A/N This story will be different from canon. Different magic system, original characters, canon characters with different backstories, tropes & characters borrowed from different franchises etc. I don't own any of them, probably not even the originals :p.
Warning: Explicit themes of violence and of a sexual nature can be expected. Rated M for mature/foul language.
Rebirth - Flash War Cry
Chapter 1
Year 773
Something strange has happened. I should be panicking, should be afraid, but I'm not. This is what I chose, I know. I remember my former life, but the memories seemed to lack gravitas, as if I've made peace with that life and simply let go of it. I put it to the back of my mind, focusing on the life I have now instead.
I'm lying in a bed inside a room which obviously belonged to a child with an obsession with lightning, judging by the miriad of bolts depicted in some form or fashion on practically every surface in my immediate vision.
It's a tad much. Just a smidge epileptic.
I smile in spite of it and swing my feet down to touch ground, which brings my attention to my little munchkin feet. I know in my head that I am only twelve years old here, but to actually be inside a small kids' body is still a trip. I look at my clothes and notice I'm wearing a yellow pajama contoured by a single thick black line, reminicent of an iconic Bruce Lee jumpsuit from another dimension. I smirk. Because of course it's yellow.
I stand, ignoring the creeking wood floorboard and walk to the center of the room and look at my hand. This brat's memories tell me how to do it and no sooner had the intent crossed my mind, yellow lightning spark between my outstretched fingers. The power I feel welling op inside me like a fountain and flowing to every crook is thrilling. Like a flow it could speed up and it could slow down - intensifying and calming the freaking arcing lightining in my hands in response. And because it was mine, it didn't electrocute me. That's magic for you. The grin and single bark of laughter that escape me couldn't be helped. I had agreed with my teacher in magic that I would abstain from heavily using magic for a few months with the intention of stockpiling it, but I couldn't help myself just now.
A voice from down the hallway calls out to me.
"Laxus! Get ready for class; breakfast is on the table."
That's grandpa's voice. Makarov Dreyer has been raising me ever since my mom died two years ago and my dad fucked off somewhere to cope. And yes, I know its not my mom, but please lets not go down that road. I can't tell my story by constantly splitting my identity into two. Everything that was once Laxus is now me. I am Laxus Dreyer. There has just been a regime change.
So, I don't know how my mom died but I can guess it was not a peaceful one considering no one dares tell me. Which kind off explains why I was such a surly son of a bitch for the last two dozen or so months. Puberty kicking in probably wasn't helping matters any.
"I'm coming!", I shouted back as I always do.
I take an army style three minute shower starring a pleasantly fragrant soap, changed into a jeans, t-shirt and sneaker combo and was on my way out the door when I stop and return to pick up my homework from my desk and stuff it in my backpack. I also notice my spiked headphones and mp3 like contraption. My magical headphones which are powered by lightning magic, I grinned. Best Birthday present ever, gramps. I take them and put them around my neck, while stuffing the music pod into my front right jeanspocket.
Out the door and down the hall I went. My smaller stride once again lengtening the time I needed to get to my destination, which I found unacceptable. Once you have had the luxury of long strides, going back to short ones feels so bad man. But then again, I have magic now to compensate. And it does give me that extra split second to come up with an idea.
I come into the kitchen where my midget gramps is sitting on a barstool to just barely be comfortably above sealevel, and greet him. He grunts back at me in response his eyes barely open. Even as an old wrinkly midget still half asleep, gramps exuded a wizened grace and gentile serenity that I instantly admired. I could not put my finger on what exactly it was that made it so. Maybe the awesome trimmed ringbeard? Maybe it was the forked hairstyle he seemed to rock despite of his advanced stage of baldness? Who knows. I shake myself, and settle in a stool across from him and ultimately decided to just go for it.
Reaching forward to grab some bread roll. As is my custom in this world, I press down on it and slice it open. I take the butter in hand and comment "Gramps, I need to know about mom." I say it calmy, but firmly. Not shouting in anger and frustration, like in the past. As I remember those moments my heartbeat jump into a higher gear with a heavy thump. There is a lot of painful emotion there.
The lines of his face seemed to deepen and shift slightly, his eyelids crack open slightly more to regard me, study me. I hold his gaze for a moment and then look down and preoccupy myself with buttering my bread. I hear him sigh and the sound of a cabinet opening on the other side of the kitchen and a liquid pouring into what I guessed was a cup. When I look up, gramps is still sitting in his chair, his but having never left his seat. That's the benefit of having the ability to stretch your arms to a comic length. Or just the benefit of magic, actually. I bit into my bread, chew and wait on the old man. Looking at him a few times to gauge his reaction.
Finally he sighed. "Go to class, Laxus." I was about to speak up, when he pierced me with a light glare and he continued, "When you come by the guild at noon after classes are over, I'll tell you."
Relieved and grateful, I nodded.
I stood up to grab a bottle of fruit juice from the fridge and some beef jerky from a cabinet and was on my way out the door of the modest, if quaint, house we lived in. Stepping onto the cobble stone, I take in my surroundings and take notice of the art nouveau style houses reminiscent of the 19th century of my old world. This was the upper mid-class district. I loved this style even in my old world, but never had the inclination to invest that much into a building. If I had had the money to spare, then sure. Alas. This world is kind of schizofrenic though. I mean, there are no tv's but I'm walking around with the magical equivelant of an mp3. Lacrima tech for the win.
But that's not the real kicker.
One in ten people have magic and that empoweres them to reach for the stars. Of course they are still limited in some ways. For example, not everyone has the inclination to sacrifice that much of their life to cultivate magic. Usually they learned how to use magic to just enough of an extent to do a certain job. Like how a farmer would learn plant magic to grow crops and water magic to water them. If a certain magic was too difficult to learn, the conditions to use it too harsh, then it was too much to bother. Take for example teleportation magic. Everyone has a use for it, but the power requirements are such that the average wizards cannot cast it, and its difficulty level so high the time-investment for learning it alone is not worth it even if they could. Lacrima could offer a solution, but is costly and needs to be fed magic power to be recharged. How can an average wizard farmer even justify teleporting with almost his entire magic reserve, instead of using it to farm?
Instead, wizards specialize to preform their chosen jobs better. They couldn't afford to cultivate power, because they live from paycheck to paycheck, needed most of their time and energy to provide for themselves or they just aren't interested in power. I can technically eat my own lightning magic to sustain myself, so I'm part of the ten percent who is different form the start. I'm the grandson of one of the current Ten Wizard Saints (T.W.S.), Makarov "the Titan" Dreyar. For those of you living under a rock, that means a couple of things. One, gramps is hella strong. As in, he functions as a kind of detterent to other nations. That comes with not only terrifying physical power, but also political. And two, he is tremendously connected. Which means I'm connected. I mean, four of the TWS have sent me postcards for my birthday. Crazy. Thats the equivelant of a dragon knowing the name of an itty-bitty grasshopper. They even knew I cultivated lightning magic!
On that thought, with a pep in my step I walk down the street. A horse and carriage roll by, the resounding clap of the hooves in their iron shoes drowning out all other sounds as it passes by. People recognize me as Laxus, the grandson of the honorable Makarov Dreyar and for once it doesn't bother me. I nod back with a smile to all those who pay me and by extension gramps, respect. By the third time around though, I silently promise to myself that one day they will not pay respect to the honorable grandson, but to Laxus fucking Dreyar.
Stopping in front of a house with a small stone stairway leading up to a blue arched door belonging to a Kuwajima Jigoro. An old fashioned magic swordsman, retired from the Demon Slayer Corps after serving with destinction. I muse on the the incredible power the man still wielded as I banged the brass door knocker a few times. A magic swordsman was a shitty class, in my opinion. Following the logic that you did not bring sword to a gunfight and it was just easier to focus on one thing than cultivating magic and swordfighting. Considering the time and effort to reach the summit of just one of those arts, it was no wonder that those who choose the magic swordsman path are doomed to mediocrity on the power scale. Few reach the summit, yet Kuwajima-sensei went further than most, reaching the vaunted S-class at forty two and becoming one of the thirteen Pillars of the Corps.
The powerscale in Earthland was pretty straightforward, I muse. In the alphabet of an ancient language from the Age of Gods, there are twenty four letters. Going from 'alpha' to 'omega' - which in todays basic language would be 'A' to 'Z' - each letter has a numerical value. Normal people (which constitutes three out of four people) are born with a numerical value of '1' are at the alpha-level. Wizards are born with at least a value of '2', referred to as bèta-level. When you reach the jota-level (value of 10), a wizard hits a bottleneck in his magic cultivation and can't increase his power until he passes it. I am clueless on how one did it, but I do know that once a wizard does pass the bottleneck, his power doubles and he can call himself a mage at the kappa-level which is the lowest tier on the mage scale. Most people stay as wizards their entire lives though, so I figured the bottleneck was a though cookie to crack. The class after mage was sorceror, the revered S-class, the dragons among us. They are considered the countries most valuable assets for a reason. It has been documented that a single S-class of the lowest tier can decimate a town like Magnolia - which houses roughly eighty thousand people - in a single spell. I shudder when I think about that. Partly in terror, but mostly in anticipation. Because that's what I am aiming for. Beyond that even.
The arched blue door opened an a diminutive man greeted me in traditonal oriental dynasty get-up - you know, with the ridicuously wide and flappy pants with bathrobe-like vest tucked in? The kind that a samurai would wear when out in public or in court with the emperor of some forgotten dynasty. The first time I saw him I had been less than impressed and had made no secret of it.
"God damn it, brat! What are you waiting for, a written invite? You lack focus!", the samurai slash drill sergeant barks, his impressively bushy moustashe and pine-apple ponytail shaking in tune with his choleric outburst. I've been tuning him out through out his greeting apparantly, so I kicked myself into gear and hastily entered.
The first time I met him nine months ago, I had given him attitude. Kuwajima-sensei put a stop to that real quick. A burst of murderous intent made me freeze and the following magical pressure brought me to hands and knees on the floor. I shudder to think back on it. The cold feel of the granite tile floor on my knees and palms, hands slick with sweat and neck bare. My heart palpating, for a second fully convinced that this was the end and I had - in my hubris made a fatal mistake. I shook myself from the memory and waited on him to close the door and lead me. I took off my sneakers before I entered the house proper. You quickly learned old-school ettiquette with this choleric old bastard. He may be pushing seventy, but the man is still not to be messed with. To stay on his good side, I learned what poked the dragon and then did the opposite.
"So brat, how is your cultivation coming along?", the old man's back asked me as I followed along on auto pilot. I snapped to attention.
"According to the lacrima device you gave me, I'm jota-level as of yesterday."
He harrumphed, "Excellent. Drop off your written homework assignment on my desk and meet me in the courtyard."
A few moments later I stand before him in the courtyard of his oriental home. The stone tiles in spring, made it chilly on my bare feet. Forty on sixty yards, I estimated.
"Listen, brat. When I met you back then, you were a level four amateur with an attitude problem. Now, through months of empty hand martial arts training you have reached the bottleneck every wizard must face should he desire to become a mage. It is a place where many wizards' climb end, yet where the real magic begins.", the old man paused a moment.
I reflected on these past months. Six hours a day, seven days a week were spent in heavy duty empty handed martial arts training. And with heavy duty, I actually mean brutal. Not any magic was used, only the body and mind. In essence it was me being thaught a technique to attack, counter-attack, avoid, parry or block and subsequently trying to use them to keep the old basterd from stomping me into paste. I needed to heavily use healing lacrima every day after training, hiding what I had been trough from gramps. The memory of that first time when I wanted to heal a cut on my face with the lacrima, but I couldn't reach because my shoulder was just busted so I had to switch hands. Or all the days I pissed blood, because of some kidney trauma.
To my shame I cried the first day I got beaten up. The self-pity I felt, makes me cringe today. I had so many delusions, was so sheltered from the real world, so spoilt! I can still hear his mocking words in my ears. Taunting me with my out-of-reach dreams.
"Get up! Quit weeping! You want to be stronger than that wrinkly midget? He has pumped out jizz on grandma's titties stronger than you!"
"Suck it up! Is crying making you feel better? Wipe that snot off your face or get out! If you get it on my floor, I will use you as a mop!"
"Crying again, brat? Do you think curling up on the floor and weeping because it hurts is going to help you survive out there? Pathetic! You think they will see you crying and stop hitting you? That they wont kill you for their own gain? FOOL!"
But I kept coming back, kept getting up and beaten up. Because I knew the bastard could get me where I wanted to go. It took me some time to figure out he wasn't doing it out of sadism, or to lord how strong he was over me. He was preparing me for the world of monsters and giving me some of the tools I needed in a way gramps wouldn't. And here we are; I turned twelve almost two months ago and I'm at the the bottleneck. The choleric bastard isn't lying when he says I doubled my power since I started here. From my self study, I know that one way magical power increases is when the mental capacity to focus on one thing is stretched.
When I fought with the old bastard, he gave me pain. To avoid that pain I had to focus for hours. Now you might think, there must be other ways to increase magical focus. Agreed, but I would like to point out that I live in a world werein the path I and most mages walk is filled with mostly violence and death. So I needed to be prepared to enter that world and increase my magical power. The most efficient way to do that was fighting. Two birds, one stone. Which suited me perfectly. When I become a mage, I'll join Fairy Tail, a guild that predates Magnolia itself, and were I will kill those I've been ordered to kill for bounties. Kill those who try to kill me to survive etc. Not nearly all of it, I imagine. But it will be a reality, and if I have to step on others to get where I want to be, I accept that as the price for achieving my dreams.
So when the choleric bastard spoke, I listened.
"Tell me something honestly, brat. Do you have a dragon lacrima implanted inside your body?"
I froze. My earliest memories are of my father and gramps telling me I must keep it a secret from everyone. I just did what they asked, back then. When I got older I started to question it. The answer I got was as chilling as it was an eye-opener. If the wrong people found out I had it, they would kill me for it and harvest it from my dead body. That's a terrifying thing to hear as a kid, but it did help me keep my mouth shut. So you can understand how this question coming from the draconic drill instructor who has been beating me up for the last couple of months, might have me shaking in my boots. I swallowed harshly feeling stifled and out of options.
"I... I do sir."
He looked at me appraisingly before looking up at the clear morning sky and musing aloud, "Sneaky old midget. Innate Lightning Magic my ass. Must've cost a fortune."
I interrupted further mumblings, by bowing low and giving voice to my fears, "Sensei, I beg of you, don't tell anyone! If this gets around I'll be a deadman walking! I-"
"Don't you think I know that brat!" he boomed, a vein on his forehead popping up, "Who do you think I am! Do you think I would spend so many moons training you, just to kill you at the end of it? If you die it will because of you, not because of me!"
I allow myself to be reprimanded and reign my fears in with difficulty, straightening myself back out. I couldn't help but idly wonder if I had ever heard this old bastard say anything that didn't sound like the crack of a whip.
"Cheh, fool! I had my suspicions but I needed them confirmed for the next step in your training. I had noticed during our spars that you might have the dragons constitution, and by noting the lack of damage you took from my lightning element during our sessions I could conclude that it was the Lightning Dragon."
I gape at that. Never noticed him using magic. He told me he wouldn't, so I just didn't watch for it. Not like the man needed it to beat me up.
"Which also explains why that infernal imp specifically requested me to be your instructor." He turns to me and continues, "Do you know who I am, brat? What powers I wield?"
I've played this game with him countless times before. Hesitantly, for my incomplete answer would not satisfy him. Yet I still attempt to anwser, knowing that it was always expected of me, "Partly, sensei. You are a renown Magic Swordsman of at least the Sigma-level, retired from the Devil Slayer Corps as a Pillar, where you served with destinction." Here I hesitate, frowning and unfocuse my eyes - a habit I had when thinking aloud, "I am not familiar with what specific magic you use, sensei, but I would assume it would be magic pertaining to enhancing meelee combat - specifically with the sword. The Nichirin swords of the Corps are famous, after all. Supporting and furthering that conjecture is that you are to this day one of the few known magic swordsman in Earthland to reach S-class, and with your opponents mostly being mages who fight from long range, you must've developed a technique that gets you into meelee range extremely fast while enabling dodging as defense. Teleportation can be too easily blocked which would hamstring you in battle, so even that points to enhancement. Merely ranged attacks with a blade can't be it either, as that would make the sword superfluous. So, extreme mobility by way of magical enhancement must be the answer.", I said satisfied, before coming up with something else "and you just mentioned that you tested my dragon constitution with Lightning Magic. Knowing that as a Magical Swordsman cultivating in a complicated physical and magical art to S-class takes at least two decadeson average - and I doubt sensei is the type to learn caster magic for convenience sake, it is most likely that lightning is the one magic you've taken to at least Sigma-level. And since my magic is what it is, it makes sense for gramps to ask sensei of all people to become my tutor." I concluded, before watching for his reaction. While personally satisfied with myself for adlibbing that whole monologue, it didn't mean jack if the person it actually had to impress, wasn't. It was surprising the old man had kept his patience to listen to my entire explanation.
My answer had seemed to impress him, judging by the way his bushy eyebrows rose, "Well thought out, for a shitty brat. Heh, finally using that brain for something other than fantasizing about girls, eh."
I blinked. That was the first time I got a compliment out of the choleric bastard. A kind've backhanded one, but whatever.
Again, he did that thing where he turned to the sky to think. Then he spoke.
"You guessed right, brat. In the Corps I was known as Jigoro "Tensho" Kuwashima, 'tensho' meaning 'heaven-piercer' in the language of the Shiba Era." The pride was palpable in his tone. "I was made a commander at forty-two after I polished my Breath of Thunder magic-swordstyle to the utmost I could manage. Slayed over ten thousand demons in my career with it as my weapon; give or take, at some point I just stopped counting. And you were close enough to the facts in the sense that I did cultivate in Lightning Magic as my foundation, but a special kind called Lightning Devil Slaying Magic. More powerful, but with a greater risk - as such things usually go."
Devil Slaying Magic. That term peaked my interest, since it sounded so similar to my own special brand of magic. I wonder what the drawback of my own magic was.
"Listen up, brat. At this point in your training I had agreed with the imp to give you a training and eating regime to help you break trough... But I have a different proposition for you, seeing as you are cultivating in Lightning Magic of a certain type anyways, how would you like to inherit my Breath of Thunder swordstyle?"
I know the answer right away, yet I hesitate to say it. So I stalled. "Sensei, I don't really know what I would be agreeing to yet...", he trailed off.
"Stinky brat! You already guessed just a minute ago didn't you?!", the man exploded, proving his hotheaded nature once again. Then his mood flipped again.
"Guess I'll just have to show you. Move off the courtyard."
Obeying, I move to the raised wooden floor of the outer corridor that wraps around the traditional house, while in my head lamenting the fact that every moment around the man feels like a rollercoaster ride. Seated, I give sensei my full attention.
A cane materialized in his left hand, he shuffles from the middle of the tiled courtyard to one end. Once he did, he spun around one-eighty with a snap and his cane dissolved into what I thought of as a katana, yet it seemed a bit shorter. Must be a concious choice because of the man's short stature. As I think it, I feel relieved sensei can't read my mind. The man never let's me get away with anything percieved as disrespect towards him.
The old man widened his stance by outting his left foot back, had hovering above the handle of his sword; his form reminicent of copiuous samurai tropes from dimensions past.
He intoned, "Ichi no kata: Hekireki Issen"
A flash of light, not blinding; the old man disappeared and in my mind instantly reappeared on the other side of the courtyard, his sword bare and raised in the end stage of a slash. A fraction of a second late a muffled boom and woodplitting crack sounded as lightning crackled seemingly arcing from his place of departure to Kuwajima-sensei's back - almost as an afterthought. I snap awake when I feel a wind buffating me from alternating sides, as if I was in a vortex.
The man whirled around at me his haori billowing behind him. He looked smug. "Any questions?"
I had and so I asked.
It was explained to me like this. As I had touched upon earlier the flaw of magic swordsman is that they couldn't cultivate in magic while training physically to master the sword. A mage needed to sit still, meditate and focus on actively gathering magic particles to expand his own capacity for magic. Swordsman can't afford to split focus like that, because it would harm his progress in both fields.. The Breath of Thunder compensated for that flaw. It allowed you to gather ethernano (magic particles) from the air by inhaling and capturing it inside the body. This allowed sensei to train swordsmanship and increase his magic power capacity at the same time. It was revolutionary - and therefore also closely guarded by him and his fellow Pillars. While there were many breath styles, the Breath of Thunder also focused on aiding the body to grow in a particular way that enabled bursts of extreme physical power, speed and senses, with resistance to foreign magic taking a hit as a sacrifice. In essence, extremely offense oriented in a way a glass canon with hyperspeed is. The old man did say that normally techniques and artifacts could compensate, but that I in particular wouldn't need it since I had the Dragon's Constitution to rely on for defense and resistance.
It's clear to me that Kuwajima-sensei was offering me to become his inheritor, but I worried that came with chains attached. Chains that led to the Devil Slaying Corps among other undesirable things. I mull the information over in my head before deciding to just speak painly while hoping to avoid offending him.
"Kuwajima-sensei, I'll have to decline becoming a magic swordsman.", I said before wincing how I thought that sounded. I look at his stunned expression and hurriedly continue "I mean, ever since I was young I've had this idea of what I wanted to be as a mage. I imagined my ideal self, and that was a mage who had forged himself into a perfect weapon, body and mind. A sword is too limiting; a magic swordsman too dependant on his sword!", I utter passionately, before continuing in a more sedate tone, "But I do admire the physicality of it, to get into a mage's face and destroy him before he realises it's over." I finish somewhat hesitant and wait for his reaction.
Kawajima-sensei looks at me uncharacteristacilly neutral. "Dependant on the sword? When you walk the path of the sword to its peakless heights, you will realise that the sword is the only weapon you will ever need."
I bow low, keeping my gaze respectfully to the ground. "Kuwajima-sensei, I didn't intend to demean the path of a magic swordsman in any way. Forgive this foolish student for being arrogant. I am just convinced that in this vast world I will face problems that a sword cannot solve. My desire is to be a mage that can be as undeniable as a magic swordsman in offense, but still retain the flexibility to incorporate other magic. "
The old man's proverbial whip cracked. "Idiot! No mortal has all the answers, that's why we as humans depend on others to fill in the gaps. "
Wincing at the volume, I nod nevertheless. I get what he's saying, but I'm not swayed. "I realise that, but... You once told me that a man must be capable of violence if he wants to be able to live righteously in this world. I believe that! Yet a magic swordsman uses a sword, and a sword is only used for killing. I want my magic to do more than that."
Looks like I surprised him again, but I'm relieved to see the understanding dawn in his eyes. He sighed, looking defeated.
Strangely feeling the need to comfort the man that had tortured me these last few months, I utter "That doesn't have to mean my training with you needs to stop here though."
That grabs his attention. "What do you mean, brat?"
I gathered my thoughts for a moment before replying "Well, although swordsmanship doesn't fit me, that godlike speed you showcased earlier does very much so."
Like a sunrise, the man's face cleared as he got the picture.
We discussed what it would entail. I would begin with learning the Breath of Thunder cultivation technique in order break through the bottle-neck into Mage-hood. The technique is particularly suited for those who have lightning magic as their foundation, because it places emphasis on preparing the magical circuits for rapid bursts of power. It would also allow me to cultivate and train my leg and core muscles at the same time. I was dissapointed to learn it would take an estimated two to three years on average for me to achieve Godspeed or 'Shinsoku' as it was originally named. I also asked if I would be beholden to the Devil Slayer Corps in the future if I chose to learn. Sensei called me an idiot, saying that since I can't inherit Devil Slayer Magic when already a Dragon Slayer, the Corps won't bother; and that was that. I hesitated to pursue the matter further, so ultimately let it drop.
On my way to the Fairy Tail guild while chewing on some jerky I couldn't help but feel excited at the fanciful thought of one day zipping across the land like The Flash reincarnated. The image filled me with glee and I put on my spiked headphones to let some adrenaline-pumping rock fill my ears while I take off running.
I cancelled the rock song about half way through for being cringey. The guitar intro was fantastic, but just didn't deliver on its promise. The lyrics were just yuck, they apparently don't have bassplayers here and have never heard of a snare drum - bassically just electric guitars screeching like alley cats in pursuit of some semblance of harmony. Never thought there be a day I missed adolescent Justin Biebers annoying vocals either. I mean you don't have to have to be Sinatra to be any kind of singer - you can compensate with other things. But please, at least listen to how you sound before you put it out there. At one point it just becomes cruel and unusual punishment. I don't know what I was thinking recording it on my lacrima. But I forgive my twelve year old ass for not having good taste; as I did now, hehe! I busied my self skipping through songs, while going eastward, passing the trainstation on the way. I glanced at it. I got some Wild West vibes from it. From a distance I spotted a bum performing with a janky ass looking guitar. Was that a cigar box used as the guitar body? Never mind it. Finally finding a good song, I smile and ran with renewed vigor.
Fairy Tail is located on the outskirts of Magnolia, a chateau on a market square with the vast open grass plains and distant mountain views beyond the town proper acting as a garden.
It took me seventeen minutes to get there while running. I could talk while running - or rather singing to Fiore's famous BECK rockband. I pity the poor fool who had to hear it, as I was never good at it back on Earth. Fancied myself an aspiring bassplayer once upon a time, but then impending poverty slapped me in the face and forgot about it.
I note the pseudo Irish pub-like vibe entering gave me. Although in the form of a castle, it was half wood and half brick and mortar. On the inside, wooden beams kept the structure sturdy and upright throughout the weekly barfights. It smells of alcohol, oak and sweat, but it was home away from home. Laxus smiled as he opened the second door and the sound of music and people talking washed over me. The bell above the door rang and some people turned to look at who entered. They called out in merry greeting and for once I wasn't bothered. This wasn't like with the normal people outside, these were his people, a family who would stand beside him on any battlefield. I waved back at Macao with a bright smile, the man who coined the affectionately irritating nickname 'Sparky' for me which was quickly picked up by all the older guildmembers. Since I was the youngest, everyone calls me that. It was a term of endearment from older bro types so I accept it with a smile. I greet a few people and needle Wakabe for his 'hip' new haircut to the laughter of all, before entering behind the bar to go up the stairs to gramps' office. I knocked on the old wooden door and waited for confirmation, before entering.
I immediatly zero in on gramps nursing some hard liquor, since his office didn't hold much interest to me; I had been coming here since I was old enough to walk. The bottle of some clear brown liquid next to the small glass the small statured man was gripping was telling. The man looks at me once, before avoiding my gaze. So it was going to be one of those conversations, huh. I feel a sudden weight in the pit of my stomach, unsure if I wanted to forge ahead with the shade of terrible knowledge looming overhead.
Deciding to distract both of us, I comment "You know, that high backed chair is supposed to make people look imposing - with you it only emphasizes how tiny you are."
An unwilling smile bloomed on the man's face, before he remembered what we were here for and sighed. "Take a seat Laxus."
As I sat down in front of his desk, he took a second glass out of a drawer, filled it with liquor and slid it over to me. I took it silently.
What? I grew up in a bar, people. So did gramps, and he turned out fine. I don't make it a habit by any means, but it wasn't my first rodeo either. Before I was a thirty year old in the body of a twelve year old, I had a couple of shots of liquor but could never really appreciate it, much prefering the sweetness of honey mead. I notice that most of Earth's morals aren't really applied here in Earthland. Not that it was considered good parenting here either, but daddy wasn't really around - so to speak. At all. I think I have about two solid good memories associated with my dad. The only thing really keeping me from striking him from the books as my dad, was an ingrained sense of loyalty to my own blood. No matter how awful the things he said or did to me, that loyalty was there.
"Laxus, what I'm about to tell you is quite frankly awful."
Gramps paused loking as if he was gathering himself. I hold in my impatience. Just spit it out man!
Then he told me the story of my mothers' end. Lydia went missing in action on a quest to clear a horde of goblins in the mountains of Rylai, located about 460 miles north-west of Magnolia. Goblins are presumed to be the product of an aIchemy experiment to create minions by a dark sorceror of a bygone ancient civilization. When that wizard died they spread across the world, multiplying rapidly. They were not a particularly strong species, vastly inferior to humans in magical potential, but made up for it in other ways. It was presumed she had underestimated them and paid dearly for it. My dad had launched a rescue party when she was a week over the estimated time and didn't respond to a call from a communication lacrima. The cave where the horde was said to be located was abandoned and no tracks were found with no magic to follow. Scrying also unsuccesful, which meant there was a goblin mage amongst the horde; one of considerable experience. Starting from last known whereabouts, they followed eyewitness accounts for months before they were able to track her down with the help of a local hunter to a mountain cave dwelling. A one-sided massacre ensued, and after scouring the network of tunnels and breaking through remnant ambushes, the rescue team found her. Lydia had bitten her own tongue off not long before her rescuers barged in, and the ones left behind were left to fill in the blanks. They concluded she had been forced into a breeding farm, as particulary organized goblins tended to do. Siphoned of her magic while being raped over and over, being forced to birth goblin offspring. Judging by the stretchmarks on her belly some morbidly fascinated guildmember guessed that she had already carried at least one batch to term. The little monsters breed fast that way, they apparently had to do this to survive as a species since there are no female goblins.
Have you ever had that feeling, where you hear something you know is reality but can't accept; something you want to vehemently deny; that you can't believe because of what it would mean? The way your vision and hearing kind of tunnel in and out of what the person is saying because you are caught between your own storm of emotions that is making you retreat into yourself and the other force pushing your focus onto what the person is saying, because it's about your world crashing down around you?
Mom.
... A glass. I drink the liquor that had sat untouched in front of me during - the burning taste a brief distraction and the blooming warmth in my belly ignored. It had quite frankly trumped the horror stories my child mind had conjured up, back when the not knowing left a hole in me. When I needed an answer; that explained how she had left me, why my dad was so shitty. Why he didn't love me, why he didn't care.
"I'm so sorry, Laxus." my gramps says as he hugs me. The way he always hugs me when I'm hurt. Like some conditioned que, I start weeping - bawling my eyes out.
My hunger woke me late in the evening, I walk out of one of the guild bedrooms and walk down the stairs into the guild hall feeling listless but spurned by hunger. Ignoring the noise around me I asked Marie behind the bar for some leftover dinner and to put it on gramps' tab. Thanks to magic, I didn't have to wait long.
Sitting at the bar, I didn't register what I was eating I just shoveled it into my mouth and chewed. Unbidden, my traitorous imagination conjured up a sensation of being tongueless, the organ becoming numb in its cavity.
"Hey Sparks."
I jumped in my seat, not quite biting my tongue off in the process as my mechanical chewing is interupted. Glaring at Macao, before adverting my eyes when I see the compassion shining from his face. So he knows. Feeling shame, I wonder how many other people know. And as the thought strikes me I'm awash with shame and digust at myself for being ashamed of the ignoble fate of my mother and how that reflected on me. How egocentric can you get!
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Look little man, I just wanted to say that I'm here if you have questions, or you just want to talk. I was... with the rescue party... when we found her."
I was silent for a while, playing with my food and Macao just patiently drinking from his mug of beer in intervals. The people behind us appearing in their own seperate world making merry. Then a question popped into my head. "What was my mom like?"
Macao smiled. And he told me how great she was - kind and joyful, the sort of person who lights up the room. He regaled me with tales of victory and failure, how she bore it all with poise and a smile. Exactly what I wanted to hear. I laughed and was somber when the moments called for it. Yet I couldn't put all my heart into it. I still felt a off-center.
After the third rendition of a story involving my mother and a humanoid goose duking it out petered out with a sort of alcoholic slur, I asked another question. "Hey Macao, why do you think someone like my mom ended up with someone like my dad?"
In the back of my mind, I tell myself that it's kind of shitty thing to ask as I'm putting him in a difficult spot, but pushed that voice down and waited for his answer.
"Sparky, when it comes to love... it ain't rational... at least most people don't think about why they fall for certain types and reject others... Guess your mom fell for the asshole types."
I snorted before giving him an appreciative grin. He grinned back, pleased. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his hand warm and large. "I'mma head to bed. You shouldn't keep too long either, Sparky."
I nodded and thanked him, which he waved off.
I sat there thinking for a while. What a fucking day.
Sipping at the remainder of my mead, I went over my day in my mind and realized that I still had some things to discuss with gramps regarding my training.
I gulped down the last of my drink and got up to head behind the bar and go upstairs to the guildmasters' office.
He's shitfaced and out cold on his desk. I help the old man up and wrestle him into a piggyback. Instead of sleeping in the guild I decide to make the nighttrip home. Feeling like a walk with a gramps backpack.
I pass by the mostly empty hall and was out he door into warm night air, the road illuminated with lanterns and starlight. As I walk through the streets I couldn't help but fall in love with Magnolia. Beautiful and familiar, a place I feel blessed to call home.
The rythm of my steps halt as a voice corakes out. "Laxus?"
It looks like gramps is awake. "You can rest easy old man, just taking a stroll back home. We'll talk tomorrow."
I hear a sigh coming from my back, and the calm air returned a while after. Walking next to the canal, I notice the light reflected in the gentle water surface. It's so peaceful I find it almost alien; like an illusion. Especially after...
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. And I'm also sorry I told you."
Seems like it was my turn to sigh. I keep the quiet for several heartbeats, a part of me wanting to return to the illusion, but the driven part of me pushing me to answer. "I'm glad you told me. Even if... in hindsight it was something I would rather have not known."
It was contradictory, maybe. Yet no mater how awful the truth was, it also set a part of me free. Things were still fucked up beyond recognition, but I had a starting point now. Somewhere to begin finding a measure of dealing.
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