We returned to the beach side by side, a comfortable silence between us, the warm sand under our bare feet, and the afternoon sun beginning to set, drying the drops of salt water on my skin. From a distance, the beach looked like an animated postcard: Lucy was still on her strategic sun lounger, probably on her third drink, pretending to read a book but actually, I was sure, watching the aquatic destruction being carried out by Natsu and Gray, who were continuing their competition to see who could annoy the ocean more.
The celestial mage waved when she saw us approaching, her yellow bikini shining against her skin which was already starting to take on a dangerously rosy hue. "You two looked like you were having a lot of fun!" she shouted over the sound of the waves and a particularly loud ice explosion.
"Azra'il tried to drown me with a surprise attack!" Erza replied, her voice carrying a feigned indignation that didn't match the smile still playing on her lips.
"I tried to drown YOU?! YOU nearly used me as a surfboard on a wave you created yourself with a punch! What kind of sane person does that?!"
"It was an efficient tactic."
"It was an attempted homicide disguised as a bit of fun!"
Lucy laughed, a genuine sound, and made space on the sun lounger next to hers. Erza approached, already grabbing a towel to begin the arduous task of drying that impressive mass of scarlet hair, and I watched the two of them settle in. Erza sat, squeezing water from the red locks, Lucy turning on her side to face her with that glint in her eyes that I had already learned to recognise and fear. It was the glint of imminent gossip.
I knew that glint. And nothing good for my peace of mind ever came from it.
(Time for a strategic and preventive retreat, before I become the main topic of discussion,) I thought, already calculating the distance to the nearest bar.
[A wise decision, Azra'il. The probability of you becoming the central subject of the gossip that is about to begin is approximately 94%.]
(Only 94%? I thought it would be higher.)
[I am being optimistic and considering the small possibility of them discussing property prices in Magnolia. A probability of 0.02%.]
(I see. Goodbye.)
"I'm going to get a drink," I announced to the two of them, gesturing with my chin towards the small beach bar a few metres away, a charming structure of bamboo and straw, with high stools and a rustic wooden counter, perfectly positioned on the sand. "All that… aquatic fun and the accidental ingestion of half a litre of salt water have made me thirsty."
Erza, in the middle of a battle with a knot in her hair, looked up, a wet strand falling across her face, giving her a dangerously adorable look. "Do you want me to go with you?"
"No need, relax. Enjoy the sun with Lucy. Discuss… things." I smiled, adjusting my dark glasses on my face. "I'm right over there. Literally ten steps away. I promise not to drown on dry land."
She seemed to hesitate for a second, and something I couldn't decipher passed through those brown eyes of hers, but then she just nodded, a small smile appearing. "Right. And, Azra'il…"
"Yes?"
"Try not to cause any trouble."
"Me? Cause trouble? Where do you get these ideas?"
"From a consistent and statistically proven history of incidents," she retorted, without missing a beat.
"That's slander."
"That's empirical observation."
I cast one last look back as I walked the few metres to the bar. Lucy was already leaning towards Erza with the excitement of a journalist who has just found the scoop of the century, her gestures animated, her predatory smile that of someone who had found fresh, high-quality gossip material.
And Erza… Erza was blushing. Visibly. A soft pink that rose up her neck, her cheeks, to the tips of her ears.
(Interesting… I wonder what Lucy asked to make our little red go red?)
[Based on your recent interaction, context analysis, and standard human behaviour, there is a rather high probability that the question was, and I quote in a loose translation, "SO?! WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WATER WITH AZRA'IL?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!"]
(Brilliant. Excellent. Now I'll have to deal with Lucy looking at me with puppy-dog eyes and Erza probably avoiding me for a whole week out of sheer embarrassment. How wonderful.)
[You do not seem particularly concerned.]
(The fun, Eos, often lies in the discomfort of others. It is a philosophy I have perfected over the ages.)
The bar was small but charming; a hand-painted wooden sign, with letters worn by the sun and sea air, read "High Tide". Unlit bamboo torches awaited the dusk, colourful bottles of liqueurs and juices decorated the shelves, and a soft, tropical music came from somewhere, a rhythm that invited relaxation.
And, to my surprise, there was a bit of movement. A trio of local musicians was playing in an improvised corner, a guitar, light percussion, a recorder. The melody was lazy and inviting, the kind of music that makes your hips move without asking for permission. And the hips of some people, indeed, were moving. Several women, in their various swimming costumes, were dancing near the bar, colourful drinks in their hands. A tall brunette, in a red bikini that left very little to the imagination, was swaying with a feline grace, as if the music existed only for her.
A blonde in a cut-out one-piece was laughing with a group of friends, throwing her wavy hair back with a theatrical gesture. And, sitting at the corner of the bar, a woman with black hair and eyes that resembled a cat's, was watching me over a steaming drink with an interest that was not at all subtle.
I settled onto one of the wooden stools, ignoring the looks, and waved at the barman, a man with grey dreadlocks and a face that looked as if it had been carved by the sun and time, a face that looked like it had seen everything in this life.
"What'll it be, girl?" his voice was hoarse, like the sound of waves breaking on the rocks.
"The most colourful drink you have. And, if it's not too much to ask, with an umbrella."
He laughed, a genuine sound, and already started mixing ingredients with the skill of an alchemist. "A hard day or a good day?"
"An… interesting day," I replied, accepting the glass he offered me. It was an explosion of tropical colours, with layers of orange, pink, and yellow, a slice of pineapple on the rim, and yes, a small and glorious paper umbrella. "I swallowed more salt water than I would have liked. I need something to get the taste out."
"It happens," he said, with the wisdom of one who has heard many stories. "Especially when you're distracted, playing with someone you fancy."
I raised an eyebrow from behind my dark glasses. "And how do you know I was with someone 'special'?"
He smiled, showing teeth stained by time. "My dear. I've been at this bar for thirty years. I can spot the smile of someone who has just shared a laugh with the right person from a mile away."
(He's dangerously good at this,) I thought, taking a sip of the drink. Sweet. Tart. And with enough alcohol to do the job. Perfect.
The trio's music changed to something a little more upbeat, with an infectious rhythm, and my fingers, of their own accord, began to drum on the wooden counter. The melody was familiar, not this specific one, but the style, the cadence. The sound of beaches, of summer, of warm nights under starry skies. The kind of music I myself had played, on different instruments, on different beaches, in other lives.
My fingers itched. An almost forgotten feeling of… desire. The ukulele I had bought earlier, small, light wood, with delicate hibiscus flowers painted on its surface, was safe and silent in my dimensional inventory. Waiting.
(No. Don't be an idiot, Azra'il. You came here to relax, not to be the centre of attention.)
[Analysing. Your vital signs indicate the opposite. You are considering it. Strongly,] Eos's voice sounded, as always, to spoil my moment of self-denial.
(I am not considering anything. I am just appreciating the music.)
[Your fingers are moving in the exact rhythm of the chords of a beach song from life 352. It is not a reflex. It is muscle memory.]
(It was a great song.)
[You want to play. And probably sing. And consequently, attract unwanted attention. Admit it.]
(…)
[Admitting it is the first step to self-acceptance, Azra'il.]
(And you, Eos, are the first step to a headache.)
I looked over my shoulder, at the group of women who were dancing carefree. From my stool, I could still see the sun lounger where Erza and Lucy were. Erza's scarlet head was unmistakable, a bright flame against the blue of the sea and the white of the sand. She still had her back to me, chatting animatedly with Lucy. But she was close enough to see me. Close enough to hear me, if I…
(No. Definitely a bad idea.)
[When has that, in any of your many and varied existences, ever stopped you from doing anything?]
I finished the drink in one long gulp, feeling the alcohol warm my chest. Eos's logic, as always, was irritatingly flawless.
I pretended to rummage in the rucksack I had left on the floor near the stool, a convenient excuse for a moment of privacy. And, with a thought, I pulled the ukulele from my dimensional inventory. The movement was natural, practised over centuries, the kind of trick no one questioned if you did it with the confidence and indifference of someone who is just getting something that has always been there.
The barman, with his hawk-like eyes, raised his eyebrows when he saw the small instrument in my hands. "Wow. Where did that come from? And you play?"
"A little," I replied, with an enigmatic smile, already feeling the smooth, warm wood in my hands.
He smiled back, the smile of one who knew that "a little" was, most likely, the biggest understatement of the century. And he turned to get another bottle, leaving me in peace.
The ukulele fitted perfectly in my arms. I tested the strings. Slightly out of tune, but nothing a few quick adjustments couldn't fix. My fingers, moved by a muscle memory that transcended this life, worked automatically, turning the tuning pegs, finding the perfect note, until the sound that came from the strings was clean, clear, vibrant.
I began to strum, gently at first. Simple, cheerful chords, the kind of unpretentious introduction that makes people turn their heads, not out of obligation, but out of pure and simple curiosity. The melody was unmistakably tropical, the sound of the beach, of the sun, of salty skin, of colourful drinks and of a lazy day that stretches into the evening.
And then, without planning, without thinking too much, I began to sing.
🎵 "Look at that thing, so lovely, so full of grace"
"It's she, the girl who comes and goes apace..."
"In a sweet sway, on her way to the sea..."
It was a silly song, one I had learned in some past life in a tropical kingdom. Light. Sunny. Perfect for the moment. And I adapted it a little, as I always did.
🎵 "Girl from Akane's sun, with her hair of fire"
"Golden skin, salt from the sea"
"When she passes, with her stubborn desire, the whole world stops to see..." 🎵
My voice came out clear and soft, floating over the music of the local trio, blending with it, becoming the focus. It was hard to separate things after so many lives, after so many songs. Beach music, for me, had this irritating tendency to sound like a flirtation. Or maybe… maybe it was just the way I sang, always to someone, even when there was no one there.
The barman was nodding his head slowly, in time with the music, an appreciative and perhaps slightly surprised smile on his face. Some of the people sitting at the nearby tables had stopped talking to listen. And the women, the ones who were dancing carefree near the bar… They were approaching.
The brunette in the red bikini, who had been dancing as if in her own world, was the first. She stopped dancing and walked slowly towards me, a smile I knew very, very well on her lips, the smile of someone who liked what they heard and now wanted to hear it more closely, and perhaps get to know the musician.
I finished the song with a gentle flourish on the strings, and she applauded, her hands sounding clear and close.
"You sing very well, truly," she said, her voice soft. "My name is Marina."
"Thank you. I'm Azra'il," I replied, with a nod of my head.
"Those ears of yours…" she tilted her head, her curious eyes scanning my white hair. "Are they… are they real?"
"As real as your lack of discretion in asking." The smile on my face softened the refusal.
She laughed, not offended. "May I—"
"Probably not," I cut in gently. "They're a bit… sensitive to the touch of strangers."
Marina seemed slightly disappointed, but she didn't press. Good girl. She knew how to read between the lines.
A blonde in a cut-out one-piece, who introduced herself as Valentina, appeared on my other side. And, in a few minutes, there was a small group around me. Beautiful women, in various bikinis, all smiling, all curious about the strange wolf-eared woman who played the ukulele and sang about a 'girl with hair of fire'.
The barman, a shrewd man with a great sense of business opportunity, appeared with a tray full of small, colourful drinks. "On the house," he said, with a conspiratorial wink. "A voice like that deserves quality hydration."
I accepted a blue drink, which came with a small umbrella and a slice of starfruit, because refusing would be terribly rude, and took a sip. Sweet. Refreshing. Exactly what I needed after swallowing half the salty ocean.
"Play another one, please?" one of them asked, a blonde woman, Hilda, from what I'd heard.
"Yes! Please!" Marina joined the chorus, her smile widening.
(Well, I did come here to have fun and relax, didn't I?)
[And also to get the taste of salt out of your mouth. And, possibly, to show off a little,] Eos added, with her usual, irritating precision.
(And maybe to show off a little. What's the problem? Boredom is a formidable enemy.)
I adjusted the ukulele in my lap and started another melody, this time a little more upbeat, more provocative.
🎵 "She walks barefoot on the sand, with steps I know by heart"
"Leaving footprints of light and a trail of… warmth, a work of art"
"Her hair dances with the wind, like the flame of a passion"
"A smile that disarms and steals my song, my every ration…" 🎵
🎵 "Ah, the mages of Fiore, have magic in their gaze"
"Ah, the mages of Fiore, make me want to stay and sing for days…" 🎵
The small group around me had grown. And, somehow, had moved closer. I don't know exactly when it happened, perhaps sometime between the second and third song, but now there were at least ten women around me, maybe more. Some were dancing gently. Others were just listening to me, drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces.
And some… ah, some were too close. Inconveniently close.
Marina, the persistent brunette in the red bikini, had migrated closer during the last song, and her shoulder was now almost, almost, touching mine. I discreetly adjusted myself on the stool, creating an inch of distance. And she, with an impressive naturalness, filled the space again seconds later.
(Persistent. And a little lacking in a sense of personal space.)
[You are literally singing romantic songs to a group of beautiful, half-naked women on a paradise beach. What did you expect? A discussion on pre-Socratic philosophy?] Eos retorted, and I could almost feel the synthetic sarcasm in her transmission.
(That they would just listen to the music? That they would appreciate art for art's sake?)
[Naive. And, possibly, a little hypocritical, considering the verses you've chosen.]
A hand touched my shoulder, lightly. It was the blonde woman, who had leaned in to speak in my ear. "Your voice is really incredible. Do you sing professionally?"
"No, no. Just for fun," I replied, leaning forward slightly to, casually, create a little more space.
"What a terrible waste."
And then, one of the women from before appeared in my vision. The one with black hair and golden-green eyes that resembled a cat's, and that kind of sharp, intelligent beauty that knew exactly the effect it had. She moved with the confidence of one who is used to getting what she wants.
"Vivienne," she introduced herself, with a calculated smile, holding out her hand to me.
I shook her hand briefly and let go. "Azra'il."
"I know. I've heard the others talking." Her smile was calculating. "Do you… take requests?"
"It depends on the request, of course."
"How about something a little more… intimate? Slower?"
(Ah. I see.) Vivienne's golden-green eyes were shining with an intention that was as clear as the sea water. The kind of look that left no doubt about what the word "intimate" really meant. And the truth was… I knew, of course I knew, how to play "intimate" things. I knew how to play everything, in fact. Songs that made souls weep. I had centuries of practice on all sorts of instruments, in all sorts of melodies. And in other kinds of "playing" too.
(I could, without the slightest effort, send this woman to heaven and back in less than five minutes, using just three chords and a half-smile.) The thought came automatically, with the confidence of one who had done exactly that, or something very similar, countless times in other lives, in other bodies. A muscle memory of seduction.
And then, without warning, like a bucket of cold sea water, the image of Erza appeared in my mind. Erza laughing, her head thrown back, the water running down her face. Erza with her wet scarlet hair stuck to her neck. Erza, looking up at me, after our water fight, her eyes shining with a sincerity that completely disarmed me.
"Sorry," I said to Vivienne, and my voice was genuine. "I appreciate the suggestion, but today, I'm just in the mood for cheerful and rather silly songs."
Vivienne raised one of her perfectly arched eyebrows, clearly not believing a word I said, but something in my tone must have indicated that the refusal was final. She, like the intelligent woman she appeared to be, did not press.
The barman, my new best friend, appeared with another round of colourful drinks. I accepted another, this time a vibrant orange one, with a slice of pineapple on the rim, and used the brief pause to, once again, discreetly reposition myself on the stool, creating a slightly more… professional distance from my growing fan club.
(Okay. Perhaps I should go back to Lucy and Erza before this gets out of hand…)
[That would, without a doubt, be the most prudent and strategically correct decision,] Eos agreed, with the tone of someone who finally sees their stubborn student make the right choice.
(Right. Just one more song, then. To wrap it up.)
[You said exactly that three songs ago, Azra'il. And fifteen minutes ago.]
(This time I'm serious. I swear. The last one.)
The "last song" turned into two. Then, inevitably, three. Because it was fun, damn it. The warm sun, the cold drinks, the music flowing from my fingers without effort, the people dancing, smiling… there was something intoxicating about it.
At some point, amidst the confusion of laughter and music, someone brought a tambourine and started to accompany me, with a surprisingly good rhythm. Another person, sitting at a nearby table, started clapping in time. And what had started as just me, playing a ukulele alone at a bar, had organically transformed into a small and lively impromptu party on the beach.
🎵 "The sun of Akane, a sea of pure crystal"
"White sand underfoot, a tropical day without equal"
"The girls are dancing by the sea, the drinks keep flowing free"
"And I, with my ukulele, singing here, with no desire to stop, you see…" 🎵
🎵 "A brunette looks at me so, with a glint in her eye I've seen before"
"A blonde smiles at me, as if to say 'I'm here for more'"
"A redhead, in the distance, then turns around…"
"And I, suddenly, lose all my rhythm and the direction of my sound…" 🎵
The women around me laughed at the verses, getting the joke; it was clearly a silly song about the situation I found myself in. Marina, the brunette, made a point of being the "brunette who looks so," winking exaggeratedly at me with a wide smile. Hilda waved as the blonde in the song. And an unknown redhead whom I hadn't even noticed before, at a more distant table, did a dramatic and amusing twirl, joining in the joke. I was laughing a little too. And that's when the trouble began. Because my verse, my joke, was more real than I had planned.
I started another song, even more upbeat, one of those that make your feet tap on their own, trying to dissipate the strange feeling the previous verse had caused me.
🎵 "Come dance with me, girl, give me your hand"
"On this beach of pure magic and eternal illusion's land"
"Come taste a little of the sweet life"
"In this crazy rhythm of ours, of an endless summer's strife…"
🎵 "No need to be shy, no need to have any shame"
"For here in Akane, my dear girl, everyone, somehow, plays love's game…" 🎵
Marina, the persistent one, was definitely dancing with me now. No longer just near me. Her movements were clearly a directed performance, an open and unequivocal invitation. I kept the professional smile on my face, but I looked away, focusing intently on the neck of the ukulele, on the strings, on anything, absolutely anything, that wasn't the obvious invitation in her eyes. The black-haired woman was watching the scene from a distance, a drink in her hand, that knowing and somewhat cynical smile on her lips, like one watching a drama whose ending she had already foreseen.
And it was at that exact moment, with Marina dancing inches away from me, with a dozen bikini-clad women surrounding me, with my own stupid voice singing irresponsible verses about "dancing love," that I felt it. The look. That look.
Heavy. Intense. Familiar. And icy.
(Oh no. Oh no, no, no. A terrible time.)
I slowly lifted my eyes. And there she was. Standing at the edge of the small group, on the sand. Erza. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, a sight that, combined with the black bikini, did things to my self-control that I preferred not to analyse at the moment. And her brown eyes… were fixed on me, burning, with an intensity that could melt steel. Or my heart.
----------
💬 Author's Note
----------
I WARNED YOU. I LITERALLY WARNED YOU. 💀
I said, clearly, that Azra'il was going to make you all annoyed at some point… and what does she do at the first opportunity?
She goes to get ONE drink…
and somehow comes back with a live performance, a mini harem, and a full-on unauthorized flirting festival on the beach.
Congratulations, Azra'il. Truly outstanding behavior. 👏
But honestly… what were you expecting?
This woman has lived MORE LIVES than should be legally allowed. You really thought she didn't have a criminal record in:
flirting
music
chaos
And extremely questionable decisions involving alcohol?
That's not out of character.
That's lore accuracy. 😌
NOW… about the songs.
Yes, all of that was heavily inspired by Bossa Nova, that smooth, chill, relaxing Brazilian music genre… which apparently can also be used to:
👉 seduce people on a beach
👉 cause emotional instability in specific redheads
👉 and potentially start internal conflicts within Fairy Tail
The main reference, of course, was "Garota de Ipanema", because obviously I was not going to miss the chance to turn that into:
✨ "The Girl from Akane" ✨
Brazil exporting culture… and Azra'il using it for international chaos. We love to see it. 🇧🇷
And no, it wasn't a coincidence.
The whole vibe was meant to be:
light
fun
slightly suggestive
And extremely suspicious
And in the middle of all that…
Azra'il forgot one very small detail.
ERZA EXISTS.
And Erza:
saw everything
heard everything
processed everything
And is probably already drafting a mental report titled:
👉 "How to Deal with a Problematic Woman in 3 Steps (Step 1: Violence)"
If you're mad at Azra'il: valid.
If you're laughing: also valid.
If you're afraid of the next chapter:
Congratulations. You're thinking just like the protagonist. 💀
See you in the next chapter…
(if Azra'il survives)