Hello hello! Little author's note here, please skip if you don't care!
It's nothing new, I'm sure, but I gotta start a new work off with something. Little live-magic AU for this one. I had the idea to experiment with sentient magic and this is what I got... I have to say, Fairy Tail is the perfect fandom for it. I don't own anything, obviously, except what came out of my head.
Please enjoy and drop a review!
Lucy stared hard at the thick strip of brown looming on the horizon, daring it to come closer. The dust storm kept tumbling her way at what appeared to be a snail's pace. Reality tended to be distorted by distance like that. Lucy squinted, her forearm shading her eyes, and watched the tiny specks of a rogue camp be swallowed by a raging, relentless mass.
Dust storms were to be expected in the Summer. The desert was a vulnerable, flat spread of tightly packed grit, spider-webbed with cracks and dotted with dried up shrubs. Two wisps of cloud hung lazily in a brilliant blue sky; Lucy averted her eyes until they scurried away. The dust storm trundled on, bubbling like an overflown kettle, promising another round of desert lungs.
From within the storm, a clan horn sounded a long, mournful note. Lucy shook her head and sighed.
"Morons," she muttered. What was the point of sounding the alarm after the storm hit?
The air was light — not a trace of magic in it — and Lucy prayed it would stay that way. She remembered the last time the magic had come out to play. It liked stupid things, and it had toyed with her until it had grown bored; then it had ripped her apart. Her naiveté then wasn't a mistake she cared to repeat.
"Loke?" she called. "Is this one on schedule?"
The spirit of the Lion lifted himself out of a crevice in the ground and dusted off his suit. He looked ridiculous in his crisp black dress suit with a striped red tie. But for all the time Lucy had known him, the outfit never changed; she supposed sand wasn't an issue in the Spirit Realm.
"It's a week and a half early," he said.
"So the pattern doesn't work." Lucy brushed hair out of her eyes and scowled.
"Maybe there isn't a pattern, princess."
"Maybe," she acknowledged. "My life would be easier if there was one."
"Visuals give you a day's warning. That's not enough?"
A strong gust of wind rammed against her, pushing her several steps back. Sand wormed under the tattered scarf covering her head and face. The dust storm suddenly seemed much closer. If the magic hit this one, waiting it out with a Spirit for company might not be an option.
"It's never enough," she said simply.
The storm imploded like a giant taking a big breath, then rolled out in a dozen restless waves. Lucy watched it devour the desert for a moment longer, slightly captivated. Her Spirits couldn't explain the storms. Crux's best suggestion had been the manifestation of something ancient, some form of sentient magic. No one had ideas on what that something might be. Lucy wasn't all that inclined to find out either, for even the vague concept wasn't a pleasant one.
"We should head under. It's moving fast," she said over another punch of wind. Loke indicated the crevice with a mock bow.
"After you, princess."
Lucy lowered herself into the crevice, feeling with her toes for the rough stone that hid under the grit. Her descent was slow and controlled, careful to avoid scrapes or splinters. The wild dust would get into everything and an infection wasn't something she cared to nurse right then.
Loke followed once she was safely out of the way. He took care of securing the wooden board that would protect them from the worst of the dust while Lucy prodded a broken lacrimal to life. It illuminated the bunker in uncertain yellow light. Long shadows flickered across the uneven walls. Half of a narrow spring mattress lay against the far wall, stained brown by the dust. It was thin but didn't quite fit; the corners curled upwards, forming an alcove.
"Isn't this bunker farther out?" Loke leaned against the wall while Lucy unwound her scarf. "You're usually closer to your big secret hoard."
"It's not a hoard. I don't have any gold."
"I once knew a dragon that hoarded iron, not just gold."
Lucy huffed and dropped her pack on the mattress. "There's still gold. That's the traditional thing to hoard. I'll let you know when I find some."
Loke grinned but wasn't deterred. "Why are you so far out?"
"I'm following the southerners," she said. Loke snorted.
"Please. If that was it, you'd be sitting right next to the Vojak, not hiding in the desert. You can't even see them from here."
Lucy shrugged. Telling the truth would probably end in an argument, but lying had never gone over well either, especially not with Loke.
"I was hoping the flock would come through again," she said carefully, "but it's stupid. It's not even the End of Summer yet. I don't know why I bothered."
"Don't say that. Hoping isn't stupid. I don't need to remind you of what the others would say if they were here."
Lucy smiled, slightly bittersweet.
"Did you eat today?" Loke suddenly asked, pushing off the wall. Lucy pursed her lips.
"No."
The frustration on Loke's face told her everything she needed to know. "Lucy, you have to eat. You're thin enough as it is. At some point you're going to fade, and the Barren is going to force my gate shut. I won't be able to do anything!"
"I know that," Lucy said, voice taut and brittle. "But I don't have a backup. I can't afford to splurge until the flock comes through again."
"You know they'll return, they always-"
"No, I don't know! It's been almost a year, you said so yourself. The east lost so many people to famine because they were so certain the flock would return, but now there's nothing to suggest they'll ever come!" Her voice rose a pitch. The wood cover creaked as the first of the storm settled in. "I don't know what I'm going to do if they never come. I don't. I— So just, please, just leave it."
The wood groaned. There was a laden pause, then, "I'm sorry, Lucy."
"I know. It's okay. Thank you for worrying."
"All of us are worrying, Aquarius especially. She's too furious to admit it, but she misses you."
Lucy exhaled forcefully, her mouth curling into a frown. It had been years since she'd summoned any other Spirit but Loke for company. The desert disliked new magic with a dangerous ferocity. Even when her presence had been new and mostly overlooked it had taken a good year for Loke to be allowed without much fuss, but the desert had since grown far more attuned to her summoning. Lucy had found the razor-thin line between life and death and she couldn't risk losing sight of it.
"One day," she said. "Promise."
The effect was immediate but subtle. It was as though a weighted cord had attached itself to Lucy's back, right between her wingblades. Loke frowned disapprovingly. Outside, the howl of the wind gave way to a low thrum, and Lucy's heart sank faster than a boulder.
"Can you tell me the story of the Barren?" she said quietly. Loke gave her a soft smile in lieu of agreement. She curled up on the mattress.
"The desert has always been here, since before the three kingdoms. When the fae first settled in the west, they found the Barren to be an unconquerable force, and they left it alone. When the humans settled the east, they worshipped the Barren. They had no idea that the fae ruled the other side. When the dragons fought over the land, they left the Barren alone because it harbored a magic far more ancient that even the most powerful of drakes. The dragons understood such age to mean unimaginable power. Finally, when the demons made to invade the two established kingdoms, they underestimated the Barren, briefly united the east and west, and paid with their lives.
"The Barren shaped each of the kingdoms, keeping them separate and contained. It defended them against each other. It served as a disposal for unwanted problems and a safe haven for people that needed to run. No patrol will ever chase you past the borders. No one is stupid enough to believe they hold any power in the Barren."
"Some safe haven," Lucy huffed, closing her eyes. Loke chuckled.
"Over time, the people exiled to the desert gathered into four clans. After a brief period of war, the clans came to a miraculous agreement—" Lucy snorted "—and dispersed according to the four points on the compass. Their treaty has held strong for many generations. They developed unique cultures, languages, and dispersal of power. From them sprang many smaller groups and suddenly, the Barren had a people of its own."
Lucy knew the story by heart. A lifetime ago her mother had put it together for her, an intricate tapestry of words held together by legends. It had never ceased to fascinate her.
"As time went on and the dragons made peace with their borders, the kingdoms began to look to the Barren for expansion. It appeared to them as a puzzle that would grant them a weapon beyond anything they could hope to create. To own the Barren was to be unstoppable. They sent people to map the desert, and when many never returned, they began to send armies. The Age of Exploration lasted for hundreds of years. Very few scouts were ever heard from again. The half-a-dozen reports that returned proved unreliable. People were driven mad by their best efforts. They never discovered anything of value. At the end of the Age, a treaty was signed to stop royal expeditions and the spread of land was named the Barren."
The wooden cover creaked loudly in the silence, briefly overpowering the howl of the wind.
"Thanks," Lucy said, opening her eyes.
"Don't mention it, princess."
Outside, the magic swooped down with a violent crackle. Lucy's ears popped. Loke's form flickered translucent for a few seconds. Dust fell from the ceiling in a thick cloud. The slab scraped against the rock as the added pressure dislodged it and Lucy leapt up to push it back into place. Magic brushed icy fingers across Lucy's damaged wings and she shivered.
"Hello to you too," she murmured.
Rapid footsteps thumped overhead. Lucy froze, her shoulder pressed against the wood.
Loke forced a solid form and took on the weight of the cover so Lucy could replace the scarf over her face. When she retook her position, he faded so much that Lucy could see through him.
"It's probably an animal," he said. His voice had a strange cadence to it, as though he was standing much farther away.
"Probably." She strained to hear anything over the wind.
Suddenly, it was as though time had stopped. The silence rang in her ears and she couldn't hear anything, not even her own breathing. Cold horror took her lungs and squeezed. Loke's outline appeared in front of her, furiously mouthing, both hands gesturing down. Lucy dove for the mattress. Her right knee clacked against the ground.
Barely a second later the Barren let loose a piercing shriek. Raw magic rammed into Lucy from above, flattening her to the floor. Loke vanished in a shower of golden sparks. Icy power swept through her body, lighting her nerves on fire. She was turned inside out, unable to breathe, unable to move, her rare magic bare to the world. The stumps of her severed wings ached as they surged outward. The lacrima squeaked and crumbled, throwing the bunker into darkness.
The pressure ebbed as quickly as it had come. Lucy fought to breathe as the excess magic drained from her body. Loke's key warmed against her hip.
"I'm okay," she gasped. "I'm okay."
When she moved it was like crawling through cold soup. Thick magic hung in the air. Lucy held her breath and pushed to her knees, then her feet. The magic swirled to make room, curious. Shaking, Lucy breathed out and extended a hand in front of her, feeling for the wooden slab. She couldn't hear the storm.
T he magic tensed and crashed in one big breath. The pressure vanished. Dust billowed in her face and Lucy sneezed. Suddenly, the shards of the lacrima came alive with golden light. Lucy closed her eyes against the sudden brightness.
"What . . ." Squinting hard, she examined the broken pieces. Then she kicked a small cluster and watched the shards scatter, still glowing with a strength the lacrima had never achieved when it was whole.
Lucy shook her head, mesmerized by the flicker of the shadows. Giving had never been the Barren's style, yet the lights held strong as the dust storm took up a lilting whine. They made the bunker seem warmer and smaller. For a long moment, Lucy might have even believed that she was safe.
A screeching roar shook the ceiling. Another plume of dust swirled in the air. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut to keep them clean and pressed herself against the slab, straining to hear. The magic built up presence again. A low grumble akin to thunder seemed to go right through her, rattling her bones.
Powerful ripples of heat answered. Every nerve in Lucy's body stood on end. The wood against her skin quickly became searing. She barely kept upright as she jerked away. Smoke curled from the slab, closely followed by the smell of burning wood.
Panicking, Lucy pressed herself against the back wall and crouched to fumble in her pack. Aquarius's key bit into her palm. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. She might very well die if the Barren decided that it didn't want to tolerate a water Spirit on its land.
"What have I ever done," she muttered, pulling a pair of too-small goggles over her eyes. The magic rumbled again. Heat flared and the slab gave a loud crack; Lucy winced. The Barren sharpened its magic to a scalpel.
In the next moment, in a second of absolute silence, someone screamed.
The magic crashed like a tidal wave and the sudden cold alone was enough to force the breath from Lucy's chest. She doubled over, wheezing. Every gulp of icy air burned her mouth and throat. Slowly, the storm picked up pace, moaning like a wandering ghoul — and maybe it was a ghoul, for all Lucy knew. The Barren didn't create heat, not even on its good days; but then again, neither did ghouls.
Lucy forced herself to pocket Aquarius's key and used her foot to kick away the slab. It squeaked as it twisted, held by a pinprick of contact. She had a second to gape at the blackened wood before the dust muscled its way in and the slab hit the ground.