We pushed open the doors of Fairy Tail expecting…
something.
Warmth, maybe.
The found-family energy Rob used to talk about with that faraway look in his eyes.
Instead, the first thing that greeted us was a boy about Erza’s age, stark naked, mid-argument with a tan, brown-haired girl who was very pointedly not looking at him while shuffling a deck of cards.
“It’s not my fault your divination keeps predicting I lose my clothes,” he was saying.
“It’s not divination if it happens every single time, Gray,” she shot back.
“That’s just a pattern.” Off to one side, two men were hunched over a magazine, one sporting a truly ambitious pompadour, the other with wild, unkempt dark hair, both muttering intensely about the merits of some woman on the page like it was a matter of guild policy.
Nearby, a large, shirtless man stood in front of a request board, seemingly unbothered by his own state of undress, scratching his belly while reading job flyers.
I stood in the doorway for a solid five seconds, taking all of this in.
This is it.
This is the legendary guild Rob wouldn’t shut up about.
I grabbed Erza’s arm.
“We’re going to a different guild,” I said, already turning back toward the door.
“Wait!” A short, wrinkled old man came sprinting across the hall toward us with a speed that felt deeply at odds with his apparent age, skidding to a stop in front of us with his arms spread like he was about to give a speech he’d been rehearsing for exactly this moment.
“Welcome, welcome!
I am Makarov Dreyar, Guild Master of Fairy Tail!” he announced, puffing his chest out with obvious pride.
I looked past him at the naked kid, the two men ogling their magazine, and the shirtless man scratching himself in front of the board.
“You run a guild full of perverts,” I said, flatly.
Makarov’s chest deflated slightly.
Of all the days for new prospective members to walk in, Makarov thought, watching Gray attempt to locate his missing pants while Macao and Wakaba continued their very loud debate completely undeterred by the presence of children.
Of all the days.
“They’re — good people!” Makarov said, recovering admirably fast.
“Eccentric!
Passionate!
Very talented, despite — appearances!
Now, now, what brings two young ones like yourselves to my guild hall, hm?” I studied him for a moment.
Short, old, a little ridiculous — and yet something about the way he carried himself, some easy warmth underneath all the bluster, made the whole “talk him into trusting us” plan I’d been mentally drafting feel almost unnecessary.
Talk no jutsu time, I guess.
Let’s see if grandpa’s instincts about this place were right.
“We knew Rob,” I said, watching his expression shift the second the name landed.
“He told us about this place.
Told us to come here if we ever needed somewhere to go.” “Rob,” Makarov repeated, quieter now, all the theatrical bluster gone in an instant.
“You knew Rob?
How—” “He recommended us,” Erza said, voice steady despite everything.
“Before he died.” The words landed hard.
Makarov’s face didn’t do anything dramatic — no shouting, no tears — just a long, heavy stillness, the kind of grief that had clearly been braced for and arrived anyway.
“…I see,” he said finally, quiet.
“I’ll want to hear more, in time.
When you’re both ready to share it.
For now—” he looked us over properly for the first time, taking in the bruises, the bandaged shoulder, the general state of two children who’d clearly been through something neither of us had explained yet, “—for now, you both need a healer more than you need an interrogation.” He led us through the guild himself, past the naked kid (now half-dressed, at least), past the perverted magazine debate, out toward a small house at the edge of town where a pink-haired woman with a permanently unimpressed expression took one look at the two of us and sighed like we’d personally ruined her entire week.
“More strays,” Porlyusica muttered, already reaching for bandages and herbs.
“Sit.” We sat.
She worked in efficient, irritated silence, redressing Erza’s shoulder properly and checking my ribs with hands that were surprisingly gentle for someone radiating that much visible contempt for the concept of patients.
“They’ll live,” she announced eventually, to Makarov rather than to us.
“Rest.
Food.
No excitement.” “Wonderful!” Makarov clapped his hands together, back to his cheerful self now that the immediate medical crisis had passed.
“Well then — I believe congratulations are in order.
Welcome to Fairy Tail, you two.
Officially, if you’ll have us.” “We will,” Erza said, without hesitation.
“Sure,” I said, a beat later, still mentally recovering from the naked-kid-and-perverts welcome committee.
“Excellent!
Now — where would you like the mark?” Erza considered it for barely a second.
“Left shoulder.” I thought about it a little longer, then held out my hand.
“Palm.
Left hand.” Makarov pressed the stamp to each of us in turn, the guild’s mark blooming to life — Erza’s in a deep, blue against her shoulder, mine also blue against my palm — and something about the moment, small and simple as it was, still managed to land heavier than I expected.
“Welcome to Fairy Tail,” Makarov said again, warm and grandfatherly in a way that finally matched everything Rob used to promise this place would be.
“Out,” Porlyusica said immediately, shoving him toward the door before either of us could enjoy the moment for more than a few seconds.
“They need rest, not your speeches.
And you—” she pointed at Makarov, “—go buy these children something to wear that isn’t a bloodstained rag.
Have it here by six.” “Yes, yes, alright,” Makarov grumbled, already halfway out the door, still smiling despite the treatment.
“Rest well, you two.
I’ll see you both again soon.” The door shut behind him, leaving just the two of us, a disgruntled healer, and — for the first time in longer than either of us could really remember — something that almost felt like safety.