The sun had long since crested and was nearing its peak. Aelius still found himself in that forest; his destination was closer, but he still had a ways to go.
Then he laughed.
It was not a pleasant sound. It was low and cold, something closer to a croak than true amusement, a laugh carved from the raw edges of exhaustion and bitterness. The kind of laugh that came when nothing made sense, yet everything was perfectly, cruelly clear.
A thought had struck him, sharp and sudden, sending his mind spiraling back to the events of the day prior. Virgo.
She was alive.
She had escaped the labyrinth.
The fact alone should have meant something to him—should have stirred some sense of relief, some flicker of an old sentiment buried beneath layers of rot and cynicism. And it did, but that wasn't what he found funny.
Because what truly caught his attention wasn't the sight of her.
It was the story he had told due to her.
The irony clawed at the edges of his mind, creeping in like a slow-spreading disease.
He had told Alaric, on the day they met, to never trust titles.
Aelius let out another breathless chuckle, rubbing his temple as if he could physically scrub away the thought.
Alaric hadn't pushed it at the time. Hadn't questioned it, hadn't asked why a stranger with such imposing magic—a walking force of death—was giving him advice that sounded more like a warning.
But now—now it was downright hilarious.
Because at the time, Aelius had lost faith in a different word.
Not "king." Not "prince."
"Friend."
His jaw tightened. His amusement soured into something uglier.
Because back then, before Alaric, before the Labyrinth of Reverie had swallowed him whole, before everything had burned away into the life he had now—he had believed in friendship once.
And it had cost him.
It had cost him everything.
So, when he had looked at Alaric that day, when he had told him not to trust titles, what he had meant—what he had really meant—was:
"Don't trust me."
"Don't trust anyone."
"Don't let yourself be fooled into thinking that words mean anything at all."
But Alaric had never listened.
Not then.
Not later.
Not even in the end.
The laughter died on his lips, swallowed by the quiet that stretched between his thoughts.
The forest, still reeling from the weight of his magic, offered no response. No comfort. No contradiction. Just emptiness.
And for some reason, that only made it funnier.
Alaric had restored some faith in that word. Friend.
One of the only people Aelius had ever truly trusted. One of the only people he had allowed himself to trust. It hadn't been instant—it had taken time and effort, and there was a slow erosion of the walls Aelius had carefully built around himself. Granted, they were not as high as the present, but it still counted. And somehow, that damn fool of a prince had done it.
For a time, Aelius had believed in the word again.
And it was because of that same person that the word had shattered once more.
His fingers twitched, his nails dragging slightly against the palm of his hand before curling into a slow, deliberate fist.
Alaric had died.
And now Aelius was left with the lesson that came with it—trust was a currency that could only be spent once, and when it was gone, it left nothing behind.
He had thought Nesh—no, Vanessa was someone he could loosely call a friend.
Someone he could trust to not stab him in the back the first chance she got.
He had been wrong.
A bitter smirk twisted his lips, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he stared into the dying forest ahead.
It was pathetic, really.
That even after everything, even after the Labyrinth, after Alaric, after everything that had happened since, some part of him had still wanted to believe.
Some part of him had still thought Vanessa wouldn't cross that line. That she might tease him, might play her little games, might try to get under his skin—but that she wouldn't be so stupid as to betray him outright.
That she wouldn't try to drag back the past in a way she didn't understand.
His smirk faded, a slow breath escaping him.
She had tried to bring back Alaric.
And in doing so, she had killed whatever little trust he had left in her.
Maybe he had been a fool for thinking she was ever capable of loyalty.
Maybe he had let himself get too comfortable.
Maybe—just maybe—he had forgotten what she really was.
But never again.
He had trusted Mirajane once.
She pushed him away in jealousy, couldn't handle the fact he had actually gained some semblance of control over his curse. Lied to him that she'd always be there.
And then he had trusted Alaric.
And Alaric had died.
That one still burned.
Not in the way his rage did, not in the way that left rot in his wake, but in the hollow places—the ones left behind when something was ripped away too suddenly, too violently, too unfairly.
He had not made the mistake of trust lightly. He had warned Alaric that words meant nothing, that titles were hollow, that bonds were only as strong as the moment before they broke.
And still, the fool had pushed.
Still, he had wormed his way into Aelius's life, had looked him in the eyes and called him friend, had acted as if that word meant something real. And Aelius—stubborn, careful, closed-off Aelius—had let him.
Had let himself believe, if only for a little while.
Had let himself care.
And then Alaric had died, and the weight of that word—friend—had died with him.
And yet, somehow, despite everything, he had still made the mistake again.
Because he had trusted Vanessa.
Not completely. Never completely. But enough to think she would not cross certain lines. Enough to think she, at the very least, understood what not to do.
And yet—she had.
She had gone against him.
Against everything she knew about him.
And she had done it with that damn smile, that smug, self-assured certainty that had made his blood boil the moment she opened her mouth.
Because she had believed, in her own twisted, childish way, that she had done him a favor.
She had believed she was giving him something, that she was offering him a gift.
And the worst part—the part that made his magic curl dangerously at his fingertips, the part that sent another slow wave of death creeping into the soil beneath him—was that she had expected him to be grateful.
The betrayal was almost secondary.
It was the audacity.
The sheer, blind ignorance of what she had done.
He trusted Mirajane.
She had pushed him away.
He trusted Alaric.
He had died.
He trusted Vanessa.
And she had mocked him with the past he tried to bury.
Never again.
Aelius exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the crisp morning air. His fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms, but he barely felt it.
He was tired of trust.
He was done with it.
The morning stretched out before him, casting long shadows over the ruined earth, but it did not warm him.
Nothing ever would.
And that was fine.
Because if there was one thing Aelius knew how to do—if there was one thing he had mastered—
It was how to walk forward.
Alone.
The further he walked, the heavier the weight in his chest became. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now something else slithered its way in—something more insidious.
Suspicion.
He had spent his life wading through blood and ruin, through war and betrayal. He had walked through labyrinths that twisted the mind, faced horrors that no sane man could comprehend. And yet, this—this sequence of events—felt wrong.
Too perfect.
Too deliberate.
First, he saw Virgo again, someone he had long assumed lost to the Labyrinth of Reverie. Her mere presence should have been impossible, yet there she was, standing in front of him, free.
Then, on that same day, he was forced to speak about Alaric—about the labyrinth, about the past he had no interest in recalling.
Then Caius arrived, as if summoned by his recollections.
Then they left, only for him to stumble into Vanessa's insanity—into a ritual to bring back the one person he had already mourned.
Aelius exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides as his thoughts spiraled.
Why?
Why all at once?
He didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe in the gods. He didn't believe in the poetic tragedies that people clung to in order to make sense of their suffering.
Coincidence, though?
Coincidence was something he could believe in.
Until it started piling up like this.
His lips curled in frustration, his eyes narrowing against the shifting shadows of the dying forest. His magic pulsed in irritation, sending another slow ripple of decay through the earth beneath him.
"Of course," he muttered to himself, voice flat. "Because one reminder of my past wasn't enough. No, the world had to throw all of it at me in a single night just to see what I'd do."
And now, as the pieces slotted into place, as the events of the last day bled together in his mind, he felt something cold slither through him.
There was only one thing missing to make this truly perfect.
Nameless.
The moment the thought struck him, his shoulders tensed, his magic flaring slightly in agitation.
If that thing showed up next, he might just kill something out of principle.
Aelius exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
No.
If nameless showed up now, it would be their final fight, he would make sure of it.
Aelius kept walking, his mind tangled in the web of events that had unfolded in the past day. The quiet weight of dawn pressed against his back, the golden light bleeding through the tattered canopy above him. His magic still pulsed faintly, but its hunger had dulled into something restless rather than ravenous.
His boots scraped against the dirt path as he stepped over the decayed remnants of what had once been a living forest. The silence stretched, heavy and endless—until it wasn't.
A shape emerged in the distance.
Small. Stocky. Familiar.
Aelius stopped.
Makarov stood in the middle of the path, arms crossed, his short frame dwarfed by the ruins of the trees around him. His expression, at least at first, was unreadable. His deep-set eyes studied Aelius carefully, their usual warmth tempered by something heavier, something knowing.
Aelius exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Of course," he thought bitterly. The nightjust wasn't done with me yet.
Makarov didn't speak at first. Instead, he took in the ruin Aelius had left in his wake—the cracked earth, the withered trees, the lingering stench of decay that clung to the air. His face was unreadable for a long moment before he finally let out a small hum.
"Quite the mess you made here, my boy."
Aelius narrowed his eyes.
There it was.
That same damned tone. The same voice Makarov always used when dealing with his children—calm, understanding, patient. The voice of a man who had spent his entire life shepherding lost souls, guiding them back toward whatever warmth they had strayed from.
The voice of a grandfather.
Aelius almost laughed.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he took another step forward. "The grandfather act isn't going to work on me, old man."
Makarov raised a brow. "Oh? And why's that?"
Aelius tilted his head slightly, his eyes darkening. "Because as of recent, there's only one person I hate more than my actual grandfather."
For the first time, Makarov's expression shifted—not in anger, not in offense, but in something quiet. Something almost… sad.
Aelius didn't care.
He stepped closer, his gaze unrelenting. "So unless you plan on lecturing me about the importance of friendship or whatever sentimental nonsense you've prepared for this conversation, I'd suggest you get to the point."
The silence between them stretched, thick and unspoken.
Makarov didn't move, didn't react—not at first.
And then, to Aelius's absolute irritation, he smiled.
A slow, knowing smile, one that held neither amusement nor pity—just understanding.
And that?
That made Aelius hate this even more.
Aelius's expression remained flat, but his fingers twitched at his sides, the faintest flicker of irritation curling in his chest.
Makarov's smile didn't waver.
"You know," the old man mused, stroking his beard as if this were just another casual conversation, "for someone who likes to be left alone, you sure know how to make an entrance."
Aelius said nothing, but his eyes flickered with something dangerous.
Makarov exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Your little walk hasn't exactly gone unnoticed, my boy." He gestured vaguely to the destruction surrounding them—the withered trees, the splintered ground, the lingering rot that still clung to the very air. "In fact, you've drawn quite the crowd."
Aelius barely resisted the urge to scoff. "Let them watch."
Makarov gave him a look—one that, despite its casual nature, carried the weight of authority, the kind of authority that came with decades of leading Fairy Tail, of negotiating with the Magic Council, of keeping his guild intact despite every catastrophe it attracted.
Aelius hated that look.
"And what exactly do you think would happen if I had let them come?" Makarov continued, his voice even but pointed. "You think the Council would just sit back and ignore this?"
Aelius didn't respond, but he knew the answer.
No.
They wouldn't.
Makarov sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It took a lot of convincing on my part to keep them from sending someone else. Or worse—" His eyes darkened slightly. "—from sending an execution squad."
Aelius finally spoke, his voice low and unimpressed. "Wouldn't be the first time someone tried."
Makarov sighed again, his small frame somehow carrying the weight of a man twice his size. "No, it wouldn't. But I'd rather not have my guild involved in a war because you decided to take a casual stroll while radiating enough death magic to terrify an entire region."
Aelius tilted his head slightly. "You act like I care what they do."
Makarov's brow furrowed. "You should."
Aelius scoffed. "And why's that?"
Makarov's voice didn't rise, but there was something in it now, something firm.
"Because the people you left behind still do."
That made Aelius pause.
Not because he believed it.
But because he wanted to call it a lie.
And he couldn't.
Not entirely.
Makarov folded his arms, watching him carefully. "You don't have to believe me, boy. But the fact that I'm here instead of someone less forgiving should tell you all you need to know."
Aelius rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly, the anger still burning, still festering beneath his skin. "And? What exactly do you expect me to do with that information?"
Makarov didn't hesitate.
"Come home."
Aelius let out a short, bitter laugh, the sound devoid of anything real.
Home.
Like Fairy Tail had ever been that to him.
Like he hadn't walked away from it years ago.
Like he hadn't learned his lesson about trusting anything that could be taken away from him.
Aelius's laughter faded into the morning air, brittle and cold, leaving behind nothing but the weight of unspoken words.
His green eyes—narrowed slightly, the glow of his corrupted magic flickering faintly behind them.
"Home?" His voice carried no humor, only exhaustion laced with venom. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Makarov didn't flinch. "It's what it's always been."
Aelius tilted his head, his expression unreadable. His magic pulsed in slow, deliberate waves, curling outward, poisoning the earth in sluggish tendrils as if even the land itself rejected the word.
"You say that as if it ever mattered to me."
Makarov's gaze didn't waver. "Didn't it?"
Aelius exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, his patience thinning. His fingers flexed at his sides, curling once, then uncurling. "You're wasting your time, old man. I don't belong there. I never did."
Makarov sighed, rubbing his forehead again, but there was no true frustration in it—just an age-old weariness. "That's your anger talking, boy. Not the truth."
That almost made Aelius smile.
Almost.
He stepped forward, closing the space between them, his presence a slow, creeping weight against the world around them. The air thickened, not just with magic, but with the raw stench of decay—not of flesh, but of something fundamental, something that corroded at the very concept of permanence.
"Tell me, Master," Aelius murmured, the title edged with something sharp, something mocking, "do you actually think I can walk back into that place? Sit at the same tables? Pretend nothing's changed?"
His putrid green eyes gleamed in the dim light of the rising sun. "Or are you just hoping that if you say the right words, I'll forget what I am?"
Makarov's face remained unreadable.
Then, slowly, the old man shook his head.
"No, my boy," he said quietly. "I just hope you'll remember who you are before there's nothing left of him."
The words struck something in Aelius—something distant, something buried.
Makarov studied him carefully, his gaze sharp despite the weariness in his features. Aelius had always been a controlled person, restrained even in the worst of times. He wasn't one to lash out recklessly, nor was he prone to emotional outbursts.
But today?
Today, something snapped.
Something had made him lose that grip, and whatever it was, it had to be deep.
So, before Aelius could respond, before he could throw up his walls again and bury whatever had almost surfaced, Makarov spoke.
"What happened?"
Aelius stilled.
Not in the way of someone startled, but in the way of someone who did not want to answer.
Makarov didn't let the silence stretch.
"I don't mean the destruction," he continued, his tone softer now, but still firm. "You've always been dangerous, boy. But this—" He gestured vaguely to the ruin around them, the long, rotted path Aelius had carved into the land—"this isn't just power running unchecked."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "This is anger. And not the kind that fades overnight."
Aelius scoffed, though there was little amusement in it.
"What, suddenly you're concerned?" His putrid green eyes flicked toward the old man, sharp with something unspoken. "I was dangerous before I left. You didn't seem too worried then."
Makarov's brow furrowed. "You were dangerous, yes. But you weren't like this."
Aelius exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
He didn't want to have this conversation.
But Makarov wasn't going to let it go.
"…Someone pushed you too far," the old man guessed. "Didn't they?"
Aelius's jaw clenched.
Makarov's gaze didn't waver. "Who was it?"
Aelius could feel the words rising in his throat, sharp and bitter and seething, but he swallowed them down.
Vanessa's voice still echoed in his skull.
"I thought it would make you happy."
He let out a slow breath through his nose.
"No one important," he said flatly.
Makarov hummed, unconvinced. "And yet, you walked across half a region rotting the world beneath your feet over 'no one important'?"
Aelius's fingers twitched at his sides.
He could feel it again—that slow, creeping irritation that always came when people tried to pry.
Makarov wasn't wrong.
But that didn't mean Aelius had to give him anything.
So instead, he did what he did best.
He shut down.
He rolled his shoulders, his expression evening out, the raw fury that had been simmering beneath the surface sinking back into something unreadable.
"I don't have time for this."
He moved to walk past Makarov, but the old man didn't step aside.
"I think you do."
Aelius stopped just short of him, his eyes dark and unreadable.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, finally, Aelius spoke.
His voice was quiet.
Low.
And cold.
"I don't think you'd like the answer."
Makarov held his gaze.
Makarov held his gaze, unwavering despite the weight of Aelius's words. Despite the cold finality in them.
The words weren't a challenge.
They weren't a warning.
They were a fact.
But Makarov, ever steady, merely exhaled, his expression unreadable.
"You don't have to tell me something I'd like," he said simply. "Just tell me the truth."
Aelius's lips curled into something bitter, something that barely qualified as a smile.
The truth.
It was such a small request.
And yet, it held so much weight.
He tilted his head slightly, his putrid green eyes gleaming in the morning light, his breath slow and measured as he let the words settle between them.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"She tried to bring him back."
The air itself seemed to shift, as if the very world had tensed at his words.
Makarov's brow furrowed slightly. "…Who?"
Aelius exhaled through his nose. "Vanessa." His voice was flat, devoid of anything but simmering resentment. "She tried to resurrect Alaric."
For the first time since their conversation started, Makarov blinked, his composure faltering ever so slightly.
"…I see," he said, after a pause.
Aelius let out a sharp, humorless chuckle. "Do you?"
Makarov was quiet for a long moment, studying him carefully.
"No," he admitted. "Not entirely."
Aelius scoffed. At least the old man was honest.
Makarov folded his arms, his expression darkening. "And I take it… you stopped her."
Aelius didn't answer immediately.
He just stared at him, gaze unreadable.
Then, slowly, he said, "I made sure she won't try again."
Makarov didn't ask how.
Didn't need to.
He just nodded, slow and deliberate.
Then, after another pause, he sighed.
"Well, boy," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "That would explain the temper tantrum."
Aelius's eyes darkened at the remark, his irritation flaring, but it was dulled by exhaustion. He let out a slow exhale through his nose, barely restraining the flicker of magic that wanted to lash out in response.
A temper tantrum?
That's what Makarov thought this was?
Aelius rolled his shoulders, the movement slow, deliberate. "If that's what you want to call it, old man, go ahead. Doesn't change anything."
Makarov just shook his head. "No, it doesn't." His smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable. "But it does tell me just how much this got to you."
Aelius's fingers twitched at his sides.
That damn knowing tone.
That patient, understanding voice that made his teeth grind.
He turned his gaze away, staring out at the ruined path behind him. The remnants of his magic still hung thick in the air, the rot settling deep into the earth, making it clear that nothing would grow here for a very, very long time.
What was he supposed to say?
That it hadn't gotten to him?
That he had walked away from Vanessa's ritual unaffected?
That he had let it go?
The very thought was laughable.
His fists clenched at his sides, nails pressing deep into his palms. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "It's done."
Makarov tilted his head slightly. "Is it?"
Aelius's jaw tightened.
"I stopped her." His voice was sharp, cutting. "I destroyed the ritual. I made sure she understood exactly what kind of mistake she made." His gaze flicked back to Makarov, his putrid green eyes glowing in the dim morning light. "What more do you expect from me?"
Makarov held his gaze for a moment before sighing. "I expect you to know better than to lie to yourself, boy."
Aelius scoffed, the sound edged with something bitter. "And what exactly do you think I'm lying about?"
Makarov's expression didn't change.
"That it doesn't matter."
Aelius went still.
His magic pulsed at the words, unbidden, unrestrained, seeping out in slow, curling tendrils that slithered along the ground. The rot spread an inch further, hungrier, feeding on his unspoken fury.
Because Makarov was right.
And that infuriated him.
Aelius exhaled sharply, forcing his magic back under control. His fingers twitched again, this time not from anger, but from something more complicated, something more frustrating.
He wanted this conversation to end.
He wanted to walk away.
But something about the way Makarov was looking at him made him hesitate.
Not because he wanted to talk.
But because Makarov wasn't pushing him away.
Wasn't afraid of him.
Even now, even after all this time, he still stood there, waiting.
And that—that—was almost more unbearable than anything Vanessa had done.
The tension in the air thickened, pressing against both of them like an unspoken weight. He didn't turn to face Makarov, didn't need to. The old man was still standing there, still watching him, still waiting—as if he had all the time in the world, as if Aelius's anger and venom didn't faze him in the slightest.
It grated at him.
It infuriated him.
He let out a sharp breath, rolling his shoulders before speaking.
"…Tell me, old man." His voice was low, steady, but beneath it was something deeper—something simmering. "Have you ever had someone die because of your own weakness?"
Makarov didn't answer immediately.
Aelius finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of his glowing, putrid green eyes. "Not just a soldier. Not just a guildmate. Someone who actually mattered." His voice sharpened, edged with something almost dangerous. "Someone you actually trusted. Someone who believed in you."
Makarov's expression didn't change.
Aelius scoffed. "Of course not."
"I have."
The words stopped Aelius mid-step.
He turned fully now, his expression unreadable, though something flickered behind his sharp gaze.
Makarov wasn't smiling. Wasn't smirking.
For the first time in their conversation, the weight of age settled into his features, into the tired slope of his shoulders, into the deep lines around his eyes.
"Aye," Makarov said simply. "More than once."
Aelius studied him, searching for a lie, for some forced wisdom, for the patronizing tone he expected from a man like him.
He didn't find it.
Makarov exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the horizon. "You think I don't know what it's like?" His voice was calm, even, but not without weight. "To stand in the wreckage of your own failures? To watch someone you should have protected slip through your fingers because you weren't strong enough?"
Aelius said nothing.
Makarov's brow furrowed slightly. "You act like you're the only one who's ever lost something, boy."
Aelius's jaw tightened. "I don't."
Makarov tilted his head. "Then why do you wear it like a curse?"
Aelius scoffed. "Because it is."
Makarov hummed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "So that's it, then? You just carry it with you, let it fester, let it rot inside you?" His eyes flicked pointedly to the poisoned earth at Aelius's feet. "Let it destroy everything you touch?"
Aelius's fingers twitched.
He wasn't sure what bothered him more—the fact that Makarov was saying it, or the fact that it was true.
He exhaled sharply. "It doesn't matter."
Makarov gave him a long, steady look.
"…You really believe that?"
Aelius's expression darkened. "I don't have the luxury of thinking otherwise."
Makarov sighed. "And that is where you're wrong."
Aelius turned away again, shaking his head. "I'm done with this conversation."
Makarov didn't stop him.
But he did speak once more.
"I don't expect you to listen, boy." His voice was quieter now, but not any less firm. "But I do expect you to think about it."
Aelius didn't answer.
Didn't look back.
He just kept walking.
Makarov didn't let him leave in silence.
The old man fell into step beside Aelius, his pace shorter but steady, his presence unwavering. He didn't push, didn't force the conversation back to the raw wound they had just uncovered.
Instead, he started talking.
Not about Alaric. Not about Vanessa. Not about the Magic Council or Fairy Tail or any of the things Aelius had braced himself to hear.
No.
Makarov started talking about the most mundane things imaginable.
"The price of apples has gone up, you know," he mused, hands tucked behind his back as if this were a casual stroll through town instead of a trek through a wasteland of Aelius's own making. "Ridiculous, if you ask me. Back in my day, you could get a whole bag for a couple of Jewels. Now, if you want the good ones, you're practically paying enough to fund an entire festival."
Aelius said nothing.
Makarov kept going.
"Speaking of festivals, Mira's been putting together something big for this year. Said it was time to 'brighten things up.'" He chuckled. "The guild's been getting too serious lately, according to her."
Still, Aelius didn't respond.
Makarov didn't seem to mind.
He continued on, talking about everything and nothing. The last time Elfman broke a table in the guildhall. How Cana had somehow won three drinking contests in a row against challengers who really should have known better.
He talked as if Aelius hadn't spent the last several years away. As if he hadn't just left the day prior.
As if Aelius wasn't a stranger.
As if Aelius was still one of them.
And for a while, Aelius just let him talk.
Let the words wash over him, let them blend into the background noise of his thoughts, let them exist without truly acknowledging them.
It was easier that way.
Easier to just ignore it.
And yet—
Somewhere along the way, the irritation that had burned at the back of his mind started to dull.
The anger was still there. The resentment, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened—none of that had faded. But the sheer grating frustration of Makarov's presence had… lessened.
Because the old man wasn't prying anymore.
He was just there.
And maybe that's what finally made Aelius break the silence.
Maybe it was because he wanted the old man to shut up, or maybe it was because, deep down, he was still looking for answers he didn't want to admit he needed.
But eventually, he asked.
"Why are you here?"
Makarov didn't pause.
Didn't even blink.
He just kept walking beside him, hands still tucked behind his back, voice still as casual as ever.
"Because someone had to be."
Aelius frowned slightly, his putrid green eyes flicking toward him.
"That's not an answer."
Makarov hummed, as if considering something. "No, I suppose it isn't."
Aelius exhaled sharply through his nose. "Then give me one that actually means something."
Makarov finally glanced up at him, expression calm but unreadable.
"Why do you think I'm here?"
Aelius hated when people did that.
Aelius's eyes narrowed, his putrid green gaze flickering with irritation. He hated when people answered a question with a question. It was a cheap deflection, a way to turn the weight of a conversation back on the one asking.
And worse—he knew that Makarov wasn't doing it just to irritate him.
He wanted Aelius to think about it.
To actually consider the answer.
Which only made him more annoyed.
He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "I think," he muttered, voice edged with dry irritation, "that you're too damn stubborn to leave things alone."
Makarov chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Aye. That might be part of it."
Aelius shot him a sideways glance. "And the rest?"
Makarov hummed, tilting his head slightly. "The rest?" He let the words linger for a moment, as if weighing his next statement. "The rest is simple, boy. You may not believe it, but Fairy Tail has always looked after its own. Even when they walk away."
Aelius scoffed. "Is that what you're calling this? Looking after me?" He gestured vaguely to the ruined forest around them, the lingering traces of his decay still sinking into the earth, poisoning the land beneath their feet. "You sure took your time, then."
Makarov didn't take the bait.
Instead, he let out another sigh, one that carried more weight than Aelius was willing to acknowledge.
"You think I didn't notice when you left, boy?" His voice wasn't reprimanding, wasn't accusing—it was just steady. "You think I didn't see what you were doing? How you still push people away? How you made sure there was no one left to stop you from walking out that door?"
Aelius's fingers twitched at his sides.
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Makarov already knew.
The old man exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You never understood, boy. Fairy Tail isn't the kind of place you just leave. It doesn't work like that."
Aelius let out a short, sharp laugh—mocking, bitter. "It did for me."
Makarov's gaze remained steady. "And yet, here we are."
That shut Aelius up.
Because he wasn't wrong.
Despite everything, despite the years, despite the distance he had placed between himself and the guild—they always came back, didn't they?
Not physically. Not always.
But in moments like this.
When he had done nothing but burn bridges and carve ruin into the land, when he had walked away again and again, when he had made damn sure there was no reason for anyone to follow—
Makarov had still shown up.
Not to drag him back.
Not to beg him to return.
Just to be here.
And that?
That was almost worse.
Aelius exhaled, pressing a hand to his temple. "This conversation is exhausting."
Makarov smirked. "Good. That means you're actually listening."
Aelius shot him a look.
Makarov just kept walking.
Aelius's voice cut through the silence, as unexpected as it was blunt, his words piercing the calm between them.
"Did Strauss ever tell you about the argument we had before I left?" The question was casual, as if it didn't matter, but there was a weight to it that hung in the air, heavier than any magic he could summon.
Makarov's brow furrowed slightly, his steps slowing. There was a moment of quiet as the old man considered Aelius, a flicker of concern crossing his features.
"Mira…" Makarov sighed, the words slow and deliberate. "I wish you wouldn't call her that." There was a certain weariness in his tone, a deep, tired quality.
Aelius didn't flinch, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. His gaze shifted briefly to the ground, as if considering Makarov's words, but then he lifted his eyes back to the old man.
"I'll call her what I want," Aelius muttered, his tone edged with bitterness. "I don't owe her anything, and you know it. She's Strauss. She's lucky I even call her that."
Makarov let out a low, almost sorrowful sigh, shaking his head. "I didn't think that at all," he said softly, his voice laced with a quiet regret. "I just know it isn't easy to be on the outside of things. And Mira—she fought for you, Aelius. She tried."
Aelius halted in his tracks, as if time itself had slowed down, his body frozen in place, his magic cutting off abruptly. The air around them seemed to still, as though the world itself held its breath. He turned slowly, his mask long since gone, leaving his face truly exposed to Makarov for the first time in years.
His eyes, a putrid green that flickered with something dark, locked onto Makarov's with an intensity that could burn through anything.
"She tried," Aelius's voice was soft, barely a whisper, but the words seemed to reverberate with a quiet weight. Makarov strained to hear, his old ears fighting to catch the barely audible words.
"She tried," Aelius repeated, his voice almost a growl this time, but still soft, like a thread of something fragile fraying at the edges.
The stillness stretched between them, and for a moment, Makarov thought he might never speak again. But then, Aelius's voice cracked through the silence, full of raw fury, the words biting like a blade.
"SHE TRIED." The words lashed out, sharper than any weapon, his fists clenching at his sides. "THE ONLY THING SHE TRIED TO DO WAS KILL ME, AND EVEN THEN, I'D SAY SHE SUCCEEDED!"
The venom in his words hung heavy in the air, his eyes burning with rage. It was as though Aelius had been holding this back for so long, and now, with Makarov standing before him, it was all spilling out—every ounce of betrayal, every shred of resentment.
His chest heaved as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions that swirled within him, but it was clear that something in his words had broken open the dam that had kept him silent for so long.
Makarov, for all his years of experience, found himself speechless, a lump rising in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything, to offer some comfort, but the weight of Aelius's words held him in place. How could he defend Mira? How could he argue with someone who had clearly been hurt so deeply, someone whose trust had been shattered beyond repair?
Aelius's gaze never wavered, the anger and the hurt clear in every line of his face. "You think she cared?" he spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "You think she ever cared about me? She never cared. She used me, just like everyone else."
Aelius's gaze dropped to the ground, his breath catching for a moment before he released a bitter laugh. It wasn't a laugh of humor, no—it was hollow, the kind of laugh born from the weight of unbearable history.
"I'd be dead if it wasn't for this godforsaken curse," he murmured, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. The sound that escaped his lips was ragged, as though his very soul had been shredded too many times. His chest heaved slightly, as if the act of even speaking those words took more out of him than he cared to admit. "Literally too. A god gave it to me."
He looked up suddenly, his green eyes piercing as he met Makarov's gaze. "Would you like to know what she said to me, Master?" His voice was low, venomous. "Would you like to know the words that bound me to this hell? The words that destroyed everything I thought I knew about loyalty and friendship? The words that made me walk away from Fairy Tail, from everything."
Makarov didn't respond, his silence heavy, but Aelius didn't wait for permission to continue.
"She told me I was weak," Aelius spat, his voice barely controlled now. "She told me that my magic was nothing—that I would never amount to anything but a broken tool. All because I beat her in the S-Class trials."
A pause. Aelia's expression twisted as his fists clenched at his sides, the memory of her words igniting a new wave of fury.
"She said to me, 'You'll never be more than a liability, Aelius. A little boy with too much power and no idea how to wield it.' She told me my magic was just a joke, a joke that couldn't save anyone. And then..." He almost couldn't say it, but the words poured out as his anger reached its peak, his voice like acid. "She told me to go fuck myself. To use my curse for all it's worth and rot alone. She hoped I'd die because the world would be better off without me."
His words hung in the air, sharp and jagged like shattered glass. His fists trembled at his sides, the tension in his body threatening to snap. For a moment, the dark magic swirling inside him seemed ready to flare up once more, as if the very power he had been cursed with could erupt in a violent outburst.
"All because I took S-Class from her," Aelius continued, his voice growing softer, quieter, as the weight of it all sank in. "All I wanted was to celebrate... and look at me now."
The last words were barely a whisper, as though the admission itself had drained the last remnants of energy from his soul. His shoulders sagged slightly, the pain of that moment, the rejection, still lingering far too vividly in his mind.
Makarov, having watched the raw emotion spill from Aelius, gave a grunt of exertion and, with surprising agility for his age, hopped onto Aelius's shoulder. It was a move that caught the younger man off guard, but he made no motion to shake him off.
Makarov settled there, his weight a strange comfort on Aelius's tense frame, though his voice carried a depth of wisdom.
"You're still carrying that weight, huh?" Makarov's tone was steady, but there was an underlying softness that betrayed his years of experience. "I always knew you were a stubborn one, but it's like you're wearing your past like armor, trying to shield yourself from the world. But it's making you more and more of a prisoner."
Aelius tensed beneath him, his mind already sharpening into a defensive posture, but Makarov didn't flinch.
"Don't act like you're the only one who's lost something precious, Aelius. I know it hurts. I know that pain. But not everyone around you is a reflection of the past you can't escape. And Mira—"
His voice dropped, his words softened, yet they held an undeniable weight, "Mira's just a person too. She has her regrets, her failures. But at least she tried, and she's still here, willing to work through what happened. She never stopped caring about you, no matter what you think."
Aelius remained silent, his jaw tightening. But Makarov continued, his voice more insistent, quieter now, almost as if speaking to himself.
"You can hate her for what she did, sure. But you're letting that hate fester inside of you, and that's what's really hurting you. You're making her a villain when she's far from that."
Aelius's green eyes flickered, something in him stirred by the words, but he refused to acknowledge it fully. His eyes still burned with the bitterness of everything that had happened, everything he had lost.
Makarov sighed, his voice growing softer, almost coaxing.
"You've been alone for too long, boy. That curse, that anger... it isn't your only identity. You don't have to let it define you forever." He paused. "The real question is, what are you going to do with it? With all of it?"
Aelius's hand clenched into a fist once more, and his breath came out in a shallow exhale. There was so much anger—so much pain. But something about Makarov's words seemed to find their way through, a crack in the armor he'd built around himself. For a fleeting moment, he almost wished it wasn't so hard to let go.
But he wouldn't say that out loud. Not yet.
"Do whatever you want," Aelius muttered under his breath, his voice rough. "I'm not asking for a resolution, Makarov. I don't need your pity."
Makarov didn't reply right away. Instead, he simply sat there, letting Aelius work through his thoughts.
But then, after a long pause, the older man spoke again, this time with a knowing tone.
"Maybe it's not pity, Aelius. Maybe it's just someone trying to remind you that there's still time. That you're still you, even if you don't feel like it right now."
Aelius, still seething, kept his gaze forward, unwilling to let Makarov see the crack in his resolve.
But for the first time in a long while, the weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter. Even if only for a moment.
Aelius's words hung heavy in the air, bitter and cutting. His gaze didn't waver as he met Makarov's eyes, filled with a mix of resignation and quiet fury.
"Why are you trying so hard, Makarov?" Aelius's voice was low, rough with the weight of unspoken thoughts. "The Magic Council is going to hound you, not me. They'll send someone, and the guild... they won't stop asking questions about what happened. It would be easier to just let me walk away. Let me be."
He took a step back, a faint grimace pulling at his lips, his eyes narrowing as he flicked a glance toward the rest of the guild. It wasn't just the Magic Council that would be a problem. It would be the endless questions, the stares, the whispers. The guild that he'd once been a part of—his guild—would demand answers. They'd want explanations for his sudden disappearance, his sudden return, and every bit of damage in between.
Makarov stood unwavering on Aelius's shoulder, watching him with a quiet intensity, as if trying to read the storm brewing behind those glowing eyes.
"Why bother?" Aelius repeated, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. "You know what will happen. You know it will only cause more pain for everyone involved. For you."
The words hung in the air between them, and Aelius felt the familiar coldness creep up his spine. It would be easier for all of them to simply let him go—let him fade into the void he'd come from.
Makarov, however, remained silent for a moment, looking down at Aelius with a mixture of frustration and understanding. Then, when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but it held the weight of experience and something more—something like a quiet plea.
"Because I care, Aelius," Makarov said softly. "I care about you. I know it may not seem like it right now, but I've seen you become something... darker than I ever thought you could be. And I refuse to just let you walk away from this—walk away from us."
Aelius let out a scoffing laugh, his eyes flashing with bitterness.
"Us? You think I could ever be a part of that again?" His voice cracked slightly, the anger barely contained behind the words. "You think I can just walk back in there, as if nothing ever happened? As if I wasn't broken, as if—"
"As if you don't matter anymore?" Makarov interrupted, his tone cutting through Aelius's spiraling thoughts. "You think I don't see it? That I don't know what's happened to you, what you've gone through? You're not the only one who's had to make difficult choices. But what you're doing—what you're planning to do—it won't help you heal. It won't fix a damn thing."
Aelius stood motionless for a moment, trying to hold onto the anger. The world had never made sense to him, and his heart had hardened in a way that no one could undo. But somehow, Makarov's words seemed to chip away at the cold wall he'd built around himself.
"You think I don't care?" Aelius said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm done caring. Caring only brings more hurt."
"Then why are you still here?" Makarov's question was direct, as if he already knew the answer. "Why haven't you just walked away already, if you've given up on everything?"
Aelius looked away, his breath shallow. He didn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but there was a part of him, deep down, that still longed for something more. That still wanted something beyond the endless cycle of pain and loss.
But then the memories flooded him again—the pain, the betrayal, the loss. The moments that had shaped him into what he was now. His fists clenched at his sides, but his voice remained steady.
"You don't get it," he muttered, his gaze darkening as he looked past Makarov, back toward the guild. "You think I care about your damn guild, about them? It's the same thing every time. I get close, I start caring, and then—boom—it all falls apart. I'm better off on my own."
The old man's gaze softened, but there was a trace of something like sadness in his eyes.
"You're wrong," Makarov said quietly. "It'll never be the same again. But that doesn't mean you should shut everyone out. It doesn't mean you have to keep carrying this burden alone."
Aelius's eyes flickered, but before he could respond, Makarov continued, his voice more forceful now.
"I'm the one who'll have to answer their questions when they ask about you. I'm the one who'll face the Magic Council's wrath. It'll be my head on the chopping block, not yours. You think they'll let this slide? They'll hound me for answers. The guild won't stop until I explain. I'll have to tell them something, and the moment I say anything, they'll want the truth. All of it. I'll never be able to protect you, not in the way I want, if you keep pushing everyone away."
Aelius's eyes narrowed as the reality of Makarov's words settled into his mind.
"You'd do that for me?" Aelius's voice was strained, his anger and disbelief mixing into a bitter cocktail. "You'd sacrifice yourself for me? For someone who doesn't even care anymore?"
Makarov met his gaze steadily, his expression serious but not without warmth.
"Yes. Because despite everything you've gone through, despite what you've become, you're still one of us. And I'll be damned if I let you destroy yourself just because you think you're alone."
Aelius didn't respond right away. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind churning with everything that had led him here—every bitter, twisted choice, every broken promise.
Makarov's words rattled him, but the knot in his stomach remained tight. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being pulled in two directions, torn between the remnants of his past and the crushing weight of his future.
Aelius let out a sharp exhale, turning his head slightly to the side as if the words Makarov had spoken were an irritant rather than a revelation. His fist clenched at his side, but he didn't lash out. Instead, he scoffed, a twisted smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
"Dammit, you're good at this, aren't you?" Aelius's voice was filled with a bitter humor that masked the confusion he didn't want to admit. "You really know how to twist things around, make it seem like you actually give a damn." He paused, shaking his head with mock disbelief. "All this talk about being one of us—it's like you've got this whole routine down, like you're the damn master of fixing broken people."
His words were heavy with irony, but there was an edge to them that betrayed the vulnerability he refused to show. Aelius took a step back, running a hand through his hair with frustration. The way Makarov made it sound so easy—like the solution to his pain was a matter of just opening up, letting go, accepting help—it made him sick.
Makarov stood there quietly, waiting for the anger to pass, his gaze unwavering but filled with understanding.
Aelius let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head again, the motion sharp as if he was trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. "You make it sound so damn simple. Like I can just walk back into the guild, throw away all this crap, and be 'one of you' again. Just like that?" His voice was laced with disbelief as he gestured vaguely toward the guild behind him. "Doesn't work like that, Makarov. You can't just 'fix' me by throwing a couple of heart-to-hearts at me."
Makarov's lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing. He didn't need to.
Aelius' expression softened just enough for the tiredness to show through the cracks of his anger. He looked back at the ground, his hands now resting at his sides. "It's just... easier to be pissed off," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible now. "Easier than trying to believe in anything. Easier than letting myself fall for your damn 'savior' routine." He glanced up again, his eyes sharp. "But hell, maybe that's just part of the curse too. Everything's easier when you stop caring, right?"
Makarov didn't reply immediately. He just let the silence stretch between them, the weight of Aelius's words settling in the air like a thick fog. It wasn't the kind of silence that demanded to be filled, but the kind that allowed for the truth to fester, to grow. Makarov had no intention of rushing it.
Finally, Aelius let out a long sigh, the fight leaving his body. "Yeah, you're good at this," he muttered again, his tone less bitter, but still wrapped in that layer of false anger. "Makes me want to punch you for it, but I know I'd get my ass kicked if I did."
Makarov gave a small, rueful smile, his voice low but steady. "Sometimes the best thing you can do is let someone else take the punch, Aelius."
Aelius didn't say anything, but the words—let someone else take the punch—stayed with him.
As they continued their walk down the path, the world around them seemed quieter, though the tension still hung thick in the air. Aelius's strides were slower now, his pace less angry, though the storm in his eyes hadn't quite faded. Makarov, perched on his shoulder as casually as ever, was silent for a long while, allowing Aelius the space to process the battle raging in his mind.
The forest around them seemed unchanged, the trees still swaying gently in the breeze, their leaves fluttering softly in the late afternoon light. Aelius felt the weight of the curse in every step he took, the magic still thrumming within him, an ever-present reminder of what he had become and why he couldn't seem to outrun the past. The anger, the resentment, and the raw bitterness still burned in the pit of his stomach, but it was different now. His mind felt heavier, burdened by something more—something deeper than just the surface rage.
Makarov glanced up at him, his eyes wise, his posture calm. "I know it's not easy, Aelius," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I never said it would be."
Aelius didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced out across the horizon, his gaze distant. The words hung there, between them, unspoken but understood. Makarov's patience was wearing thin; he knew Aelius too well to think that all this anger would just disappear. But there was something in the air now, something less hostile about him.
After a long silence, Aelius stopped walking. He placed a hand on his mask, as if to adjust it, though it was already perfectly in place. The weight of his gaze shifted back to the older man.
"You've got some nerve, Makarov," he muttered, though the venom in his voice had dulled. He turned slightly, just enough to make it clear he wasn't dismissing Makarov's presence. "You think you can just fix me with some fancy words and a few lessons in humility?"
Makarov's expression softened. "I don't want to fix you, Aelius. I never did. There's never been anything to fix." He looked over at Aelius, the smile tugging at his lips. "But I do want you to understand that you don't have to carry this alone."
Aelius's eyes narrowed, the coldness returning for just a moment. "You don't know what it's like," he muttered, his tone low, as though speaking to himself. "You don't know what it feels like to live on eggshells, to be betrayed over what should have been a happy time. To lose it all..."
Makarov stayed quiet, watching him intently.
Aelius sighed deeply and finally relented, the weariness in his voice clearer now. "Fine. I'll bite." He looked up at Makarov, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You want me to come back to Fairy Tail, to be part of the guild again? What would that even mean for me? What am I supposed to be to you all?"
Makarov shrugged, as though the question itself didn't have a simple answer. "You don't need to be anything. You don't need to fit some mold or live up to anyone's expectations. Just... come back and see what happens. I'm not asking you to forget everything that's happened. But at least give it a chance. We're here for you, Aelius. You don't have to be a monster to us. You don't have to be alone."
The words landed heavier than Aelius had expected, cutting through the wall he had carefully built around himself. He didn't speak for a long time, his thoughts a mess of frustration and confusion. The coldness that had defined him for so long was beginning to feel like a burden rather than a shield.
"I don't know if I can just... let go," Aelius finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's too much, Makarov. I've done so much. I don't even know where I stand anymore."
Makarov's voice was softer now, almost fatherly in its tone. "Sometimes, Aelius, standing still isn't the answer. You don't have to have it all figured out right away. You just have to take one step at a time. And know that you're not alone in taking it."
Aelius stayed quiet for a long while. The weight of Makarov's words felt like a stone sinking deeper into the pit of his chest. Slowly, with a deep breath, Aelius finally let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
"Maybe I can try," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But don't expect miracles."
Makarov's smile was small, but it reached his eyes. "One step at a time, Aelius. That's all I'm asking for."
With a reluctant nod, Aelius began walking again, his pace slow but steady. For the first time in a long while, it felt like the path ahead wasn't completely clouded with darkness. Maybe there was a small sliver of light, just enough to guide him through.