautiful white-haired young lady—"
"Mirajane!" Lucy squeaked, her face instantly turning red.
"—and a HUGE man with also white hair who won't stop shouting about man things—"
"Elfman," everyone said in unison, with varying degrees of resignation.
"—and a small, blue-haired girl with a notebook—"
"Levy-chan!" Lucy looked torn between joy and absolute terror.
"—and a woman with a barrel, wait, did she bring a BARREL into the theatre?!"
"Cana," Gray confirmed with a sigh.
"And the villagers! The ones from the island you mentioned! The village chief and about twenty others! They're all together in a side section!"
The news that the Galuna islanders had come made Natsu smile. "They came to see us!"
"They came to see us make fools of ourselves, you mean," Gray corrected, but there was a trace of satisfaction in his voice too.
Hannes continued to chatter about the audience, but I had already stopped listening.
I moved away from the group and walked to a crack in the side curtain, peeking out at the theatre.
He hadn't been lying. The place was absolutely packed.
Every red velvet chair had an occupant. People were crammed into the side aisles, on the stairs, in any available space. The buzz of hundreds of voices created a soundwave that I could feel vibrating through the wooden floor.
In the front row, right in the centre, Makarov was sitting with his legs crossed and his arms resting on the armrests of his chair. His expression was a fascinating mixture of paternal pride and absolute terror, the pride of seeing his "children" on stage, the terror of knowing exactly what those children were capable of.
His eyes kept darting between the stage and the emergency exits.
"Master, are you alright?" Mirajane asked beside him, her hands clasped in her lap. "You're sweating."
"I'm FINE." His voice came out an octave higher than normal. "I'm just… mentally calculating how much it's going to cost to rebuild this theatre."
"I'm sure they won't destroy anything."
"Mirajane, my dear Mirajane." Makarov turned to her with the eyes of someone who had seen too much. "Natsu is in there. With FIRE. In a theatre made of WOOD."
"But it's a play, Master. They've rehearsed."
"They also 'rehearsed' that simple escort mission that ended with three villages evacuated and a lake evaporated."
Lisanna, on Mirajane's other side, tried to hide her laughter.
Elfman was gesticulating energetically, taking up practically two chairs with his size. "WATCHING YOUR CHILDREN ON STAGE IS A MAN'S JOB!"
"Elfman, for Mavis's sake, keep your voice down," Makarov hissed. "They are my children. But that doesn't mean I trust them not to blow something up."
"Does the theatre have insurance?" Lisanna asked innocently.
Makarov turned pale. "…I didn't ask."
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Mirajane said with her trying to sound reassuring.
"You said the same thing before the Magnolia Festival. Remember what happened?"
"…The Ferris wheel caught fire."
"The Ferris wheel caught fire. And Natsu wasn't even TRYING to cause destruction that day." Makarov took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "But it's alright. I trust them. I trust my children. They are responsible and mature mages who—"
A small explosion sounded from backstage.
Makarov went white.
"…It was just a sound effect," Mirajane said quickly. "Probably."
"'Probably,' she said. PROBABLY." Makarov sank into his chair, muttering something about retirement and a quiet life on a desert island.
A little further back, Levy had her nose buried in a little notebook, probably noting down observations about the theatre, the story, the architecture, anything her curious mind deemed worthy of recording. Cana was beside her, and yes, there was definitely a barrel at her feet, barely hidden under a cloak.
Macao and Wakaba were occupying seats further back, already arguing about something that probably had nothing to do with the play.
And then I noticed something strange.
There was a column on the left side of the theatre. And behind that column, barely hidden, was a figure wearing a huge hat and dark glasses that did absolutely nothing to disguise who she was.
Juvia.
She was practically merging with the column, her eyes fixed on the stage, or more specifically, on the backstage area where she probably knew Gray was.
[She's not very subtle,] Eos observed.
(She really isn't.)
[Are you going to tell Gray?]
(And spoil the fun? Never.)
In the right-hand side section, the Galuna islanders were clustered together, their variously toned skin and discreet horns partially hidden under hats and hoods. Chief Moka was at the front, chatting animatedly with one of the younger villagers, gesturing at the stage with an expression of anticipation.
I went back backstage.
"Three minutes," I announced, placing the empty teacup on some nearby surface.
Lucy made a sound that was half a groan, half a sob.
"I'm going to be sick," she declared. "I'm definitely going to be sick."
"If you're sick on that costume, I'll kill you," came the voice of Marina, the seamstress, from somewhere. She had appeared for last-minute adjustments and was now standing in a corner with a needle and thread ready for any emergency. "I spent sleepless days on those stitches!"
"I'm not going to be sick on the costume! I'm going to be sick BEFORE I put—" Lucy stopped, looking down. "Wait, I'm already wearing the costume."
"Then don't be sick."
"BUT I NEED TO—"
"Lucy." Erza placed a hand on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. "Breathe."
Lucy breathed. Shakily, but she breathed.
"We've rehearsed this dozens of times," Erza continued, her voice calm and measured. "You know your lines. You know your marks. You ARE Miquella." Her brown eyes met Lucy's. "You can do this."
Lucy swallowed hard, but something in her posture changed. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin lifted.
"I… I can do this."
"That's right."
I watched the exchange with something that could be called approval if I were the type of person to openly show emotions.
I wasn't. So I just adjusted my helm and walked to my starting position.
"Lyra," I called.
The celestial spirit materialised from Lucy's key beside me in a flash of light, her harp already in her arms, her fingers positioned on the strings.
"Ready," she said, and there was a determination in her eyes that matched the seriousness of the moment. "Let's make them cry."
"That's the plan."
The theatre lights began to dim.
The buzz of the audience gradually died down, voices hushing one by one, bodies settling into seats, breaths calming.
And then, total darkness.
For a moment, nothing.
Just the dark. Just the silence. Just the expectation of hundreds of people who didn't know what was coming.
Then I began to sing.
My voice emerged from the darkness like something ancient and inevitable, as deep as the trembling earth, as profound as the bottomless ocean. It wasn't a voice that belonged to a young-looking girl; it was a voice that carried the weight of ages, of worlds, of stories that most people would never know existed.
🎵 "Beyond the mists of time and space,
There is a world that mortals have forgotten…
Lands where gods have walked,
Where heroes and monsters have bled…" 🎵
And as I sang, the magic began.
The darkness tore.
Not with sudden light, not with an explosion. It tore slowly, like the world's oldest dawn, revealing first a glow on the horizon. Golden. Pulsating. Alive.
The Erdtree.
The Golden Tree materialised before the audience's eyes, and I heard the gasps, dozens of them, hundreds, a chorus of surprise and admiration that echoed through the theatre.
It rose infinitely, its branches spreading like veins of liquid gold against a sky that hadn't existed a second before. The light that emanated from it bathed everything in shades of amber and honey, as warm as an embrace, as welcoming as a home.
But it wasn't just an image. The audience wasn't watching; they were there.
The floor beneath their feet seemed to change, red velvet turning to green grass. The air grew different, cleaner, older, carrying the smell of earth and leaves and something that had no name. Golden petals began to fall from nowhere, dancing around the people who raised their hands trying to touch them.
🎵 "The Golden Tree blessed the chosen,
Its golden light, a promise of eternal grace,
A world of order, of power, of peace…
Until the order began to crack…" 🎵
The scenery changed.
Now they were in Limgrave, green hills stretching to the horizon, ancient ruins dotting the landscape like the scars of forgotten wars. Cobblestone roads snaked between toppled towers and abandoned fortresses. In the sky, birds that weren't quite birds circled, their silhouettes casting shadows that passed over the audience.
Someone in the third row reached out a hand as one of those shadows passed, as if expecting to feel the wind from its wings.
Makarov had leaned forward in his chair, his eyes wide, his staff forgotten in his lap. Beside him, Mirajane had a hand pressed against her chest, her lips parted in silent admiration. Levy had dropped her little notebook completely, unable to look away.
And then the world changed again.
Caelid.
The transition was visceral.
The blue sky turned red, not the red of a sunset, but the red of dried blood, of infection, of something fundamentally wrong. The green grass rotted before the audience's eyes, turning into cracked earth and twisted trees that seemed to scream in silent agony.
The scarlet rot pulsed in veins across the floor, and the people in the chairs instinctively recoiled, some covering their noses even though there was no real smell.
Elfman had turned pale, which was a feat considering his size. "Is… is this a man's job…?" His voice came out trembling, unconvincing.
From her hiding place behind the column, Juvia was hugging herself, her huge eyes wide. "Juvia doesn't like this place… Juvia wants Gray-sama to protect her…"
My voice rose, darker now, carrying the weight of the tragedy to come:
🎵 "The rot came like a silent plague,
Devouring flesh, corrupting souls,
And those who carried it in their veins,
Were doomed to watch their bodies fail…" 🎵
Lyra's voice joined mine, a soft counterpoint, as clear as spring water:
🎵 "But even in the deepest darkness,
Hope could still bloom,
Two siblings, marked by the same fate,
Decided to build their own world..." 🎵
And the scenery transformed for the last time.
The Haligtree.
Where Caelid was horror and rot, the Haligtree was… something else. It wasn't the golden beauty of the Erdtree; it was a sad, melancholic beauty, like a flower that refuses to die even when it should.
Pale roots snaked through the space where the theatre should have been, spiralling upwards to touch a sky of silver and grey. White leaves floated in the air, some stained pink like dying flower petals. The light was soft, gentle, but it carried a sadness that needed no words to be understood.
In the centre of it all, the Tree.
It was silvery, pale, its twisted branches stretching like arms pleading to the sky. Petals fell from it constantly, an eternal rain of faded white and pink.
🎵 "The Haligtree," Lyra sang alone now, her ethereal voice filling the space, "a sanctuary of hope and despair, where the cursed found a home…" 🎵
And then our voices joined in harmony, deep and high, earth and sky:
🎵 "Once upon a time, a goddess gave birth to two siblings,
Twins, I know, born already marked by a curse,
And they were always together…
One does not grow, the other will rot,
A cruel fate will never yield,
They can do nothing, even with all their might…" 🎵
Lyra continued alone, her soft voice filling the space as the illusions began to change:
🎵 "You can call him Miquella, or Eternal Youth,
And with rot in my essence, I am, I am sister Malenia,
Forever trapped in time, and I drowned in pain,
Two broken twins, condemned to live,
In a world without love…" 🎵
The illusions focused on two figures that materialised in the centre of the stage that the audience had forgotten existed.
Lucy and Erza.
Miquella and Malenia.
The twins of the twilight.
Lucy entered the scene and, for a moment, she was not Lucy.
The androgynous posture we had practised was perfect, shoulders erect but relaxed, chin held high with grace, each step deliberate and carrying the weight of a wisdom that transcended her youthful appearance. The white and gold robes flowed around her like solidified light, and the cape changed colour subtly with every movement.
She moved to the centre of the stage where Erza was waiting, Malenia's armour shining under the silvery light of the illusory Haligtree.
Erza was on her knees, her posture bent like that of an exhausted warrior. The armour had illusory "damage" I had added, scratches, dents, the signs of a recent battle.
"Sister." Lucy's voice came out different, more neutral, softer, carrying a concern that needed no volume to be felt. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing." Erza lifted her head, and even through the helm, the stubbornness was evident. "Just scratches."
"You're lying." Miquella knelt in front of her, the movements fluid, graceful. Her hands found Erza's, holding them with a gentleness that made something tighten in the chests of several people in the audience. "You always lie about your wounds. As if I wouldn't notice."
"I don't want you to worry."
"Not wanting me to worry is exactly what makes me worry more." Miquella raised a hand and touched Erza's, no, Malenia's face, her fingers tracing the line of her jaw visible beneath the helm. "Don't hide your wounds from me, sister. You don't have to be strong around me."
Erza swallowed visibly, and it wasn't acting. There was something in her eyes that had changed, something that was responding to Lucy's words in a way that transcended the script.
"I am your blade," Malenia said, her voice hoarse. "If I am not strong, how will I protect you?"
"And I am your cure." Miquella leaned forward, her forehead touching Malenia's in an intimacy that made several people in the audience hold their breath. "If you don't let me take care of you, how will I save you?"
In the audience, Mirajane had a hand over her mouth, her wide eyes fixed on Lucy.
I knew that kind of look. It was the look of someone seeing a familiar person in a completely new light, as if discovering that the person you thought you knew had layers you never imagined. Her fingers were clutching the fabric of her trousers without her seeming to notice, and even from a distance I could see the way she leaned forward in her chair, completely absorbed.
Interesting.
Beside her, Lisanna was watching her sister with a little smirk that Mirajane clearly didn't notice. The kind of smile younger sisters give when they realise something before their older ones do.
Levy had completely abandoned her little notebook; the thing lay forgotten in her lap, the quill having fallen to the floor at some point. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes following Lucy's every move with an expression that mixed shock and admiration.
For someone who was Lucy's best friend, that reaction said a lot. Levy clearly wasn't expecting this. No one was.
And Makarov… Makarov was watching his "brats" with an expression that mixed pride and something deeper. He had known Erza since she was a broken child who had come to the guild. To see her like this, vulnerable on purpose, open in a way she never was… It was something special.
The scenes flowed one after another.
Miquella tending to Malenia's wounds, Miquella applying bandages with a gentleness that made it seem real. Malenia training with her sword while Miquella watched from a distance, Malenia executing combat moves that were both beautiful and lethal. The two of them sitting under the Haligtree, sharing a moment of peace amidst the chaos of their lives.
And then the promise scene.
Miquella held Malenia's hands again, but this time there was a solemnity to the gesture, a weight that wasn't there before.
"Sister." Her voice trembled slightly, purposefully. "The rot is spreading. I can see it."
Malenia looked away. "It's not—"
"I can SEE it." Miquella squeezed her hands. "Don't lie to me. Not about this."
A moment of silence that wasn't silence; it was tension, it was pain, it was the weight of a truth neither of them wanted to face.
"I will find a cure," Miquella said finally, her voice gaining strength. "I promise. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to sacrifice. I WILL save you."
"Miquella…"
"I must sleep." Miquella stood up, but didn't let go of Malenia's hands. "Enter a deep slumber, where my mind can seek answers that my waking body cannot find. It may take years. Decades. Perhaps more."
"Then I will wait." Malenia stood up too, her armour creaking slightly. "No matter how long. I will wait for you."
"Malenia…"
"I am your blade." Malenia raised one of Miquella's hands and pressed it against her breastplate, over where her heart would be. "As long as I breathe, as long as this body still moves, I will be your blade. And I will wait."
The two of them stood like that for a moment, foreheads together, hands entwined, two sisters saying goodbye without knowing if they would see each other again.
And then Lyra and I sang together:
🎵 "We created a peaceful place, where flaws we will accept,
And in his words he said…
I promise to heal us…" 🎵
The scene changed again, and with it, the tone.
The music grew more intense, heavier. My voice dominated now, deep and powerful:
🎵 "She raised the blade before she could walk straight,
Trained until her bones cried out for mercy,
Every blow carried a perfect purpose, a weight:
To protect her brother from all cruelty…
Armies fell, generals knelt,
Her name became synonymous with the end,
'The Blade of Miquella,' everyone called her,
Unvanquished, unbeatable, no one came near then…" 🎵
Malenia was alone on the stage now, sword in hand.
Around her, my illusions created armies, ranks of soldiers advancing, monsters emerging from the shadows, countless enemies surrounding her from all sides.
And she fought.
It wasn't choreography; it was instinct. Every one of Malenia's blows was precise, deadly, the sword cutting through the illusions as if they were real. The enemies fell around her, dissipating into a golden mist, but more kept coming.
And she kept fighting.
The audience was in absolute silence, mesmerised by the deadly dance happening before them. Some had forgotten it was a play; the intensity was too real, the skill too evident.
But then came the real challenge.
Natsu entered the scene.
The barbaric armour made him look bigger, more imposing. The helm with the red crest hid part of his face, but his eyes were visible, shining with a flame that wasn't just physical.
Radahn. The Starscourge General.
🎵 "Two titans met on that day,
The Starscourge General, a Celestial blight,
Against the Blade who never knew the way,
To defeat, not even before a god's immortal might…
Radahn, who held the heavens with his hands,
Malenia, who made armies fall,
Two warriors, two curses, from different lands,
Destined to face each other, once and for all…" 🎵
Natsu as Radahn advanced.
Not with his usual chaos, but with control. The martial arts moves I had taught him guided his fists, the flames dancing around his hands in an almost hypnotic way.
Malenia blocked the first blow, the impact reverberating through the theatre.
And then they truly fought.
Fire against steel. Brute force against precise technique. Radahn against Malenia.
The choreography we had practised guided most of the movements, but there was a freedom to it that allowed the fight to seem organic, real. Erza advanced, Natsu retreated. Natsu attacked, Erza dodged. Flames roared, metal sang.
🎵 "Fire against steel, stars against rot,
The earth cracked beneath their feet,
There was no winner in this song, this plot,
Only destruction, once, twice, three times, a bitter feat…" 🎵
Around them, my illusions created the devastation, the ground cracking, trees catching fire, the very air seeming to distort with the intensity of the battle.
Elfman had stood up from his chair without realising, his fists clenched, completely absorbed in the fight. "THAT IS A MAN'S JOB!"
Several people shushed him.
The battle culminated with both of them falling, Radahn to his knees, and her leaning on her sword, both breathing heavily.
A draw.
Lyra sang softly as the scene dissolved:
🎵 "When the dust settled and the silence came,
Two warriors lay upon the ground,
Neither dead, but both in the middle of a game,
A draw that cost a nation, all around…" 🎵
And then came the darkness.
But not the darkness from the beginning; this was different. Heavy. Threatening. The kind of darkness where bad things happened.
Gray entered the scene.
The transformation was complete. It was no longer the grumpy ice mage who complained about having to be the villain; it was something more. Mohg's robes enveloped him like coagulated blood, the horned crown casting shadows that seemed to have a life of their own.
And when he raised his hands, the magic flowed.
The ice that came from his fingers was blue for only a second before my illusion reached it, turning it the red-black of frozen blood. He created chains that dripped scarlet, blades that shone with a sickly light, a cage that looked made of bone and pain.
Behind the column, Juvia swallowed hard, her eyes huge. "Gray-sama is so… so…" She couldn't finish the sentence, torn between admiration and genuine fear.
My voice emerged from the darkness, darker than ever:
🎵 "In the depths where the light never touched,
Crawled something that should not exist,
Eyes of blood, a heart that had been smutched,
By desiring what it could not possess, in a tryst…
Mohg, the Lord of Cursed Blood,
Who turned devotion into a prison,
A twisted love, corrupted, a flood,
An obsession dressed as passion, a vision…
'You will be mine,' he whispered to the void,
'My dynasty, my throne, my eternity',
A sick mantra, repeated, un-alloyed,
As he planned his atrocity…
For there are loves that suffocate with an embrace,
That consume what they claim to protect,
And the Lord of Blood came to steal, to efface,
What Malenia had sworn never to neglect…" 🎵
Mohg walked to where Miquella was "sleeping," lying in a cocoon of light that represented the place where Miquella sought a cure for his sister. The expression on his face was disturbing, not pure evil, but something worse.
Adoration. Possessiveness. Twisted love.
In the audience, the discomfort was palpable. I could see it from the stage, people shifting in their chairs, some leaning back as if to put distance between themselves and the scene.
Mirajane had stopped smiling. Her hand found Lisanna's in the dark, squeezing it tightly. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding her breath.
Makarov had sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes narrow, his expression unreadable. He knew Gray. He knew the boy who had come to the guild carrying guilt and ice in his heart. To see him like this, embodying something so… wrong… must have been disconcerting.
"Finally," Mohg whispered, and his voice carried an intimacy that made several people in the audience shiver. "Finally you will be mine. My dynasty… my consort… my eternity."
Cana had forgotten her barrel. The glass of drink she was holding was suspended in the air, halfway to her mouth, completely abandoned. Her eyes were glued to the stage with an expression that mixed horror and morbid fascination.
He bent down and lifted Miquella into his arms, the gesture strangely gentle for someone so monstrous.
"I will give you everything. Everything you deserve. A throne of blood, a kingdom of shadows…" His fingers traced her face with a delicacy that was more frightening than any violence. "You will love me. Eventually. They all learn to love."
A collective shiver ran through the audience. I could almost feel it, that wave of discomfort that passed from person to person like an electric current.
Behind the column, Juvia had both hands over her mouth now, her eyes so wide they looked like they were about to pop out. I could see the conflict on her face even from a distance, the usual "Gray-sama" fighting against the self-preservation instinct that was screaming at her to run.
"Gray-sama is… is such a good actor…" she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "It's just… just acting… Juvia knows it's just acting…" Her tone didn't even convince herself.
Elfman had gone completely pale, all his "man's job" bravado forgotten. "This… this isn't a man's job. This is frightening and wrong."
"Shh!" Levy hissed, without taking her eyes off the stage. But her hands were trembling in her lap, and the little notebook had been completely abandoned.
Mohg carried Miquella off the stage, disappearing into the darkness with his prize in his arms. The silence that remained was heavy, suffocating. I could feel the audience's tension, the collective worry for Miquella's fate at the hands of that monster.
Someone in the third row whispered "no…" quietly, as if they could prevent what had already happened.
Juvia had her hands clasped against her chest, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Gray had disappeared. "What… what is he going to do to him?" Her voice came out strangled, completely forgotten that it was just a play, completely immersed in the story.
Levy was holding Cana's arm tightly, her nails probably leaving marks. "Lu-chan…" she murmured, even knowing it was fiction, even knowing Lucy was fine, her heart couldn't separate her friend from the character.
Mirajane had brought a hand to her chest, her expression tense as if she wanted to go up on stage and rescue Miquella herself.
But Miquella was already gone.
The scene then changed to Erza.
To Malenia waking up. Seeing the empty cocoon. Then the despair.
Erza played it with an intensity that made the theatre's air seem heavier. She ran across the stage, calling her brother's name, searching in corners that didn't exist, her voice growing hoarser with every shout.
"MIQUELLA!"
The name echoed through the theatre, laden with pain.
"MIQUELLA!"
Levy was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. Mirajane had taken Lisanna's hand without realising, squeezing it tightly.
And then Malenia stopped.
In the centre of the stage, surrounded by emptiness, the realisation finally hitting her.
He was gone.
Her brother, her reason for living, her reason for fighting, the only person who mattered, had been taken.
Malenia fell to her knees, and the sound that came from her was not a scream. It was something quieter, more devastating. A stifled sob that seemed to tear the air.
Lyra began to sing with sadness and despair in her voice:
🎵 "'MIQUELLA!', a cry that tore her throat,
'MIQUELLA!', until the blood ran free,
But only the echo replied, a lonely note,
For those who've never lost, cannot see…
She ran through empty corridors,
Searched in corners where the light had fled,
Called his name to the cold moors,
But silence was all that was said…
'Where are you?', she asked the walls,
'Why did you leave me?', she begged the floor,
But walls do not break down their thralls,
And the floor has no heart to implore…
Then she understood, alone, empty,
That the one she loved would not return,
And the cry that still echoed and would echo plenty,
Was only hers… forever it would burn…" 🎵
My voice took over now, slow, heavy, each word carrying the weight of centuries:
🎵 "Years passed like open wounds,
Decades bled without a scar,
Centuries of doors, always in swoons,
And she remained there… waiting, afar…" 🎵
The illusions around Malenia changed, showing the passage of time. Petals falling, seasons changing, the light of the Haligtree growing weaker with every moment. And she, motionless in the centre of it all, waiting.
🎵 "The rot consumed what was left to take,
Legs, arms, half of her sight,
But she did not move, did not cry, for goodness sake,
Just waited, it was her only reason, her only light…" 🎵
Malenia moved slowly now, each gesture carrying the weight of ages. The armour seemed heavier, her body more stooped. The illusion of a prosthesis on her arm, replacing the limb the rot had consumed.
She was breaking.
Piece by piece.
But still she waited.
🎵 "'He promised to return,' she whispered,
To the void that had long forgotten his name,
'And I promised to wait,' and she lingered,
Even when hope turned to just a flame…
A hunger for a face that memory had faded,
A hunger for a voice that time had silenced,
A hunger for a touch that never came, unaided,
A hunger for everything that loneliness had pilfered…" 🎵
Malenia raised her face to the Haligtree's sky, and her expression was of a solitude so profound that several people in the audience looked away, unable to bear it.
Makarov had a tear running down his cheek. Just one. But it was there.
Cana had completely forgotten her drink.
And Juvia, from her hiding place behind the column, was sobbing silently, all her stalker energy forgotten in the face of the unfolding tragedy.
Lyra sang, almost in a whisper:
🎵 "A flower that refuses to wilt,
Even without sun, without water, without heat,
Still waits for spring to be built,
Still believes in love's sweet feat…" 🎵
And then I entered.
The Tarnished.
The ancient silver armour shone under the theatre lights as I emerged from the shadows, each step echoing in the silence. The intricate engravings caught the light in strange ways, the pauldrons with their feather details casting shadows that looked like wings.
Lyra was singing now, her clear voice filling the space as I walked:
🎵 "And then came a nameless traveller,
Without a past, without glory, without a home,
Just another soul that fate would unravel,
Seeking something she could not name, alone to roam…" 🎵
🎵 "He found the forgotten sanctuary,
Pale petals falling like snow,
And in the heart of that wounded place, a quarry,
A warrior waited, as she had long ago…" 🎵
Erza turned to me.
Through Malenia's helm, her eyes met mine. And even knowing it was acting, even knowing we had rehearsed this dozens of times, there was something there that was real.
Recognition.
Not of me as Azra'il, but of me as a threat. As an intruder. As another greedy creature who had come to take what was not theirs.
Malenia rose slowly from the place where she had remained for illusory centuries, each movement carrying the weight of an eternity of waiting. Malenia's armour creaked, a sound that echoed through the theatre like bones adjusting after a long time of being still.
"Another." The word came out like a death sentence, cold and inevitable. "One more who has come crawling here."
I remained where I was, my hands still far from my blades. Watching. Waiting.
Malenia tilted her head to the side, studying me through the slits of her helm. The fingers of her good hand flexed around the hilt of her sword.
"What do you want?" Her voice cut through the silence. "Power? My brother's blessing?" A step in my direction, deliberate, threatening. "Or are you like the other, the one who came in the shadows, who took what was not his while I could not protect?"
Ah. Mohg. She thought I was like Mohg.
"I have not come for your brother," I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
Erza stopped. Her shoulders tensed under the armour, and I saw her jaw lock through the helm.
"Liar." The word came out poisoned. "They all come for him. ALWAYS." She gestured to the space around her with her sword, the movement wide, laden with bitterness. "This place… this sanctuary we built together… it was meant to be our refuge. Our peace." The blade lowered, pointing at the floor. "And you have turned it into a battlefield."
"I did not—"
"SILENCE." The shout echoed through the theatre, making several people in the audience shrink in their seats. Malenia advanced two more steps, the distance between us shrinking dangerously. "I am tired of hearing lies. Of hearing promises. Of hearing excuses from invaders who think they have a RIGHT to tread on this sacred ground."
She stopped a few metres from me, her sword raised between us.
"Do you know how many came before you?" Her voice lowered, almost a whisper that somehow carried more threat than the shout. "Knights. Mages. Kings. Lords. All powerful. All confident." Her eyes shone through the helm. "All dead."
"And yet you are still here," I said. "Alone. Waiting."
Something changed in her face, a flash of pain that was quickly suffocated by anger.
"I am not alone." Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword with enough force to make the leather creak. "Miquella promised to return. And he will. He ALWAYS keeps his promises."
"How long has it been?" I tilted my head, genuinely curious even through the acting. "Since you heard his voice? Since you felt his presence?"
Malenia did not answer.
But the silence said everything.
"Decades?" I continued, taking a step towards her now. "Centuries? Do you still remember what his face looked like? The sound of his laugh? Or has the memory already started to fade, like everything that stays too long in the dark?"
"BE SILENT!" Malenia advanced, her sword cutting the air in a horizontal arc that I dodged by inches. "You know NOTHING of us! Of what we've been through! Of what we've sacrificed!"
I continued to retreat, dodging her blows without drawing my own blades.
"I know of loneliness," I replied between her attacks. "I know of waiting. I know of promises that time turns into chains."
"Chains?" Malenia laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "My love for my brother is not a chain. It is the only thing that keeps me standing." She advanced again, three more blows in quick succession. "As long as I wait, he will return. As long as I fight, I am worthy of protecting him."
"And if he doesn't return?" I dodged the last blow and finally put some distance between us. "And if the wait has no end?"
Malenia stopped.
The entire theatre seemed to hold its breath.
"Then I will wait forever." Her voice was quiet now, as firm as a rock. "I will rot in this place if I must. I will become a part of these roots, these flowers, this tree that he created." She raised her sword, pointing it directly at my heart. "But I will NOT abandon my post. And I will NOT let ANYONE ELSE take him from me."
"I already told you, I haven't come for him."
"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" Her shout echoed, full of frustration, of pain, of centuries of unanswered questions. "What do you WANT?!"
I looked at her, at this broken warrior who refused to admit she was breaking. Who had built her entire existence around a promise that might never be fulfilled.
"The truth?" I slowly unsheathed my blades, the sound of the metal sliding echoing in the silence. "I don't know anymore. I've walked so long, fought so long, lost so much… that I've forgotten why I started."
Malenia watched me, something changing in her eyes.
"Then we are alike." Her sword spun once in her hand, an almost distracted gesture. "Two lost souls in a world that no longer wants us."
"The difference," I said, raising my blades into a fighting stance, "is that I've stopped pretending I know where I'm going."
"And I will never stop waiting." Malenia assumed her own stance, the perfect position of a swordswoman who had dedicated her entire life to the blade. "Even if it's the only thing I have left."
"Then show me." I tilted my head, a silent challenge. "Show me what centuries of waiting have done to you."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You will regret asking."
And then she advanced.
The final battle began.
Lyra sang with a growing intensity as our blades met, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the theatre:
🎵 "'I am Malenia,' she said as she rose,
'Blade of Miquella, and I have never known defeat,'
Her blade sang, the air trembling in its throes,
A dance of death, a final, bitter feat…" 🎵
The first blow came like lightning, a downward arc aimed at my head. I raised both blades in a cross to block, and the impact reverberated through my arms, down to my bones.
A strong blow, as expected from Erza.
Not just technically perfect, I expected that. But the brute force behind each blow was something that transcended the physical. It was fuelled by something deeper. More desperate.
I pushed her sword aside and tried a counter-attack to her ribs. Malenia spun as if she had eyes in the back of her head, dodging the blow and responding with a thrust that I barely managed to parry.
"Fast," she admitted, taking half a step back to assess. "Faster than most who have come here."
"You're not exactly slow yourself."
A ghost of a smile passed over her face before disappearing.
"I've had time to practise."
She advanced again.
🎵 "Blow against blow, steel against steel,
Two wills that refuse to yield,
She fought with every fibre, every piece, to feel,
Every memory of her brother, her only shield…" 🎵
The blows came in sequence now, three, four, five consecutive attacks, each from a different angle. I blocked, dodged, retreated, trying to find an opening in her defence that simply wasn't there.
Our blades crossed in the air, and we held like that for a moment, faces inches apart, muscles trembling with the effort.
"Why do you fight?" Malenia asked through gritted teeth, pushing against my blades. "You said you no longer know where you are going. So why continue?"
"Because stopping means dying." I pushed back, gaining a few inches. "And I'm tired of that."
"Perhaps you should be." She broke the stalemate with a spinning move that forced me to jump back. "Death is kinder than most alternatives."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Speaking from observation." Malenia advanced with a combination of blows I recognised, high, low, thrust, spin, downward. A sequence she had probably used to kill hundreds. "I've seen many people die in this place. Some screaming. Some in silence. Some begging for mercy."
I dodged the last blow by millimetres, feeling the wind from the blade cut the air near my neck.
"And you?" I asked, counter-attacking with three quick blows that she blocked with no apparent effort. "Have you ever shown mercy?"
"Once." Her eyes darkened. "And he was taken from me because of it."
Miquella. She was talking about Miquella.
Lux appeared beside me at that moment, flying low, his wings beating silently.
"She's opening up," he murmured, his voice serious. "The anger is giving way to something else."
I knew. I could see it. The mask of the unvanquished warrior was cracking at the edges, revealing the woman beneath, the sister who had failed to protect the only person who mattered.
"Who took him?" I asked, blocking another blow. "Who was it that—"
"A MONSTER!" Erza attacked with renewed fury, each blow wilder than the last. "A demon that crawled from the shadows while I wasn't looking! Who took my brother as if he were a TROPHY!"
Her blades were a blur now. I could barely keep up.
"I should have been there!" Another blow, this one almost hitting my shoulder. "I should have PROTECTED him!" One more, that cut a few strands of my hair. "But I failed! I FAILED!"
🎵 "Two blades danced under the mortal light,
One seeking peace, the other seeking an end,
Each blow carried an equal weight, an equal fight,
Of one who has lost everything… and still must defend…" 🎵
"You didn't fail." The words came out before I could stop them, as I dodged another brutal sequence. "You were betrayed. There is a difference."
"THERE ISN'T!" Malenia advanced with a cry that was more pain than anger. "I am the Blade of Miquella! THE BLADE! I should be able to protect him from ANYTHING!"
She spun, her sword cutting a horizontal arc that I blocked with both my blades. The impact sent me sliding backwards, my feet leaving marks on the wooden floor.
"I should have been STRONGER!" Another blow. "FASTER!" Another. "MORE VIGILANT!" And another, and another, each one punctuated by an accusation she made against herself.
Lux flew around me, keeping his distance but watching intently.
"She's not fighting you," he said, his voice carrying a sadness that seemed strange coming from him. "She's fighting herself. Against the guilt. Against centuries of 'what if I had done it differently'."
I knew. Every one of Malenia's blows wasn't meant to kill me; it was self-punishment. It was her trying to prove she was still worthy, that she still deserved the title she carried.
I dodged another attack and, for the first time, I didn't counter-attack. I just… stopped.
Erza stopped too, confused.
"Why aren't you attacking?" she asked, her breathing heavy.
"Because this fight isn't with me." I lowered my blades a few inches. "It's with yourself."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do." I looked at her, really looked, beyond the armour, beyond the title, beyond the centuries of pain. "I've also blamed myself for things I couldn't control. I've also fought against ghosts that lived in my own head."
"And what did you do?"
"I kept walking." I raised my blades again, reassuming a fighting stance. "Because it was the only thing I COULD do."
Malenia watched me for a long moment.
Then something changed in her. Her posture adjusted. Her breathing stabilised. The savagery of the last few minutes gave way to something more dangerous focus. Determination.
"You are different," she said finally. "From the others who came before."
"Different how?"
"You are not afraid." Malenia raised her sword, the blade catching the light. "All the others were afraid. Of me. Of death. Of failure." Her eyes met mine through the helm. "You are not."
"I have died before." The words came out before I could stop them. "More times than I can count. Fear… loses its meaning after a while."
Malenia blinked, something changing in her expression.
"Then perhaps you are worthy." She assumed a new stance, lower, more compact, more lethal. "Worthy of seeing something I have not shown for centuries."
Lux flew to my shoulder briefly.
"She's going to bloom," he whispered, his tone urgent. "Prepare yourself."
I knew what was coming.
"You will be a witness," Malenia said, her voice echoing through the theatre with an authority that made the audience shrink back. "To the true power of the rot."
The temperature in the theatre seemed to change, growing colder, more oppressive.
"You will be a witness," she repeated, raising her sword to the sky, "to my BLOOM!"
And then she changed.
My illusions responded instantly, wings of scarlet rot materialising on her back, red petals exploding in all directions. The transformation was visceral, disturbing, beautiful in a horrific way.
It was no longer Erza there.
It was the Goddess of Rot.
Lyra sang louder, her voice filling the theatre:
🎵 "'You will be a witness,' she cried to the sky,
Wings of rot tearing through her back,
'To my bloom!', the last veil, a final try,
Falling, all cards on the rack…
Goddess of Rot, a flower that finally opened,
In agony, in glory, in despair,
Everything she had kept, everything she had felt, unspoken,
Exploding, her last true act, laid bare…" 🎵
Malenia descended.
Not like a person, like a force of nature. The wings of rot left scarlet trails in the air as she cut the distance between us in the blink of an eye.
I barely had time to raise my blades.
The impact threw me backwards, my feet sliding across the stage floor. A certain numbness spread through my arms from the force of the block, but I held my guard, more out of instinct than anything else.
"NOW YOU WILL SEE!" Malenia gave no time for recovery. Attack after attack, each one more devastating than the last. The red petals swirled around her like a storm of blood. "THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BECOME! THIS IS THE PRICE I HAVE PAID!"
I dodged, blocked, retreated. My arms screamed in pain, but I couldn't stop. To stop meant to die.
"I have carried this rot since I was born!" Another blow that nearly split me in two. "I have felt my body rot piece by piece!" Another, this one cutting my arm, shallow, but enough to draw blood. "And I have turned this curse into POWER!"
Lux flew beside me, his wings beating furiously.
"She can't keep this up forever!" he shouted over the noise of the battle. "The transformation consumes her too!"
I could see it. Under the fury, under the power, Malenia was wearing herself out. Every blow cost something. Every second in her Goddess form took a piece of her.
But she wasn't going to stop.
She COULDN'T stop.
"I gave EVERYTHING for him!" Malenia's voice cracked, and for the first time I saw tears streaming down her face under the helm. "My body! My health! My LIFE! And still it wasn't ENOUGH!"
She advanced with a downward blow that I blocked just in time, and I felt my blades crack with the impact.
"I wasn't enough," she repeated, her voice breaking. "I never… was… enough…"
The opening appeared.
For a split second, less than the blink of an eye, her guard dropped. The pain behind the rage finally catching up to her, breaking her concentration.
I advanced.
My blades met hers one last time. A twist, a turn, a move I had practised in hundreds of different lives.
Malenia's sword flew from her hand, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the stage floor metres away.
She stood still, disarmed, the wings of rot trembling on her back.
I pointed my blade at her heart.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The entire theatre was in absolute silence. I could hear people holding their breath, hearts beating, the nervous rustle of clothes in the chairs.
"So this is how it ends," Malenia whispered, her voice hoarse. "Like all the others."
"No." I lowered my blade. "Not like the others."
She blinked, confused.
"What…?"
I sheathed my weapons.
Malenia looked at me as if I had gone mad.
"Why?" Her voice was a thread of sound. "You've won. I'm disarmed. Defenceless." The wings of rot began to dissipate, red petals floating to the floor. "Why don't you kill me?"
"Because you are not my enemy." I took a step towards her, then another. "You are a sister who has lost everything. A warrior who has fought alone for too long." Another step, until I was close enough to touch. "And you are tired."
The tears were streaming freely down Malenia's face now.
"I cannot stop," she whispered. "If I stop… if I give up…"
"You are not giving up." I reached out and touched the pauldron of her armour, a simple, human gesture. "You are resting. There is a difference."
"But Miquella—"
"I will go after him."
Erza's eyes widened.
"…What?"
I took my hand from her shoulder and stepped back.
"Your brother. I will find him. I will bring him back or die trying."
Malenia shook her head, confused, broken.
"Why? You don't… you don't know me. You owe me nothing. Why would you do that?"
"Because you have waited for centuries alone." My voice was low, but it carried through the entire theatre. "Because you have fought until there was nothing left to give. Because you deserve more than this eternal wait."
"I…" Malenia swallowed hard, the words failing. "I don't know… what to say…"
"Don't say anything." I nodded once. "Just rest. For the first time in centuries… rest."
Malenia's legs gave way.
She fell to her knees, then to the side, Malenia's armour creaking against the stage floor. The last petals of rot dissipated around her like blood in the air.
I knelt beside her.
Malenia lifted her face, her eyes meeting mine through our helms. The tears were still streaming, but there was something different in them now. It was no longer just pain.
It was… relief?
"Miquella…" Her voice was a broken whisper, each word costing an effort. "Forgive me… I could not… wait for you any longer…"
"You waited long enough." I touched her face through the helm, a gentle gesture that echoed everything she and Miquella had done as twins. "Now it's my turn to carry this weight."
A tear ran down Erza's face, real, not acted.
"…Thank you…" Malenia's voice was almost inaudible. "…nameless traveller… thank you…"
And then she began to fade.
Not like a common death, there was no blood, no violent last breath. Her body simply… dissolved. The bronze and gold armour dissolved into particles of golden light. Her skin, her hair, everything transformed into petals.
Thousands of them.
White and gold and pale-pink petals, spiralling up from where she had been, dancing in the air like reverse snow. They swirled around me, touching my face, my shoulders, my hands still extended to the place where she had been a second before.
I closed my fingers on the emptiness.
She was gone.
The Blade of Miquella, who had never known defeat until that moment, had finally rested, not as a fallen warrior, but as a flower that had finally allowed itself to wilt after an eternity of refusing to die.
The petals continued to rise, filling the entire theatre with their silent dance. Some landed in the audience, on Makarov's shoulders, in Mirajane's hair, in Levy's trembling hands. Illusions, all of them, but so real that people were trying to hold them.
Lyra sang softly now, almost a whisper:
🎵 "She is gone… like petals on the wind,
The sword silenced at last…
No body left, no lament, no sin,
Just flowers… dancing, the die is cast…
And where before there was a warrior,
Now only petals fly,
The sister who waited a lifetime, a barrier,
Finally free… to rest, to say goodbye…" 🎵
Lux landed on my shoulder, his little paw touching my cheek. His eyes followed the petals rising to the theatre ceiling.
"She waited so long," he said quietly, his voice carrying a sadness that seemed too big for him. "So long alone. But in the end… in the end she knew that someone would carry on for her."
I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the petals that danced around me.
"She was tired," I said, my voice coming out hoarser than I intended. "Tired of waiting. Tired of fighting. Tired of being strong."
"Just like you, sometimes."
The words hit me harder than they should have. It was just a play. It was just acting. Happy was just following the script I had written myself.
But still…
"You carry so much," Lux continued, his little paw still on my cheek, his large, serious eyes meeting mine. "So many battles. So many goodbyes. So many promises made to people who are long gone." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "But you don't have to carry it alone. Not anymore."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"Lux…"
"You are not alone." He squeezed my cheek lightly with his little paw. "You never were. And even when you forget that… I will be here to remind you."
I stood there for a moment, kneeling where Malenia had been, Lux on my shoulder, surrounded by the petals that still danced around me like the farewell of a soul that had finally found peace.
And for the first time in a long time, I almost believed his words.
The silence in the theatre was absolute.
Just the sound of the falling petals.
Just the echo of a promise made to a warrior who no longer existed.
And then, slowly, I stood up.
I looked at the audience. Hundreds of people who had just witnessed a story they thought was fiction.
My voice rose for the last time, deep and melancholic, intertwining with Lyra's in an epilogue we had composed together:
🎵 "She never knew defeat,
Until that day, until that hour,
A flower that fate did not greet,
Bloomed in pain… and lost its power…
But perhaps defeat was not the blade,
That pierced her weary body through,
Defeat was the endless wait she made,
For someone who never came back, it's true…" 🎵
Lyra sang alone now, softly, as the illusions began to dissipate:
🎵 "Some loves are like this, eternal and cruel,
Unbreakable, even as they break,
Two twins under the same sky, a duel,
Who even in the end… for each other ache…" 🎵
And then our voices joined one last time, a perfect harmony, deep and high, earth and sky:
🎵 "Once upon a time there were two siblings,
Who loved each other beyond the pain,
Marked by the same hands, the same inklings,
Of a loveless fate, again and again…
She was the sword, he was the dream,
She was the root, he was the flower,
Two pieces of the same autumn stream,
That winter took away, with all its power…
And now petals dance alone,
Where before there were two hearts,
Following old paths, overgrown,
Made of promises and prayers, in starts…" 🎵
The illusions dissipated completely.
The Haligtree disappeared. The petals vanished. The silver sky was gone.
All that was left was the stage. The actors. And the silence.
For a moment, nothing.
No one moved. No one breathed. The entire theatre was paralysed, suspended in that space between the end of a story and the return to reality.
And then...
Applause.
Not normal applause, an EXPLOSION of sound. People rising from their seats, clapping with an intensity that made their hands hurt. Shouts of "BRAVO" echoing off the walls. Tears streaming down faces that were smiling at the same time.
Makarov was on his feet, clapping with all the force of his small arms, tears running freely down his face. "THOSE ARE MY BRATS!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "THOSE ARE THE MAGES OF FAIRY TAIL!"
Mirajane was crying openly, applauding through her tears, Lisanna beside her doing the same. Elfman was sobbing, SOBBING, while clapping hard enough to break wood.
"THAT WAS THE MANLIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN!" he roared between sobs. "TEARS… TEARS ARE A MAN'S JOB!"
Levy had given up any pretence of composure, her little notebook abandoned on the floor as she clapped and cried and tried to process everything she had just seen.
Cana was on her feet in the middle of the ovation, her barrel forgotten, her hands joined in applause that echoed. "I KNOW THEM!" she shouted to no one in particular. "THOSE ARE MY FRIENDS!"
And Juvia—
Juvia had come out from behind the column, her disguise completely forgotten, clapping so hard her hands were turning red. "GRAY-SAMA WAS THE BEST VILLAIN!" she shouted between sobs. "JUVIA IS SO FRIGHTENED BUT SO PROUD! GRAY-SAMA MADE JUVIA CRY WITH FEAR AND EMOTION!"
The Galuna islanders were all on their feet, some jumping, others hugging each other. Chief Moka had tears streaming down his greyish face, his horns trembling with every sob.
The ovation continued.
And continued.
And continued.
On the stage, Erza slowly got to her feet, her legs trembling, not from exhaustion, from emotion. Lucy emerged from backstage, still in Miquella's robes, tears already streaming down her face. Natsu came right behind, Radahn's armour creaking, a huge smile on his face. Gray appeared reluctantly, still in Mohg's costume, clearly uncomfortable with the attention but unable to completely hide his pride. Happy flew to Natsu's head, his solemn pose finally breaking into a smile.
And I stood where I was, watching.
The audience wouldn't stop clapping.
Hannes had fainted again, this time from absolute happiness, and someone was fanning him with a playbill.
The applause lasted for five minutes. Then ten. Then it felt like an eternity.
When it finally began to die down, Makarov approached the stage, his eyes still red from crying.
"You lot…" he began, his voice hoarse. "You surprised me. All of you."
Erza bowed respectfully. "Master."
"I came expecting to see my brats make fools of themselves or blow something up." He let out a wet laugh. "Instead… instead I saw art. Real art." His eyes scanned each of us. "I am proud. Prouder than words can say."
Lucy started crying again.
Gray tried to look indifferent and failed miserably.
Natsu was vibrating with joy.
And I...
[You're emotional,] Eos observed.
(Shut up.)
[I can feel it. You're truly emotional.]
(I said shut up.)
[It's cute.]
(Eos, I swear to the gods that—)
[I love you too.]
Backstage was a chaos of hugs, tears, and laughter. Lucy had barely entered when Mirajane appeared, pulling her into a tight hug.
"You were AMAZING!" Mirajane said, her eyes still shining with tears. "I didn't know you could act like that!"
Lucy turned red instantly, her face practically on fire. "I-I… I just… Azra'il taught me and…"
"Accept the compliment, Lucy." Mirajane stepped back just enough to look at her, her gentle smile lighting up her face. "You earned it."
If Lucy was red before, now she was purple.
Lisanna laughed beside her sister. "I think you've broken her, Mira-nee."
Juvia had finally found Gray, who was trying to take off Mohg's costume with an expression of evident relief.
"Gray-sama was AMAZING!" She had heart-shaped eyes, all her disturbance at his villain role forgotten. "So dark! So mysterious! So… so…"
"Frightening?" Gray offered drily. "Disturbing? Probably going to give several children nightmares?"
"SO ROMANTIC!"
Gray blinked. "…What?"
"The obsession! The devotion! Mohg loved so much he was willing to do ANYTHING!" Juvia sighed dramatically. "Juvia understands that feeling!"
"…That's worrying."
"Juvia accepts being kidnapped by Gray-sama at any time!"
"That's VERY worrying."
On the other side of the dressing room, Elfman had enveloped Natsu in a bear hug that was probably breaking a few ribs.
"YOU FOUGHT LIKE A REAL MAN!" Elfman was crying again. "RADAHN WOULD BE PROUD!"
"Elf… man… can't… breathe…"
"TEARS ARE A MAN'S JOB!"
"Oxygen… is also… a man's job…"
The Galuna islanders had invaded the backstage area too, Chief Moka approaching Lucy with reverence.
"You saved us on the island," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "And now… now you've given us this. A story we will tell our children and grandchildren."
Lucy blinked, the tears threatening to return. "I… we just…"
"You did something magical." Moka held her hands. "Truly magical."
And in the midst of all the chaos, the hugs, the tears, the laughter, Elfman's melodramatic declarations, Juvia's disturbing proposals, I quietly slipped away.
No one noticed when I left backstage.
No one saw me walk through the empty corridors of the theatre.
No one was there when I emerged onto the stage again.
The theatre was empty now. The red velvet chairs abandoned, the playbills forgotten on the seats, the lights reduced to a soft glow that bathed everything in golden tones.
I walked to the centre of the stage.
The same place where Erza had fallen as Malenia. Where I had promised to go after Miquella. Where a story that was too real to be fiction had found a new audience.
I took off my helm.
The cool air of the theatre touched my face, and I took a deep breath, letting the weight of the performance slowly dissipate.
[How are you?] Eos asked, her voice softer than usual.
(Tired.)
[The kind that sleep can fix or the kind that has no cure?]
(Both.)
I looked at the empty theatre, the rows of chairs, the upper balconies, the ceiling painted with mythological scenes that were not of this world.
Malenia and Miquella.
I had told their story. Given voice to a tragedy that most people would never know was real. Turned memories that cut like glass into something that could be shared, processed, mourned by strangers.
Was it enough?
No. It never would be.
But it was something.
[You did well,] Eos said. [They deserved to have their story told.]
(They deserved more than a story. They deserved a different ending.)
[But you gave them what you could. And sometimes… sometimes that's all we can do.]
I stood there for a long moment, alone on the empty stage, the Tarnished armour still heavy on my shoulders.
"Azra'il?"
The voice came from backstage. Erza.
She emerged from the curtains, still in Malenia's armour but without the helm, her scarlet hair loose over her shoulders. Her eyes met mine, and something in her expression was different.
It wasn't curiosity. It wasn't analysis.
It was… understanding?
"They're looking for you," she said, stopping a few metres away. "The master wants to make a toast."
"I'll be right there."
She didn't move. Just stood there, watching me with that look that saw too much.
"The story," Erza said finally. "It's not just based on legends, is it?"
I didn't answer.
"The way you tell it about them. The way you looked at me during the final scene." Erza took a step towards me. "It was real. The feeling was too real to be acting."
"I'm a good actress."
"You are." Erza agreed. "But that's not it."
We stood in silence for a moment, two warriors on an empty stage, one wearing the armour of a story that was mine and the other wearing the armour of a story I had lived.
"You knew them," Erza said, not as a question. "Malenia and Miquella. Somehow, you knew them."
[She's too perceptive,] Eos observed.
(I know.)
I looked at Erza, at this woman who had played Malenia with an intensity that made me forget it was acting. Who had found the vulnerability of the Blade of Miquella and made it her own.
"I've known many people," I said finally. "In many places. Some stories stick with you more than others."
"This one stuck."
"This one stuck."
Erza nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer as the answer it was.
"Thank you," she said. "For trusting us with this story."
That wasn't what I was expecting.
"…You're welcome."
Erza smiled, a small, almost shy smile, completely different from the fierce warrior she had been on stage.
"Now come on. The master will get impatient, and Cana has already opened the second barrel."
I let out a sigh that was part exasperation, part something softer.
"Of course she has."
I tucked the helm under my arm and followed Erza back backstage, leaving the empty stage behind.
The story had been told.
Now it was time to celebrate.
____________
💬 Author's Note (or, how I almost lost my translator today)
____________
Before anything else: yes, I know.
This chapter is not "long."
This chapter is illegal in at least three countries.
When I finished writing it, I thought:
"Wow. This is beautiful."
When I sent it to my translator, she thought:
"Wow. I'm going to commit a crime."
Her response was a dangerous mix of:
ominous silence
"are you okay?"
"did I do something to you personally?"
"at what point did I offend you?"
At this point, she is actively threatening me.
Nothing explicit yet, but she has already dropped lines like:
"It's funny how Runeterra has fewer words…"
"Did you know I can translate only one fanfic?"
"Fairy Tail is… optional, right?"
For those who don't speak translator, this means:
👉 "Keep this up and I will vanish without a trace."
And honestly? I get it.
Because this chapter isn't a chapter. It's a coordinated emotional assault:
a play inside a play
live concert energy
illusion magic on IMAX budget
Malenia emotionally obliterating everyone
Mohg being a walking red flag in HD
Radahn fighting with unlimited stamina
Cana forgetting her barrel (true apocalypse sign)
And all of that…
has to be translated.
Word by word.
By a real human being.
With fingers.
And finite sanity.
So I am here, humbly (and desperately), asking:
👉 PLEASE COMMENT.
Comment anything.
Comment screaming.
Comment crying.
Comment "send help."
Comment "Malenia is my waifu."
Comment "Miquella is my waifu."
Because right now, your comments are the only thing standing between me and death.
Or worse: between me and a translator who abandons Fairy Tail and lives happily ever after translating only Runeterra while I cry in the corner.
Please show her that people are reading.
That people are screaming.
That people LOVE her work.
That this gigantic chapter was not written solely to test the limits of human patience (even though… maybe a little).
If this chapter made you feel anything, joy, pain, emotional devastation, leave a comment.
Even if it's just: "This was beautiful, but it was a crime."
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for surviving.
And please… save the translator. 🥹🔪✨