The upper levels had changed.
The rebellion still raged, but it no longer felt like an escape.
It felt like a net closing.
Stone doors blocked passages that had been open minutes earlier.
Guards formed lines near the main stairways.
Magic circles glowed across the walls, sealing routes faster than frightened children could reach them.
Jellal had taken control of the Tower.
Erza ran ahead with her sword in hand.
Zestial followed while supporting Alastor, whose breathing remained rough after being thrown against the cell wall.
“I can walk,” Alastor said.
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“Because you’re still carrying me.”
“I’m keeping you upright.”
“Same basic idea.”
“You’re bleeding on me.”
“Brotherly privilege.”
Zestial tightened his grip around Alastor’s waist.
“If you fall, I’m leaving you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” Zestial admitted.
“I’m not.”
Erza stopped at the next intersection.
The passage to the outer yard was blocked by fallen stone.
“No.”
She ran to the debris and tried to move the largest piece.
It didn’t shift.
She reached for her new magic.
A broken sword trembled on the floor.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
Erza staggered.
Zestial caught her before she fell.
“Your magic’s exhausted.”
“Then I’ll move it myself.”
“You can’t.”
“I have to.”
“Erza.”
She looked at him.
Her left eye was red from tears and dust.
The filthy bandage over her right eye had almost completely soaked through.
“We’ll find another route,” Zestial said.
“There might not be one.”
“Then we’ll make one.”
Alastor leaned against the wall.
“That’s supposed to be my kind of line.”
“You’re injured.
I’m covering your shift.”
A faint pressure touched the edge of Zestial’s magic.
Small.
Familiar.
Moving toward them.
His head snapped up.
“Scout.”
Erza turned.
“You can feel it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Zestial closed his eyes.
The connection wasn’t sight.
It wasn’t sound.
It was direction, urgency, and a small point of blue-white magic moving through the Tower.
“Close.”
A grate rattled near the floor.
Alastor looked down.
Two tiny paws appeared between the bars.
The grate shook again.
Then Scout’s helmeted head emerged.
“Meowster!”
To Erza, it sounded like a desperate yowl.
To the brothers, it was the best voice they’d heard all night.
Zestial dropped to his knees.
“Scout.”
“Purr-haps you could help with the grate before the guards arrive.”
“Right.”
Zestial grabbed the iron bars.
Alastor crouched beside him.
Golden light flickered over his right hand.
His fingers thickened into claws.
He wedged them between the grate and the wall.
“Pull.”
Zestial braced his feet.
They pulled together.
The old bolts tore free.
Scout tumbled out, rolled once, and came up with its tiny sword drawn.
Its armor was scratched.
One ear was bent beneath its helmet, and dust covered its fur.
Zestial checked it immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
“Nothing serious.
My dignity suffered several direct attacks.”
Alastor exhaled.
“Scout’s fine.”
“You understood all that?” Erza asked.
“The important part.”
Scout pointed into the opening.
“Eleven children are hiding in the drainage chamber.
Simon helped me separate them before the guards closed the upper route.”
Erza’s breath caught, thinking the worst.
“Is everyone alright?”
Zestial nodded.
“Scout hid eleven children.”
“Sho?
Simon?
Wally?
Millianna?”
Scout’s ears lowered.
“The blue-haired boy ordered the guards to take them alive.
Simon stayed with them.
He created an opening so I could move the younger prisoners.”
Zestial translated.
Erza went still.
“They have them.”
“Yes.”
She turned toward the blocked passage.
Alastor caught her wrist.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not leaving them.”
“We can’t reach them.”
“I promised.”
“I know.”
She tried to pull free.
Alastor didn’t release her.
“Jellal wants you to charge back in.
That’s why he kept them alive.”
Erza’s face twisted.
“They’re alive because he wants to use them against me.”
“Yes.”
“Then I have to help them!”
“And if you go back now, he’ll make them watch you lose.”
Erza slapped him.
The sound cracked through the corridor.
Alastor’s head turned with the blow.
Zestial froze.
Erza stared at her own hand.
“I…”
Alastor slowly looked back at her.
“I’m still right.”
Her hand dropped.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.
I’ve had worse.”
“Alastor,” Zestial warned.
“What?
I have.”
Scout climbed onto a broken stone and raised both paws.
“Arguments later.
Guards now.”
A distant shout echoed through the passage.
“There!”
Erza grabbed her sword.
Scout pointed toward the open grate.
“The drainage route reaches the western supply dock.
It’s cramped, wet, and smells offensively terrible.”
Zestial looked into the darkness.
“It leads to the docks.”
“Can the children use it?” Erza asked.
“They already are,” Zestial said after Scout answered.
“We need to follow.”
Alastor looked at the opening.
“That’s very small.”
Scout stared at him.
“You’re very loud.
We all have difficulties.”
“I like this cat less every minute.”
“Palico,” Scout corrected.
Zestial ducked through the opening first.
Alastor followed with considerably more complaining.
Erza entered last and pulled the broken grate back into place behind them.
The drainage tunnel forced them onto their hands and knees.
Cold water ran beneath them.
Rusted pipes crossed overhead, and the stone ceiling scraped Alastor’s shoulders whenever he lifted himself too high.
“This is awful,” he whispered.
Scout crawled ahead.
“Quiet paws.”
“I don’t have paws.”
“You keep insisting on that as if it’s an accomplishment.”
Zestial almost laughed.
Then he remembered where they were.
Scout stopped at a narrow vertical shaft.
Children huddled below.
Eleven.
Some were injured.
Some were crying soundlessly.
One older girl held two smaller boys against her sides.
Another child pressed a strip of cloth against a bleeding forehead.
When Erza dropped into the chamber, every face turned toward her.
A little boy ran forward.
“You came back!”
Erza caught him.
Her sword fell to the floor as she wrapped both arms around him.
“I’m sorry.”
The boy clung to her.
“Where’s everyone else?”
Erza closed her eye.
No answer came.
“We have to move.
The tunnel reaches a supply dock.”
One of the older girls looked at him.
“Are there guards?”
“Probably.”
Alastor dropped from the shaft and landed badly.
Pain flashed across his face.
He straightened before anyone could notice.
Zestial noticed.
“You’re limping.”
“I’m walking creatively.”
“You’re injured.”
“We’re all injured.”
“That doesn’t make yours disappear.”
“No, but it makes the line shorter.”
Zestial looked ready to argue.
Erza picked up her sword.
“We move first.
Argue later.”
Alastor pointed at her.
“See?
Leadership.”
They entered the next tunnel.
Scout took the front.
Erza stayed near the middle with the youngest children.
Zestial moved between groups, checking injuries and counting heads.
Alastor guarded the rear.
The route sloped downward.
Salt entered the air.
Faint at first.
Then stronger.
Alastor noticed it between the smells of rust, mud, and stagnant water.
“The sea.”
Zestial nodded.
“The Tower’s on an island.”
The memory returned with the smell.
Not cleanly.
Images formed through fog.
A small island hidden by magic.
Supply vessels crossing under cover of darkness.
No road.
No bridge.
No settlement waiting beyond the Tower.
Alastor stopped.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Erza looked back.
“What?”
“This place is on an island.”
She stared at him.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.”
Zestial closed his eyes.
“We forgot.”
“How do you forget an island?” Erza asked.
Alastor gestured vaguely at himself.
“Unstable monster magic, head trauma, prison rebellion—”
“Short version,” Zestial said.
“We’re having a difficult day.”
Erza stared at them.
“You’re both hiding something.”
Alastor’s smile faded.
“Later.”
She looked as if she wanted to demand an answer.
A shout echoed behind them.
Erza turned toward the sound.
“Later,” she agreed.
The tunnel ended beneath a wooden platform.
Scout climbed through a gap and disappeared.
Zestial felt the Palico moving overhead.
Slowly.
Carefully.
After several seconds, Scout’s face appeared between the boards.
“Two guards.
One dockworker.
Small supply vessel.
No robed mages.”
“Can we avoid them?” Zestial whispered.
“Not if we want the ship.
They’re waiting for the red-haired warrior.”
Erza’s expression hardened.
“Jellal’s orders.”
Zestial nodded.
“The guards expect three prisoners,” Scout continued.
“They don’t expect eleven smaller stowaways.”
Alastor smiled faintly.
“Now that sounds like a plan.”
Zestial looked at Erza.
“Scout thinks you should take the lead.”
Erza’s grip tightened around her sword.
“Good.”
They climbed onto the dock.
The guards turned.
The lead guard lowered his spear when Erza entered the torchlight.
“Jellal ordered the three of you put aboard.”
Erza glanced toward the drainage tunnel.
“Only three?”
“Only three.”
Zestial felt Scout slip away through the shadows.
While the guards watched Erza, the Palico guided the eleven children beneath the dock and through a cargo hatch near the ship’s stern.
Alastor kept smiling.
The guard noticed.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t look like it’s nothing.”
“This is my frightened face.”
Zestial sighed.
“It really isn’t.”
By the time the guards forced the brothers and Erza onto the deck, every rescued child was already hidden among the supply crates below.
The guards forced everyone into the storage hold.
The hatch closed above them.
Darkness swallowed the children.
Several began crying.
Blue-white light appeared in Zestial’s palm.
A small lantern formed.
It flickered unsteadily.
Not armor.
Not a weapon.
Just enough light to make the hold feel less like another cell.
Scout looked at it.
“Efficient.”
Zestial sat against a crate.
“Thanks.”
Alastor lowered himself beside him.
“You summoned a lamp.”
“Yes.”
“After armor, weapons, tools, and a Palico.”
“Yes.”
“Nerd magic.”
“Useful magic.”
“Same thing.”
Erza sat near the opposite wall.
A little girl curled against her side.
The ship lurched.
Wood creaked.
Above them, sailors shouted.
The vessel pulled away from the dock.
Through a crack between the boards, the Tower remained visible.
Moonlight struck its unfinished stone.
Then the air shimmered.
The island blurred.
Cliffs vanished behind a veil of magic.
The Tower disappeared.
One moment, it filled the horizon.
The next, there was only black water.
Zestial stared through the crack.
“Invisible island.”
Alastor leaned his head against the wall.
“Right.
Of course.”
Erza didn’t look.
Scout sat beside Zestial, tail wrapped around its paws.
Its helmet was crooked.
Zestial reached over and straightened it.
“You saved them.”
“Some of them.”
“Eleven.”
“Not all.”
“No.”
Scout looked toward Erza.
“The red-haired warrior believes the failure belongs to her.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“Neither are you.”
Zestial looked down at the Palico.
Scout met his eyes.
“You summoned me, Meowster.
You didn’t create every chain in that Tower.”
Zestial swallowed.
“I still left people behind.”
“So did I.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
Scout’s ears lowered.
“Purr-haps neither did you.”
Zestial didn’t answer.
Near dawn, Scout’s outline began to flicker.
Blue-white sparks drifted from its paws.
Zestial sat up.
“What’s happening?”
“Your magic’s exhausted.”
“No.”
“It’s time for me to rest.”
“Are you dying?”
Scout looked offended.
“Don’t be dramatic.
That’s your brother’s job.”
Alastor opened one eye.
“I heard that.”
“Paw-some.”
Scout’s body dissolved into blue-white light.
Several children cried out.
Zestial reached forward, but the Palico vanished before he could touch it.
The light entered his chest.
Warmth settled behind his ribs.
Small.
Steady.
Alive.
Zestial released a breath.
“It’s still there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The ship sailed until sunrise.
The hatch opened.
Eleven children stared back.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
“Guard!”
Zestial stepped between him and the children.
“Don’t.”
The guard climbed down the ladder.
His expression changed when he saw the crowded hold.
“Where did they come from?”
Alastor leaned against a crate.
“Children usually come from parents, but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.”
The guard turned on him.
“Jellal ordered three prisoners removed.”
“Then count badly,” Alastor said.
The guard reached for his sword.
Erza stepped forward.
A loose knife lifted from the floor beside her.
Her magic barely held it in the air, but the guard didn’t know how exhausted she was.
“You’re not taking them back,” she said.
The guard looked at the children.
Some were bleeding.
One couldn’t stand.
Another had fallen asleep against a barrel and hadn’t awakened during the shouting.
The sailor lowered his voice.
“Out,” a guard ordered.
They climbed onto an empty mainland beach.
There was no dock.
No town.
Only black stones, rough grass, and cliffs stretching in both directions.
The guard pointed inland.
“There’s a road past the ridge.”
Alastor stared at him.
“How far?”
The guard looked away.
“You’ll find it.”
“That’s not a distance.”
“It’s what I know.”
The children disembarked.
Erza stepped onto the shore last.
The guard looked at her bandaged eye.
Then at the Tower’s invisible position beyond the sea.
“Don’t come back.”
Erza’s hand tightened around her sword.
She didn’t answer.
The ship pulled away.
Everyone stood in the surf and watched it disappear into the morning fog.
Eleven children.
Erza.
Alastor.
Zestial.
No Sho.
No Simon.
No Wally.
No Millianna.
No Jellal.
A little boy tugged on Erza’s sleeve.
“What do we do now?”
Erza looked inland.
Her body shook.
Her voice didn’t.
“We find the road.”
Alastor forced himself to smile.
“And if there isn’t one, we keep walking out of spite.”
Zestial sighed.
“That’s not a survival plan.”
“It’s emotionally motivating.”
“I’ll make the survival plan.”
“See?
Teamwork.”
They gathered the children.
Alastor carried one despite Zestial’s objections.
Erza supported an injured girl.
Zestial counted everyone twice before they left the beach.
The mainland didn’t welcome them kindly.
The ground was steep.
The wind was cold.
Their injuries worsened with every mile.
But there were no chains.
Hours later, they reached the ridge.
Beyond it lay a dirt road marked by wagon tracks.
Proof that other people existed.
Several children began crying.
This time, it sounded different.
Alastor lowered himself onto a stone.
“I didn’t expect a road to look beautiful.”
Zestial sat beside him.
“It’s still dirt.”
“Beautiful dirt.”
Erza remained standing.
She looked back toward the sea.
“You knew things.”
Alastor’s smile vanished.
“What?”
“You knew Jellal was wrong before he showed us.”
Zestial looked at his brother.
Erza continued.
“You recognized the Tower.
You knew my name.
You knew Jellal’s name.”
“We’ve been there for a long time, kind of hard not to” Alastor said.
“But you knew something.”
“Pieces.”
“Did you know what would happen to him?”
Alastor looked down.
“Not clearly.”
“Did you know Grandpa Rob would die?”
The question cut through him.
Zestial closed his eyes.
Alastor answered.
“I knew he was in danger.”
“And you didn’t save him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because remembering something isn’t the same as knowing how to stop it.”
Erza stared at him.
Alastor’s hands tightened.
“Because we woke up in chains during a rebellion.
Because my magic barely listens.
Because I thought being there might change things.”
His voice cracked.
“It didn’t.”
Erza looked away.
“Part of me blames you.”
Alastor nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“No,” Zestial said.
Both looked at him.
“It’s understandable.
That doesn’t make it fair.”
Erza’s expression tightened.
Zestial stood.
“We didn’t kill Rob.
The guards did.
We didn’t corrupt Jellal.
Whatever used him did.
We failed to stop them, but that isn’t the same as causing it.”
Erza touched the bandage covering her right eye.
“I left everyone.”
“You were forced,” Alastor said.
“I still walked away.”
He couldn’t deny it.
Neither could Zestial.
So Alastor pointed down the road.
“Then walk somewhere that makes leaving mean something.”
Erza looked at him.
“Rob said Fairy Tail,” Alastor continued.
“He trusted them.”
“What if Jellal finds out?”
“He probably will.”
“What if he hurts the others?”
Zestial looked toward the children gathering along the roadside.
“Then we don’t return recklessly.”
Erza’s jaw tightened.
“We get stronger,” he continued.
“We learn how our magic works.
We find people we can trust without exposing the Tower.
We prepare until his threats stop controlling every decision.”
“That could take years.”
“Then it takes years.”
Alastor forced himself upright.
“Besides, I owe him a punch.”
Zestial looked at him.
“One?”
“I’m starting reasonable.”
A broken sound escaped Erza.
Not quite a laugh.
But close.
One of the children called for help with a bandage.
Zestial turned toward them.
“I’ll check it.”
Erza watched him go.
Then she looked at Alastor.
“Are you coming to Fairy Tail?”
Alastor looked at his brother.
Zestial was already kneeling beside the injured child, calm and useful despite the blood drying on his clothes.
Alastor looked back at Erza.
“Yeah.”
The answer felt easier than it should have.
“I think we are.”
Erza nodded.
Not happy.
Not healed.
But facing the road.
Behind them, beyond the fog and the magic hiding it from the world, the Tower of Heaven still stood.
Inside it, Jellal began turning truth into a weapon.
Outside it, eleven children lived who might otherwise have died.
Scout rested inside Zestial’s magic.
Alastor carried helpless rage like a coal beneath his ribs.
And Erza Scarlet started down the road that would lead her to Fairy Tail.
Freedom hadn’t saved everyone.
But it had given them a direction.