The return to Magnolia took longer than the journey north.
They couldn’t leave the injured charcoal burners beside a destroyed road, and the surviving medicine filled less than half a crate after Zestial inspected it.
Most of the bottles had shattered beneath the wagon.
Others had lost their seals or spent too long in muddy water to remain safe.
Zestial rejected every questionable bottle.
One of the charcoal burners watched him place an intact-looking container among the ruined supplies.
“That one didn’t break.”
“The seal shifted,” Zestial said.
“It still looks closed.”
“It isn’t.”
“We need everything that survived.”
“You need medicine that won’t make sick people worse.”
The man looked toward Macao.
Macao raised both hands.
“He’s in charge of the medicine.”
“He’s ten.”
“He’s still in charge of the medicine.”
Zestial wrapped the usable bottles in dry cloth and placed them in his field box.
He recorded the rejected medicines separately, including the reason he’d discarded each one.
Alastor sat nearby with his back against a tree.
Rook lay beside him.
The young Rathalos had allowed Zestial to clean the wound across his chest.
He hadn’t allowed anyone near the injured wing.
Zestial had tried twice.
The first attempt earned him a warning hiss.
The second ended when Rook snapped his beak beside Zestial’s hand hard enough to make Macao step forward.
Alastor hadn’t moved.
“He wouldn’t have bitten.”
Zestial stared at him.
“You met him today.”
“I can feel him.”
“You can feel his intentions?”
“Some of them.”
“Could you feel him deciding whether my fingers were edible?”
“He wasn’t.”
Rook opened one blue eye.
Zestial looked at him.
Rook looked back.
“His expression is unhelpful,” Zestial said.
“He likes you.”
“He threatened my hand.”
“That’s how some friendships start.”
Erza glanced over from where she was helping bind the injured worker’s ankle.
“No, it isn’t.”
Alastor smiled faintly.
“It worked with us.”
Erza considered that.
Then she returned to the bandage without answering.
Scout sat beside Tomas.
The boy had stopped clinging to him, but he kept one hand near the Palico’s shoulder as if Scout might disappear when he looked away.
Scout inspected the bandage around Tomas’s forehead.
“You need to keep that clean.
If you feel dizzy or sick, tell an adult immediately.”
Tomas heard several serious meows.
He looked at Zestial.
“What did he say?”
“He wants you to tell someone if your head begins hurting more or you feel dizzy.”
Tomas nodded.
Scout lifted one claw.
“I also said the bandage must remain clean.”
“And keep the bandage clean,” Zestial added.
Scout lowered his claw.
Tomas looked at Rook.
“Is he staying?”
No one answered immediately.
Alastor rested one hand against the scales on Rook’s neck.
“Yes.”
Zestial looked at him.
“We don’t know that.”
“He’s still here.”
“That proves he’s here now.”
“I’m not sending him anywhere.”
“I didn’t say you should.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
Zestial closed the field box.
“I was thinking we don’t understand what just happened.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“He’s a Rathalos, Al.
We don’t know how much food he needs, how quickly he’ll grow, or where we’re supposed to keep him.”
Alastor looked at Rook, who had already closed his eye again.
“He eats meat, he’s going to get big, and he seems comfortable there.”
Zestial stared at him.
“That didn’t answer anything.”
“It answered all three.”
Zestial pressed two fingers against his forehead.
Macao laughed quietly.
“You sound like Makarov.”
Zestial’s hand dropped.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t an insult.”
“That makes it worse.”
A relief wagon arrived before sunset.
The apothecary had sent it after the injured courier reported the collapse, accompanied by two village workers and a local healer.
The healer took charge of the injured men and inspected Tomas while Zestial delivered his report on the surviving medicine.
She read his list twice.
“You discarded seven sealed bottles.”
“Seven bottles with compromised seals.”
“You’re certain?”
Zestial handed her one of them.
“Smell near the stopper without breathing deeply.”
She did.
Her expression changed.
The bitterleaf mixture inside had begun reacting with something from the mud.
The difference was faint, but it was there.
The healer returned the bottle.
“You made the right decision.”
Zestial nodded as if there hadn’t been another possible outcome.
Alastor saw the small change in his posture anyway.
Scout did too.
“Proud,” the Palico said.
Zestial glanced down at him.
“I’m satisfied that no one will drink contaminated medicine.”
“Proud.”
“You’re becoming repetitive.”
“You require repetition.”
Alastor laughed.
The healer heard meowing and looked toward Scout.
“What did he say?”
Zestial adjusted the field box straps.
“He approves of the inspection.”
Scout stared at him.
“That translation lacked all important context.”
“He approves strongly,” Alastor added.
“Still incomplete.”
The village workers secured the unconscious tunnel beast to a reinforced sledge.
It had awakened once, snapped through one rope, and fallen unconscious again after Macao struck it between the eyes with the flat of a shovel.
Macao claimed the shovel had been the safest available option.
No one disagreed.
The creature would be moved away from the road and released near another section of the old tunnel network.
It had attacked people in its territory, but the collapsed road had exposed that territory without warning.
Killing it after the danger passed wouldn’t repair anything.
Rook watched the workers drag it away.
His tail struck the ground once.
Alastor felt satisfaction through their bond.
“You won,” he said.
Rook lifted his head.
“You don’t need to keep checking.”
Rook’s gaze remained on the sledge until it disappeared around the hill.
Then he lowered his head again.
The local healer approached him.
Rook immediately rose.
His injured wing dragged against the ground.
“I need to examine that,” she said.
Rook opened his beak.
Alastor stood between them before the warning became louder.
“He doesn’t know you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“He’ll let Porlyusica look.”
Zestial turned toward him.
“You’re volunteering Porlyusica?”
“I’m volunteering Rook.”
“That isn’t the dangerous half of that sentence.”
Macao tightened his scarf.
“She’ll blame me.”
“You were supervising,” Erza said.
“Exactly.”
They spent the night near the road because the injured workers couldn’t safely travel farther.
Rook refused the shelter cloth Zestial arranged beneath the trees.
He circled Alastor twice, scraped leaves into a rough mound, and settled beside him.
Alastor looked at the unused shelter.
Zestial looked at Alastor.
Neither spoke.
Scout climbed into Zestial’s blanket.
“You could’ve helped before I finished tying it,” Zestial told him.
“I wanted to see whether you’d improved.”
“And?”
“The left side is lower.”
Zestial checked.
Scout was right.
Alastor watched him retie it.
“You know he’s doing that deliberately.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“The left side was lower.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It becomes the point if it rains.”
Rook shifted closer to Alastor.
Heat radiated between his scales, turning the cool ground beside him unexpectedly comfortable.
Alastor rested against his shoulder.
Rook released a low rumble.
Across the camp, Erza lay beneath her own blanket with both swords within reach.
Macao sat beside the fire, writing the part of the mission report that Makarov would require from the supervising mage.
His pen stopped.
“Alastor.”
Alastor opened one eye.
“What?”
“When you called Rook, did you know he was a Rathalos?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was alive?”
“Not until he looked back.”
Macao glanced toward the juvenile wyvern.
“Did you know you could make him permanent?”
“No.”
Zestial stopped adjusting the shelter.
Macao looked at him next.
“And you?”
“I knew Al’s magic was failing to keep the passage stable.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Then no.”
Alastor smiled into Rook’s scales.
Zestial ignored him.
Macao set the pen down.
“You understand that both of you nearly emptied your magic into something neither of you understood.”
“Yes,” Zestial said.
Alastor answered a moment later.
“Yes.”
“If it happens again?”
“It won’t,” Zestial said.
“You sound certain.”
“I’m certain I won’t help him repeat it under those conditions.”
Alastor looked over.
“You helped.”
“The tunnel was collapsing, Rook was injured, and you’d already opened the passage.
Stabilizing it was safer than allowing it to tear itself apart.”
“You still helped.”
Zestial’s expression tightened.
“I’m not apologizing.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
The brothers held each other’s gaze across the camp.
Alastor’s grin disappeared first.
“Thank you.”
Zestial looked away.
“You’re welcome.”
Macao picked up his pen again.
He didn’t ask anything else.
They reached Magnolia late the following afternoon.
Rook couldn’t fly with his injured wing, but he refused every attempt to place him on the wagon.
He walked beside Alastor for most of the journey, occasionally stopping to inspect unfamiliar smells.
Cattle fled from the first field they passed.
The farmer came outside carrying a rake, saw Rook, and returned indoors without asking questions.
At the second farm, three children climbed onto a fence to watch.
Rook watched them back.
One waved.
Rook spread his good wing.
The movement startled the child off the fence.
Alastor kept walking.
“I’m counting that as a successful greeting.”
Erza looked at him.
“The child fell.”
“He got back up.”
“That doesn’t make it successful.”
“He waved again.”
The child was waving from behind the fence now.
Alastor pointed.
“Successful.”
Erza didn’t agree, but she didn’t continue arguing.
Magnolia noticed them before Fairy Tail did.
People stopped in the streets.
A delivery driver abandoned his cart.
Someone shouted for the Rune Knights.
Someone else shouted that Fairy Tail already had it under control.
That assumption seemed optimistic.
Rook walked close enough to Alastor that their shoulders nearly touched.
His head turned constantly as he followed movement through windows, alleys, rooftops, and open doors.
He didn’t show his teeth.
That helped.
Not enough, but some.
Macao moved to the front.
“Fairy Tail business,” he called.
A man ran.
Rook’s head snapped toward him.
Alastor placed a hand against the wyvern’s neck.
“Not prey.”
Rook watched the fleeing man turn a corner.
The predatory interest passing through their bond receded.
Zestial noticed.
“You’ll need to establish that rule more broadly.”
“I just did.”
“One person isn’t broad.”
“I’ll make a list.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
Scout rode on Zestial’s shoulder and studied Rook.
“People who run will remain a problem.”
“They’re a problem without Rathalos,” Alastor said.
Scout considered that.
“True.”
Erza looked toward Zestial.
“What are they discussing?”
“Rook’s pursuit instincts.”
Her hand shifted nearer to her sword.
Alastor saw it.
“He’s fine.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
“You reached for your sword.”
“I’m prepared.”
“So’s he.”
Rook’s head turned toward Erza.
She met his eyes.
Neither moved.
Then Rook looked forward again.
Erza’s hand remained near the hilt, but she didn’t draw.
The doors to Fairy Tail opened before they reached them.
Gray stepped outside.
He looked at Macao.
Then Erza.
Then Zestial and Scout.
Then Alastor.
His attention finally reached Rook.
Gray stared.
Rook stared back.
Gray stepped into the guild and closed the doors.
Alastor stopped.
“That was rude.”
The doors opened again.
Gray leaned out.
“Master!”
Rook tilted his head.
Noise erupted inside the guild.
Chairs scraped.
Someone knocked over a table.
Cana shouted that everyone blocking the door needed to move.
Wakaba asked why Gray looked pale.
Makarov appeared in the doorway.
He looked at the returning team.
His eyes passed over the mud, bandages, torn clothing, empty medicine crate, and Macao’s expression.
Then he looked at Rook.
Makarov remained still for several seconds.
“Macao.”
“Yes, Master?”
“What happened?”
Macao glanced at Alastor.
Alastor looked at Rook.
Rook looked at the open guild hall.
“The road collapsed,” Macao said.
“I can see the road didn’t follow you home.”
“We found three trapped workers.”
“I read the preliminary request.
It said no one was missing.”
“They weren’t reported missing yet.”
Makarov’s eyes remained on Rook.
“And this?”
Alastor stepped forward.
“His name’s Rook.”
Makarov looked at him.
“That answers one question.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It creates several others.”
Rook approached the guild entrance.
Makarov didn’t move aside.
The young Rathalos stopped.
They studied each other.
Makarov’s magical presence remained carefully contained.
Alastor could still feel its weight settle across the street.
Rook felt it too.
The wyvern lowered his head slightly.
Not submission.
Recognition.
Makarov’s expression changed by so little that Alastor might’ve imagined it.
Then the guild master stepped aside.
“Inside.”
Rook walked into Fairy Tail.
The guild retreated around him.
Not far.
Fairy Tail rarely retreated far from anything interesting.
Cana stood on a table to see better.
Gray remained behind Makarov.
Wakaba had forgotten to remove his pipe from his mouth.
Rook stopped in the middle of the hall.
His wings shifted against his body.
The guild smelled unfamiliar, loud, crowded, and alive.
Alastor felt his uncertainty through the bond.
Scout jumped from Zestial’s shoulder.
He landed in front of Rook and raised both paws.
“This is Fairy Tail.
They’re noisy, destructive, and difficult to train, but most of them mean well.”
The guild heard an extended series of meows.
Rook watched Scout.
Makarov looked at Zestial.
“What did he say?”
Zestial considered the question.
“He welcomed Rook.”
Scout looked over his shoulder.
“That was selective.”
“It was diplomatic.”
Cana climbed down from the table.
“Can we touch him?”
“No,” Zestial said.
Alastor answered at the same time.
“Probably.”
Zestial turned toward him.
“No.”
“You didn’t ask Rook.”
“You can barely determine what he’s thinking.”
“I can determine whether he wants to bite Cana.”
Cana stopped approaching.
“Does he?”
Alastor looked at Rook.
Rook looked at Cana.
“He hasn’t decided.”
Cana stepped back.
“Let me know when he does.”
Makarov raised one hand.
The guild quieted.
“Can he walk?”
“He walked here.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Alastor felt along the bond.
Rook’s wing hurt, and exhaustion weighed heavily behind his alertness, but his legs remained steady.
“He can walk.”
“Then you’re taking him to Porlyusica.”
Alastor looked toward the rear of the guild.
“We just got back.”
“And now you’re leaving again.”
“Can we feed him first?”
Makarov examined Rook’s chest wound.
“A little.
Not enough to make him sick if she needs to treat him.”
Rook’s injured wing dragged as he turned.
Makarov saw it.
His gaze moved to the blood beneath the folded membrane.
Zestial was already sorting through what remained of their travel supplies.
“We don’t know how much a juvenile Rathalos should eat.”
Alastor glanced at him.
“You’ve started calling him juvenile.”
“That’s what he is.”
“You could call him Rook.”
“His name doesn’t change his age.”
Rook lowered his head toward a strip of dried meat in Zestial’s hand.
Zestial pulled it back.
Rook followed.
“No.”
The Rathalos’s beak clicked shut several inches from his fingers.
Zestial looked at Alastor.
“Tell him to wait.”
“You tell him.”
Rook looked at the meat again but didn’t take it.
Zestial handed the strip to Alastor.
“You reward him.”
“You’re holding it.”
“And I’d like to continue having all my fingers.”
Alastor gave the meat to Rook, who swallowed it with one quick movement and immediately looked for another.
Makarov watched without commenting.
“Macao, I want your report before we return,” he said.
“Include the road, the survivors, the tunnel creature, and exactly what happened when the brothers combined their magic.”
Macao glanced at the mud covering most of his clothes.
“That may take a while.”
“Use as many pages as it requires.”
Macao looked toward Zestial.
“Can I borrow paper?”
Zestial hesitated.
Alastor stared at him.
“They’re mission notes, Z.”
“I know.”
Makarov walked toward the doors.
“Let’s go before Porlyusica decides to stop accepting visitors for the night.”
Alastor followed with Rook beside him.
“She accepts visitors?”
“No,” Makarov said.
“That’s why we shouldn’t make this worse.”
The walk to Porlyusica’s home took them beyond Magnolia and into the eastern forest.
Rook remained close to Alastor.
He stopped several times to inspect unfamiliar trees, insects, and scents, but the pain in his wing kept him from wandering far.
Scout watched him from Zestial’s shoulder.
“He’s favoring the left side more than before.”
Zestial studied Rook’s gait.
“You’re right.”
Erza looked toward him.
“What did Scout notice?”
“Rook’s putting less weight on his left side.”
The scent of herbs, medicine, and unfamiliar magic drifted between the trees.
His unease moved through the bond.
Alastor rested one hand against his neck.
“She’s difficult, but she knows what she’s doing.”
Makarov glanced back.
“Don’t introduce her that way.”
“She already knows she’s difficult.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
Porlyusica’s house appeared between the trees.
Alastor reached the door first and knocked.
“No.” Porlyusica called from inside.
Alastor folded his arms.
“You haven’t examined him.”
“I’m refusing the entire situation.”
“That seems medically irresponsible.”
Porlyusica pointed her staff at him.
“You’re the reason there’s a wyvern in the guild.”
“Probably.”
“Don’t say probably.”
“Then yes.”
“Worse.”
She approached Rook.
The young Rathalos lifted his head.
Porlyusica stopped outside the reach of his beak.
“I need to examine the wing.”
Rook didn’t understand her words.
He understood the staff, her attention, and the medicinal smells clinging to her clothes.
A warning moved through his chest.
Alastor stepped beside him.
“She’s going to help.”
Rook’s head turned toward him.
Alastor placed one hand against his neck.
“I know you don’t like it.”
The Rathalos’s eye narrowed.
“I don’t like her either.”
Porlyusica struck Alastor.
He flinched.
“I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
“Move.”
Alastor remained beside Rook but gave her access to the wing.
Porlyusica reached forward slowly.
Rook’s muscles tightened.
Alastor felt suspicion and pain travel through the bond.
“Easy.”
Porlyusica touched the injured joint.
Rook snapped his beak.
Alastor caught the upper half of it with both hands before it reached her.
Rook could’ve pulled free.
He didn’t.
Alastor held his gaze.
“No.”
The Rathalos growled around the restrained beak.
“No biting the healer.”
Porlyusica examined the joint while they argued silently.
Zestial’s shoulders lowered.
“The joint?”
“Strained.
The membrane’s torn in two places.
He won’t fly until it heals.”
“How long?”
“If he behaves, two weeks.”
Rook growled again.
Porlyusica looked at him.
“Three.”
Alastor released Rook’s beak.
The wyvern looked offended.
“You tried to bite her.”
Rook bumped his head against Alastor’s shoulder hard enough to move him.
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
Porlyusica cleaned the wound and wrapped the wing against Rook’s body.
He complained throughout the process but didn’t attempt to bite her again.
When she finished, she turned toward Alastor.
“You.”
“I’m not injured.”
Zestial spoke from behind him.
“He maintained an Arzuros transformation while supporting a collapsed wagon, used Nargacuga eyes for three breaths, began a Great Jaggi change and dismissed it, used a partial Kulu hand, completed several rapid exchanges, opened an unknown summoning passage, and nearly exhausted himself making the result permanent.”
Alastor looked at him.
“You remembered that in an aggressively judgmental order.”
“I used the order in which you did it.”
Porlyusica pointed toward a chair.
“Sit.”
Alastor sat.
She examined his shoulders, eyes, hands, and magical pathways.
Her expression worsened with every result.
“You strained both shoulders.
Your magic’s nearly empty, your eyes are reacting badly to light, and something foreign has attached itself to your magical channels.”
Alastor looked at Rook.
“I know.”
“You say that too often for someone who understands so little.”
Makarov stood beside the bar.
“Is the connection harming him?”
Porlyusica pressed two fingers against Alastor’s wrist.
“Not continuously.
It’s settled.”
“Can it be severed?”
Rook’s head rose.
Alastor felt the reaction immediately.
“No.”
Makarov looked at him.
“That wasn’t directed to you.”
“It involved me.”
“It involved both of you,” Porlyusica said.
She released Alastor’s wrist.
“The connection’s part summoning bond, part magical recognition, and part something I haven’t seen before.
Severing it now could injure either one.”
“Can Rook be dismissed?” Makarov asked.
Alastor’s jaw tightened.
Porlyusica looked toward the wyvern.
“He isn’t equipment.”
“Then prove it.”
Alastor stared at her.
Zestial understood first.
“If Rook’s still dependent on the summoning, dismissal should remain possible.”
Porlyusica nodded.
“If he’s fully alive here, Alastor’s magic shouldn’t be able to remove him.”
Rook watched Alastor.
The bond carried unease but no fear.
Alastor reached for the same place in his magic that had opened the passage.
He found Rook.
He found the line connecting them.
He found no door.
There was nothing to close and nowhere to send him.
Alastor pushed anyway.
Rook remained exactly where he was.
The attempt only made the young Rathalos irritated.
He struck Alastor in the chest with his head.
The chair tipped backward.
Alastor hit the floor.
Rook placed one clawed foot on the overturned chair and looked down at him.
Alastor looked up at Rook.
“You could’ve made your point without the chair.”
Rook rumbled.
Scout nodded approvingly.
“Clear communication.”
Zestial looked toward Makarov.
“He can’t be dismissed.”
Makarov’s gaze remained on Rook.
“No,” he said.
“He can’t.”
Alastor pushed the chair off himself and stood.
Porlyusica struck his leg.
“I said sit.”
“The chair’s occupied.”
“Find another.”
After concluding both Alastor and Zestial could recover with sufficient rest, Porlyusica kicked them all out.
They returned back to the guild for rest and to settle Rook.
By evening, Rook had eaten enough meat to concern the kitchen.
He rejected cooked vegetables, accepted raw beef, attempted to steal an entire smoked ham, and discovered that Erza could prevent theft by looking at him with sufficient disappointment.
Alastor watched this happen.
“How’d you do that?”
Erza placed the ham back on the counter.
“I told him no.”
“He doesn’t understand you.”
“He understood.”
Rook sat several feet away, staring at the ham.
Alastor looked between them.
“I think he respects you.”
“He attempted to steal guild food.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect you.”
“It should.”
Gray approached Rook from behind.
The Rathalos’s tail moved without warning.
Gray ducked.
The tail swept three cups off a table and knocked Wakaba’s hat into the stew.
Wakaba stared at the floating hat.
Rook turned toward the noise.
Alastor pointed at Gray.
“His fault.”
Gray straightened.
“I didn’t touch him.”
“You approached his blind side.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
“He’s a predator with a tail.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
Zestial picked Wakaba’s hat out of the stew with a pair of tongs.
“No one approaches Rook from behind until he becomes accustomed to the guild.”
Cana raised her hand.
“What about above?”
Rook looked up at her.
She lowered her hand.
“Never mind.”
Makarov watched from the bar.
He hadn’t announced that Rook could stay.
He also hadn’t asked how they intended to remove him.
Instead, he assigned an unused section of the rear yard, ordered Macao to reinforce the fence, and told Wakaba to inform the nearest butcher that Fairy Tail’s weekly order was changing.
Alastor noticed.
He didn’t mention it.
Zestial noticed too.
He began drawing a shelter before Makarov finished speaking.
“It needs enough room for him to turn without striking the walls,” Zestial said.
“The roof should be high on one side and open toward the yard.
Stone floor near the entrance, packed soil farther back.”
Alastor leaned over the sketch.
“He won’t like a closed roof.”
“It isn’t closed.”
“It looks closed.”
“It has three open sections.”
“He needs more.”
“You’ve known him for one day.”
“I can feel what he likes.”
“Then ask whether he wants rain inside.”
Alastor looked at Rook.
The Rathalos was attempting to pull Scout’s lance from its sheath with the tip of his beak.
Scout slapped him.
Rook pulled back in surprise.
“Personal equipment,” Scout said.
Rook lowered his head and tried again.
Scout slapped him a second time.
Alastor turned back to Zestial.
“He wants more roof.”
“You didn’t ask him.”
“He’s busy.”
Zestial moved the shelter drawing away.
“You’re no longer participating.”
Night settled over Magnolia before the guild became quiet.
Rook refused the unfinished rear yard.
He refused the stable.
He refused the empty storage room after discovering the doorway caught against his injured wing.
Alastor finally climbed the stairs toward the sleeping quarters.
Rook followed.
Zestial watched them.
“He won’t fit.”
“He’ll fit.”
“He nearly knocked over the stair railing.”
“It was already loose.”
“It wasn’t.”
Rook reached the landing and struck his horns against the ceiling.
He backed down two steps and glared upward.
Alastor looked at Zestial.
“The ceiling’s too low.”
“The Rathalos is too tall.”
“That sounds less fixable.”
They moved into the main hall.
Alastor collected two blankets and placed them near the cold fireplace.
Rook circled the spot.
Once.
Twice.
Then he ignored the blankets and lay directly on the floor.
Alastor stared at him.
“You made leaves into a bed last night.”
Rook closed his eyes.
“The floor’s harder than leaves.”
Rook didn’t move.
Alastor sat beside him.
Zestial remained at the foot of the stairs.
“You have a bed.”
“So does he, apparently.”
“That’s the floor.”
“He chose it.”
Scout climbed onto the table above them.
“He may prefer open space while injured.”
Zestial nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Alastor leaned back against Rook’s side.
The young Rathalos opened one eye, saw him, and closed it again.
Zestial looked toward the stairs.
Then at his brother.
He retrieved his own blanket and sat on the other side of Rook.
Alastor smiled.
“You have a bed.”
“Be quiet.”
Scout jumped down and settled beside Zestial.
For several minutes, the hall remained still.
Rook’s breathing filled the space beneath the quieter sounds of the guild.
His body radiated warmth.
The bandaged wing twitched occasionally, but the pain crossing the bond had faded.
Alastor looked toward the dark windows.
“This is going to change things.”
Zestial pulled the blanket higher.
“He’s a Rathalos living inside Fairy Tail.
That was implied.”
“I meant the magic.”
Zestial was quiet.
Their attempt to stabilize the passage had left both of them with sore magical pathways and a shared headache that returned whenever they stood too close for too long.
“It won’t become a method,” Zestial said.
“No.”
“We can’t do that every time.”
“I know.”
“The way our magic fought before it aligned could’ve damaged both channels permanently.”
“I know.”
“We got lucky.”
Alastor looked at Rook.
The young wyvern had crossed worlds to answer him.
“Not only lucky.”
Zestial followed his gaze.
“No,” he admitted.
“Not only lucky.”
Rook shifted in his sleep and placed his tail across both brothers’ legs.
Zestial stared at it.
“This is heavy.”
Alastor closed his eyes.
“He likes you.”
“That continues to be a poor explanation.”
Scout rested his chin against Zestial’s knee.
“Warm.”
“It is warm.”
“Good.”
Zestial stopped trying to move the tail.
Makarov stood on the upper landing.
Neither brother had heard him approach.
He looked down at the four figures sleeping or nearly sleeping beside the fireplace.
His attention rested on the bandage around Rook’s wing, then on Alastor’s hand against the red scales and Zestial’s notebook still open beside him.
Makarov descended without speaking.
He placed another blanket over the brothers.
Rook opened one eye.
Makarov stopped.
The Rathalos watched him for a moment, then lowered his head again.
Makarov rested one hand against the back of a nearby chair.
His gaze moved across the damaged tables, patched walls, sleeping children, armored Palico, and the young wyvern who had arrived without warning and chosen the guild floor over every shelter offered to him.
Then he extinguished the last lamp.
Rook’s tail remained across the brothers’ legs.
No one moved it.