Chapter 2: A Place to Call Home

Nobody had been able to convince Erza to leave her stolen sword behind. Simon and Jellal hadn't even tried. She seemed more relaxed with her battered sword and makeshift breastplate. The only reason she didn't still have the sword in her hand was because her hands were busy holding onto Jellal and Simon, like she was afraid they might be taken away from her at any moment. Jellal didn't mind. He'd been just about to give up hope when she had rescued him. He didn't want to let her or Simon out of his sight either.

"I wish the others had been able to come with us," murmured Simon. His face was still heavily bandaged. Between the three of them there were only four eyes now. Thankfully, aside from his eye, Simon's only major injury had been a concussion. All three of them had bandages around their wrists, but they had already been warned that the scars wouldn't fully heal.

"Me, too," Jellal agreed. He was going to miss Sho and Wally and Millianna.

"They're adopted, not gone forever. We'll see them again," Erza stated with more confidence than any of them actually felt. "They're too young to join a guild. Besides, we don't know if they have magic or not."

"We don't know if I have magic or not." Simon's voice was soft. He flinched slightly at the dual glare he received from Erza and Jellal.

"Of course you have magic," Erza declared. Something in her tone implied that she would make Simon be able to use magic if she had to.

"You can't just decide that someone has magic," Simon began, but Erza wasn't listening. The Tower had changed all of them, and the uprising had changed them again. Erza had somehow traded places with Jellal as the leader of their little group. She wasn't as quiet and nervous anymore. She was tenacious and determined, verging on bullheaded. The worst had already happened to them, and they had survived. She had saved them all. Erza was also the reason that the three of them were on their way to join a wizard guild instead of waiting for the Magic Council to place them in a home like the other children from the Tower.

"You do have magic," Erza insisted.

"Definitely," Jellal agreed. "Just because it hasn't manifested, yet, doesn't mean that it's not there." Jellal wasn't even sure what exactly his magic did. All he knew was that he'd flung those two masked bastards across the room with a burst of golden light when they had tried a second time to stop Erza from rescuing him. It had actually been pretty terrifying. "Maybe you'll just get to pick what type of magic you learn instead. Besides, Grandpa Rob knew."

This was an indisputable fact. Grandpa Rob had been right about Erza, and he'd been right about Jellal. He must have been right about Simon as well.

"I suppose." Simon still didn't sound entirely convinced, but his voice wasn't as disheartened as before. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes.

Even a full week after escaping from the Tower, Jellal was still enjoying the novelty of trees. The island the Tower had been built on was barren rock with only a few half-dead weeds clinging to the crevasses in the stones. The air had always tasted of salt and death. Now, the air tasted of new life, grass, and fallen leaves. His joints no longer ached from too much time walking on unforgiving stone.

They reached the crest of a hill, and there spread out below them was Magnolia. Canals snaked through like great, watery roads that glittered in the midday sun, and right on the far edge of town gleamed the golden onion-dome of Fairy Tail's guildhall just like Grandpa Rob had always described it. They had made it. They had really made it.

Erza started laughing, and soon Jellal realized that he a Simon were laughing as well. And why not? They had all assumed that they would die building the Tower. No, they had known that they would die building the Tower, because everyone did eventually. It had only been a matter of time. A matter of when and how. And Grandpa Rob's tales of magic and being a guild wizard had been a kind of beautiful dream that Jellal had been reluctant to indulge in. He hadn't given up, but he'd been afraid to hope, because what was the point? And then Erza had been taken and Jellal had done something stupid and brave that hadn't really helped, but it had spurred Erza to do something courageous and smart. One child had no hope of stopping all the Tower guards, but every single prisoner on the island together did. And now here they were, standing on the top of a hill, looking down at the place Grandpa Rob had told them so much about. Jellal kept expecting to wake up and find that he was still tied to that pole. It was all just too good to be true. He never had this kind of luck. Misfortune had stalked him all his short life. What else was there to do but laugh?

The three of them took off down the hill at a run. It was awkward and ungainly because Erza still had a hold of both Jellal and Simon's hands. It didn't matter, though, because this felt like freedom and hope and like all their luck really had changed permanently for the better. Jellal couldn't remember the last time he had felt so alive.

By the time they reached the edge of town, all three of them were out of breath and gasping, but none of them could stop grinning like mad. It look much longer to navigate through the unfamiliar streets. There were so many people. Jellal had never been in such a big town before and neither had Erza and Simon. It was confusing and kind of overwhelming. Magnolia could probably fit four of Jellal's childhood village. People eyed their ragged clothes curiously, but nobody tried to stop them. Finally they turned a corner, and there it was.

Fairy Tail's guildhall stood tall and proud. An orange banner with the same crest that had been on Grandpa Rob's back hung above the entrance. Next to him, a silent tear slid down Erza's cheek from her undamaged eye. Jellal gave her hand a squeeze. Erza squared her shoulders, expression even more determined than ever.

Together they walked forward, a united front. Simon and Jellal each placed their free hand on the doors and pushed. The doors swung back to reveal aged wood and tables full of laughing people. And sitting on top of the bar in the back of the room was a tiny, old man drinking from a flagon who looked a lot like the 'Makarov' Grandpa Rob had told them about. All three of them were smiling again – grinning so big it hurt – because they were here, and it was real, and they had made it. And who cared what came next? Because this right here – this was a miracle. There were no stone walls, no iron bars, just light and laughter. And it felt, just a little bit, like home.