So here it is! Chapter 2! A rude awakening turns into some uninvited guests...


High up in a tall pine on the island of Tenrou, slept a young man. A young man with long thick blonde hair, ragged clothes… With bright red eyes and a dangerous addiction for fire. Along with the case of amnesia, you end up with Zancrow, who was slowly awaking to the sound of birds, and the sun hanging low and orange in the rosy-pink dawn sky. He had really woken far too early, and his heavy limbs confirmed that fact. The horrible shrill sound of those damn birds was really starting to drive Zancrow insane, he hated nature, and he was grumpy at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. Rubbing his eyes moodily, scraping away at the grit that had built up there from the few hours of sleep that he had had, he yelled at the top of his lungs: 'SHUT UP!'

The twittering immediately ceased, and Zancrow, now satisfied with the level of noise, squirmed slightly to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. He supposed nature hated him too. Heh. Good. The world around him was far too quiet, even if everything did hate him. Surely by now, something desperate would have approached him for food, or accidentally come across him whilst he was drinking at the river. He liked it this way – he loathed nature, nature loathed him. Smiling a little, he realised that was completely different to that girl in the old story he remembered reading (Little by little, useless memories such as this were starting to appear in his mind, which pleased Zancrow to no ends), the one where all the creatures of the wood loved her and helped her with work. Maybe he should start singing as well, to attract all the animals of the forest. Zancrow snorted with laughter and relaxed deeper into the crook he was resting in.

Not five minutes later, he heard a twig snap. This wouldn't have been a concern of any kind, there were creatures on Tenrou Island, even if they did give him a wide berth – except for there were voices emanating from the direction from which Zancrow knew the 'snap' had come from. The voices were too far away to make out clearly, just some indistinct muttering. Despite his sharp hearing (It wasn't quite on Dragon Slayer level, but it was still damn good hearing), he could not locate exactly where they were coming from, as they were still a long way away. However, he could tell that there were two of them, one large and the other average sized from the sounds of their voices.

Zancrow was perched as close as he dared to the end of the bough he had slept on. He didn't know how much of his weight it would support, and he didn't care to find out. The last thing he needed now was to be discovered, and these people (there was a slim chance but even so…), might actually know him. In a crouch, leaning forwards, with his head in the air like a dog that had caught whiff of an interesting scent, Zancrow listened as hard as he could to the conversation. It was difficult because the dense trees all around completely absorbed the sound, and even though he was slightly above the crown of most of the trees, he could really hear nothing but muttering. They'd stopped talking now… How irritating. The two were close enough to him now that their footsteps were audible to him. There! His head snapped in their direction. They were in his line of sight now as they walked in stony silence. As he watched, he realised that something about them was oddly familiar. One was huge and pale, with jet-black hair, and from what Zancrow could detect from earlier, a heavy speech impediment. The other was smaller, though perhaps a little taller than himself, with slick grey hair assembled into a sort of quiff, with glasses and a pair of leather gloves. They were so familiar… Yet they were complete strangers… Wait. They had paused now, directly underneath him, and they hadn't even spied him! Zancrow looked down with glee. Idiots. Were they blind or something? It was an evergreen tree that he was hiding in to be fair to them, but even so, he was fairly prominent. Zancrow wondered whether they were messing with him, and was seriously debating with himself on whether he should screech at them to go away or not, when the smaller began to speak:

'We couldn't find him. Not anywhere. We searched all over this land, encapsulated by the ocean, and nowhere did we find the empty shell of our fallen comrade…'

Zancrow leaned forward interestedly. "Fallen comrade?" This guy was difficult to understand (What's with all the flowery language, huh?), but the topic was certainly interesting. Rolling his eyes, the grey-hair had launched into another overly-descriptive speech, he hastened to hear more:

'Though we could not find his shell, his spirit will certainly live on… May your ever rest in peace, Zancrow, my friend…'

'U-uh-uh-uh yeah…' his huge companion replied, clearly even more lost than Zancrow was. Not listening, the gloved poet lamented further about his lost friend, and Zancrow tried desperately to interpret his complex vocabulary. His friend's 'shell'? That meant 'body', he guessed. And all this talk about his spirit 'living on'… What was his name again? Zancrow, wasn't it? These two were looking for the body of their fallen friend, Zancrow. Or maybe not. Grey-hair was horribly difficult to understand, and he was getting sick of him yammering away under the tree he was trying to sleep in. His curiosity had been satisfied now, and he had no need to let them stay here any longer – they had worn out their welcome.

Taking the two by surprise, Zancrow leapt from the bough of the tree, falling straight down and landing directly in front of them. If he was being honest, he hadn't really thought this through, as he often made decisions on a whim, but he just wanted them to leave. He was exhausted, and he desperately needed some more sleep.

As he landed smoothly in front of them, bending his knees to absorb the impact of the fall, the two's eyes widened – whether in shock or in horror, it was hard to tell. Zancrow, taking no notice of this, advanced, holding up flaming fists.

'D'ya mind leaving?'

Receiving no answer except the flummoxed looks of surprise on their faces, he decided to speak again:

'I said: D'ya mind leaving? I happen to be sleeping nearby, and your incessant blabbering is keeping me awake.'

Blank looks.

'You're really startin' to get on my nerves now. Say summat, would ya?'

When he did not even manage to rouse one word from them, Zancrow sighed theatrically and lowered his hands that were bunched into fists, ready to strike. He knew that he shouldn't let his guard down, but he was really too drained to care. He had turned around and was starting to scale his tree when the grey-haired man spoke:

'Y-you're… Alive?!'

Zancrow was at a loss for words, not sure what was going on. Unhinging his jaw that he had clenched shut in a scowl, he attempted to word a reply:

'Huh? Yeah I'm alive… Look at me.'

He gestured widely to himself.

'Do I look dead to you?'

Suddenly, horror dawning on him, he hastily tried to speak again.

'Do I… Kn-'

But he was sharply cut off by Grey-hair.

'How did you manage to survive, Zancrow?!'

Zancrow stood stunned, numb with shock, his worst fears confirmed. Oh crap. He did know them. He was Zancrow. The guy who had supposedly died. He was Zancrow. How did he survive? He wished that he knew… Perhaps the gods had taken mercy upon him? Did he just have amnesia? Or could he rise from the dead? Was he not human?! Why could he not remember anything? He clearly had a life before he woke up… No wonder these two seemed so familiar. Thoughts swirled like a torrent in Zancrow's head as he realised that he had to make a convincing conversation or these two would soon discover that he could barely remember anything… An unpleasant fluttering in his stomach told him to be wary – he had a feeling that he could be manipulated and fed lies… The discomfort inside of him somehow knew what these two men could be like… Zancrow felt vulnerable, a prickle at the back of his neck that sent cold sweat running down his back, and a shiver down his spine. It was a terrible feeling – like he was naked and raw, exposed to the elements. He had paused for a while now… Better say something…

'Survive? What do you mean? I never died in the first place.'

Trying to make himself look calm and confident, he grinned, knowing full well that he probably just looked sheepish. His unexpected visitors exchanged a look that Zancrow could not decipher, and taking Zancrow by surprise, Grey-hair stepped forwards, reached out and placed a gloved hand on Zancrow's shoulder. Promptly, he flinched back out of reach, and Grey-hair's eyes gleamed. He'd worked it out. If he'd have done something like put hand on Zancrow's shoulder, the egotistical Flame God Slayer would have smacked his arm away in fury and demanded to know what the hell he was doing. Zancrow was being oddly cautious – usually he was just outright aggressive. Something had happened, and he, Rustyrose, was determined to get to the root of it. Rustyrose glanced sideways at his companion, Kain, who was thankfully staying quiet, and decided to probe Zancrow's thoughts:

'So, do you not remember the friends that you have fought with, through thick and thin, who you have laughed and made merry with throughout your days?'

Standing frozen, his mind running on overdrive, Zancrow tried desperately to grasp his own thoughts, but they just appeared in tiny flashes. Like trying to pick up water with hands, the memories trickled through the gaps of his mind like fluid.

'Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I remember my own friends?' He flashed them a nonchalant smile.

Rustyrose narrowed his eyes. Far too friendly. He couldn't remember them. Maybe they should just show him anyway, he'd leave Grimoire Heart once he found out, whatever state he was in. Sighing, Rustyrose motioned for him to follow him and Kain, and Zancrow, knowing that he'd been found out, decided to follow, interested in what this might culminate in.

They had walked for a while now, the only sound audible was their footsteps on the hard earth of the island, when Zancrow saw that they were approaching the shore – the densely packed, dark soil gave way to warm yellow sand. Woah. Sand wasn't the only thing on the shore. Sprawled on the flat ground, like a gargantuan metal monster, was a sleek, black ship designed for flight, a crimson, heart-shaped mark emblazoned on the front. The mark was instantly recognisable, and Zancrow didn't have to think for very long to work out where he'd seen it before. On his chest. He had this symbol tattooed on his chest. What was it doing there? Maybe it was an organisation. A criminal organisation?! Does the mark prove that you're a member of a secret society? More importantly, why was it on him? What kind of cult did he belong to?

Before his mind could get any more mixed up, Rustyrose had jabbed him in the small of his back, causing him to jump slightly, and throw a dirty look at the offender. Zancrow had been so absorbed by his personal mystery that he had stopped walking, and Rustyrose had taken it upon himself to remind him to keep moving. Rubbing his now-sore back, Zancrow lurched forwards, and continued to make his way to the giant ship. It almost glared at him with its smooth, shining contours. When they had reached the side, Grey-hair shoving ahead of him, Zancrow was really starting to wonder whether he should go through with this or not – was going into a huge black ship with an ominous mark slapped across it with two complete strangers who apparently seemed to know him really such a good idea? However, it was too late now. Placing his palm on the ship, Rustyrose revealed a door that seamlessly blended in with the rest of the metal. Zancrow blinked in surprise; the door was undetectable. Turning to face him, Rustyrose announced:

'Only a member of Grimoire Heart could have done that.'

'Grimoire Heart? What are you talkin' about? What is that? A secret organisation or somethin'?

Zancrow knew that he had been discovered, there was no point hiding it anymore. He'd decided that he'd even prefer lies than being kept continuously kept in the dark.

'Grimoire Heart is a guild, a guild for wizards. You are part of the elite, like us. The Seven Kin of Purgatory.' Rustyrose explained.

Zancrow's jaw just about dropped. Wizard guild? Elite?! He wanted to know more…

'What kind of jobs do we do then? Where are the other, um… (Mental arithmetic is quite difficult when you're undergoing a life changing event.) Four?'

'That can wait until we've shown you a little more…' was Rustyrose's only response.

'Well, can I at least have your names, you know mine, that's unfair!'

Grinning a little at his petulant behaviour, Rustyrose revealed his name, and his companion, Kain's, who was being incredibly subdued. Hoping that this information would be enough to tempt Zancrow to come with them, Rustyrose and Kain strode inside, leaving the curious blonde to follow.

Walking through the halls that seemed to stretch for miles – the thing was even more massive on the inside – Zancrow realised that Grimoire Heart was definitely not the kind of guild that did good. It was quite obviously, from the ominous mottos scattered around the place, and the tapestries that hung on the walls, the kind of guild that had very strong ideas about who was 'scum' and who were 'gods'. The thickly woven tapestries depicted wizards striking down the non-magical folk, and of demons destroying the dragons in all their glory, and perhaps most disturbingly of all, a raven-haired mage summoning grotesque demons of all shapes and sizes. For some reason, this image interested Zancrow the most; it seemed to provide an insight into something, something he knew, deep inside of himself. The pitch-black haired wizard was the most intriguing by far. Glaring at the picture in front of him, Zancrow heard words dancing around in his head, echoing slightly, and faint, as if he hadn't heard them properly:

'Forgive me… Man whose name I did not know…' the voice said mournfully.

My name…? It's Zancrow, isn't it...? Where have I heard this voice before? I feel a little… Scared, I guess, when I hear it. Glancing once more at the tapestry, trying to organise his thoughts, he could hear someone breathing sharply over his shoulder. Mustering the blackest look he could, a very pissed Zancrow turned slowly and attempted to lock eyes with the perpetrator. Surprisingly enough, it was Kain. Leaning forwards, he poked a fat finger at the image of the mage, and muttered in a great hurry:

'Th-ld-ref!'

Zancrow stared at him with wide eyes, and exclaimed angrily:

'The hell was that?!'

Kain looked down at the floor until help arrived in the shape of a gloved poet.

'Allow me to translate. What Kain here means is that wizard there, who has given birth to countless demons, who has plunged the world into chaos in eras before our own; the one who will deliver us into a new age where wizards will live in an Ultimate Magical World, where non-magic users will either die or live Hell on Earth; who will allow us to use our magic, unburdened by laws; that mage, is our Lord Zeref!'

Oh, that confirmed it. They were a madcap cult. How did he get into this mess, surely he wasn't so gullible?

'Right, that's it.'

Rustyrose's speech about a glorious new world was cut short by Zancrow's blunt outburst.

'That is what?'

'I've had enough of your creepy, oh, 'everyone can die apart from us' cult, it's freaking me out.'

'This, is no cult Zancrow. Grimoire Heart is a real organisation. It was – is –the strongest dark guild in all of Fiore, one of the Balam alliance.'

Zancrow didn't know what a Balam Alliance was, but he did understand the 'strongest dark guild' part. Was he really a part of all this? Did he really get sucked into this, and worse, actually believed all this rubblish?

'Well I don't like it. And I'm leaving. See ya.'

Rustyrose made one last effort to recapture his attention. They might as well show Zancrow what they had found. Anyway, Rustyrose wanted to know himself. He'd better show him the book…

'Well, don't you want to know who you are?'

Zancrow froze, turning back around to face Rustyrose, eyes ablaze with hidden curiosity. Jackpot. Now to make him a little more desperate…

'Because I know of a notebook that our master left behind, and I happen to have knowledge of it being about you.'

Rustyrose paused here and shrugged in an overly-dramatic way.

'No matter how much we begged and pleaded with Master Hades, he would never show us the contents of that book, and kept it under magical lock and key. Now, however, the enchantments seem to have broken, and you are free to read the entries at your leisure.'

Utterly surprised, Zancrow felt a tugging sensation as he realised that he wanted to read that book so badly that it was almost causing him physical pain. What on Earthland could be so secret about his own life (which he could still not remember), that it was sealed away with spells to keep even the most intrigued out? He had to know now… But he couldn't show them how deeply he desired that information…. Then he'd be easily wrapped around their fingers, easily to manipulate, to blackmail. It would be easy enough for them to say, 'Do what we want, in exchange for snippets of information' to quench his thirst for knowledge.

'Well don't I have right to read this, if it's all about me? And even so, why haven't you touched it? Didn't you want to know?'

This threw Rustyrose for a second. In reality, he hadn't read the book because he had hoped Zancrow would have explained it to him, but since he so obviously lacked his memories, the best course of action would probably be to lie.

'I have touched it. I didn't read it because the book will not respond to me or Kain. It won't respond to anybody except from you, since I have reason to believe that the book is about you, and you alone.'

That seemed like a convincing lie, after all, magic can achieve amazing feats of wonder that we can only begin to fathom… That concept wouldn't work however. Master Hades is dead, all the enchantments binding the book will have dissipated. But Zancrow is missing his memories, so there's no reason why he shouldn't believe it. To his relief, Zancrow seemed satisfied with his response, and letting out a breath that he had been silently holding, Rustyrose and Kain led Zancrow to their master's office.

Ha! How stupid did they think he was? That was an outright lie, even magic can't do that! Once an owner leaves, every enchantment is lifted, you can't just pick and choose which ones stay and which go! Well, he was assuming that this Master Hades was far enough from them that the enchantments have disappeared, it was the only explanation… They probably wanted him to explain the notes or something, things that only he would know. Well, they were going to be disappointed. His memories were clearly absent, so no divulged secrets for them! …Or for him too, really. But there were probably some juicy morsels of information in that book, so he didn't mind at all. Truth be told, he was a little worried about reading the notes. He didn't like the character he was discovering he was, and the book may just dash his hopes and make him feel even worse about himself. Well he'd rather the truth. But ignorance is bliss, so they say… They walked together – well, more like Rustyrose and Kain together, and Zancrow staying well away – to Hades' office, where the mysterious notebook lurked.


I hope that you enjoyed Chapter 2! I can't wait to get the next chapter on here, it's certainly interesting to write. I hope to add quite a few more chapters, and make it into a good adventure. And again, thank you for reading!