Pain.
That was the first thing Alastor felt.
His whole body throbbed like he had spent days carrying stone without rest.
His shoulders ached.
His back burned.
His wrists felt raw beneath cold iron.
He opened his eyes.
Stone.
Dust.
Chains.
Children.
Armored guards watched from raised walkways while dozens of slaves hauled blocks, dragged carts, and chipped away at the impossible structure surrounding them.
For a few seconds, his mind refused to understand.
Then a whip cracked against the floor.
“Back to work!”
Alastor flinched.
His body was small.
Too small.
His hands were dirty, scarred, and wrapped in shackles.
He stared at them.
This isn’t right.
A groan came from beside him.
Another boy pushed himself upright, one hand pressed to his forehead.
Their eyes met.
Recognition struck instantly.
Not slowly.
Not after careful thought.
Instantly.
The same stubborn eyes.
The same calm expression that always looked two steps away from disappointment.
The same little brother.
Relief hit so hard Alastor nearly forgot the pain.
“…You’re alive.”
The younger boy stared back.
“…So are you.”
For one breath, nothing else mattered.
Then reality slammed back into place.
“We died,” Alastor whispered.
“I remember that too.”
“The truck?”
“Yeah.”
Alastor swallowed.
“Then why are we here?”
The younger boy opened his mouth, then stopped.
His brow furrowed.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Why did I just think my name was Zestial?”
Alastor froze.
A name echoed in his own head.
Alastor.
It felt familiar.
It felt wrong.
He looked down at himself again.
“No.”
Zestial’s face paled.
“That’s not my name.”
“Mine either.”
Memories crashed through them in broken pieces.
Another life.
Another family.
Another language.
Another world.
Then new memories pushed in beside them.
Chains.
Stone.
The Tower.
Guards shouting the names Alastor and Zestial.
Years of labor.
Years of hunger.
Years of surviving in a place that should not have existed.
Alastor gritted his teeth.
“I remember being here.”
“So do I.”
“But I also remember not being here.”
“Same.”
They stared at each other.
Two lives sat inside their heads, neither one willing to make room for the other.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Alastor muttered.
A guard turned toward them.
“You two!
Stop whispering!”
Zestial’s eyes sharpened.
“We figure it out later.”
Alastor glanced around at the chains, guards, and terrified children.
“If there is a later.”
A sudden movement across the chamber caught their attention.
A scarlet-haired girl stepped forward.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
Small.
But her eyes burned brighter than anything in the room.
Alastor’s breath caught.
“No way.”
Zestial followed his gaze.
His expression changed.
“…Erza.”
The name hit them both with cold certainty.
Not from their Tower memories.
From their old world.
Fairy Tail.
The Tower of Heaven.
The scarlet-haired slave girl who would one day become one of Fairy Tail’s strongest mages.
Alastor looked at Zestial.
“We’re in Fairy Tail.”
Zestial looked sick.
“We’re in the Tower of Heaven.”
The name returned without a map.
Alastor could remember stone, ritual, and danger, but the world beyond the Tower was a blank edge in his mind.
Before they could say more, Erza’s voice rang through the chamber.
“We’re done being slaves!”
Every child looked at her.
Some looked frightened.
Some looked confused.
Some looked as if they had forgotten what hope was supposed to feel like.
Erza grabbed a heavy tool from the floor.
“We escape today!”
She swung it with everything she had.
Metal struck metal.
A chain holding one of the work platforms snapped loose with a thunderous crash.
For one heartbeat, the room went silent.
Then the rebellion exploded.
Children dropped tools.
Some ran.
Some screamed.
Some fought back with rocks, hammers, and broken chains.
Guards shouted in panic.
“Stop them!”
“Grab the girl!”
“Sound the alarm!”
Alastor stood frozen.
Zestial stood beside him, just as lost.
“What do we do?” Alastor asked.
“I don’t know!”
“You usually know!”
“I usually have more than thirty seconds!”
A guard shoved through the chaos toward them.
“You brats!”
He raised his sword.
Alastor moved without thinking.
He stepped in front of Zestial and threw up his arm.
Something inside him answered.
Golden magic burst from his skin.
His right arm swelled.
Fur spread over his forearm.
His fingers thickened into huge claws.
For half a second, his arm looked like it belonged to a massive bear-like monster instead of a child.
The guard’s sword came down.
Alastor swung.
The clawed arm slammed into the guard’s chest.
BOOM!
The man flew backward and crashed through a pile of loose stone.
The golden magic vanished.
Alastor’s arm returned to normal.
He stared at his hand.
“…What?”
Zestial stared too.
“Did you just turn into a monster?”
“I don’t know!”
“How do you not know?”
“Because I didn’t do it on purpose!”
More guards rushed in.
One grabbed a younger child by the back of his shirt.
Zestial’s face changed.
“Let him go!”
He reached forward.
Blue-white magic flashed around him.
Metal plates, leather straps, and rough hide formed over his body piece by piece.
A helmet snapped into place.
Gauntlets covered his hands.
Greaves locked around his legs.
An enormous blade appeared across his back.
Zestial staggered under the sudden weight.
“What the—”
The guard stared.
The child stared.
Alastor stared.
Zestial looked down at the armor.
“…Why am I dressed like a Monster Hunter?”
Alastor blinked.
“Because apparently I turn into the monsters.”
“That doesn’t answer anything!”
The guard lunged.
Zestial yanked the giant blade free with both hands and barely managed to block.
CLANG!
The impact drove him back, but the armor held.
The smaller child scrambled away.
Zestial gritted his teeth.
“Alastor!”
“Yeah?”
“Questions later!”
Alastor grinned despite the madness.
“Questions later.”
Going around the guard, they continued running.
They ran after Erza.
Not because they had a plan.
They did not.
Not because they understood their magic.
They absolutely did not.
They ran because children were screaming, guards were attacking, and Erza Scarlet had started a rebellion that history said had to happen.
Erza led from the front, shouting orders with a voice that should not have belonged to someone so young.
“Help the little ones!”
“Stay together!”
“Don’t let them separate us!”
The brothers followed her lead.
Alastor shoved guards back when his arm changed again by accident.
Sometimes claws appeared.
Sometimes only fur.
Once, his teeth sharpened for three terrifying seconds before returning to normal.
Zestial stumbled through the fight in armor he barely understood, using his oversized blade more like a shield than a weapon.
He blocked strikes, pushed children behind him, and tried not to fall over.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” Alastor shouted.
“No!”
“Then why are you holding it?”
“It came with the armor!”
“That’s Fair!”
A guard swung at Zestial’s head.
Alastor tackled him.
Both hit the floor.
Alastor’s eyes flashed gold.
For one brief moment, a low growl rumbled from his throat.
The guard went pale.
Alastor punched him in the face.
The growl vanished.
“…Okay,” Alastor muttered, scrambling up.
“That was new.”
Zestial grabbed his arm.
“Move!”
They chased after the others through the smoke and dust.
Ahead of them, Erza turned back only once.
Her eyes flicked over Alastor’s fading claws and Zestial’s strange armor.
She didn’t ask questions.
Not yet.
There was no time.
Instead, she pointed down the corridor.
“Help them!”
Several younger children were trapped behind a toppled cart.
Zestial moved first.
The armor vanished suddenly.
He nearly fell without its weight.
“Oh, come on!”
Alastor grabbed the cart.
Golden magic flickered.
“Work.
Work.
Work.”
Nothing happened.
A guard shouted behind them.
Zestial searched the floor, spotted a broken iron bar, and jammed it under the wheel.
“Lift when I say.”
“You sure?”
“No!”
“Good enough.”
They pushed together.
The cart shifted.
The trapped children crawled free.
Erza rushed past, blocking a guard’s path with a stolen weapon.
“Go!”
The children ran.
Alastor and Zestial followed.
The Tower shook.
Alarms screamed.
The rebellion spread through the halls like wildfire.
And in the middle of it, two brothers with stolen bodies, wrong names, broken memories, and impossible magic made everything up one desperate second at a time.
We aren’t profficient at writing, so we use AI for help, but we do go through an editing process to make the story more palatable.
If you find any problems we miss, please mention the part and chapter and we will fix as soon as possible.
Thanks for the opportunity to join a host of great translators and awesome writers, and hope to someday count ourselves among them.