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In the Bones

Part Three

The trees are quiet for the first time in days as she wanders through the woods, not a sound but the rush of the wind and the panting of her spirits as they dart through the trees, trotting along beside her. The wolves appear to float as they run, barely making contact with the ground, paws merely skimming the earth. They're faded at the edges, translucent in the light, hazy. It's been days since she last sent them back to their bones, afraid to be without them in the forest.

It's risky, she knows, to keep them awake for so long. Without rest they could crumble to dust, and that isn't what she wants at all. Lucy has seen many spirits lose their ways, their bones beginning to rot due to neglect. It is not a pretty sight. They become feral, malevolent, and turn on their masters without preamble. It is rare for it to happen, especially now, when the spirits are needed the most, but it is a possibility.

She'll have to let them rest tonight. Send them to sleep for a day or two, let them gather back the energy they've lost over the last few days. Lucy's watched them dim further and further each day, the wolves ghosts of themselves. Perhaps she could call a different spirit during the night: her Lion, her Lamb.

The wolves don't appear to mind either way, Plue toddling along beside her and Fen and Sharsa weaving through the undergrowth in a strange game, chasing each other. They don't go more than a hundred feet in any direction, staying close to her side, though she doesn't blame them for that. They know the Skinwalkers far better than her. Lucy has seen them in the trees few times in her life, but she's never been ripped apart by those monsters.

If she had, she doubts she would ever come back to these woods.

Truthfully, she never meant to come back so soon. The woods are more dangerous than she previously thought. It was foolish to return so quickly after seeing one those beasts lurking in the trees. Lucy was always taught that where there was one there were likely a dozen more, hiding, blending in with the darkness. Skinwalkers are solitary hunters, her mother told her once, they'll fight and bleed for their prey, but they stay in groups regardless. She could never understand why. They do not need protection from anything. Nothing would dare come after them, yet they still form groups, clans of their own. Almost a family, though she would never call them that.

The thought of it makes her sick. Seeing only one Skinwalker terrified her down to the bones, left her fear struck for a long moment. She doesn't want to think about being surrounded by those monsters, left to be picked apart, the flesh stripped from her bones, eaten or added to their rotting corpses she wouldn't know.

It would be a terrible thing to have her bones left in the forest, her body left rotting in the undergrowth. She found many skulls in the woods, smaller animals mostly, but also giants among creatures: the Gods Elk, with their antlers skimming above the trees, tall as mountains, proud creatures revered as the most powerful of spirits; Skarmuth bears several times the size of a man, fearsome beasts that could tear any person to pieces; creatures she couldn't even begin to describe, all mangled and picked clean of their pelts, nothing but blood and bones.

Lucy shouldn't have come back to the woods, but the trees have always called to her like no other. She always finds herself among the forest, her spirits running alongside her as she weaves through the worn paths in the dirt, moving with practiced ease. Lucy is like her mother in that regard; she was always wandering through the forest when she was still alive, something luring her deeper into the shadows each time.

Spiritwalkers have always been connected with the forest, though Lucy isn't sure why. There's something about the stillness, the way the shadows dance across the ground, almost magical. The way the woods seems to pull at her spirit, drawing her in like a whisper in her ear, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Her connection to the forest is powerful yet dangerous. There are monsters lurking in the trees, and each time she steps passed the tree line she risks never coming out, but she can't force herself to stay away.

There are times she wishes she could, but Lucy wouldn't be able to live with herself if she left so many spirits to wander through the woods, trapped in the darkness for the rest of their existence. They deserve far better than that. Lucy's spirits are her friends, the only constants in her life. They've been there for her when she needed them most.

A low whine comes from her right, and Lucy glances down to find Fen nosing at her hip, green eyes bright, unreadable. Hs black fur is growing shaggy, winter coming close. She's missed the snow. The winters aren't nearly as harsh in the Summerlands as they were back home, but she's grown used to them. She misses the cold though. The immense heat of the summer is suffocating for her, though she likes the spring. The flowers are nice.

Absently she drags her fingers through Fen's fur, scratching behind his ears. "What?" she asks him, grinning faintly when his tongue lolls from his mouth, tail wagging happily. He whines again in response to her question, staring up at her expectantly. His ears flicker at the tips, eyes tired, and Lucy knows she'll have to send them all back soon, though she's loath to do it.

Lucy doesn't know where her spirits go when they're away, but they always come back changed. There's something strange about them when she summons them again. They're quiet, something shadowed in their eyes. The wolves are always snappish when they come back, only for a moment or two. Once Sharsa nearly took off her hand, the typically sweet wolf striking a her for the first time she can remember.

The scars are still on her hand, three curved silver marks, a crescent following the curve of her thumb and forefinger. She was lucky not to lose her hand, or a finger at the least. Lucy was never afraid of any of her spirits until that moment. She'd never seen them so rattled.

Lucy never summons them on the night of the new moon, when the sky is darker than any other time. There's a strangeness in the air when the moon is good, a power. It is similar to when the moon is at its peak, though much darker. Her mother used to tell her that the night of no moon brought bad magic along with it. There has always been a violence in the air on dark nights, no moon to guide the spirits way.

The night of no moon is approaching swiftly, only days away, and Lucy knows better than to keep her spirits out until then. She is not so much a fool as to play with dark magic.

There's an underlying danger that comes with summoning beastly spirits: some are tricksters, some looking to steal the souls of their masters, as if feasting on them might return their bodies to a physical form. Those are the stories they tell on dark nights, when the moon is gone and the only lights in the night are those from the fire and the glowing crystals from the northern caves, though most of those lights have since gone out.

They used to terrify her as a child, the tales of dark spirits and those who cast them. There used to be more Spiritwalkers that played with restless spirits, but most are gone now, disappearing into the trees, consumed by their own madness, others eaten by their own summons, their piles of bones turning to dust, swept away with the wind.

No one has dared play with dark magic for many years now, not since the outbreak of war between themselves and the Dragonborne. Her father, Lucy thinks, would try to summon dark spirits if he could. He was never born with the gift to summon, their ranks a dying breed. It made him angry, violent at times. Envy would crawl his veins until it found his heart, twisting it into a shadow of itself.

In some ways, she can understand his reasons. She would hate to be powerless. They have their spirits and the Dragonborne their magic, conjuring fire and lightning. To be without any magic at all is not something Lucy can imagine so easily.

Lucy chews her lower lip, fingers winding through her hair as she finds the bones woven through the strands. Her hands move slowly across herself: her hair, her neck, the bones dangling from her wrists, some sewn into her clothing. They are as much a part of her as her own skin.

A cold nose presses against her hand, so faint she barely feels it. Without looking down, her fingers wind through shaggy fur, a low whine coming from one of the wolves, though she doesn't know which, her gaze locked on the trees ahead of her. A dark blur races through the undergrowth, low to the ground and light on its feet. The wolf beside her whines again before giving chase without pause.

Smiling at them fondly, Lucy lets her eyes follow their forms as they wind through the trees, as much at home in the woods as they are with her. There are times she wishes they could talk, like some of the other spirits can. The wolves listen, but it can be lonely conversation, though she's hardly ever alone. There are not many spirits that can still find their voice. Many can only make the sounds they were capable of in life, though death illuminates many paths for them to take.

Spirits able to speak are few. Most are ancient, bound to their bones for decades, mythics in their own right, revered as Gods by others. It is a truly wondrous thing to hear them speak, their voices seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, like thunder rumbling through her bones.

Lucy was only contracted to one spirit capable of speech, but that was years ago.

She does not know what became of Aquarius. She was lost during the wars, there and then gone. Lucy was not able to find her, though she searched for days. It nearly broke her heart to lose Aquarius, the spirit the last piece of her mother Lucy had. Aquarius' bones were a gift when she was young, and though the spirit was abrasive and almost nasty at times, she was the greatest friend Lucy ever knew.

It was a grievous time for everyone after those battles, many hearts broken and bones lost. Lucy mourned Aquarius for days, weeks, sometimes she still finds herself mourning the loss when the moon if full and the lacking weight on her throat becomes more noticeable than most days. Her bones were likely broken, cracked underfoot, and Lucy knows there is no way to get them back. The fields of war were burned to the ground by her clan, lest the smell of decay bring the Skinwalkers hunting.

Her fingers slip from her neck and the place where Aquarius' bone should rest, dropping back to her side with a dull thud as she continues along behind her wolves. The forest grows quieter the deeper she travels, her mind beginning to wander, Lucy lost in her memories.

Her thoughts drift to Natsu without her notice, their short time together branded in her thoughts. It's been coming back to her more than she'd ever care to admit. She hadn't been expecting to run into him in the woods, especially not so close to the tentative border between their clans. It was strange to see him again, their last meeting far from friendly. Though, there was little else she could do but fight him during the battles. They were never friends, hardly knowing each other besides casual exchanges at war peace meetings.

A branch snaps behind her.

Lucy stills before she can take another step, breath catching in her throat as she cocks her head slightly, straining to hear the sounds of the forest over the pounding of her heart. Lucy's blood roars in her ears as she attempts to peer over her shoulder, not wanting to make quick movements, lest something be watching her.

Skinwalkers aren't the creatures that wander in these woods. There are plenty of predators, beasts and myths alike. It can be dangerous in the woods, natural predators prowling about. Usually the wolves notice them before she does, but some manage to slip by. It's a rare occurrence, but with how long she's been keeping them from their bones, she can't be surprised. They begin to lose their senses after a time, so faded from the earth it's like they've begun to rot.

There's another snap, and the wolves stop running. Plue, toddling along at her feet, suddenly whines, high and long, and Lucy grits her teeth as the others begin to growl, low, warning sounds ripping through the air. Fen and Sharsa whirl around up ahead, coming back to her, but they're too far away. Her fingers creep along her side, her palm finding the hilt of her blade at her side, the bone smooth beneath her touch, the weight of it familiar.

A leaf crackles under a foot, the grass rustling, and she sneers as she whirls around on her heel, knife raised defensively over herself as she swings at the thing behind her. Her wrist is caught before she can land a blow, warm fingers curling around her in a near bruising grip, strong but not violent.

She's about to rip her hand free and swing again when she sees a familiar shock of blue hair, a dark scar winding along the right half of his face. Jellal squeezes her wrist slowly before releasing her and taking a step back, expression grim as always. The wolves are at her sides quickly, one at each hip, but they don't snarl, as familiar with the man as she is.

"Easy, Lucy," Jellal murmurs, raising his hands as if to placate her. He eyes her almost warily, his mouth twisting into an uneasy frown. She's been more twitchy lately than she would care to admit, and she knows that her friends have noticed as well.

Gray slinks out from the shadows behind Jellal, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He quirks a brow a her, a wry grin on his face, though there's something strained about it, tense. "She almost got you that time, Jellal," he remarks casually, smirking at the other man.

Lucy huffs, gaze flicking between them before snapping to Jellal, an annoyed tick forming between her brows as she glowers at her friends. "What were you thinking?" she chastises, unable to stop herself from reprimanding them for being careless. They should know better than to creep up behind her like that. Lucy has always been fast, even more so with a blade, and it's a small miracle that Jellal was quick enough to catch her. "I could have taken your heads off!"

"But you didn't," Gray cuts in, shrugging slightly as he stands off Jellal's right. He grins at her, but it's tight, pinched at the edges, and he won't quite meet her gaze. Lucy rolls her eyes at his remark, and Gray's expression slips into something more pensive, his brows narrowing as he stares at her. "You know, you've been awfully jumpy lately." He turns to the other man. "Hasn't she, Jellal."

Lucy's breath catches. "I have not been jumpy," she denies, fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. She wonders if it shows in her eyes that she's lying. After her encounter with the Skinwalker—with Natsu—a strange pit has formed in her gut, fear but something else as well. She hadn't had a conversation with a Dragonborne before, not a real one, and she isn't sure what to make of all of it.

They aren't friends by any means, but she never has hated him the same way he seemed to hate her. She's never hated any of the Dragonborne, not really anyway. She only hates what they've done to her friends, her family. She's seen so many lives torn apart.

The boys don't speak for a long time, and the silence draws her attention. When she looks up, they won't meet her gaze, seemingly entranced by their hands and the forest around them. It's with a bitter taste in her mouth that Lucy realizes something is wrong.

"What?" she asks, taking a step closer to the boys. Her eyes flick between them curiously, watching their expressions shift almost nervously. Gray takes his lip between his teeth, avoiding her eyes as his hands curl into fists at his sides. It's a familiar expression on Gray. He's always been one for avoidance, never liking to argue with her. He's never been a pacifist by any means, but he never has liked confrontation when it comes to those he cares about.

Her gaze snaps from him to Jellal when neither of them speak. The other man doesn't look away from her, almost daring Lucy to hold his stare. Anyone else would look away, the scar covering Jellal's eye unsightly, his eye milky. He hasn't been able to see from that eye in many years now. He dares her to hold his gaze and Lucy does. She's never been one to back down from a challenge, least of all one from him.

"Is something wrong?" Lucy asks Jellal, a firm edge to her words. She tilts her chin to better meet his eyes, lips pressing together in a thin line. At her feet, Plue whines, unused to her tone, but the other spirits quiet him as Lucy and Jellal continue to stare.

Jellal sighs, his eyes slipping shut as he looks away from her first. He turns to Gray, the pair of them sharing an uneasy look that Lucy doesn't like. She never has liked when they conspired together. When they were younger, the boys were always playing silly games with her, poking and prodding at all of the right buttons to make her angry.

"Lucy," Jellal begins slowly. His back straightens, his shoulders pulling back, and she knows it's bad news before he can say anything further than her name.

Her eyes narrow, her hands curling into fists. The wolves begin to growl, winding around her legs in a way that's more protective than anything else. "Jellal," she snaps when his silence persists, her friend not saying another word. "What happened?" she demands. Lucy would rather he simply tell her than continue to dance in circles. She knows he would never look so grave if it were merely nothing. Gray as well is too silent, unlike himself.

"It's nothing bad," Gray tells her, looking at Lucy in the eyes for the first time since he walked out of the woods. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, playing with something, and she knows without having to look that it's one of the bones Ur once left behind. He doesn't say anything else, gaze reassuring, but she's in no mood for these games.

Her lips press into a thin, unamused line. "That," Lucy begins, a bit snappish, "is not an answer." Neither Gray nor Jellal react for a moment until they exchange a lingering look, Lucy becoming increasingly annoyed with them.

Gray swallows, taking a step closer to her, forcing a half-smile onto his face. She's always been more compliant with Gray. He's been her friend for more years than Jellal, and she would trust him with her life. Where she'd be prone to snapping at Jellal, with Gray she'd be calm. "It's your father," he tells her, and Lucy hears a subtle "again" follow his words.

Lucy sighs, turning her back on Jellal and Gray, her eyes slipping shut. "What about him?" It comes out as less of a question than a snide response, but if they notice they don't question it. Lucy's relationship with her father has been snappish in recent weeks, even more so since her encounter with the Skinwalker. His rallies for war have been more aggravating than usual, Lucy having no tolerance for his demands.

He wants another war. He wants her to summon beasts and return humans to their corporeal forms, but she refuses to do either. To summon a dark beast could be the end of her entire family. It's taboo to summon the most powerful of creatures; while their strength is great, the beasts are more vicious than most other spirits. They've lost their sense of self after so many years locked away in their bones. Their minds have rotted away, leaning them nothing but senseless monsters.

Jellal cleans his throat, gaining her attention once again. She glances at him over her shoulder, Jellal half hidden in shadows. His expression twists into something firm, and at his right Gray purses his lips, something icy in his gaze. "He wants to speak with you," Jellal tells her, nonplussed. He always has had a habit of separating himself from situations, as if putting on a mask might make him believe the bad things don't matter.

Lucy stares at him for a long moment, gritting her teeth. Jellal's jaw pops, a muscle jumping beneath his skin as his teeth grind together. His milky eye locks with hers, unseeing, but she refuses to turn away from him. "I am sure he does," is all she tells him. Lucy turns away once more, snapping her fingers to gain her spirits' attention.

The wolves trot along behind her, silent as they ghost through the trees. Jellal and Gray exchange words behind her, not heated but urgent, their voices clipped. She makes it several paces away from them before Gray swears under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear it.

"Lucy!" he calls after her, near desperate in the way he shouts after her. It makes her steps falter, Lucy stumbling as her bare toes scuff against a rock, a sharp ache ripping through her toes. She's only ever heard Gray's voice take a tone like that once, and that was when he was nine, begging Ur not to leave, not to fight.

Ur left anyway, but Lucy has never been like Ur.

She turns around calmly, a heavy weight to her gaze when her eyes lock with Gray's. She doesn't speak, barely breathes. She doesn't need to, her snappish reply unnecessary as it burns against the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply waits, eyes imploring as Gray wets his lips, seeming to search for the right words to tell her what's happened.

"He's called for a war council again," Gray tells her simply.


"You need to stop this," Lucy snaps at her father, voice sharper than intended as she glares at him from across the room. Her patience has worn thin over the weeks of him badgering her, her anger growing hotter the more he presses for a battle. Their arguing has gown tiresome to her, nothing changing in the way they fight, the confrontations always the same. Her hands curl into fists as he sneers down at her, lips curling back into a beastly snarl.

If it's a fight he wants, than she'll give him one.

Jellal and Gray stand behind her, warily looking between Lucy and her father, their arguing growing louder the longer it continues. Jellal's fingers slide around the hilt of his blade from the corner of her eyes, his grip tight, threatening in the way he holds himself. Jellal is taller than either Lucy or her father, one of the tallest in their village, and he's always been a powerful fighter, loyal to the other Spiritwalkers in the village, and Lucy knows that if Jude gives him a reason, Jellal wouldn't hesitate to attack the man.

Lucy eyes the curved edge of his blade with interest, gaze slipping away from her father for only an instant, drawn to the way the light from the fire reflects of the iron weapon. A Dragonborne weapon. Her father was always suspicious of Jellal, thinking him nothing but a filthy spy. Perhaps that's what drew Lucy to the silent male. Jellal was friendly enough, though closed off, silent about his past, and Lucy learned not to ask.

"We need to fight back!" Jude takes a step towards her, crossing the small distance between them in three easy strides, her room small, housing little more than her bed and a fire, a pit for her to enchant bones. His stomping feet make the entire hut rattle, and she sees Gray and Jellal both stiffen, their postures becoming threatening as they stare at her father.

Lucy sighs, shaking her head slowly. She waves a dismissive hand towards her friends, stilling them as she implores them to wait. "Fight against what?" she asks her father, a bitter edge to her words. Lucy thinks she could laugh if the conversation wasn't so serious. It's always the same thing. "We have peace."

There's nothing left for them to fight against, only old grudges held between the elder members of their clans. They've begun to bleed into the younger generations, the years of resentment between their clans growing into something monstrous, larger than it ever should be. The Spiritwalkers are a dying breed, war tearing them apart, their clan reduced to a shadow of itself.

"A tentative peace, Lucy," Jude reminds her, sneering down at her. His eyes narrow in disgust, though she doesn't know if it's at the Dragonborne or her. Jude's fingers drum against his side quickly, the loud beat of every tap seeming to echo in her ears, loud and agonizingly frustrated. His teeth grind together harshly. "If those monsters chose to—"

Huffing, Lucy cuts him off before he can continue. "Those monsters have done nothing to us in months," she says, clipped. With the winter coming they're all merely trying to survive. though the winds and the snow aren't nearly as harsh as in the north, food is still scarce. And with the looming threat of the Skinwalkers hanging over them, they have much more to worry about than a feud. "If you plan an unprecedented strike—"

Her jaw snaps shut before she can finish, the words sharp, painfully so. To strike first would merely be giving the Dragonborne an excuse to slaughter them. Her clan has never been weak, but they serve as no match for the raw physical power of the Dragons. They've always relied more on their stealth, their speed, their skills with summons.

A direct attack on the Dragonborne could weaken them, but only at the cost of their own warriors.

"We could wipe them out," Jude argues, turning away from her and beginning to pace through the small room. He glares at the small pile of bones laying in the pit where left them that morning, her attempts to call upon a new spirit done in vain. "We could finally end this fighting. We could go back to the way things were." He turns back to her, a wild look in his eyes. "We could destroy—"

The bones at her throat begin to rattle violently, the clinking of bones drawing her father's attention quickly. His gaze snaps around to meet hers, body stilling in the center of the room. At her back, Jellal and Gray exchange a glance, shifting on nervous feet as Lucy throws her head back in a manic laugh. Her shoulders shake with her cackling, a bitter smile pulling at her lips.

"You would sacrifice your own men," she says, laughing, though there's no humor lighting her eyes, only a dark shadow clouding the gold in her gaze. "And for what?" she snaps. She can feel the pull of her spirits on her mind, a phantom voice whispering in her ears, though she can't make out the words.

The question hangs heavy between them, weighing heavily on the occupants of the room. A silence cuts through the room, sharp, as if the quiet could make them bleed, could make them bent and break. It isn't the comforting silence of the forest at dusk, only a bitter lapse. Jude stares down at her like she's spit poison, and in some way Lucy thinks she has.

"For freedom," he tells her. His fingers curl into fists, her father looking nothing less than regal in the dark fabric swathed around him, layers falling around his frame, draping over his arms. He holds his head high, looking down at her, daring her to argue.

"For nothing," she corrects, an icy edge to the words. The words drip from her tongue harshly, the hollowness of them sour on her tongue. A pit forms in her stomach as she says it, but she can't help feel that she's right. "It would all be for nothing."

Her father doesn't respond, merely glowers at her, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire, the flames the only light in the small room. It casts shadows along the walls, across her father's face. His expression is harsher than usual, more severe, and Lucy shakes her head, turning her back on him. "I've told you before," she reminds him, "the dead do not like to be controlled." She pauses at the threshold of the room, fingers barely grazing the fabric covering the entrance. "Or toyed with."

"The spirits are meant to protect our clan," he says in return. The heat of his gaze on her back makes Lucy flinch, her hand dropping back to her side, away from the fabric keeping her inside. Her father takes a step towards her, his footsteps thunderous in the small space.

A sharp popping sound splits through the air, a sharp crack making her wince. Her nails dig into her palms so tightly it splits her skin, small beads of blood dripping down between her fingers. To her left, Gray inhales sharply, stunned by what's happened, and Jellal reaches for his weapon, an enraged curse falling from his lips.

When Lucy turns around the bones she laid out that morning are splintered beneath his boot, small, thin white bones cracked into near dust. Her throat constricts at the sight, something inside of her breaking along with the bones. "Yes," she agrees with him, swallowing down her anger, "protect. Not allow us to slaughter ourselves."

His expression turns shrewd. "Do you believe our survival is nothing?" It comes out mocking, biting, but she ignores the prickling at the back of her head, the swell of anger burning in her chest.

"I believe it would be for nothing if we were all dead," she tells him. Fighting has accomplished nothing for them. And more than that, she knows her father doesn't care the fight either, not anymore, not since her mother died. All he wants now is to destroy, no matter the cost to himself or anyone else.

She eyes him critically, wishing he would understand, but she can see the rage boiling in his eyes, a deep frown pulling at his lips. "We won once before," he says, not for the first time, reminding her of the last true battle between the clans, the one where she fought Natsu. When she lost Aquarius.

"What have we won?" she asks, laughing bitterly. "All we do is continue to lose."

Lucy rips back the fabric covering the door, hearing Jellal and Gray shuffling behind her, only a few paces away from her. Lucy's jaw clicks shut, her hair falling into her eyes as she steps out into the midday light, the sun harsh and the wind growing colder with each passing day, the chill soon to be too much for her bare skin.

Jude follows her from the room, cutting off Jellal and Gray when they try to follow her. He stalks up behind her, footsteps loud against the soft earth. The wind whips by, ruffling her hair and making the bones on her necklace rattle. Her father grabs her by the arm before she can make it far, Lucy barely managing a gasp before he jerks her around, forcing her to face him.

Lucy recoils quickly, practically hissing at him. His grip only tightens on her, his gaze stormy, and Lucy matches his look with one of pure venom. The bones at her throat rattle again, a warning to her father, but he doesn't listen, only continues to squeeze until Lucy's sure she'll have bruises come morning. Her father opens his mouth to speak, just as Gray and Jellal shove their way out of her home, expressions murderous.

"Jude," a voice laced with fake cheer calls out to them, "I think that's quite enough." Lucy's head snaps up, her eyes meeting a gold pair much like her own, a tall woman standing mere feet away from them, her back straight, shoulders pulled back, stare demanding. A tense smile crosses her face, her lips pulled back over her teeth in a way that's near wolfish. Her golden hair is tied back in dozens of braids, a pair of bones carved into knives threaded and twisted through her hair.

"Aunt Anna," Lucy breathes, a slow smile crossing her face. She relaxes at the sight of her aunt, the head of the Spiritwalker Clan, a sudden joy bursting in her chest. It's been weeks since she last saw Anna, the woman traveling north, back to their old home to complete a ritual.

Four times a year, during the Solstice and the Equinox, a Spiritwalker from their clan returns to the lake in the mountains to summon the bones of the Ankara, a great beast passed down to them for generations. Lucy knows little of the summons, Anna taking on the responsibility from Lucy's mother when Layla died.

Jude stiffens, straightening to his full height at the sight of her. "Anna," he greets cordially, a tight smile pulling at his lips. His hands clench into angry fists at his sides, Lucy glancing at him warily as he turns to face Anna more directly, appearing pleasant save for the frostiness of his gaze. "Since when have you been back?" It comes out more biting than it should, almost accusing.

An animalistic grin spreads across Anna's lips and she bristles at Jude's tone, the decorative bones lining her throat and curled through her hair beginning to rattle and shake almost threateningly. "Long enough," she says simply, taking a slow step forward, moving almost lazily, though Lucy knows better than that.

Anna is nothing if not cunning. She was always a skilled summoner in her own right, their entire family line has strong magic running in their veins, though more than that Anna is a skilled fighter. She's more vicious than Lucy's mother ever was, Anna respected in their clan for her prowess with weapons as well as her fists. As easygoing as Anna appears, Lucy knows it doesn't take much for the woman to snap, especially in regards to Jude.

Lucy glances back at her father, the man still staring at Anna, his fingers curling and twitching as if he isn't sure what to do with his hands. He shifts his stance, eyes seeming to dare Anna to speak, and she only grins wider, taking another step towards him, calling his bluff.

"I think, it's about time you leave," she says coolly, gaze sweeping around the group, "don't you, Jude?" A warning lines her words, and with a flick of her wrist Anna summons one of her spirits, a large beast appearing beside her in a flicker of light.

The creature is almost catlike, wide, intelligent eyes and a feline face, a slim body with a writhing tail, but the similarities end there. Its ears are feathered, wings protruding from its shoulders, golden tips brushing against the ground as it bares its teeth at Jude, eyes narrowing into thin slits. A thick, webbed spine arcs along the creatures back, seeming to flex in time with the creatures breath. The dust colored beast glances at Lucy, golden eyes locking with hers.

Gray and Jellal both shift awkwardly, both rooted in place near her doorway. They eye the beast warily, Gray's fingers twitching towards a knife at his belt, though Jellal only stares, appearing calm save for the tension in his shoulders. Lucy only stares back at the beast, unsure what to make of the large creature. She always knew Anna was a powerful summoner, but it always surprises her what the woman pulls from the bones decorating her body, old beasts that Lucy could only imagine being contracted to.

Jude stares at Anna's beast, his jaw clenching so tightly Lucy can hear his teeth grinding together, harsh and low and threatening to break into pieces. He doesn't say a word, only holds the woman's gaze, a quiet challenge, though a weak one. He would be a fool to fight with Anna, and he knows it just as well as Lucy does. He could never hope to win, not with as many beasts as she can summon at a time. The most Lucy ever saw her with was twelve at once, though Anna slept for just as many days afterwards.

"Don't make me ask a second time," Anna warns him, crossing her arms with a sigh. The bone bracelets clink together around her wrists, her long skirt dragging across the dirt as she stares at Jude with a near bored look, unamused. As she takes another step towards them, Lucy becomes aware of the bags under her eyes, Anna more exhausted than Lucy remembers her being. She's always tired after returning home from the North, but rarely does she have such dark shadows under her eyes.

The beast behind her snarls, low and threatening, and Jude takes a step away from Lucy, though not far enough. He rips his gaze away from Anna to stare down at Lucy, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "We will discuss this later," he tells her lowly, practically hissing at her through clenched teeth. He doesn't reach for her again, though his fingers twitch like he wants to.

Anna comes closer, her beast at her heels, and Lucy wets her lips. "So it would seem," she says, clipped. Jude's eyes narrow for a moment, and Lucy grits her teeth, glaring right back at him. He looks about to argue with her, but Anna's beast steps up beside her, a golden wing coming up to curve partway around her back, and her father loses any of the bravado he had earlier.

He glances at the spirit, then at Anna, and then he gives a sharp nod and turns on his heel without another word, stalking off and disappearing around a corner before Lucy can say anything.

Snorting, Anna steps up beside Lucy, watching Jude go with a distinctly lazy expression, though there's something in the purse of her lips that makes Lucy pause, staring up at her aunt for a moment too long. Feeling Lucy's gaze, Anna turns to her with a crooked grin, the laughter lines around her eyes crinkling. She reaches out to ruffle the fur of her spirit, a good natured smile on her face

"Come with me, Little One," she whispers, almost teasing, and holds out her hand for Lucy to take, a hint of mischief in her gaze.

Lucy hesitates, glancing at Jellal and Gray, still standing off to the side. Gray relaxes when he catches her eye, sending her a half-smile and a nod. Jellal watches Anna for a moment too long before sending Lucy a sharp nod. He doesn't smile or relax at the sight of her aunt or the spirit at her side, but there's no heat to his gaze any longer. After a moment, he turns away, waving at her over his shoulder briefly. Gray follows behind him, rolling his eyes and calling out a goodbye as he goes.

She turns back to Anna as they leave her sight, knowing she's safe with her aunt and the dozens of spirits at her fingertips. There's no better person Lucy could be with, no one she trusts more than the woman who taught her most of what she knows. After her mother died, Anna did everything she could to make Lucy into the best summoner she could possibly be.

Grinning, Lucy takes Anna's hand.


"How are your spirits?" Anna asks her as they settle atop the bluffs overlooking their home. It's the first thing Anna has said in some time, their talk mostly idle chatter as they wandered through the trees and over the jagged Cliffside. The Edge has always been the place they would go when Anna came home after her weeks away. It's the one place they can talk where no one can listen. A place for safe secrets.

Lucy's eyes flutter shut as the wind whirls around her, howling as it races through the peaks. "Good," she says simply. "I bonded with a new one."

Anna places her hands on her hips, leaning into the wind. She tilts her head back, grinning at Lucy, a familiar warmth in her eyes. "That's excellent!" A lick of cold air curls around them, near freezing, but Anna only smiles wider. "You always were one of the best summoners," she praises gently, expression fond. "Just like your mother."

"I've heard that a lot," Lucy says softly, her words nearly ripped away with the wind.

Lucy settles at the edge of the bluffs, letting her legs dangle over the cliffs. The cool rock beneath her bites at her skin, but Lucy only closes her eyes, shoulders losing their tension as she releases a heavy breath.

"It's true," Anna tells her, taking a seat beside her. Lucy cracks open an eye, peering at Anna through her hair. The older woman smiles softly down at Lucy, brushing back her wild hair. "You are just like her at that age. She always had a fire in her heart." There's something wistful in Anna's voice, almost sad, and she looks away from Lucy, her eyes tired.

Lucy grins slightly. "I thought that was you," she jokes.

"It couldn't be both?"

The quip drags a smile from Lucy, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. The trees around them rustle, wind howling, and she's suddenly reminded of the scream of the beast in the woods. She hasn't told anyone about them, not yet. It would only cause a panic throughout the clan, and she wouldn't know how to stop it. But Anna will.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy squeezes her eyes shut, aware of Anna watching her. "I saw a walker in the woods," she whispers, barely loud enough for Anna to hear. By the way she stiffens, Lucy knows she has, though she doesn't say anything in return. "It was a few days ago, near the border."

Anna's fingers curl into tight fists and the bones around her neck rattle slightly, their magic seeping through at Anna's distress. She sucks in an angry hiss through her teeth, body going rigid as she gazes down at the village below. Anna suddenly snaps her gaze up to meet Lucy's. "Did you see anything else?" she asks, almost casually, and Lucy frowns.

For a moment, Natsu comes to mind. He shouldn't have been on their side of the border, let alone that close to begin with. Most don't dare to come that far into the woods. If they keep coming closer, it could mean trouble for all of them. It could mean a war if her father catches them, if Anna catches them.

"No," she tells Anna. "Nothing else."


AN: There's no update schedule for this anymore. It's just whenever the heck I can get it done.