The road didn’t care that they were free.
It stretched across the mainland in both directions, dry and uneven beneath the morning sun.
Wagon ruts cut through the dirt.
Old hoofprints marked the softer ground near the shoulder.
It didn’t become shorter because children walked barefoot across it.
It didn’t become gentler because some of them were bleeding.
It offered no food, shelter, or answers.
It was still better than the Tower.
Alastor repeated that thought whenever his ribs hurt.
Still better than the Tower.
One of the younger boys had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Another child clung to the back of his shirt and stumbled beside him.
Zestial watched him limp.
“You shouldn’t be carrying anyone.”
“The alternative’s leaving him on the road.”
“The alternative’s letting someone without injured ribs carry him.”
Erza walked ahead with a girl leaning against her side.
“She’s injured too,” Alastor said.
“I noticed.”
“Then why aren’t you bothering her?”
“She has a sword.”
“Favoritism through intimidation.”
Erza looked back.
Alastor immediately faced forward.
Zestial’s mouth twitched.
“You were saying?”
“I’ve forgotten.”
Alastor lifted his head.
“We need water”
“I know.”
“And shelter.”
“I know.”
“And food.”
“I know.”
Zestial glanced at the nearly empty water skin.
“We need to find people.”
Erza’s grip tightened around the girl she was supporting.
“People might report us.”
“They might help us,” Zestial said.
“They might send us back.”
Alastor’s humor faded.
“No one’s sending us back.”
Erza looked toward the western road.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” he admitted.
“But they’d have to get through us first.”
Zestial looked at his brother’s uneven steps.
“You can barely walk.”
“I can still be inconvenient.”
“That’s the one skill your injuries haven’t affected.”
Zestial stopped.
“Wagon.
Everyone off the road.”
The children froze.
Erza reacted first.
She guided the injured girl into the tall grass.
The others followed, some hiding behind rocks while the smaller children crouched beneath scrubby bushes.
Alastor lowered the sleeping boy carefully.
“Stay here.”
The boy grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m going five steps away.”
“You’ll come back?”
Alastor crouched.
“Yes.”
The word came too quickly.
Promises had become dangerous.
He softened it.
“I’ll stay where you can see me.”
The boy released him.
Alastor joined Erza and Zestial near the roadside.
The wagon emerged around the bend.
An old horse pulled it.
Fishing nets, empty baskets, rope, and wooden crates filled the back.
A middle-aged woman held the reins.
A broad man sat beside her with one hand beneath the seat.
The woman saw the three children standing in the road.
She pulled the reins.
The wagon stopped.
No one spoke.
Her eyes moved over Erza’s bloodied bandage.
Then Zestial’s torn clothes.
Then the way Alastor guarded his ribs.
Finally, she noticed the smaller shapes hiding along the roadside.
Her face changed.
“How many of you are there?”
Zestial answered.
“Fourteen.”
The man’s hidden hand shifted.
Erza raised her sword.
“Don’t.”
He froze.
The woman looked at him.
“Tomas.”
“I haven’t drawn anything.”
“Then leave it there.”
His hand slowly emerged from beneath the seat.
Empty.
The woman climbed down.
Erza’s sword followed her.
“My name’s Mara,” the woman said.
“That’s my husband, Tomas.”
No one offered their names.
Mara stopped several paces away.
“Are you running from someone?”
Erza didn’t answer.
“Do you need food?”
A child’s stomach growled loudly from the grass.
Alastor glanced toward the sound.
“There’s your answer.”
Tomas looked along the empty road.
“Someone might be following them.”
Zestial nodded.
“Possibly.”
Tomas stared at him.
“You’re honest.”
“It saves time.”
“It also scares people,” Alastor said.
“That saves different time.”
Mara studied the broken iron still locked around one child’s ankle.
Her expression hardened.
“Were you prisoners?”
Erza stepped forward.
“We can’t tell you where.”
“I didn’t ask where.”
“You’ll want to.”
“Yes,” Mara said.
“Later.”
Erza’s sword didn’t lower.
Mara looked at the injured children.
“There’s a village less than an hour east.
Saltwick.
We have food and a healer.”
“What kind of healer?” Zestial asked.
“The kind who’ll hit you with a spoon if you interrupt her.”
Alastor nodded approvingly.
“Sounds qualified.”
Tomas looked less certain.
“We can’t fit fourteen people in the wagon.”
“The youngest and the injured ride,” Mara said.
“The rest of us walk.”
Erza looked at Zestial.
Erza slowly lowered her sword.
“If anyone tries to separate us—”
“They won’t,” Mara said.
“If anyone tries to restrain us—”
“They won’t.”
Mara nodded toward the wagon.
“You can sit beside the door when we arrive.
No one will close it.”
That was the right answer.
The children emerged from hiding.
Mara handed them bread and a water skin before asking another question.
Several ate too quickly.
Zestial stopped them.
“Small bites.
Drink between them.”
One boy clutched his bread.
“Are you taking it?”
“No.
I’m making sure you keep it inside you.”
The wagon filled quickly.
Seven children sat among the nets and baskets.
Erza placed the girl with the injured ankle near the back, then stayed beside her.
Alastor lifted the sleeping boy.
Pain cut across his ribs.
His knees almost gave out.
Tomas caught the child before either of them fell.
Alastor’s hands curled.
“I had him.”
“I know,” Tomas said.
“Now I do.”
Alastor stared at him.
Tomas lifted the boy into the wagon without another word.
Zestial leaned close.
“You can be offended after you stop swaying.”
“I’m not swaying.”
The wagon started moving.
Erza sat near the back with one hand on her sword.
The younger children gathered around her.
Alastor and Zestial walked beside the wagon.
Mara led the horse.
Tomas stayed near the rear, close enough to help but far enough not to crowd them.
For the first few minutes, no one spoke.
Then Mara looked at Alastor.
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated.
“Alastor.”
She looked at Zestial.
“Zestial.”
Her eyes moved to Erza.
Erza stared at the road.
“Erza.”
Mara didn’t ask for family names.
The wagon started moving.
Erza sat near the back with one hand on her sword.
The younger children gathered around her.
Alastor and Zestial walked beside the wagon.
Mara led the horse.
Tomas stayed near the rear, close enough to help but far enough not to crowd them.
For the first few minutes, no one spoke.
Then Mara looked at Alastor.
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated.
“Alastor.”
She looked at Zestial.
“Zestial.”
Her eyes moved to Erza.
Erza stared at the road.
“Erza.”
Mara didn’t ask for family names.
The road curved toward the coast.
Woodsmoke appeared in the distance. New chapters come out on novelping.com first.
Then rooftops.
Saltwick smelled like fish, woodsmoke, and rain that hadn’t arrived yet.
Under different circumstances, Alastor might’ve hated it.
After the Tower, it smelled like civilization.
The wagon rolled between low wooden houses clustered around a narrow harbor.
Nets hung from posts.
Small boats rested upside down near the water.
Lanterns glowed behind shuttered windows.
People stopped working when they saw the children.
Conversation faded.
A basket dropped somewhere near the docks.
Alastor noticed every stare.
Some held concern.
Others held suspicion.
A few held the calculating look of people deciding whether helping strangers would create trouble.
He hated those most.
Mara stood in the front of the wagon.
“Brina!”
A door opened near the village square.
An older woman stepped outside carrying a lantern.
Her gray hair was tied behind her head, and a heavy wool coat covered a plain sleeping gown.
She looked at Mara.
Then at the wagon.
Then at the children.
Her expression hardened.
“Inside,” she ordered.
Alastor immediately liked her.
Brina pointed toward a long meeting hall.
“Tomas, wake the council.
Mara, get water boiling.
I need clean cloth, every spare blanket, and whatever food can be heated quickly.”
One of the villagers hesitated.
“Brina, we don’t know—”
She turned her head.
The man stopped talking.
“These are injured children.”
“We should contact the regional watch.”
“You can do that after they’ve eaten.”
“What if someone’s following them?”
“Then they’ll find a village full of angry fishermen.”
Tomas climbed down from the wagon.
“Four of whom are officially the watch.”
Brina snorted.
“I wasn’t talking about those four.”
The villagers began moving.
Zestial helped the children down one at a time.
His hands remained steady until he reached the girl with the injured ankle.
When he lifted her, his knees nearly buckled.
Mara caught his shoulder.
“You’re done carrying people.”
“I’m fine.”
Zestial tried not to show pain.
Brina noticed.
“You two.”
They looked at her.
“Inside.”
Alastor pointed toward himself.
“We’re helping.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“So is everyone.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He opened his mouth.
Brina pointed toward the hall.
“Inside.”
Alastor went.
The meeting hall became an infirmary.
Tables were pushed against the walls.
Blankets covered the floor.
Bowls of stew appeared, followed by bread, water, and clean bandages.
No one locked the doors.
No one blocked the exits.
That mattered more than the food.
The younger children remained close together.
Some hid bread beneath their blankets.
Others refused to sleep unless they could see the doors.
One boy ate until he became sick, cried because he thought he’d be punished, then cried harder when no one hit him.
Erza sat near the nearest exit.
Alone.
A bowl of stew rested untouched in her hands.
Brina knelt in front of her.
“Let me see your eye.”
Erza’s fingers tightened around the bowl.
“No.”
“It’s infected.”
“I said no.”
Brina didn’t touch her.
“Then I’ll sit here until you change your mind.”
Erza stared at her.
Brina stared back.
Neither moved.
Alastor leaned toward Zestial.
“This could take years.”
Zestial stood.
“I’ll talk to Erza.”
Alastor caught his sleeve.
“Careful.”
“I know.”
“You’ve said that a lot.”
“So has she.”
Zestial approached slowly.
He stopped several feet away from Erza.
“Brina helped the others.”
Erza didn’t look at him.
“I know.”
“She won’t touch you without permission.”
“I know.”
“The wound needs cleaning.”
Her left eye shifted toward him.
“You’re taking her side?”
“I’m taking the infection’s side.
It’ll get worse if everyone ignores it.”
Brina grunted.
“Smart boy.”
Alastor called from across the room.
“He gets that sometimes.”
Zestial ignored him.
Erza looked down at her soup.
“Jellal said they did it because I needed to understand.”
Brina’s expression changed.
“Understand what?”
“What happens when we disobey.”
Silence settled around them.
Zestial crouched, keeping distance between them.
“Let Brina clean it.”
“I don’t want anyone touching it.”
“I know.”
“I can still feel what they did.”
Zestial swallowed.
He looked at Brina.
“Tell her everything before you do it.”
Brina nodded.
“I’ll remove the cloth.
I’ll clean the skin with warm water first.
Then I’ll use boiled saltwater closer to the wound.
It’ll hurt.”
Erza’s fingers shook.
“And after that?”
“I’ll check whether anything’s trapped inside.
Then I’ll wrap it again.”
“Can you fix it?”
Brina didn’t lie.
“No.”
Erza’s face closed.
“But I can keep it from killing you,” Brina continued.
“A specialist may be able to do more.”
Erza stared at her.
“Where?”
“The closest true magic healer is several towns inland.
There’s also a woman who lives near Magnolia.
People say she hates visitors.”
Alastor lifted his head.
“Porlyusica.”
Zestial looked sharply at him.
The name had surfaced from their old memories.
Clearer than it should have.
Brina turned.
“You know her?”
Alastor recovered.
“Heard the name.”
“From whom?”
He glanced at Erza.
“Grandpa Rob.”
It wasn’t completely impossible.
Brina studied him.
Then she returned her attention to Erza.
“If you’re heading toward Magnolia, you can reach her.”
Erza looked at Zestial.
“Fairy Tail’s there.”
“Yes.”
Her grip loosened around the bowl.
Finally, she placed it aside.
“You tell me before you touch anything.”
Brina nodded.
“Every time.”
Erza let her remove the bandage.
Alastor looked away.
Not because of the wound.
Because Erza deserved not to have an audience.
Zestial stayed useful until his body stopped allowing it.
He checked splints.
Changed bandages.
Counted water portions.
Helped Brina organize the children by injury and fever.
Then he stood too quickly and the room tilted.
Alastor grabbed his collar.
“You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“I only stood up.”
“And failed.”
Zestial reached for the nearest table.
Missed.
Alastor caught him before he hit the floor.
“Got you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know.
That’s why you’re falling.”
“I didn’t fall.”
“Because I caught you.”
“Technicality.”
Alastor lowered him onto a blanket.
“Sleep.”
“I need to finish the list.”
“No.”
“Two children still need—”
“Brina has them.”
Zestial looked toward the healer.
She was already working.
Mara distributed water.
Tomas repaired one of the broken cots.
Erza sat with fresh bandages over her eye while a younger child slept against her side.
For the first time since awakening inside the Tower, someone else was handling the next problem.
“Rest is also preparation.”
“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m your brother.”
“That doesn’t explain it.”
“It explains everything.”
Zestial sat up.
Warmth settled behind his ribs.
He could still feel a distant presence.
Sleeping.
Waiting.
Zestial lay back.
Alastor pulled a blanket over him.
“You know better.”
“Don’t.”
“Rest is preparation.”
“I’ll hit you.”
“After your nap.”
Zestial closed his eyes.
“Worst brother.”
“Only one you’ve got.”
“That’s the problem.”
He fell asleep before Alastor could answer.
The village council met after midnight.
Erza wasn’t invited.
She attended anyway.
Alastor and Zestial went with her.
Zestial still looked exhausted, but he refused to remain in bed while strangers decided what would happen to the children.
Five villagers sat around a long table.
Mara and Tomas stood near the door.
Brina remained with the injured children.
The oldest council member folded his hands.
“We need to know where you came from.”
Erza’s face went blank.
“We can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
The man frowned.
“Someone may be searching for you.”
“They are,” Alastor said.
Every adult looked at him.
Zestial sighed quietly.
The council member leaned forward.
“Who?”
“Bad people.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“It’s what we can safely tell you.”
The man’s expression hardened.
“You expect us to shelter eleven children without knowing what danger follows them?”
Erza stood.
“We’ll leave.”
Mara blocked the door.
“No.”
Erza’s hand moved toward her sword.
Mara didn’t flinch.
“You’re not dragging injured children into the night because Corren likes hearing himself ask questions.”
The councilman frowned.
“Mara.”
“You heard me.”
Another council member, a younger woman with ink-stained fingers, looked at Erza.
“Were you prisoners?”
Erza didn’t answer.
“That’s answer enough.”
Corren’s expression changed.
He lowered his voice.
“Slavers?”
Zestial chose his words carefully.
“A group using forced labor.
They’re isolated and well defended.
Reporting them without preparation could get the remaining prisoners killed.”
“There are others?”
Erza’s left eye filled with pain.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“We don’t know,” Zestial said.
That was true.
Corren looked toward the hall.
“And these eleven?”
“They escaped,” Alastor said.
“Will the slavers come for them?”
“Maybe.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“Then we move them inland.”
Erza looked at her.
“What?”
“Tomas has a sister two towns north.
She runs a shelter through the local temple.”
“No government officials,” Erza said immediately.
Corren frowned.
“You don’t trust the authorities?”
“I don’t trust anyone I haven’t met.”
“That’s sensible,” Mara said.
Tomas nodded.
“Especially authorities.”
Corren glared at both of them.
Zestial looked around the table.
“The youngest children shouldn’t keep traveling.
They need stable shelter, food, and healers.”
Erza turned toward him.
“We can’t leave them.”
“We can’t take them across the country either.”
“They followed us.”
“They followed us out of a prison.
That doesn’t mean following us forever is safest.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“They’ll think we abandoned them.”
Alastor leaned against the wall.
“Then we ask them.”
Everyone looked at him.
“What?”
“They’re children, not crates.
We tell them the choices.
Saltwick, the inland shelter, or traveling with us until we find Fairy Tail.”
Corren rubbed his forehead.
“You’re also children.”
“Very observant village.”
Zestial elbowed him.
Alastor winced.
“Ribs.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Not completely.”
Mara considered the suggestion.
“We’ll speak with them in the morning.”
Erza looked toward the door.
“What if none of them want to stay?”
“Then we solve that problem tomorrow,” Zestial said.
She hated uncertainty.
He could see it.
So could Alastor.
But Erza sat down again.
“Tomorrow.”
Seven children chose Saltwick.
They were the youngest.
The most injured.
The ones who’d looked at the meeting hall and seen something that might eventually become safe.
Four older children wanted to keep moving.
Not because they trusted the road.
Because stopping frightened them more.
Mara offered a compromise.
She and Tomas would escort the four to the inland shelter personally.
They’d carry names, descriptions, and written promises that no child would be surrendered to unfamiliar officials without warning.
One girl looked at Erza.
“Will you come back?”
Erza’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Alastor crouched beside the girl.
“We’ll try.”
Erza looked at him.
He didn’t promise.
Not after the Tower.
The girl hugged Erza.
The others joined her.
For several minutes, Erza disappeared beneath thin arms and borrowed blankets.
She cried quietly.
Only from her left eye.
They left Saltwick two days later.
Erza wore clean clothes donated by the villagers.
Her right eye remained wrapped in fresh bandages.
Alastor carried a small food pack despite his injured ribs.
Zestial carried a notebook Mara had given him, along with thread, charcoal, and a roll of bandages.
Scout remained asleep inside his magic.
The road stretched inland.
Erza walked ahead of the group.
Behind them were Alastor and Zestial.
Alastor glanced at Zestial.
“We need rules.”
“For what?”
“What we can and can’t tell them.”
Zestial had already been thinking about it.
“We tell the truth, just not all.”
“No pretending we know more than we do.”
“Yes.”
“No saying future names around people.”
“Yes.”
“No changing decisions based only on memories unless we have proof.”
Zestial looked at him.
“That one’s important.”
“They’re all important.
That’s why they’re rules.”
Erza glanced between them.
“What are you whispering about?”
Alastor smiled.
“Brother rules.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It usually is,” Zestial said.
Alastor looked offended.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I support good ideas.”
“Selective brotherhood.”
The road climbed.
At the top of the hill, Magnolia’s direction appeared on a weathered sign.
Erza stopped beneath it.
MAGNOLIA — EAST
She touched the bundle containing Rob’s old Fairy Tail token.
Zestial stood beside her.
“Still want to go?”
“No.”
Alastor nodded.
“Good.”
Erza frowned.
“Why is that good?”
“Because going somewhere important while terrified is more impressive than going when it’s easy.”
“That sounds made up.”
“Most wisdom is.”
Zestial adjusted his pack.
“It’s usually made up more carefully.”
Erza looked toward the eastern road.
“Fairy Tail.”
Alastor stepped beside her.
“Fairy Tail.”
Zestial joined them.
“Let’s keep going then.”