Still don't own Mashima's Fairy Tail or Desna's Pradeshes. Or anything else for that matter. I rent.

Reviews are always welcome and make me feel pretty. Enjoy. Note at the end.

Feeling a weight on her body, Lucy started to wake. As she moved slightly, she felt arms wrap around her body, trying to hold her still. The smell was familiar even welcome, like cinnamon and sandalwood. Her eyes fluttered open, closing again before she gave it another try. Looking at her hip, which was being used as a pillow, a small smile crossed her face. "Bixy," she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair. It wasn't the first time they had woken up like this, and it almost certainly wouldn't be the last. Movie night usually ended up with the pair snuggled up on the couch, though previously, their pile had included Cristoff and at least one member of the Thunder Legion.

He grunted at his name. "Bixy c'mon, I have to go to the bathroom," she said a little louder, a small whine in her voice. "No." His answer was muffled into her side, reminding her of a petulant child. And how he'd managed to wrap himself around her tighter was beyond her. The smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen, making her mouth water and her stomach growl. She had basic human needs to address. She took a small chunk of blue hair and threaded it through her fingers. "Move, or I'm going to have Cancer come and cut your hair into a pink bob." The blonde gasped as he sat bolt upright, rocking her on the couch cushion and making her seriously doubt her bladder. "You wouldn't," he said, eyeing her groggily.

"I will."

He flopped his body back down to the side with a groan, giving her room to wiggle from under him and be free. He rolled onto his back when he felt her get up. A small moan, deep in his throat, sounded, and he took a long breath in through his nose. Bix sent every ounce of love he could muster to Mr. Elan. Gods, he needed a cup of coffee. Opening one red eye, he sat upright again and heaved himself to his feet, twisting the sweat pants he'd slept in so they weren't bunched into his crotch anymore. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he slowly staggered to the kitchen.

Bix turned the corner to find his father, in workout gear, sipping on a cup of the sweet nectar of the gods he needed. He dragged his body onto a stool next to his father, a cup of coffee appearing in front of him. A loving look at the mug and a muttered thank you to Mr. Elan later, Bix took a small sip, smiling.

"Sleep well?" his father asked, Arman's eyes dancing with amusement. Bix rubbed one eye and took a large swig from his mug. "Like a rock," he answered, gulping again. "I'll bet." Arman grinned. "You both looked like you could use the rest." It wasn't the first time he'd caught a small pile of kids on the couch, but it was undoubtedly the most modest. As he opened his mouth to make another comment at his unaware son, and it was hard to catch Bix unaware, Mrs. Elan came into the kitchen, a confused look on her face.

"Ambassador." She addressed him formally. Arman's smile fell from his face. That meant they had company. "A young man wishes to speak with you," Mrs. Elan said crisply, her eyes scanning the room for the status of everyone's capability to receive company. "Shall I show him to your study?" Arman rose to his feet. He wasn't sure what to make of the situation. He was unaccustomed to people showing up to his home without announcing their intention to do so; Especially in the last week of their family mourning period. His chest throbbed with anger and offense. How dare this person come to his home and interrupt their family for any reason? Forgetting his attire and playfully mocking his son, Arman gave Mrs. Elan a curt, dark nod and refilled his coffee cup from the decanter on the counter. He was in no rush. "Bickslow." The severity of his father's tone caught Bix off guard and had his attention immediately. "Dad?" He blinked and looked up at his father's calm face. "Go get dressed. Take the back hall and meet me back here." His father didn't look at him as he spoke. "And do it as quickly as you can." Bix blinked at his father one more time before sliding off the stool and running silently down the back hall to his room.

Lucy saw Bix streak by, and her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. That was the fastest she had ever seen him move before a cup of coffee, which to the best of her knowledge, he hadn't had yet. With a small shrug, Lucy walked down the hall back to the living room, and Bix passed her again, pulling a shirt over his head. That settled it. Her feeling of confusion transformed into concern. "Arman, what's going on?" she asked, eyeing her father in law. "Have a cup of coffee, Cosplayer," Bix answered her when Arman started to move to the door of the kitchen. "I've got dad covered."

Arman's face, though he had a relaxed expression sitting on it, she could tell from his posture he had entered angry dignitary mode. She recognized the stiffened posture and slightly clenched jaw from her father. And Arman Pradesh had very, very little in common with Jude Heartfilia. "It'll be alright, my dear," Mr. Elan said to Lucy, pulling her attention back to the kitchen. A cup of coffee appeared before her. The man was indeed a godsend. "Thank you. Do you know what's going on?" she asked, blowing across the liquid before sipping it. Perfectly sweet. She smiled softly. "There is an unannounced guest. Mr. Pradesh usually only sees people at home with an appointment. No one would be able to schedule one presently. His frustration is at the presumptuous visit and the incredibly poor timing."

As he spoke, the magic Mr. Elan had prepared a bran muffin piled with strawberry jam and placed it on a plate with mixed fruit and a green smoothie he had made earlier in a glass. Lucy slid into the stool as a plate slid to her. "It's rather rude. I can't say I blame him," she said thoughtfully, taking another sip of coffee before surveying breakfast. "Mr. Elan, you're a wonder." The chef smiled at the blonde, beaming at him over her plate.

Zen woke, sitting straight up in bed. His chest felt like a steel girder had been shoved straight through it. A hand flew up to his left bicep, checking for the pair of brass cuffs he wore. The magic canceling shackles he'd been wearing as they left the burning city of Romell had proven to be a boon in their new life as magic dulling arm cuffs his father had commissioned. Zen placed a hand over his heart and massaged the area gently, his father's teary words ringing in his mind. "You've worn shackles your whole life. I can't bear to watch you wear them anymore. Let me make them into something beautiful for you." And beautiful they were. The brass hammered thinly and braided like a cord; the jeweler had fashioned cables into the metal, creating a woven, intricate pattern.

They were still his cuffs. But now, they represented a new lease on life, much like the new lease he had. His chest still ached, though it lessened as he breathed. It dawned on him all at once. It was a pull, but it wasn't Lucy. Warm, welcoming, open. He was too familiar with the sensation massaging his magic that was Lucy. This pull had a darker twinge to it. The light at its core was intact, but around the edges, he felt a creeping sense of darkness, and it thrilled him for just a moment. This person was dangerous, but that didn't mean that they were a threat. Vander was dangerous, but he was the single most ridiculous person Zen had ever met and could turn danger on and off like a switch.

He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. Zen stood and made his way over to the dresser on the far wall of the room. He needed to see what was going on, and to do that, he'd need pants.

Bix was on Arman's heels as they strode down the hall, not bothering to quiet their approach. The study doors stood ajar enough to see a person with long auburn hair sitting on the leather sofa. Arman straightened his compression shirt and threw a glance over his shoulder at his son, opening the pocket doors. His study was comfortable, intentionally designed to put anyone who entered it at ease. But he was surprised as the narrow shoulders of the man on his couch tensed at the sound.

The man stood, his waist-length auburn hair swinging at the speed. He faced the man he'd come to meet. Bowing his head, he muttered, "Ambassador," before laying his hand on his chest and dipping his chin lower. Arman noted the lilt in his low tenor that smacked of Minstrel. Arman's jade eyes slid over him, taking note of several things. First, the clan tattoo that rested low on his right hip, a rising sun. The second, his skin color was light. He was tan, like a Boscan, but lighter, with an olive undertone. Arman knew without a doubt that this man was neither Boscan nor Minstrelan, but both and a clansman. A unique heritage. "You have me at a disadvantage," Arman said coolly. "Please introduce yourself."

He was furious. But he also knew that whatever this man's reason was, he didn't want to be rude. He was becoming more intrigued as to what brought this man to his home by the second. "Please forgive my intrusion, Ambassador," he started, moving out of the bow he held. His hands fell to his sides but did not stay there. "My name is Ari Lucien, of clan Licht." As he spoke, his hands gestured to himself, a Minstrelan mannerism if Arman had ever seen one. Arman surveyed the man. Beautiful was the word that immediately came to mind. He had delicate features, leaning more toward the feminine, and his build was narrow but athletic. His body seemed lithe and well trained above all else. He was in perfect control over every inch.

Arman knew the game. Speaking with one's hands while disarming, was more importantly, distracting. It seemed to come as second nature to Ari, learned from exposure, but it was also intentional. Arman just couldn't tell where nature and intent stopped and started. He was good.

"What brings you here, Mr. Lucien? I was just starting my first cup of coffee." Ari winced, his displeasure from interrupting the Ambassador seemed genuine, but Arman, wisely, wasn't ready to trust it. With a glance over his shoulder once again, Arman looked to Bix. His son was on the same page, nodding to his father. So far, he was who he said he was. "Again, sir, I apologize. I didn't want to make myself a bother, but I couldn't wait anymore. And no one would suspect me meeting you now."

It was a plan. The early morning, last week of the mourning period. Arman raised an eyebrow impatiently and strode behind his desk, gesturing for Ari to take a seat in front of it. Bix moved to his father's right shoulder, where he watched the man's soul churn, swirling with golds and greens, thin threads of murky grey working their way through like marbling on a piece of meat. His soul was damaged. Not beyond repair, but cracking. "Thank you," he nodded and took the offered seat, his eyes fixed on the hands in his lap. Well, he was capable of politeness when rude didn't suit his needs better. That was a good enough starting point for Arman. "I came to see you because I know it was you who had Vander and Presca… retired from the Steel Council." He chose his words carefully, and his mocha-colored eyes met Arman's gaze intensely. "I was hoping we might come to an arrangement where you would do the same for me."

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're talking about," Arman replied his mask of calm and collected holding by some miracle. "Even if I could've done such a thing, what makes you certain that I could help you? My son and his best friend are one thing, but you're a perfect stranger." He was acting callous, and he knew it, but Arman was testing the waters with the man. He couldn't admit to being the one that had pried Vander and Presca out of the claws of the Steel Council at their request. But then, Ari Lucien had never copped to being a Bloodhunter either.

The narrow shoulders of the man softened. He was gaining ground. Arman needed to put a stop to it at once. "Ambassador, may I speak frankly?" His eyes continued to bore into Arman's, who nodded once. "I'd rather not play games with you. I could try to use all my charms to make you say something to confirm the rumors. You could keep rubbing me wrong intentionally to test my worthiness of the information. And you being you would win." Ari leaned forward onto his knees with his forearms. "But truly, Ambassador, I just want out." Arman threw a look over his shoulder at Bix, who nodded, not bothering with discretion.

"You're going to keep being honest with me. And I need to clarify a couple of things," Arman said, eyeing the man in front of him. He was older than most of his children. Arman placed him at or just south of thirty. Ari leaned back into his chair and murmured his agreement to the terms of answering questions honestly. He was beyond his pride. He bordered on desperate even. "You are a Bloodhunter?" Ari nodded. "Please, answer aloud. We're building trust here, no?"

Brown eyes widened for a half a breath and settled into an amused clam. "Yes."

"How long?" His question was the moment where instinct might overpower the man's desire, and Arman was watching for it. "Fourteen years." Arman's eyes widened at his answer. Fourteen years. That meant he was drafted at roughly the same age as he had entered his mandatory military service at fifteen. All the man had known for half of his life was blood and espionage. "How old are you?" Ari looked genuinely surprised. "May I ask why it's important?"

Arman smiled for the first time since entering the room. It instantly made his guest relax. He knew that he had that effect on people. "I'm curious. Indulge me." Ari fidgeted in his seat. He was old for a Bloodhunter, and he knew it. Most were young things in their prime. He had crested his prime five years ago, and he was starting to feel it. "Twenty-nine." He watched Arman's and Bixy's reactions happen at the same time. Their looks of surprise were not unexpected, and they quickly righted themselves. "I know," he started calmly. "I'm old for a Bloodhunter."

Vander strolled to the doorway of the kitchen silently, catching the tail end of a conversation. He paused before entering to listen.

"There is an unannounced guest. Mr. Pradesh usually only sees people at home with an appointment. And not under present circumstances. His frustration is at the presumptuous visit and the incredibly poor timing."

"It is rather rude. I can't say I blame Arman," Lucy's voice smiled. "Mr. Elan, you're a wonder."

Van backed out of the doorway and slipped into the early morning shadows, hurrying to the study where he knew his father would be with the guest. He slid under the door, peering into the room around him from the corner near the pocket doors. Van noticed the auburn-haired man at his father's desk and grinned to himself. And here he thought the day might be dull.

Bix leaned down to his father's ear, whispering something and looking into his corner. Snitch, he thought, holding his place. His father would have wanted him there anyway, he was sure. The jig was up. Vander stepped out of the shadows, entering the room and eyeing the back of the auburn head he knew. "Blistati," he said, beaming at Ari. He watched, wickedly amused, as Ari's shoulders tensed slightly at the nickname. A small chuckle escaped his lips. "I should have known you'd crash." Bickslow rolled his eyes and sighed.

Zen tied his hair into a messy bun at the back of his head as he walked into the kitchen, surprised to find only Lucy and Mr. Elan. His sister in law was munching on mixed fruit as he took the seat next to her. "Who's here?" he asked, stealing a piece of melon from her plate and popping it into his mouth. The blonde scowled at him. Melon was her second favorite, after strawberries. "Good morning to you too. Stay out of my plate, or I'll put a fork in your hand," she greeted him, a sweetness in her voice that made their family chef chuckle as he dished up more fruit. "Someone came unannounced. Your father and Bix are in the study."

Zen nodded. "Can you sense them?"

Lucy blinked for a moment. It seemed like an odd question. Zen would be just as likely to be able to sense them as well as she could. His instinct for knowing magic was something that astounded Lucy. Maybe he was second-guessing himself? But as she slid her eyes closed, Lucy took a steadying breath and reached out around her, looking for magic. She felt Zen, Arman, Bix, Vander, and what she assumed was the visitor. His magic pressure seemed muted, probably intentionally, but the signature of his magic felt vaguely familiar.

Zen's eyes never left Lucy as he watched her take in her surroundings. Taking another piece of melon off her plate and eating it, he laughed in alarm as a fork came down a split second too late to catch his hand, the tines clanging on the marble. "His magic feels familiar," she muttered, opening her eyes and leveling her gaze on him. "And that was a warning." Mr. Elan laughed softly to himself again, placing a bowl of mostly melon in front of Zen, raising an eyebrow at the man.

Lucy smirked at her brother in law, eating a strawberry smugly. Despite her flippant exterior, Lucy was ticking inside. Her brain was running through everyone she knew. Why did that magic feel so familiar? And why did Zen ask about it? Mr. Elan moved to the far end of the kitchen. "So you feel them too then. What did you feel, other than familiar?" Zen asked between pieces of fruit. Lucy looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Just… familiar. Why are you asking me? It's not like you wouldn't pick up on it." Her tone was curious and her eyes flashed when he met her sideways gaze. "It has a pull."

Lucy's head snapped to him. "That's not possible," she deadpanned. "You're telling me. They aren't a Celestial Mage. I shouldn't feel it like I do." Her brows knitted together again. "It doesn't make sense, Zen." A sigh passed through his full lips. He knew that. It wasn't like he hadn't been learning everything that he could about his magic. He'd been reading for weeks and scrounging up whatever information he could, including regular calls with the ever-gracious Dean Kalperden of the Academe Celestine. Lucy tapped the tines of her fork against her bottom lip in thought. "Didn't Dean Kalperden mention that Celestial wizards aren't the only wizards that Archangels could mate and bond? Light and Holy mages are also possible if I recall correctly." Zen hummed his agreement. "That's right. He did," he mumbled. That had to be it. "A Light or a Holy mage? I've never met a Holy mage, but Sting is the light dragon slayer. That isn't what his magic feels like, though."

Lucy found herself slipping back into thought, running through all the mages she could possibly remember. She knew she would figure it out. It was just a matter of time. "If I remember, I'll let you know first," she said, nodding her head in affirmation. Zen nodded. "Any progress on your research?" His purple eyes met her chocolate brown ones and she felt her heart throb in her chest. She still couldn't help but wonder if it would ever be usual with them. She was getting the feeling it wasn't. She sighed again, sipping the refreshed cup of coffee and shook her head. "Not really. There's so much information on mating, the process especially for dragons and even slayers. But the only thing that I keep finding is that mates die without each other. It's not very encouraging."

Zen nodded slowly, finishing his breakfast. He luckily didn't have the caffeine addiction that had Mr. Elan brewing pot after pot of coffee each morning, though he would confess that the smell was divine, and he did like the taste occasionally. "I can understand that. Your situation is unique. Like Kaleb said, you have a Seith looking out for you. Perhaps no one had that before."

Like cogs sliding perfectly into place, Lucy gasped. She flung herself off the stool and threw her arms around Zen's broad shoulders, startling the man who barely caught her. "You're brilliant!" She pulled herself away from him quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly pink. "So sorry. I know you don't like to be touched." Zen's face split into a gentle smile. "You're right, but there are worse people I can think of doing so." Lucy giggled softly and placed a soft hand on his forearm, hesitating just before contact. "Thank you, Zen." Her words were a little breathless as she jogged out of the kitchen and down the back hall.

A/N:

So the world is going a little crazy right now. I hope all fo you are well, safe, and I'm keeping your wellbeing in my thoughts.

On the shorter side. That was both intentional and circumstantial. I haven't hit publish in two weeks and didn't want to wait anymore. I'm hoping I won't have to overhaul my plans for this story again (ooh yeah, that's why it took 2 weeks) and now that we've been officially sequestered, I'm doing a lot of drawing, writing, and working out. So I'm hoping it won't take as long as we settle into isolation.

Blistati is Serbo-Croatian for 'glitter, glisten' according to the Google box. If someone reading this speaks Serbo-Croatian and it's not correct, please let me know and I'll fix it right away.

Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, favoriting, following and mashing all the other buttons. It really means the world. I went to go publish this chapter and looked at the stats for the first time in forever. Fine Shrine has received over 3,000 views. Guys. Guys. That's mind-blowing! I mean what?! Super humbling.

WS: Thanks for the kind words! I enjoy reading your reviews. Bix and Lucy are biffles. Headcannon says so. And I would love to have the Zen conversation with you. After I complete this story haha. I have so many thoughts on the matter that I can't get into without spilling beans I don't want to spill.

Guest: Our girl is tough as nails and time heals all wounds. Fingers crossed for her though.

Until next time,

Nik