The guild hall was much noisier than imagined.
Aether stood at the entrance, his gaze quickly scanning the entire space.
A wooden bar counter, scattered tables and chairs, a bulletin board covered in request forms, and a few men in the corner throwing dice for gambling money.
There was no pink hair.
There was no long scarlet hair.
And there were no half-naked guys brawling with anyone.
Aether’s heart sank a little.
His gaze swept from left to right, then right to left.
Behind the bar stood a middle-aged woman he didn’t recognize, wiping a glass.
Sitting by the window were two young men, one with a cigarette in his mouth and the other holding a beer mug— Makarov.
And Wakaba.
Aether stared at those two faces, his mind racing.
There wasn’t a single wrinkle on their faces, their jawlines were sharp, and Makarov even had a thick head of black hair.
It wasn’t the old version.
It was the young version.
At least fifteen years younger.
Which meant— He hadn’t just traveled to another world.
He had traveled to this world’s past.
The main cast hadn’t joined the guild yet.
Natsu might still be with Igneel learning Dragon Slayer Magic.
Gray was still training under Ur.
Erza…
was still imprisoned in the Tower of Paradise.
Aether’s stomach twisted.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” A voice came from diagonally ahead, carrying undisguised provocation.
Aether pulled back his thoughts and looked down.
A blonde boy stood before him.
He was about the same height, maybe half a head shorter.
Blue eyes, eyebrows slightly upturned, arms crossed over his chest—his entire posture screamed “don’t mess with me.” Laxus Dreyar.
Makarov’s grandson.
The future God of Thunder.
S-Class Mage.
The MVP of the Grand Magic Games arc.
Right now, he looked…
like just an ordinary, arrogant brat.
“Are you deaf?” Laxus took a step forward.
“I said, can you fight?” “Laxus.” Makarov gave a light cough from behind.
“Grandpa, I’m just asking.” Laxus’s attitude softened for a moment before immediately tensing back up, his chin lifting higher.
“Every newcomer you bring back is as weak as anything; they can’t even take one hit from me.” Paimon muttered in Aether’s ear, “This kid is even more arrogant than Paimon?” Aether didn’t respond to Paimon.
He looked at Laxus’s face.
That face, still carrying some baby fat, had no scars.
That iconic lightning-bolt tattoo above his right eye didn’t exist yet.
This boy didn’t hate his father yet.
He hadn’t been indoctrinated with those twisted ideas by Ivan yet.
He hadn’t yet set foot on that detour that nearly destroyed everything.
“I don’t know,” Aether spoke.
Laxus raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t know what?” “I don’t know if I can beat you,” Aether paused, “but I don’t hate fighting.” This sentence wasn’t entirely just to deal with the situation at hand.
Laxus stared at him for three seconds.
Then he snorted through his nose and turned to walk away.
“At least you’re better than the crybaby from last time.” Makarov walked behind the bar and nodded to the woman wiping the glasses.
“Bring the stamp.” The woman bent down to retrieve a wooden box from under the counter and opened it.
Inside was a fist-sized magic stamp engraved with the Fairy Tail Guild emblem.
“Where do you want it?” Makarov asked.
Aether held out the back of his right hand.
He didn’t hesitate.
In his original world—in Teyvat—there was nothing on the back of his hand.
No Vision, no family crest, nothing.
Just a pair of hands that couldn’t be more ordinary.
The moment the stamp was pressed down, a warm, tingling sting spread across the surface of his skin.
It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was clear.
Aether lifted his hand.
A golden mark had appeared on the back of his hand.
An image of a fairy spreading its wings, with clean lines and vivid color.
“Welcome to Fairy Tail.” Makarov picked up a glass of beer.
A few people by the bar raised their glasses in unison.
Their movements were casual, without any grand sense of ceremony.
It was just like—daily life.
Paimon circled around the edge of his Vision, her tone sounding serious for the first time.
“From today on, you aren’t a Wanderer anymore, Traveler.” Aether lowered his hand, looking at the mark for a long time.
Not a Wanderer.
That word stung a bit.
He indeed didn’t like that title.
“Hey.” Laxus had approached again at some point, leaning against the bar and tilting his head to study him.
“You said just now that you can use Fire Magic?” “Yeah.” “Show me one.” Aether hesitated for a second.
The last time he released flames was in the forest, and his control was a total mess; he’d nearly burned himself.
But he still remembered the feeling—heat gathering somewhere inside his body, then releasing from his fingertips.
He opened his palm and concentrated.
A small flame flickered from his palm.
It wasn’t large, only about the size of a thumbnail.
It wavered, the edges of the fire dancing irregularly.
“That’s it?” The disappointment on Laxus’s face was undisguised.
He raised his right hand.
Before Aether could react—a miniature bolt of lightning jumped from Laxus’s fingertip, hitting an empty beer glass on the bar.
The glass shattered into three pieces, the shards sliding across the table and falling to the floor.
“Now this is called magic.” The woman behind the bar threw a rag at him.
“Laxus!
The cost of that glass is coming out of your allowance!” “Tsk.” Laxus ducked his head, but the smugness at the corner of his mouth didn’t vanish.
Aether looked at the scorched mark remaining on the bar.
Lightning Magic.
To have this kind of precision and destructive power at this age.
The word ‘genius’ wasn’t enough to describe it.
But this was also part of the curse.
Precisely because he was too strong.
Because too much was expected of him.
That was why Ivan would later— “What are you spacing out for?” Laxus poked him in the shoulder.
Aether snapped back to reality.
This kid was more clingy than expected.
“I was thinking that you’re very impressive,” Aether said.
This wasn’t flattery.
It was a fact.
Laxus was one of the most underrated characters in the entire series—the man who, even after being enhanced by a Lightning Dragon Lacrima, even after taking a wrong path, ultimately chose to return and protect the guild.
But those words couldn’t be said aloud.
Laxus froze for a moment.
A flash of awkwardness crossed that arrogant face, and the tips of his ears turned slightly red.
He quickly looked away.
“Duh.
Of course I’m impressive.
I’m the grandson of Fairy Tail’s strongest Mage.” The grandson of the strongest Mage.
It wasn’t “I am the strongest.” It was “I am the grandson of the strongest person.” Aether swallowed the thought and didn’t respond.
Makarov watched this scene from the side, holding his beer glass and saying nothing.
A smile hung on the old man’s face, but his aged eyes moved from the guild mark on Aether’s hand to the back of Laxus’s head, then back again.
“Aether.” Makarov set down his glass.
“Yeah?” “You’ll stay in the empty room on the second floor of the guild tonight.
Starting tomorrow, you can go to the bulletin board to take requests.” The old man paused, then added another sentence.
“Act within your capabilities.
Don’t be like these brats here, taking S-Class missions right off the bat only to be carried back.” “Grandpa, who are you talking about?” Laxus’s voice came from the other side.
Makarov ignored him.
Aether nodded and turned toward the stairs.
When he reached the third step, Laxus’s voice chased after him from behind.
“Come find me tomorrow morning.” Aether stopped and looked back.
The blonde boy stood at the base of the stairs with his hands in his pockets, tilting his head.
“I’ll teach you what real magic looks like.” —