Replies to Reviews for Chapter 11:

Write-A-Rainbow: thank youuuuu! your support is seriously amazing to me :) sorry for not updating soon enough. i have been so busy...

LucyC: why thank you :) i like that you appreciate it.

MissAMira: hahahaha. yeahhhh. about that... should i give him a new love interest?

Alxce: heheehhe maybe :B we'll see. enjoy this chap for now :)

GUYS IM SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED IN FOREVER. BEEN BUSY AS HELL. THE SCHOOL YEAR JUST STARTED AND LIKE I CANT DO SHIT ANYMORE.

how does one do physics?

anyways. cheers. enjoy the story. :)))

Chapter 12: The Talk

Rogue had managed to find the key to Sting's bedroom door (after what seemed like forever rummaging through the storage room, and accidentally sealing Fro in a cardboard box in the process) and was on the verge of charging in with his Shadow Drive full mode, ready to throttle Sting for his irresponsible behaviour.

According to Rogue, Sting was being a poor example of a dragon slayer, what with the vulnerability he was showing and the lack of driving force to carry on. Weisslogia would've hit Sting on the head hard if he could see him now, guessed Rogue.

"Sting?" he called out. He took a deep breath, and decided he wouldn't throttle Sting, not just yet…

As if Sting had read his thoughts and decided that he didn't want to die by the hands of his best friend just yet, the door flew open and out staggered Sting, mumbling something about not letting down his guard entirely just yet.

Sting just plopped himself down on the couch, resuming his blank staring into space.

He looked like a blonde zombie, what with his hair all over the place, clothes ruffled and dirty; and eyes red enough to challenge Rogue's, and Rogue's red eyes were natural…

"Do you want something to eat?" Rogue tried asking him. Sting ignored him.

Rogue walked over to Sting and hit him on the head, hard.

"Ow!" Sting glared at Rogue. "What the hell was that for?"

Rogue was angered. He had had enough of Sting's crappy behaviour.

Switching into attack mode, he started punching Sting.

Sting, irritated, started defending himself by launching counter-attacks at Rogue.

"What the hell is your problem?!" yelled Sting, dodging under a table only to have it smashed completely by Rogue, who continued trying to land punches on Sting.

"You should ask yourself, Sting. What kind of dragon-slayer are you, huh? Moping all over the place, over some girl!" growled Rogue.

"You don't understand!" yelled Sting, angered enough by Rogue's sudden aggression.

"White Dragon's Roar!"

"Shadow Dragon's Breath Attack!"

The house looked like it was under siege; the table was broken in half, the sofa's stuffing was ripped out so it looked like it was bleeding white cotton, and the pictures on the walls were either hanging by a corner or already fallen to the floor. Lector and Fro were hiding under a broken chair, cowering at their masters' behaviour.

"You- don't- deserve- Sabertooth-" came Rogue's furious reply as he kicked Sting in the knee. Sting jumped out of his way, knocking down a vase in the process.

"What the hell are you talking about? What does the guild have to do with this?" yelled Sting, punching Rogue in the stomach.

"Don't you see how selfish you are? You hardly take missions anymore, let alone show up at the guild!" Rogue shouted at Sting.

"What does this have to do with Lucy?" countered Sting.

"Isn't it obvious? She's the reason why you're like this! You're my best friend, Sting, but even I have my limits! You don't do anything anymore; you just sit around and mope all the time! I'm the one who's paying rent; I'm the one, who takes care of Fro and Lector these days, I'm the one who's bloody covering for you all the time when Master asks about you! Don't you even see what you're becoming? How do you call yourself a dragon slayer?! Weisslogia would be ashamed of you!"

Rogue's accusations brought Sting to a halt.

"I'm sorry Sting, but if this comes to a point where master decides to kick you off Sabertooth, I can't say that it's not your fault."

Sting felt guilt seep its way into his bones like poison.

What was he doing?

Both dragon slayers stood in the wreckage and rather awkwardly looked anywhere but at each other.

Eventually, Sting broke the silence.

"I- I'm sorry Rogue. I didn't really realise… its taking a toll on you isn't it, doing everything for me…"

Rogue just looked at him, his gaze unreadable.

"And… and…" the White Dragon Slayer seemed to have a problem bringing an apology to his lips.

"And I really am sorry, Rogue. I'll stop it. I'll go look for Master Jiemma right now, and explain everything, and-"

Rogue cut him off, thinking he could not bear to hear any more of this daisy girl talk so unworthy of dragon slayers.

A dragon slayer does not apologise, Skiadrum had taught him. They do not commit wrongdoing; therefore do not require the need to apologise. Sorry simply wasn't a word in the dragon slayer's vocabulary.

"Stop apologizing. Really Sting, you shouldn't, it's really beneath your dignity; where are your principles?" Rogue muttered.

Sting stared, dumbfounded.

"But-" Rogue cut him off again.

"I know, I know, you don't have to be such a big pansy and apologise. You're sorry, I can tell. I just needed to let off some steam. Now, you," he pointed a finger at Sting, "have to go and explain yourself to master, and hope he somehow wants to forgive you for your lack of presence at the guild this entire month."

Sting paled a little at the last sentence.

"Otherwise… I'm not sure what to do… the easiest thing to do is hope Jiemma forgives you…"

Sting gulped. That was the hard part…

After somehow reforming the house by magic from the mess they had made (thank goodness their neighbours had high metal fences built specially to keep themselves safe from Rogue and Sting's rackets), Sting was finally ready, physically and emotionally, to visit the guild that he had been avoiding lately.

Before locking the door, he thought he smelt something familiar. Not thinking about it, he just shrugged and walked off to the guild.

Strolling his way quickly to Sabertooth, he couldn't help but feel a little out of sorts.

He couldn't quite place his finger on the problem exactly. It was like a piece of him was missing and floating around in the air, unable to come down to the ground.

He sniffed the air; he thought he sensed something familiar around him. Faint, but it was there nonetheless.

Unable to put a finger on the oddly familiar feeling, he slowly became frustrated as he racked his brains to think of who had that scent.

As the answer came to his mind, it fell back in terms of priority as the huge guild doors came into sight.

The Sabertooth guild was rather like an ancient Chinese temple in architectural terms, the building all white, and three storeys high, the roof a garbled jade green. The big gate at the entrance was rounded, huge and black, of oriental design. The Sabertooth mark was carved into it. Tall wooden spikes surrounding the building served as security walls; if you walked into the free compound spacing at this time, you would see plenty of mages sparring in the daylight, faces shining with sweat, brighter the morning sun.

"Sir." the rookie mages stopped sparring immediately and bowed down at Sting, who just nodded at them, used to the preferential treatment. Being one of the top mages, he enjoyed the limelight.

He pushed open the big wooden doors and took in the scene before him: people were drinking silently from tankards at the big red bar. Some mages were doing research in the guild's library section, heads bent down and concentrated on their work. He climbed up the marbled spiral staircase and saw Orga, Rufus and Minerva lounging on the second floor, exclusive for their elite only.

"Oi Sting! Master's been looking for you! Where have you been?" yelled Orga, taking a chug from a wine bottle, looking slightly drunk. Sting cringed at his ruddy red complexion.

"Yeah, Sting…. Where have you been?" Minerva said tantalisingly, an expression similar to that of a cat's when it was about to pounce on their prey.

The only one who didn't say anything was Rufus. He just sat in his comfortable armchair, reading an extremely thick leather-bound book. When he noticed Sting, he merely gave him a long questioning gaze before returning to his book.

"I've been… busy." muttered Sting. He was getting a little irritated by his team mates' attitude, which indicated that they knew something he didn't. Had Rogue been telling him everything?

"Master… wants to see you. He said something about needing you for something." said Orga in his deep rumbling thunder-like voice.

"Daddy's been expecting you," smirked Minerva knowingly, as if she knew Sting was going to get some form of punishment already. "Best not to keep him waiting…" She sang out loud in mock cheerfulness, taking a sip of her red wine from a silver lacquered wine glass, smirking gleefully at a paling Sting.

Sting grimaced as he stared up at the third floor, which was solely built for the master. The master kept everything important up there, every single file, every single magical artefact they had in their guild's possession. People rarely went up there, apart from Minerva, and those who did sometimes didn't come back down. Sting had only entered the master's headquarters twice, once when he was younger, to request to join the guild; another to request to form a team with Rogue.

Sting sighed. Time to face the music, he figured gloomily, and as he climbed each step up to the doors of the master's office, he couldn't help but feel one step closer to an impending doom.

A magical talking skull with glowing green eyes was hung on the door; a communication device used when the master wanted to identify his visitors.

"Name?" the skull sang, cackling happily at the sight of a new visitor.

"Sting Eucliffe." drawled Sting coldly.

"You may enter! Master has been awaiting you!" it cackled with visible cheer, evidently happy that it had something to do today. Sting shivered at the thought of the master actually waiting for him for once; if it was so important that the master had actually waited for him to dish out his punishment for being such a crappy guild member, Sting was dead dragon meat.

Brushing off the creepy feeling the skull had given him, Sting braced himself and entered.

The master's office was simply humongous; unsurprisingly, since it was a whole entire floor after all.

Three of the walls were more like shelves, stacked to the brim with files, scrolls of parchment, books and various articles for the master's reference. Hanging from the ceiling was a single chandelier, but that was the only sign of grandeur in the large room.

The master's preference for practicality over appearance certainly displayed itself in his headquarters. The room was filled solely with either useful or valuable things, and everything else had a too simple look to it. The only one of the four walls that wasn't covered in reading material was a display unit, holding behind a glass covering various magical objects that seemed to radiate an eerie sense of power. Odd looking cups, magical carpets, even a black statue of a cat that strangely resembled Pantherlily. (Probably imported from Edolas.)

The wood-panelled floor was covered in a simple brown rug in the middle of the room. The master's desk was more compartments than anything, for he needed the extra space with all his letters and requests. A single slender golden lamp hanging over the edge of the table illuminated the desk with enough light for the master to read and write.

The master himself seemed to be the main display of the room. Jiemma was a man who believed in actions before words. He didn't need any kind of statue or monument to display his greatness: he was the greatness. He radiated pure power from where he sat, and all he was doing was skimming his eyes over what appeared to be a piece of paper.

Sting gulped. Why did the master request to see him, exactly? And why was everyone around here acting like they knew something he didn't? He had only been gone for less than two weeks, jeez…

The master was still reading his precious piece of paper. Sting was starting to wonder whether Jiemma was even aware that Sting was in the room.

Just as Sting was about to do something and announce his presence by clearing his throat or scuffing his shoe on the ground, Jiemma sighed and looked up.

His gaze was penetrating; Sting felt his insides shrivel in place. He was dead for sure. Jiemma probably was going to announce that he was trash, that he didn't belong in Sabertooth, and that he had probably found another elite dragon slayer somewhere in Fiore to replace Sting, and that he should leave before Jiemma wiped the floor with him.

What he didn't expect, was for what Jiemma actually did next.

"Sit down, boy." came the master's voice. It wasn't a command, but Sting knew better than to disobey that voice.

Reluctantly but not daring to look it, Sting sat down in one of the carved wooden chairs facing Jiemma's desk.

Jiemma studied him for awhile; his gaze unwavering, his expression mysterious, as though trying to reach a conclusion with Sting's face as the subject.

Sting shifted uncomfortably. If the master was going to kick him, he might as well get it done now.

"I've been made aware of your… condition, boy."

Sting blinked, confused. Condition?

"Uh, I'm sorry, what condition, master?" Sting asked timidly, afraid that the master was going to roar at him for being forgetful as well as a bad guild member.

"You evidently are love-sick."

Sting gaped. One, was it that obvious? Two, it was freaking Jiemma! The scary old man who kicked out anyone who 'lost their focus from the guild' and called them 'trash'! Since when did he notice love-sickness, let alone point it out? Was this even the same master who had kicked Yukino Aguria out naked?

"By who?!"

'My daughter pointed it out. And Orga, of course. Funny how Rufus didn't mention anything, I would've thought he'd noticed it first. I have pardoned you, in any case. I know what being love-sick feels like."

"What?" Sting gaped at the master. What in heavens, had he just said he understood?

"What's with the googly eyes boy?"

"Uh, master?" Sting started. "I'm, kind of confused…"

"Hmph."

"You don't seem very… you."

"Ah, about that…" Jiemma seemed lost in thought for awhile, before snapping his gaze back to Sting.

"Let me tell you a story."

Sting perked his ears up at that. Jiemma never told stories, less even talked to the guild members. This was a pleasant change. Sting liked stories, although he never admitted it.

"I was like you once. Reckless, and young, and full of driving force to take over the world."

Sting coughed awkwardly. What exactly did this have to do with him?

"Anyway, I met a certain woman… and well, things happened, and I changed. Suddenly I was content with my life; suddenly I was happy, even without my driving passion to start the best guild in Fiore. And this sudden change… it scared me."

Sting paused. Woman?

Of course, Minerva had had to come from somewhere…

Sting shuddered slightly to think of a woman who produced something as horrible as Minerva. Was such a thing even possible?

"I'll admit, she was a beautiful one. Her name was Allie. She used explosive magic, rather like mine. We used to take on whole dark guilds together, blowing everything up." Jiemma chuckled, reminiscent.

Sting didn't know whether to find it sweet or extremely creepy that the great master Jiemma of Sabertooth had once been in love.

"Oh, she was a feisty one… that's where Minerva gets her spunk from."

"Uh, sir…"

"Right, right, I'm getting carried away. Sorry. Anyway… I got scared. The young me simply couldn't comprehend how a simple woman could change my life like that. I just didn't get it, you know? I wanted power, some form of control… So in the end, I left her… till today, I still regard that as the biggest mistake of my life." Jiemma finished softly.

Sting felt sorry for the old man. Maybe he wasn't the only heartbroken one here…

"And something happened last week. I saw Allie again. She was as beautiful as ever."

"Oh, that's great sir. Did you talk to her?"

"I suppose you could say that…"

"Well that's… that's great I guess. Are you going to see her again?"

"Son, that's not possible."

"Why not?"

"It was her funeral I attended last week."

Sting felt his heart sink.

If possible, he felt sorry for the master.

The famous Master Jiemma of Sabertooth…

Not being around for two weeks certainly had affected his outlook on his guild.

Jiemma wasn't… well, he was Jiemma anymore, which was for sure.

This master seemed softer than usual.

"The point is, I've changed. I know, I used to be terrifying to you all, and that's not going to change just yet," the master let out a chuckle, "but being at her funeral cleared my mind and reminded me that life isn't going to last forever, and I should start making decisions that matter more in my old age. I've decided to stop being such an overbearing pain in the ass to all of you. Seeing Allie for the last time… she never remarried. She even left something for me in her will. She never forgot me… but she lived a full life. She was never mad, never bitter about me, not blinded by power like I was. Seeing how she lived her life… I want to live mine the same way."

Sting thought that was the wisest thing he had heard in a long time.

"That's… that's great sir."

"Anyway… I don't want you to make the same mistake. I've conducted some research… the girl's name is Lucy, I presume?"

Sting stiffened. How had he found out?

"Sir, I... we're not together anymore."

"Oh." Jiemma paused.

Sting's expression hardened. He didn't want to talk about it. It was just too painful…

Changing the subject quickly, Sting said: "So why did you want to see me?"

"Right," the master cleared his throat, "I have heard that there is some strange activity going on right now near Harlem Valley in Magnolia. The council has detected an immense amount of magic in that area… they don't know what it is, and it is too dangerous to send out one of their own as they are not particularly specialised in this area of magic."

Immense magical power? Sting wondered.

"I want you to investigate who or what is causing the large amounts of magic to be released. I'm doing this unauthorized by the magic council, so stay hidden. I have some… suspicion, to what this thing may be. But first, I need you to investigate for me. Will you do that?"

Sting's mind was reeling from too many questions. Why him? And what exactly was going on in Harlem Valley? And what did his master suspect?

"How did you even find this out?" questioned Sting suspiciously.

"Ah, you know I have my sources," stated the master with a small chuckle. "I don't want you to take it out; just find out what it is and come back alive, alright? Think of it as a compensation for all the weeks you've been gone from the guild."

Sting sighed. He did owe his master that, at least…

"Fine, I'll do it."

Sting turned to leave, and the master thought he heard a grumble or two about not wanting to go to Magnolia again, and something about trains being hell on earth anyway.

"And, Sting?"

"Yes, master?"

"Don't let anything, or anyone, get in the way of your happiness."

Sting continued walking out the door, and didn't answer. He wasn't entirely sure what to say about that.

Sting was walking home, hands in the pockets of his mint chinos, lost in thought.

Minerva had looked slightly crestfallen at the sight of him coming out of the master's office alive and well. Orga had just smirked and Rufus hadn't said anything.

"You're alive," pouted Minerva. "What did daddy want with you then, if he didn't want to kick you out?"

Sting had ignored her and walked out of the guild, not before landing a blow on an astonished Orga.

"What was that for?!" he had yelled.

Sting had walked out of the guild without another word.

Don't let anything, or anyone, get in the way of your happiness.

Sting smiled coldly at the ground. Ironic wasn't it, that the master's advice had come just a day after everything had gotten in the way of his happiness.

He didn't want his happiness anymore, if it was going to be like this.

He was hurting deep down, but he didn't want to admit it, and he was tired.

Tired of having his hopes up, tired of seeing Lucy one step ahead of him again and again.

But was he tired of loving her?

A cold expression settled on Sting's features. He didn't want the answer to that, whether it was a yes or a no.

He kicked a stone on the pavement as he walked home. He heard a yelp as the stone hit someone.

He ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to apologise.

And to top it all, bloody Jiemma was making him go to Harlem Valley in freaking Magnolia to illegally investigate something for his own personal whim…

He wasn't even getting paid. Maybe he should've mentioned that to the master before agreeing…

Getting closer to his home, Sting sniffed the air again.

There it was; the familiar smell again.

Ignoring the small pang in his chest, he continued walking and tried to ignore the scent.

It was getting stronger.

Sting stopped in his tracks again. He looked around, wary. Was someone following him?

He heard hurried footsteps behind him, like someone was running towards him.

"Sting!"

Swiftly turning around, he felt someone crash into his chest.

He looked down and his eyes widened. He felt a familiar longing lodge in his heart, along with an urge to hit something.

Mixed emotions swirled inside of him. Part of him wanted to run, part of him wanted to kiss her right there and then. Another part of him itched to cause her the same pain she had caused him.

"Lucy?"