Alastor woke up with Scout standing on his chest.
The Palico stared down at him, tiny paws planted like a judge delivering a sentence.
Alastor opened one eye.
“No.”
Scout gave a clipped meow.
Alastor closed his eye again.
“Still no.”
A paw smacked his cheek.
He opened both eyes.
Zestial sat at the small desk beside his bed, already dressed, already writing in his notebook.
Of course he was.
“Your cat is assaulting me.”
“Palico,” Zestial said without looking up.
“My apologies.
Your tiny armored tax collector is assaulting me.”
Scout gave a pleased little mrrp.
Zestial turned a page.
“Scout says rent is due.”
Alastor slowly lifted his head.
“Rent?”
“You slept on my floor again.”
“I was guarding.”
“You were snoring.”
“Guard snoring.
It scares enemies.”
“It scared no one.
Gray threw a shoe at the wall.”
Alastor looked toward the wall.
There was, in fact, a shoe sitting near the door.
“Huh.”
Zestial finally looked at him.
“You have your own room.”
Alastor dropped his head back onto the folded blanket.
“My room lacks company.”
“It has a bed.”
“Cold comfort.”
“It has a door.”
“Suspicious feature.”
“It has a window.”
“An escape route, yes.
I respect that part.”
Zestial sighed and set the pencil down.
“Alastor.”
That tone worked better than yelling.
Alastor went quiet.
Scout sat down on his chest, tail curling around its paws.
Zestial leaned back in the chair.
“Sleeping over is fine sometimes.
We shared a room before all this, remember?”
Alastor’s eyes shifted toward him.
Before all this.
Before chains.
Before magic.
Before waking up in a body that had memories and scars he hadn’t earned but still had to carry.
Before their old names became something neither of them said out loud anymore.
Zestial kept his voice low.
“But you have your own bed now.
Your own room.
That’s a good thing.”
Alastor stared at the ceiling.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Don’t start sounding like a therapist.
It’s creepy.”
“I’m serious.”
“I noticed.
Tragic development.”
Zestial gave him a flat look.
Alastor let out a breath.
“Fine.
I know.”
Scout gave a soft trill and patted the blanket with one paw.
Alastor pointed at it.
“And you.
Don’t act innocent.
You let me in.”
Scout looked away.
Zestial’s mouth twitched.
“Scout says you looked pathetic.”
Alastor gasped.
“Oh, outstanding.
My brother and the armored witness have joined forces to slander me before breakfast.
Truly, loyalty has died, been buried, and had a little flag planted on the grave.”
Scout purred.
Zestial shook his head.
“That’s not a denial.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.
It was theater.”
“It was obvious.”
“Good theater is.”
Zestial stood and picked up the shoe by the door.
“Tonight, you sleep in your room.”
Alastor sat up, Scout sliding into his lap.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll tell Porlyusica you’re ignoring rest instructions.”
Alastor froze.
“You wouldn’t.”
Zestial opened the door.
Scout gave a smug prrt.
Alastor looked between them.
“Oh.
Oh, I see.
Well, I hope you’re proud of what you’ve become.”
“I am.”
Scout raised one paw.
Zestial added, “Scout is too.”
Alastor stood, blanket around his shoulders like a cape.
“Fine.
But when history records this dark morning, I want it known that I was charming, reasonable, and deeply wronged.”
Zestial walked into the hall.
“You were snoring.”
“History doesn’t need every detail.”
Breakfast was already loud when they came downstairs.
That was normal now.
Not comfortable yet.
But normal.
Macao was arguing with Wakaba about whose turn it was to fix the dent in the west wall.
Cana sat on the counter with a cup of juice in one hand and cards in the other.
Gray was at a table, half-asleep, wearing a shirt that was inside out.
Erza sat near the end of the table, back to the wall, eating slowly.
Her artificial eye moved a little better now, though not perfectly.
Porlyusica had said that would take time.
Erza hadn’t complained.
She’d only asked when she could train properly.
Porlyusica had said, “When I say.”
Erza had accepted that with the face of someone planning an argument three days in advance.
Alastor dropped into the chair across from her.
“Morning.”
Erza nodded.
“Morning.”
Zestial sat beside him.
Scout hopped onto the table and immediately inspected the bread basket.
Gray lifted his head.
“You slept in Zestial’s room again.”
Alastor pointed at him.
“You threw a shoe.”
“You snored through the wall.”
“I was creating atmosphere.”
“You sounded like a dying boar.”
Alastor paused.
“Boars can be majestic.”
Cana looked over.
“Not dying ones.”
Makarov entered from the side hall holding a stack of papers.
“Good.
Everyone’s awake.”
Gray’s head hit the table.
“I’m not.”
“You are now.”
Makarov placed the papers down.
Alastor perked up.
“Jobs?”
“No.”
He slumped.
Makarov continued, “Chores.”
Alastor’s face fell further.
Zestial looked interested.
“What kind?”
“That is the correct response,” Makarov said.
Alastor pointed at him.
“Favoritism.
Open, shameless favoritism.”
Cana snorted into her cup.
Makarov ignored him with practiced ease.
“The storage room needs repairs.
Shelves broke during last week’s fight.”
Gray looked away.
Cana pointed at him.
“It wasn’t me!”
Makarov kept going.
“The back fence also needs fixing.
The job board needs sorting.
Supplies need counting.”
Scout stood taller.
Zestial translated automatically.
“Scout wants supply counting.”
Makarov nodded solemnly.
“Granted.”
Scout gave a firm meow and saluted.
Alastor stared.
“Scout got the best job.”
“You can help with the storage room,” Makarov said.
“Can I transform?”
“Partially.”
“Can I lift heavy things?”
“Yes.”
“Can I scare Gray?”
“No.”
Gray looked up.
“Why was I included?”
“Because you were about to volunteer for something foolish,” Makarov said.
“I was not.”
Cana smiled.
“You were thinking it.”
Gray frowned.
“Thinking shouldn’t count.”
“With you,” Zestial said, “it should.”
Gray pointed at him.
“You’re getting mouthy.”
“I’ve been mouthy.
You’re just noticing it now.”
Erza stood.
“What about me?”
The table quieted a little.
Makarov looked at her.
“Job board.”
Erza frowned.
“That’s paper.”
“Yes.”
“I can do more than paper.”
“I know.”
“Then why paper?”
Makarov’s expression softened, but his voice stayed firm.
“Because job requests are the heart of a guild.
You’ll learn what people ask of us, what we accept, what we refuse, and what kind of trouble mages get into when they don’t read carefully.”
Cana raised her cup.
“That last one happens a lot.”
Makarov nodded.
“Too often.”
Erza looked at the stack of requests.
It wasn’t the answer she wanted.
But it wasn’t nothing.
She took the papers.
“All right.”
Cana slid off the counter.
“I’ll help.”
Makarov raised a brow.
Cana shrugged.
“She’ll finish faster if someone explains which old requests are fake.”
Erza looked at her.
“Fake?”
Gray muttered, “People send weird stuff.”
Alastor leaned forward.
“How weird?”
Makarov said, “Storage room.”
Alastor stood immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
Zestial followed with his notebook tucked under one arm.
The storage room was a disaster.
Not a dramatic disaster.
A Fairy Tail disaster.
Two shelves leaned at angles shelves should never attempt.
Several crates had been stacked in a way that suggested confidence had replaced engineering.
A barrel of nails had spilled under a torn tarp.
Brooms, broken chair legs, old training swords, paint cans, spare mugs, and one suspiciously scorched hat had all ended up in the same corner.
Alastor stared.
“This room lost a fight.”
Gray crossed his arms.
“It was like that before.”
Cana, passing by with Erza and the job requests, said, “It wasn’t.”
Gray shouted after her, “You don’t know!”
“I watched it happen.”
“That doesn’t mean you understood!”
Zestial crouched near the broken shelf and inspected the joint.
Scout jumped down beside him with a questioning trill.
“Bad weight distribution,” Zestial said.
Scout patted the cracked wood.
“And weak supports.
Yes.”
Alastor leaned in.
“Can we make it better?”
Zestial looked around.
The room was full of scrap.
Bad scrap.
But useful bad scrap.
His eyes sharpened.
“Yes.”
Alastor grinned.
That was one of his favorite words. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Zestial pointed to three crates.
“Move those first.”
Alastor rolled his shoulders.
“Monster?”
“Controlled monster.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m saying it because you need to hear it.”
Alastor placed a hand over his heart.
“You wound me with your lack of faith.”
“You heal quickly.”
“Emotionally, I may never recover.”
Scout gave a dry little mrrp.
Zestial looked down and smirked.
Alastor slowly turned toward the Palico.
“This fur-ball’s grown claws.”
He stepped to the crates and breathed.
The magic answered faster than it had a week ago.
Not violently.
Not perfectly.
But willingly.
He chose Arzuros for the arms again.
Strong, simple, safe.
Fur spread to the elbow, claws curving just enough to hook under the crates without shredding them.
Then he paused.
Grip.
Balance.
No crushing.
He lifted one crate.
Wood creaked.
He adjusted his fingers.
The crate held.
“Ha.”
Makarov, standing near the door, nodded.
“Good.”
Alastor carried it across the room and set it down.
Carefully.
Mostly.
It thumped.
Zestial looked over.
“Less thump.”
“That was a respectful thump.”
“It was a warning thump.”
“The crate understood.”
Gray grabbed another crate and lifted it with both arms.
“Not that hard.”
The bottom dropped out.
Nails spilled everywhere.
Scout let out an offended yowl and jumped backward.
Gray stared at the broken crate in his hands.
Alastor looked at him.
Gray looked back.
Cana called from the hall, “Was that Gray?”
“No!” Gray shouted.
Zestial stared at the nails.
Scout stared at Gray.
Gray shifted.
“Maybe.”
Alastor spread his clawed hands.
“And yet I’m the one under supervision.”
Makarov pointed toward the nails.
“Clean it up.”
Gray sighed and crouched.
Scout marched over and began separating bent nails from straight ones, muttering little chitters the whole time.
Gray glanced at Zestial.
“What’s it saying?”
Zestial listened.
Then smiled faintly.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.”
“No, you really don’t.”
Alastor laughed.
Zestial summoned a tool next.
Not a weapon.
A hammer.
Small, practical, balanced in his hand.
It formed from blue-white magic with a little flash, then settled into something that looked more solid than light.
Makarov watched closely.
“That’s from the same magic as the weapons?”
“Yes.”
“Why not a larger hammer?”
Zestial gave him a look.
“Because I’m fixing a shelf, not attacking the wall.”
Makarov smiled.
“Good.”
Alastor whispered to Gray, “Teacher’s favorite.”
Gray whispered back, “Definitely.”
Zestial ignored them and started working.
He measured the shelf with string.
Marked weak points.
Tested the wood.
Reinforced the supports with scrap metal strips.
Scout sorted supplies.
Gray fetched tools after only two wrong guesses.
Alastor held beams in place with partial monster arms and, after some experimenting, used Kulu-Ya-Ku fingers for finer grip.
That surprised him.
Kulu-Ya-Ku wasn’t a form he would have picked for fun.
Too odd.
Too birdlike.
Too much like something that stole an egg and ran away looking proud of itself.
But the hands were useful.
Strong grip.
Good control.
Less crushing.
Zestial noticed immediately.
“That one works.”
Alastor flexed the taloned fingers.
“Yeah.
I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Preference isn’t limitation.”
Alastor looked at him.
The words landed.
Memories kept coming back clearer now.
Not all at once, but enough.
Monster names.
Weapon motions.
Bits of story.
Warnings.
Possibilities.
It was easier to remember that he had favorites.
Harder to remember that favorites weren’t chains.
Alastor looked at the shelf.
“Guess the weird chicken thief gets respect.”
Scout gave a questioning trill.
“No, that’s not the official name,” Zestial said immediately.
Alastor grinned.
“It is now.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s in my heart.”
“Your heart has bad filing standards.”
Makarov chuckled quietly from the doorway.
By midday, the storage room looked less cursed.
Not clean.
That would’ve been asking too much.
But better.
Shelves stood straight.
Crates had labels.
Nails had been sorted.
The scorched hat had been moved into a box marked Ask Before Touching, mostly because no one trusted it.
Scout sat on the highest repaired shelf, looking down like a tiny foreman.
Zestial wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Not bad.”
Alastor leaned on a broom.
“We conquered the room.”
“We repaired the room.”
Gray sat on a crate, dusty and annoyed.
“I still think fighting would’ve been faster.”
Zestial looked around.
“That’s how the room became like this.”
Gray had no answer.
From the hall, Erza appeared carrying a stack of organized job requests.
Cana followed behind her with another stack and an impressed look she tried to hide.
Erza looked over the repaired shelves.
“You finished.”
Alastor gestured grandly with the broom.
“Behold, the mighty battlefield, where wood was straightened, nails were judged, and Gray was defeated by a box.”
Gray stood.
“The box cheated.”
Erza blinked.
Then looked at the broken crate pieces near the wall.
“How?”
Gray crossed his arms.
Cana laughed.
Erza’s mouth twitched.
Zestial looked at the papers in her arms.
“How’d the job board go?”
Erza’s expression changed.
Not softer.
Sharper.
Focused.
“Some requests are badly written.
Some don’t say enough.
Some are dangerous but written like they’re simple.”
Makarov stepped closer.
“That’s true.”
Erza looked up at him.
“Why accept those?”
“We don’t always.
Sometimes we send someone to ask more.
Sometimes the danger isn’t obvious until a mage gets there.
Sometimes people are scared and don’t know how to explain.”
Erza looked down at the top paper.
“A missing pet could be a missing pet.”
Cana nodded.
“Or a Vulcan ate it.”
Gray added, “Or it’s not a pet.”
Alastor brightened.
“What does that mean?”
Makarov said, “Nothing you need to investigate yet.”
Alastor’s shoulders dropped.
Zestial looked at Erza.
“So the job board is threat assessment.”
Erza nodded.
“And people assessment.”
Makarov’s smile was small but proud.
“Yes.”
Erza looked at the papers again.
“I want to learn that.”
“You will.”
She nodded once.
Satisfied for now.
Only for now.
After lunch, Porlyusica arrived without warning.
Everyone sensed danger before the door opened.
Macao sat straighter.
Wakaba hid his pipe.
Gray somehow lost his shirt in panic, which didn’t help his case.
Porlyusica stepped inside, scanned the room, and pointed at him.
“Why?”
Gray looked down.
“I don’t know!”
“Unacceptable.”
Alastor leaned toward Zestial.
“She’s a force of nature.”
Zestial whispered, “Don’t attract it.”
Too late.
Porlyusica’s eyes locked onto the Wildguard around Alastor’s arm.
“What is that?”
Alastor lifted his wrist proudly.
“Prototype.”
Zestial stood quickly.
“It’s not being used for transformation yet.”
Porlyusica looked at him.
“Yet.”
“Eventually.”
“That word causes injuries.”
“Only if rushed.”
She stared.
Zestial stared back.
Scout gave a firm mew and tapped the brace with one paw.
Porlyusica looked at Scout.
“No.”
Scout slowly lowered its paw.
Alastor whispered, “Even Scout fears her.”
Porlyusica pointed at him.
“Sit.”
He sat.
She inspected the Wildguard without asking him to remove it.
Her fingers moved over straps, joints, weak points.
“It’s crude.”
Zestial nodded.
“Yes.”
“Ugly.”
“Yes.”
“Better than expected.”
Zestial blinked.
Alastor gasped.
“Was that praise?”
“No,” Porlyusica said.
Alastor placed a hand over his heart.
“Ah.
A blessing disguised as an insult.
I shall treasure this day.”
Porlyusica tightened one strap slightly.
“If you test this without supervision, I’ll take it.”
Alastor looked at Scout.
Scout gave a smug mrrp.
Alastor prepared to defend himself.
Porlyusica stared at him.
Zestial stared at him.
Makarov looked deeply tired.
Cana whispered, Gray nodded.
Porlyusica released his arm.
“Your mouth is recovering faster than your ribs.”
Alastor smiled.
“I train hard.”
She checked Erza next.
Erza stood still through it.
No flinching.
No wasted movement.
But her hands were tight at her sides.
Porlyusica noticed, of course.
“The eye is settling.”
Erza asked, “When can I train?”
“No.”
“When?”
“No is a complete sentence.”
Erza’s mouth tightened.
Porlyusica sighed like the world had wronged her personally.
“Light movement.
No combat.
No strain.
No magic attempts without Makarov watching.
If your eye aches, you stop.”
Erza straightened.
“Yes.”
Porlyusica narrowed her eyes.
“You’re too pleased.”
“I’ll follow the rules.”
“That wasn’t my concern.”
Erza didn’t answer.
Cana hid a smile behind her cards.
Makarov cleared his throat.
“We’ll be careful.”
Porlyusica pointed at him.
“You’ll be terrified.”
Makarov nodded.
“That too.”
That evening, Erza got her first careful movement lesson.
Not real combat.
Not yet.
Makarov had given her a wooden practice sword and had her move through slow cuts in the yard.
Step.
Breathe.
Lift.
Cut.
Stop.
Again.
Erza moved stiffly at first.
Her body wanted to do everything hard and fast, like hesitation would get someone killed.
Makarov corrected her gently.
“Slow.”
“I am slow.”
“Slower.”
“This is barely moving.”
“Good.”
Alastor sat on the fence watching with Gray.
Gray had finally found another shirt.
It was too large.
No one asked where it came from.
Cana sat on the porch shuffling cards.
Zestial worked beside her, adjusting the Wildguard design with Scout watching like a supervisor.
Erza cut again.
This one was smoother.
Makarov nodded.
“Better.”
Erza’s left eye narrowed.
She cut again.
Too fast.
Makarov tapped the wooden blade aside with one finger.
“Again.”
Erza exhaled through her nose.
Alastor leaned toward Gray.
“She’s going to be scary.”
Gray whispered, “She already is.”
Alastor considered that.
“I guess.”
Erza looked at them.
Both boys immediately looked away.
Cana laughed under her breath.
Zestial glanced up from his notes and watched Erza’s next movement.
She wasn’t using Requip yet.
But he could see why she would.
Armor made sense for her.
Weapons made sense.
Not because she wanted violence.
Because changing equipment meant changing answers.
Defense, offense, speed, resistance, reach.
A different tool for each situation.
Zestial understood that.
Maybe better than anyone here.
Erza finished the set and lowered the practice sword.
Her face was pale, but steady.
Makarov studied her.
“Enough.”
“I can do more.”
“Yes,” Makarov said.
“That’s why we stop now.”
Erza frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Your body needs to rest.”
She didn’t like that answer.
But she handed him the sword.
Progress.
Night came with rain.
Soft at first, then heavier, tapping against the windows and roof.
Fairy Tail quieted earlier than usual.
Rain did that.
Even loud guilds seemed to respect it a little.
Alastor stood in the hall between his room and Zestial’s.
His own room was on the left.
Zestial’s was on the right.
The distance between them was maybe six steps.
Ridiculous.
He knew that.
Still, the hallway felt longer at night.
Behind Zestial’s door, Scout made a low questioning trill.
Alastor froze.
The door opened.
Zestial stood there in sleep clothes, hair messy, expression unsurprised.
“You were hovering.”
“I was walking.”
“In place?”
“It’s called pacing.”
Zestial leaned against the doorframe.
Alastor looked past him.
Scout sat on the desk, tail flicking.
Zestial sighed.
“You can come in for a while.”
Alastor brightened.
“But you sleep in your room.”
His face fell.
Zestial stepped aside.
Alastor entered anyway.
The room was small.
Bed.
Desk.
Chair.
Notebook.
A few folded clothes.
Scout’s corner, which had somehow become the most organized part of the room.
Alastor sat on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall.
Zestial sat on the bed and pulled his knees up.
For a while, neither spoke.
Rain filled the quiet.
Then Alastor said, “More memories came back today.”
Zestial nodded slowly.
“Mine too.”
“Kulu-Ya-Ku.”
“Weirdly useful.”
“Right?”
Zestial looked at him.
“What else?”
Alastor rubbed the Wildguard on his wrist.
“Names.
Monsters.
Some fights.
Not all clear.
It’s like remembering a dream, except the dream has teeth and weak points.”
Zestial huffed softly.
“Mine are mostly weapons and crafting.
Bowgun parts.
Switch Axe mechanisms.
Armor skills.
Materials.” He paused.
“Some Fairy Tail stuff too.”
Alastor looked toward the door.
“Careful.”
“I know.”
They both listened.
No one outside.
Still, Zestial lowered his voice.
“It’s coming back faster.”
“Yeah.”
“That means we need to talk less in public.”
Alastor nodded.
“I know.”
“We need to check ourselves constantly.”
“You could pretend to be less right.”
“No.”
Alastor sighed dramatically.
Zestial smiled a little.
Then the smile faded.
“We can’t slip.
Not about where we came from.
Not about what happens later.
Not about people’s names before they earn them.”
Alastor leaned his head back against the wall.
“I know.”
Zestial’s voice softened.
“I’m not saying it because I think you’re stupid.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Mostly sure?”
“Alastor.”
He raised both hands.
“Fine.
Serious face.”
Zestial looked down at Scout.
Scout gave a quiet mrrp and curled into its blanket.
Zestial said, “We got lucky.
Makarov notices things, but he doesn’t push.
Cana notices too.
Erza listens.
Gray’s not dumb, even if he loses shirts like they offend him.”
Alastor snorted.
“Gray is going to be fun.”
“He’s going to get you into trouble.”
“That’s part of fun.”
“Different definitions.”
Zestial shook his head.
Rain tapped harder against the window.
Alastor’s voice dropped.
“You really want me in my own room?”
Zestial looked at him.
“I want you to be able to sleep there.”
That was worse.
Gentler, but worse.
Alastor looked away.
Zestial continued, “I’m next door.
The wall’s thin.
Scout hears everything.
Makarov’s downstairs half the time.
Erza’s across the hall.
You’re not alone.”
Alastor swallowed.
“Feels stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s six steps.”
“Still not stupid.”
Alastor didn’t answer.
Zestial leaned over and flicked his forehead.
“Ow.”
“You’re allowed to be scared.
You’re not allowed to pretend you’re guarding me when you’re really checking if I’m still here.”
Alastor stared at him.
Then slowly pointed.
“That was rude.”
“It was accurate.”
“Rude accuracy.
The worst kind.”
Scout gave a sleepy prrt.
Alastor turned toward the Palico.
Zestial smiled.
“Go to bed.”
Alastor stood with a groan.
“Fine.
But if I’m murdered by loneliness, I expect a dramatic funeral.”
“You’ll get a note that says, ‘He refused available bedding.'”
Alastor clutched his chest.
“Good night.”
Alastor walked to the door, then stopped.
He didn’t turn around.
“Leave your door cracked?”
Zestial’s voice was quiet.
“Yeah.”
Alastor nodded.
“Mine too.”
He crossed the hall.
Six steps.
His room was dark, but not Tower dark.
Rain silvered the window.
The bed was narrow, clean, and his.
That still felt strange.
He left the door cracked.
Across the hall, Zestial’s door stayed cracked too.
A few minutes later, Scout padded into the hallway, gave one firm meow toward both rooms, then curled up exactly between the two doors like a tiny armored guard.
Alastor smiled into his pillow.
“Bossy Palico,” he whispered.
From across the hall, Zestial called softly, “Sleep.”
Alastor closed his eyes.
This time, he did.