Porlyusica kept Erza for three days.
On the first day, Erza complained that she was well enough to leave.
On the second, she tried.
On the third, Porlyusica threatened to remove the artificial eye and make her earn it back.
Erza remained in bed.
Alastor, Zestial, and Scout visited each morning.
They weren’t permitted inside until Porlyusica finished examining Erza, and even then, she watched them as though conversation itself might interfere with the healing process.
By the fourth morning, the swelling had diminished.
Erza could focus through both eyes without becoming dizzy, although sudden movement still made the right side of her vision blur.
Porlyusica wrapped several bottles of medicine in cloth and pushed them into Makarov’s hands.
“One spoonful each morning and another before bed,” she said.
“No missions for at least a week.
No fighting, no unnecessary magic, and no blows to the head.”
Makarov glanced at Erza.
“You heard her.”
“I heard her.”
“That isn’t the same as agreeing.”
“I’ll follow her instructions.”
Porlyusica pointed at Alastor and Zestial.
“If she doesn’t, bring her back.”
Erza frowned.
“They aren’t responsible for me.”
“No, but they seem sensible enough to recognize an infection.”
Scout made a doubtful sound.
Porlyusica looked down at him.
“What?”
“He questions your assessment of our judgment,” Alastor said.
Scout looked up at him.
“You didn’t need to translate that.”
“I thought she should know.”
“Outside,” Porlyusica ordered.
Scout marched through the door with his tail held high.
Makarov followed him.
“Thank you, Porlyusica.”
“I haven’t forgiven you for bringing five people to my house.”
“There were only four visitors.”
“You count as two irritations.”
Alastor stepped outside before he laughed.
Zestial followed, but Erza remained near the doorway.
Porlyusica adjusted the collar of Erza’s borrowed dress and inspected her artificial eye one last time.
“The magic may fluctuate for several days,” the healer said.
“If your vision darkens, tell Makarov.
If the eye begins hurting, tell him immediately.”
“I will.”
“You don’t have to prove that you can endure everything.”
Erza looked away.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.
But you may eventually.”
Erza touched the skin beneath her right eye.
“Thank you.”
Porlyusica gave a dismissive wave and closed the door.
Erza stared at it.
From the porch, Scout said, “She likes you.”
Erza heard a short meow.
“What did he say?”
“He thinks Porlyusica likes you,” Zestial translated.
The door opened again.
“I can still hear you,” Porlyusica said.
Scout ran down the steps.
Fairy Tail had become louder during their absence.
That seemed impossible to Erza until she entered the guild hall and found two men arguing from opposite sides of an overturned table.
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t my fault!” one shouted.
“You threw the chair!”
“I was aiming at someone else!”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“It should!”
Gray sat at the bar in his shorts, calmly eating from a bowl as the argument continued behind him.
Cana occupied the stool beside him with a deck of cards spread across the counter.
She noticed Erza first.
“You’re back.”
The room quieted in uneven waves.
Several guild members stared at Erza’s restored eye.
Others tried not to stare and failed less gracefully.
Erza’s shoulders tightened.
She had expected questions about the tower, the bandages, and the eye.
She hadn’t expected everyone to stop talking at once.
Gray set down his spoon.
“Can you see?”
“Yes.”
“Out of both eyes?”
“Yes.”
He raised his hand and held up three fingers.
“How many?”
“Three.”
Cana slapped his arm.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“I was checking.”
“You were being an idiot while checking.”
Gray looked at Erza again.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not much.”
“That means yes,” Alastor said.
Erza gave him a warning look.
Gray nodded as if this confirmed something important.
“You’ll fit in here.”
The conversations resumed.
The overturned table was lifted, though the argument over the chair continued.
Cana moved her cards and made space at the bar.
“Sit down,” she told Erza.
“The master said you’re not allowed to fight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
A mug flew across the room.
Erza caught it without looking and placed it on the counter.
Cana watched her.
“You might want to plan around it.”
Makarov climbed onto the bar.
“Listen up!”
The guild gradually fell silent.
“Our newest members have returned,” he announced.
“Porlyusica has cleared Erza to recover here, which means none of you will involve her in a brawl.”
Several guild members suddenly found reasons to look elsewhere.
“That includes you, Gray.”
“I’m eating.”
“You’ve started fights while eating.”
“Only twice.”
“Three times,” Cana said.
Makarov continued.
“Alastor and Zestial aren’t taking missions yet either.
They need training, evaluations, and a better understanding of their magic.”
Scout jumped onto an empty stool.
“What about me?” he asked.
Everyone else heard a questioning meow.
Makarov looked at Zestial.
“He wants to know whether he’s included,” Zestial said.
“Scout can accompany you during training, but he isn’t leaving Magnolia without permission.
We still don’t know how distance will affect his anchor.”
Scout examined the guild mark on his gauntlet.
“The connection remained stable at Porlyusica’s home.”
“That was a short distance,” Zestial translated.
“He says it stayed stable.”
“Which is encouraging,” Makarov said.
“It isn’t proof.”
Scout nodded.
“Cautious elder.
Sensible.”
“He agrees,” Alastor said.
Makarov’s eyes narrowed.
“Did he call me something?”
“No.”
Scout covered his mouth with both paws.
Makarov took the brothers to a clearing beyond Magnolia that afternoon.
Erza was ordered to stay at the guild.
She objected until Makarov reminded her that Porlyusica would hear about any disobedience.
Cana offered to keep her company.
Gray said he was going to watch the training, changed his mind when Erza looked at him, and sat at a nearby table instead.
Scout accompanied the brothers into the forest.
The clearing Makarov selected was broad and mostly level.
Old scorch marks and broken tree stumps showed that Fairy Tail had used it before.
“This is where we test magic that’s likely to damage the guild hall,” Makarov explained.
Alastor looked around.
“Does that happen often?”
“You’ve seen the guild hall.”
“That’s fair.”
Makarov pointed toward Zestial.
“You first.
Show me the armor you used at the tower.”
Zestial raised one hand.
Magic gathered around him in thin bands of pale light.
It flickered, steadied, and began forming pieces of interlocked metal over his clothes.
“Requip: Chainmail Armor—Prototype!”
The light faded.
A short chain shirt covered his chest and upper arms.
Several links were discolored.
One section near his left side had been repaired with wire instead of matching rings.
It was more complete than the armor he’d produced during the rebellion, but it still looked unfinished.
Makarov walked around him.
“This isn’t entirely magical.”
Zestial shook his head.
“I found metal scraps in Saltwick.
Tomas showed me how to shape some of the links, and Scout helped me repair the rest.”
“Repair is generous,” the Palico said.
“We prevented immediate structural embarrassment.”
Zestial looked down at him.
“You said it would hold.”
“I said it would probably hold.”
“You left out probably.”
“You were already wearing it.”
Makarov waited.
“Scout says we repaired it together,” Zestial translated.
“That didn’t sound like agreement.”
“It rarely does.”
Makarov touched one of the links.
“Your magic stored the finished object?”
“I think so.
At the tower, I was trying to create armor from memory.
It kept breaking apart.
This time, I made most of it physically before placing it into the space I can feel.”
“A personal storage dimension,” Makarov said.
“That’s consistent with Requip magic.”
Zestial lowered his arms.
The chainmail remained in place.
“It takes less magic this way.”
“Because you’re retrieving matter instead of constructing a temporary imitation.” Makarov tapped the poorly repaired section.
“The disadvantage is that real equipment remains real.
It can wear down, break, or become unsuitable.”
“That’s why I need different sets.”
“And the knowledge to choose among them.”
Zestial nodded.
“Scout’s been explaining the armor used by hunters in his world.”
Scout lifted his chin.
“As well as the weapons, maintenance procedures, field supplies, and the many errors committed by impatient trainees.”
“He’s been teaching me maintenance,” Zestial said.
“You attempted to sharpen a hammer.”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“It was shaped like a hammer.”
Makarov stroked his mustache.
“Can you store weapons too?”
Zestial extended his right hand.
“Requip: Hunter’s Knife and Buckler!”
Light formed around his arm.
A short iron blade appeared in his hand, accompanied by a small round shield strapped to his forearm.
The knife was scratched, and the buckler had once been the lid of a cooking pot.
Makarov stared at it.
“It was the best metal we could find,” Zestial said.
Scout crossed his arms.
“Saltwick’s cookware has entered a proud new era.”
Makarov took the knife and inspected its edge.
“This equipment won’t survive a serious battle.”
“I know.”
“Good.
Knowing that may keep you from trusting it when you shouldn’t.”
Makarov returned the knife.
“Dismiss the weapon, then the armor.”
The knife and buckler vanished.
The chainmail followed, leaving Zestial in his ordinary clothes.
Makarov’s expression hardened slightly.
“You need to name what you’re equipping every time you change equipment.”
“I don’t have to.
It helps with forming the image best in my head.
once I say it out loud, my mind creates an image that I can work with.
Otherwise, I may miss certain details.”
Makarov nodded, understanding that it’s more ritual than necessary.
“When you’re only returning equipment to storage, a general command is enough.
When you bring out armor or a weapon, name it.
Your magic responds to clear intent, and your allies need to know what role you’re taking.”
Zestial nodded.
“Armor name for armor.
Weapon name for weapons.”
“If you change both?”
“Name both.”
“Good.”
Scout pointed at the discarded tree stump.
“Now test the knife.”
Makarov shook his head.
“Not today.”
Zestial frowned.
“You understood him?”
“He wants you to test the weapon, isn’t that what he said?”
“Yes.”
“Obvious cues aren’t too hard to figure out.”
Scout nodded approvingly.
“Very wise elder.”
Zestial didn’t translate.
Makarov turned toward Alastor.
“Your turn.”
Alastor looked at the trees surrounding the clearing.
“What do you want me to summon?”
“Something small.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”
“Something you believe you can handle.”
Alastor was quiet for a moment.
He crouched and pressed one hand against the ground.
A circular pattern spread beneath his palm, unlike the clean light of Zestial’s Requip.
This magic looked organic.
Claw-shaped markings traced themselves through the soil while a low vibration passed through the clearing.
Scout’s paw moved toward the small pick fastened to his belt.
“What is he calling?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Zestial said.
Makarov glanced at him.
“He doesn’t know?”
“He knows.
I don’t.”
The circle deepened.
Alastor closed his eyes.
“Come on,” he whispered.
“Just one.
No pack.
No hunting.”
Something answered from the other side of the magic.
The circle opened.
A blue-scaled creature burst from it and landed in the grass.
It stood slightly above Alastor’s knee, balancing on two powerful hind legs.
Its forelimbs were smaller but ended in hooked claws.
A yellow-orange crest rose above its narrow skull, and its long tail swept behind it.
The Jaggi turned its head sharply.
It saw Scout.
Scout drew his pick.
The Jaggi hissed.
“Don’t,” Alastor said.
The creature glanced at him, then hissed at Scout again.
Scout’s fur rose along his back.
“It started it.”
“Put the weapon down.”
“I haven’t raised it.”
“You’re considering it loudly.”
Alastor lowered himself until he was near the Jaggi’s eye level.
He kept his hands open and avoided staring directly at it.
The creature clicked its jaws.
“I’m not challenging you,” Alastor said.
“There’s no pack here.
There’s no territory to defend.”
The Jaggi sniffed the unfamiliar air.
Its attention moved toward the forest.
Alastor shifted into its path.
“No.”
The Jaggi made a barking call.
A second call answered faintly through the open summoning circle.
Alastor’s face changed.
“Close it,” Scout said.
“I’m trying.”
The circle flickered but remained open.
More cries echoed from beyond it.
The summoned Jaggi raised its head and called to its pack.
Alastor pushed more magic into the spell.
The opening contracted.
For an instant, a larger shape appeared on the other side.
A broad head and a bright crest moved toward the narrowing passage.
Scout stepped in front of Zestial.
“That’s the pack leader.”
“I thought he summoned something small.”
“He did.
The rest objected.”
Alastor clenched his teeth.
“You can’t come through.”
The larger creature struck the opening from the other side.
The clearing shook.
Makarov raised one hand, ready to intervene.
Alastor placed himself between the portal and the Jaggi.
“Your pack’s there,” he told it.
“You don’t belong here.”
The Jaggi snapped at his arm.
Alastor didn’t retreat.
“You can go back.”
The circle began collapsing.
The Jaggi looked toward the foreign forest once more.
Birds had fallen silent in the trees.
Small native animals fled through the brush, disturbed by the scent of an unfamiliar predator.
Alastor noticed them.
His expression tightened.
“This isn’t your hunting ground.”
He touched the Jaggi’s neck.
The creature jerked away, then hesitated.
Alastor guided it toward the circle.
Silence returned to the clearing.
Alastor remained on his knees, breathing hard.
Makarov waited until the last markings faded from the soil.
“You could’ve kept it here,” the guild master said.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Alastor looked toward the brush where the native animals had fled.
“It was one Jaggi, and everything nearby already knew it didn’t belong.
If I’d let it reach the forest, it would’ve hunted.
If it survived, it might’ve claimed territory.
If I brought over enough of them…”
“You’d create a breeding population,” Makarov finished.
“Or bring a disease this world’s animals can’t resist.
Or give something here a disease the Jaggi can’t resist.”
Scout lowered his pick.
“Responsible summoning,” he said.
“Rare quality.”
Alastor sat back.
“I can bring them here.
That doesn’t mean I should.”
Makarov nodded.
“That concern is going to become part of your training.”
“I thought you were teaching me to summon them.”
“I’ll teach you when not to.”
Zestial helped his brother stand.
“What happens if we need one during a mission?” he asked.
“Then Alastor considers the location, the danger, and whether he can send it back.” Makarov looked at Al.
“Small creatures first.
One at a time until you can control the passage.”
Alastor rubbed the place where the Jaggi had nearly bitten him.
“I don’t control them.”
“No?”
“I control the doorway.
The monsters decide what they do after crossing.”
Makarov’s expression became serious.
“That makes your magic more dangerous than I thought.”
Alastor looked toward the faded circle.
“I know.”
When they returned to the guild, Erza was wearing armor.
It wasn’t the damaged dress she had worn from the tower or the simple clothing Porlyusica had provided.
Steel covered her chest, shoulders, arms, and legs.
A high collar guarded her throat.
She sat alone at the end of a table.
Cana leaned against the bar and watched her.
Makarov stopped when he saw the armor.
“Where did that come from?”
“The guild’s storage room,” Erza said.
“That equipment belongs to members who need temporary gear.”
“I’m a member.”
“That isn’t the part I’m questioning.”
Erza placed both hands on the table.
“It fits.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering.”
“I’m sitting.”
“In full armor.”
“It’s safer.”
The room became quieter.
Alastor approached her first.
“Safer from what?”
Erza’s gaze moved around the guild hall.
People were laughing again.
Someone was repairing the table broken that morning.
Gray had fallen asleep at the bar, although he had somehow lost his shirt since they left.
“No one here,” Erza said.
“Then why are you wearing it?”
Her fingers tightened against the steel gauntlets.
“I don’t know.”
Zestial pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
“You don’t have to take it off.”
Erza looked at him.
“But you don’t have to pretend it’s comfortable either,” he continued.
“It isn’t uncomfortable.”
A metal edge scraped the table when she moved.
Scout climbed onto the bench beside her.
He knocked gently against one of her gauntlets.
“Armor protects the body,” he said.
“It can’t decide whether a place is safe.”
Erza heard his quiet meowing.
“What did he say?”
Zestial translated.
Erza looked at the armor covering her arms.
“I feel less exposed in it.”
Alastor sat beside her.
“Then wear it.”
Makarov climbed onto the opposite bench.
“For now.”
Erza’s expression hardened.
“You want me to remove it.”
“I want you to decide when you need it.
Fear shouldn’t make that choice for you.”
She didn’t answer.
Makarov looked toward Zestial.
“That applies to you too.
Equipment should answer a need.
Don’t choose armor merely because it’s the strongest thing you own.”
“The strongest thing I own is a damaged chain shirt.”
“Then the lesson should be inexpensive.”
Cana brought a tray of drinks to the table.
“What happened in the forest?” she asked.
“Z turned a cooking pot into a shield,” Alastor said.
“It was already a shield when I stored it.”
“It still looks like a cooking pot,” Scout added.
Cana heard the meow and glanced at Zestial.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing useful.”
Scout looked offended.
“It has excellent heat resistance.”
Erza touched the edge of her breastplate.
“Could your magic store this armor?”
Zestial examined it.
“Probably, but it belongs to the guild.”
“What if I had armor of my own?”
“Then I think so.”
Makarov stroked his mustache.
“Erza has already demonstrated an affinity for weapons.
Requip may suit her as well.”
Erza looked between them.
“You mean I could change armor with magic?”
“With training,” Makarov said.
Zestial leaned forward.
“We could learn together.”
“You’ve already started.”
“I’ve already made mistakes.
That isn’t the same thing.”
Alastor took a drink from the tray.
“He tried to sharpen a hammer.”
Erza stared at Zestial.
“It was dark,” he said.
Scout shook his head.
“It was still shaped like a hammer.”
“What’s he saying?” Erza asked.
Zestial sighed.
“He’s volunteering to teach us equipment maintenance.”
Scout straightened.
“That’s a dangerously generous translation.”
Erza looked down at him.
“Will you?”
Scout considered her armor, then the battered knife at Zestial’s belt.
“You’re both starting at the beginning.”
Zestial translated.
Erza nodded.
“When do we start?”
“After your recovery,” Makarov said.
“Tomorrow?” Erza asked.
“A week.”
“Three days.”
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Five, and Porlyusica examines your eye first.”
Erza held out her hand.
“Agreed.”
Makarov shook it.
Zestial looked at Scout.
“What about my training?”
Scout tapped the hilt of the battered knife.
“At sunrise.”
Zestial groaned.
“Why sunrise?”
“Monsters don’t wait for breakfast.”
Alastor reached for another drink.
“Can I watch?”
Scout nodded.
“Someone should learn first aid.”
Zestial frowned.
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
Erza looked at the knife, the improvised shield, and Scout’s expression.
“You’re going to get hurt.”
“Not if I learn quickly.”
Scout gave an amused chirp.
“What did he say?” Erza asked.
Alastor smiled.
“He said that’s what they all say.”