The moon hung high over Magnolia, a silent witness to the raucous aftermath of the "Battle of the Barren Lands." The Fairy Tail guild hall was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of lantern light, but for once, the usual chaotic brawling had subsided into a sympathetic, drunken murmur.
Now everyone is in the guild, but the energy was centered around the bar, where a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions was unfolding.
Gildarts is sitting on the barstool, drinking, sulking, and crying. The strongest mage in the West, the man who had just split the sky in a clash of wills, was currently reduced to a puddle of paternal misery. He hugged a massive tankard of ale as if it were a life preserver in a sea of sorrow. Tears streamed down his stubbly cheeks, splashing onto the bar counter.
"My little girl..." he sobbed, his voice thick and wavering. "She grew up too fast! One minute she's asking for uppie-do, and the next she's... she's holding hands with him! And she yelled at me! She said she wouldn't talk to me!"
Beside him are Macao, Wakaba, and Makarov, who are as drunk as Gildarts. They formed a circle of commiseration, acting as the Greek chorus to Gildarts's tragedy.
"I know, I know," Macao slurred, patting Gildarts roughly on the back. "It happens to the best of us, buddy. Romeo... he's gonna start dating soon. I'm not ready! I'll break the kid's legs! No, I can't do that..."
"At least she picked a strong one," Wakaba offered, puffing on a pipe that had gone out ten minutes ago. "Could be worse. Could be... well, anyone else in this guild, actually. Imagine if she picked Natsu. The heating bill alone..."
Makarov, whose face was a bright, beet red, hiccuped loudly. "It's the circle of life, Gildarts! Hic! You leave for three years, things change! But look on the bright side... Blake is rich! He can pay for the wedding! He can fix the wall you broke!"
"DON'T SAY THE 'W' WORD!" Gildarts wailed, slamming his head onto the counter. "I'm not ready to be a grandfather! I'm still in my prime!"
Meanwhile, Cana was full-on drinking with Blake by her side as they talked with him. They were sitting at a table near the window, slightly removed from the epicenter of the drama, but clearly visible.
Cana looked radiant, flushed not just with alcohol but with relief. She leaned into Blake, whispering something in his ear that made him chuckle and wrap his arm tighter around her waist.
When Gildarts saw that scene, he cries more loudly. It was a sound like a wounded banshee.
"LOOK AT THEM!" Gildarts pointed a shaking finger. "He's whispering sweet nothings! He's corrupting her! Oh, the humanity! My innocent flower!"
"There, there," Macao soothed, refilling his mug. "Drink the pain away, Clive. Drink it away."
The night wore on. The barrels emptied. Then, after Gildarts gets knocked out from drinking—his head hitting the bar with a definitive thud that shook the glasses—the vigil ended.
"Alright," Macao grunted, hoisting one of Gildarts's massive arms over his shoulder. "He's out. Operation 'Drag the Ace Home' is a go."
"Heavy..." Wakaba complained, taking the other arm.
Macao and Wakaba take him to his house, struggling under the weight of the unconscious wizard, leaving a trail of muttered complaints as they exited the guild.
Blake stood up, stretching. He looked down at Cana, who was sleepy but happy.
"Ready?"
"Carry me?" she asked, holding up her arms.
Blake smirked, scooped her up effortlessly, and walked toward the door.
"Goodnight, Master," Blake called out.
Whereas Cana and Blake leave to Blake's house, disappearing into the night, leaving Makarov alone to mutter about youth, repair bills, and the inevitable headaches of tomorrow.
---
The morning sun brought a harsh light to the guild hall, chasing away the shadows of the drunken revelry. The mood, however, was notably subdued.
The next day morning, Gildarts was in the guild.
He wasn't drinking. He wasn't crying. He sat at a table in the back, his cloak pulled tight around him, his face shadowed and serious. The goofy, overprotective father of the previous night was gone. In his place sat the man who had survived a century-long impossible mission.
He raised a hand, signaling.
"Blake, Cana, Master, and Natsu, can we talk for a while?"
The four of them gathered around the table in Makarov's office. Natsu looked eager, hoping for a rematch. Cana looked concerned, sensing the shift in her father's demeanor. Blake was calm, his Observation Haki picking up the jagged, painful aura radiating from the Ace.
"Dad?" Cana asked softly. "You okay? You... drank a lot last night."
"I'm fine, Cana," Gildarts said, his voice raspy. He looked at Natsu, then at Blake. "I called you here because you need to know. The reason I returned. The reason the 100-Year Quest... failed."
The silence at the table was heavy. A 100-Year Quest was a legend. To fail it was unheard of for a mage of Gildarts's caliber.
"I made it far," Gildarts began, staring at the wood grain. "Further than anyone. I fought monsters you couldn't imagine. I crossed wastelands that drain your magic just by standing there. But then... I met him."
"Him?" Natsu asked.
"A dragon," Gildarts whispered. "A Black Dragon. Acnologia."
Natsu's eyes widened. "A dragon?! A real one?!"
"Not just a dragon," Gildarts said, his hand trembling slightly. "An apocalypse. It wasn't a fight, Natsu. It was an execution. I barely sensed him before he was on top of me. No magic worked. Nothing scratched him. In an instant... he took everything."
Gildarts stood up. He reached for the clasp of his cloak.
He let the cloak fall.
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room.
The left side of his body was... gone.
His left arm was missing from the shoulder down, replaced by a rudimentary wooden prosthetic. His left leg was also a wooden one. Scars—angry, jagged, and terrifying—ran across his chest and torso, marking where claws had nearly disemboweled him.
Hearing and seeing her father like that, Cana starts to cry.
Her hands flew to her mouth. The reality of it crashed into her. She didn't pay much attention yesterday as the tensions were high with the fight and the romance drama. And at night, Gildarts was very sad, and she wanted to give him some space to process the "boyfriend" news. She had assumed he was just tired, or hungover.
But this... this was mutilation. Her father, the invincible mountain, had been carved apart.
But now, seeing her dad like that, she hugs Gildarts and cries. She buried her face in his remaining shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt.
"Father..." she sobbed, the word slipping out, heavy with a renewed, terrified respect. "Father... I didn't know... I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay, Cana," Gildarts said softly, stroking her hair with his one good hand. "I'm alive. That's enough."
Meanwhile, when Natsu heard the term dragon, his first instinct was to go and ask the said dragon about Igneel.
The shock of the injury faded instantly, replaced by the single-minded obsession of a Dragon Slayer.
"A black dragon..." Natsu muttered, his eyes dilating. "He might know! He might know where Igneel is!"
Natsu turned toward the door. "Where is he, Gildarts?! Which way?!"
"Natsu, wait!" Makarov yelled.
"I'm going!" Natsu roared, fire igniting around his fists. And as Natsu started running toward the door, intending to hunt down the monster.
BONK.
A fist, coated in obsidian-black Haki, came down on top of Natsu's head with the force of a pile driver.
Blake bonks his head and stops him from chasing Acnologia.
Natsu face-planted into the floorboards, his legs twitching.
"Ow! Blake! What was that for?!" Natsu yelled, jumping up and rubbing the massive lump forming on his skull.
Blake stood in front of the door, his arms crossed, his expression terrifyingly cold. He wasn't smiling.
"Sit down, Natsu," Blake ordered.
"But the dragon! He might know Igneel! I can take him!"
"You think that's just a dragon?" Blake asked, his voice low. "That thing... it's not like Igneel. It's not like the wyverns we fight. Acnologia is the Dragon King. He doesn't talk to humans. He doesn't fight humans. He steps on them."
Blake pointed at Gildarts. "Look at him, Natsu. Gildarts is the strongest mage in this guild. He splits mountains by accident. And Acnologia took his limbs instantly. You wouldn't even be a snack. You would be dust."
Hearing about it, Natsu determines himself to kill the dragon. The fear didn't take root. Instead, a stubborn, fiery resolve hardened in his eyes.
"I don't care!" Natsu shouted. "If he's strong, I just have to get stronger! I'm a Dragon Slayer! I was raised to kill dragons! I'll find him, and I'll beat the answers out of him!"
"You're not listening," Blake said, stepping closer, his height looming over Natsu. "You are an ant thinking he can fight a hurricane. You aren't strong enough. You aren't fast enough. You aren't ready."
"My magic is made for this! It cuts scales! It eats fire! I'm the counter to dragons!"
"Magic creates the potential," Blake explained, his tone harsh but necessary. "But stats create the reality. You have to be powerful enough to pose a challenge to it. A dull knife is still a knife, but it won't cut a diamond. Right now, your magic would bounce off Acnologia's skin like rain. You wouldn't even scratch him."
Then Natsu clenched his fists, shaking with frustration and drive. "I have to try! Igneel might be gone because of him! I can't just sit here!"
Blake sighed. He looked at Gildarts, who gave a slight, grim nod. The boy needed a wall. A goal he could actually see.
"Fine," Blake said. "You want to hunt the King of Dragons?"
He leaned down, staring into Natsu's eyes.
Then Blake says, "You can chase after it only if you defeat me."
Natsu blinked. "You?"
"Me," Blake confirmed. "If you can't even put a scratch on me, Natsu... if you can't defeat me... then Acnologia won't even notice you exist."
Blake poked Natsu in the chest. "Prove your strength here. Prove you can beat one of the strongest mages in the guild. Then you can go get yourself killed by a dragon."
Hearing that, Natsu stops talking. The logic penetrated his thick skull. Blake was right. Blake was the benchmark. If he couldn't beat Blake, how could he beat a creature that ate magic?
Natsu looked at his hands. He looked at Gildarts's missing arm. He looked at Blake's confident, unbreakable stance.
"Fine," Natsu growled.
And then murmurs, "Just wait. A little more training... and I will surely defeat you. I'll beat you, then I'll beat Gildarts, and then I'll beat Acnologia!"
"I look forward to it," Blake said, stepping aside. "But until then... stay in the yard, puppy."
---
While the drama of dragons and lost limbs unfolded inside the guild, a different, quieter quest was taking place outside.
Meanwhile, on the streets of Magnolia, we can see Gajeel.
The Iron Dragon Slayer was walking down a back alley, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a scowl etched onto his face that was deeper than usual. He looked grumpy. He looked fierce.
But mostly, he looked lonely.
He kicked a tin can, sending it clattering against a brick wall.
"It doesn't make sense," he muttered to himself. "Why? Why am I the only one?"
He thought about the guild.
Natsu, the Fire Dragon Slayer, had Happy, a blue cat with wings who could fly and talk.
Wendy, the Sky Dragon Slayer, had Carla, a white cat with wings who could fly and talk (and lecture).
"I'm a Dragon Slayer too," Gajeel grumbled.
It was a matter of pride. It was a matter of cosmic balance. Where was his cat? Was he not worthy? Did the universe think Iron Dragons didn't need emotional support animals?
He turned a corner and saw a gathering of strays near a fishmonger's dumpster. His eyes lit up.
"Aha. The recruitment center."
He stalked toward the cats. The cats, sensing a predator made of iron and bad attitude, hissed and scattered.
"Hey! Wait!" Gajeel yelled, chasing them. "I'm not gonna eat you! I just want a partner!"
He managed to corner a large, fat tabby cat with one ear.
He inspects the cats which he found to see if they are magical like Happy and Carla.
Gajeel grabbed the tabby, lifting it to eye level. The cat went limp, staring at him with bored, yellow eyes.
"Alright," Gajeel said intensely. "Show me your wings. Fly. Say something. Calling me 'dumb' is acceptable."
The cat meowed.
"Meow? That's it?" Gajeel shook the cat gently. "Come on! Where's the magic? Where's the sass?"
The cat just purred and rubbed its cheek against Gajeel's iron-studded glove.
"Useless," Gajeel sighed, setting the cat down. "Just a normal cat."
He stood up, looking at the empty alleyway. A cold wind blew a newspaper past him.
"Maybe I'm the problem," he whispered to the damp walls. "Maybe I'm not... cat-worthy."
He slumped against the wall, sliding down to a squat.
"I need a cat," he decided, clenching his fist. "I will find a cat. And it will be the toughest, meanest, best singing cat in the world. Just you wait, Salamander."