Author's Notes:

Happy New Year, everyone! Hot damn, this year has been rough. Here's hoping 2021 is better (I know that bar is low, but we gotta start somewhere haha)

I love all you beautiful beans! I hope you're all safe and well.

Please enjoy the first chapter of 2021 :)

Chapter 98:

If Laxus had more energy, he was certain he'd be quite confused. As it stood, though, his feet hurt and his shins were filled with the feeling of pins and needles. His headache was back and each turn of a page seemed to grate against something in his temples. A better, more energetic version of himself would be rummaging through the cupboard for one of Porlyusica's potions to try and stave off the discomfort. Unfortunately for him, he just couldn't find it in himself to commit and so he stood leaning heavily on the kitchen counter as Davian made himself at home in quite the nervous way.

"It is an odd thing, teaching," Davian said rather distantly as he thumbed through the delicate pages of the Grimoire. His glasses were sat low on his nose and he had a sort of stiff, pensive set to his shoulders, his sharp angles showing, "It is so hard to find someplace to begin."

"Hm?" Laxus asked, but at long last Davian seemed to land on a page that piqued his interest and was too engrossed in studying it to pay him any mind. He let out a long sigh, glancing about himself, eyeing the cupboards.

"Well then... basics first, I suppose," Davian said more to himself than to Laxus. He tapped the page before him with his finger, "I'll start with a question, if you'll humor me?"

Laxus raised an eyebrow at him and waited stoically.

"Right, so, what is magic? To you? ...Specifically?" Davian began slowly, turning his full attention to the blonde.

Laxus furrowed his brow. The glamour Davian always kept shrouded about him seemed to be gone. His nails had turned sharp, if not yet long, and his eyes were naked and reptilian-yellow. When had that happened?

"Are you fucking with me?" Laxus curled his lip but Davian didn't budge, "You want the long answer?"

"I'm just looking for something you can relate to."

"Magic," Laxus quoted, only somewhat sarcastically, "is the physical embodiment of the spirit, the product of when the physical spirit of a being connects with the spiritual flow of nature."

Davian made a noise deep in his throat like a hum. He crossed his arms as he thought and Laxus watched the odd way his hair moved, as if there were some sort of air current only around the chameleon. His headache snapped at him something fierce until he glanced away.

"Well, it's not a fantastic parallel but-" Davian tapped his nails against the table, thinking for a long moment before he cleared his throat, "There exists an energy, Virale, which, if I could translate, would mean something like Lightning in the Blood. It's a life energy that exists in all beings. With it, one can... perceive messages from the external worlds – whether that be natural or supernatural. As it pertains to my – our – practice, we believe that it is the remnant of our God Self."

"God Self?"

"Yes, yes, I'm trying to keep it skeletal." Davian flicked his wrist as he explained, "The God Self is a higher state of being that we have lost the ability to attain, that which we used to speak to the gods."

Laxus narrowed his eyes in confusion, "How am I supposed to talk to Oros if I can't access God Self?"

"We have an envoy who is able to bridge that gap on your behalf. A conduit, I guess you could say." As Davian spoke, he moved. His heels, of course, clicked against the ground with each step. "The Aurincarae. But, that's not really something we have to-"

"Aurincarae...?" something about that word made Laxus's mind buzz even harder than it already was, "...that means..."

"You don't really have a word for it..."

"It means Golden Flesh." Laxus stated before looking over to Davian, "Or Gold Incarnate... right?"

"Yes..." A wry sort of look crossed the chameleon's features, before he frowned, puzzled, "We've... talked about this before? That's so strange... at-at any rate, the Aurincarae is a being that is able to fully access this higher state, their God Self, and commune directly with Oros."

"So... it's like Dragon Force? But to talk to god?"

Davian blinked rapidly, "I have not the slightest idea what a Dragon Force is but I'm sure it's not."

"It's the most powerful state a Dragon Slayer can achieve, that gives us the power that a dragon has..." Laxus said, and when Davian stared at him blankly, he muttered, "I've done it."

A bit of a grin tugged at the corner of Davian's mouth, "I thought you weren't a real Dragon Slayer?"

Laxus gave him an unamused look.

"It's not some magical power-up," Davian chuckled mildly as he opened cupboards. His eyes grew distant, as did his voice, "No, I think it would be more accurate to say it's like... being possessed."

"Have you done it?" Laxus asked, watching Davian closely, "Spoken to Oros?"

Davian scoffed. His spine straightened and he snapped out of his deep train of thought. He waved his hand back and forth dismissively, "Certainly not. As with most sacred arts, it's something that hasn't been practiced since the time of Z'ragnaró de Draodh."

"The what?" Laxus wrinkled his nose, at first thinking maybe Davian had just been talking too quickly and he'd missed what he'd said.

"Hm?"

"You said the time of... something."

Davian furrowed his brow at the cupboard before recognition sparked behind his eyes, "Oh. Um..." his face screwed up slightly as he concentrated, muttering a few different words in quick succession before seeming to decide on something, "How do you say...? It's not… ahh... witch, maybe?"

"Witch?" Laxus asked.

"Somewhat…" Davian scowled as he thought, "There is just a-a lack of a right word but I suppose you could say witch..."

"Ramou said something… about witches…" Laxus muttered, "Witch hunts."

"Witch hunt? Well, that is one word for it... or, phrase, really. One way to put it. I'm surprised he'd mention it at all. The sphynxes got off easy. Wizards do so highly regard their written word."

He pulled down a saucer as he rambled and the alarm on his watch went off. He clicked his teeth and flipped it off.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Davian's brow arched up like he was confused, "Exactly what I said. Wizards love their written word. So, the sphynxes were somewhat of an asset to them... not at all like the rest of us. I'd wager that's why there's so many of them left."

"Davian, what in the hell are you talking about?" Laxus rubbed at his temple, trying to understand, "We're talking about witch hunts."

"Yes, we are," Davian's eyes widened and he stood still, "Oh... oh, you don't-you don't know, do you?"

"I know what the fucking witch hunts were, Davian," Laxus snarled.

Laxus knew about witch hunts, or more accurately, he knew what he'd read about witch hunts when he was young and interested in Fiore's more macabre pieces of history. From what he knew, witch hunts, real witch hunts, the kind of witch hunts that involved entire families being executed or even burned at the stake, had more to do with prejudice against those deemed unseemly members of society than it did any actual witches. He knew people had been killed, tortured, and outcast from society, and, of course, that it was wrong that any of it had happened in the first place. He knew that all sorts of people were hunted, but most commonly targeted were the poverty-stricken, widowed, or just angry people. It had all seemed to him like Fiore's archaic response to people they didn't like. Knowing all of this, well, it didn't really make much sense to him that Davian was staring at him like that; like he should know innately that any of that had anything to do with their current situation.

Davian let out a long-suffering sigh as he meticulously arranged and rearranged the saucer next to the Grimoire.

"No, I don't think you do," Davian began slowly, "Did you think the witch hunts were these little isolated incidents across Fiore? Small town superstition gone wrong? It was so much larger than that... it was genocide. Anyone who didn't agree with the mages were fair game, as it were. And that was us, m-me, chameleons, lizardfolk. The lamia, the dryads, the angels, the sphynxes, and so many others. Humans too, mind you, if they held high enough status..."

At first, all Laxus could really do was stare because that wasn't anything like what he'd heard. But the corner of Davian's lip quirked up slightly, a rueful smile pulling across his features with it.

"We weren't always just some fringe cult that clung to shadows and-and stole away children off dark alleyways, Laxus. We once were respected, revered even, before the wizards came. We had cities, temples. I remember seeing tapestries in my youth of how far our power extended. And then one day, the wizards came, and with them Magic. I don't know, really, what started the fighting, if it was fear-driven or possibly just greed, but they saw what we did, how we practiced, called us demon summoners, witches. We didn't even know what the demons were or even who Zeref was, for that matter. We were hunted down over something we'd never heard of."

Laxus stared at him, speechless. How was he supposed to respond to something like that?

"Why did they think you summoned demons?"

Davian shrugged mildly and fidgeted with his glasses, "Ignorance, maybe. The transformation is an alarming one, and it manifests differently depending on the clan we hail from. I suppose it could resemble something like one of the dragons or even one of Zeref's constructs."

"What transformation?"

Davian hummed, "Certainly I don't need to remind you of our altercation with Rut."

"You can all do that?" Laxus asked, remembering the day he and Davian had gone down into the cave under Bianca's lair and the massive presence he felt from the Major.

"Oh, no. Only the fullbloods can... well, and a few of the halfbloods. Those who... who took the Rite of the Body and are, technically, fullbloods..." Davian seemed to struggle through that sentence before clearing his throat, "But, we don't really need to talk about that. It doesn't pertain to you, as a human practitioner."

"Right..." Laxus said at length.

"All of that to say, we've lost a lot of things. One of the clans entirely was, um... ah..."

The alarm on Davian's watch sounded and Laxus was left blinking at it in response. He felt like the room was suddenly brighter, his head hurt a little more than it had before. The Major sort of shook his head and turned it off.

"Is that... more than usual?" Laxus asked.

"Hm? Oh, yes. I have to keep track, you see..." he muttered something and presented his hands, "You can already tell a difference."

His hands looked... different. Laxus could hardly describe how, though. It was similar to when one puts the barest shades of royal blue watercolor across light brown paper. His hands were the slightest of cool-tinged; much livelier than the ashen touch of midwinter death in that he still looked warm, but definitely not a natural color. When he turned his hands so that Laxus could see the cruel sloping of his talons, his skin shimmered in a way that was iridescent.

"The sedative mutes my metabolism, along with my ability to tap into Virale. Since we'll be conducting a ritual, better results hinge on me not taking it. I will have to as soon as we're done, of course."

"So, what is this ritual, anyway?" Laxus said, nodding towards the grimoire and saucer.

"Nothing major. It is a simple introduction ritual, sort of like starting a conversation," he said, "I'm going to step you through activating your Virale and opening yourself to receiving a message from the metaphysical, hopefully Oros."

"Hopefully?" Laxus's lip curled.

"When you cast your voice out to the void, anything can answer. If this were a typical circumstance, I would tell you to strike your own path and see what deity connects to you. But you want to speak to Oros, so we'll appeal to him by giving him a sacrifice within his domain." Davian explained.

Laxus felt something uncomfortably hot spider through his chest, "You said we weren't doing a sacrifice."

"The gods aren't genies that grant your wishes whenever you call on them. They reside within boundaries. They give and they take. And different gods require different things to make and keep a good relationship..." as he said this, Davian retrieved from his waist his golden blade. Its serrated teeth glinted hungrily at Laxus as he sat it gently on the counter. Davian seemed all rigid again, and he splayed his fingers wide on the counter on either side of his knife, looking for all intents and purposes like he could leap it in a second if he wished, "Now, before we breach the whats and the hows, let's talk about why we make sacrifice to the gods."

Laxus was sort of taken back by Davian's seriousness, "You said it was a relationship?"

"Yes, but more specifically, it is part of our atonement. You see, depending on which god you believe in, all life on Earthland has been destroyed four separate times and each time it was remade. As followers of Oros, we believe that after the fourth destruction, Oros descended into the underworld and brought back the bones of man. With aid from Dhaseyar, he mixed his blood with the bones and created a new life, the lizardfolk."

"Dhaseyar sounds familiar."

"Yes, probably because he used to be a God of Mages."

"Used to be?"

"Well, he was killed... by a mage."

Laxus snorted, "A man killed God?"

"A woman killed God, actually." At Laxus's dubious look, Davian became a bit defensive, "Look up the first wizard to use God Slayer Magic. I'm not making that up."

"So, you sacrifice as repayment to Oros?"

"Not just us, mind you, we all must feed the gods as thanks for their original sacrifice, and in doing so we ensure continued balance and prosperity. That being said, depending on how deep you want to get into this, you may want to consider investing in a ritual blade," Davian motioned with both of his hands towards his own, "It doesn't have to be anything special. Your other half certainly has enough knives lying around. I'm sure he wouldn't miss you borrowing one."

Laxus furrowed his brow, confused, "Gajeel doesn't keep knives."

Davian's eyes widened slightly.

"His entire body is a knife. Why would he...?" Laxus found himself startling, "How in the hell do you know this?"

"I misspoke..." he muttered, "...I assumed you knew. He keeps one in his boot, after all."

"What?"

"We had an..." Davian's eyes flashed to the side, "...an intimate conversation..."

"He threatened you? Of course, he threatened you."

"Threaten is, well... he did give me some advice, at least," Davian was staring at his hands as he spoke, dodging Laxus's gaze.

"Advice?" Laxus was dumbfounded, "To what? Fuck off and die?"

Davian cracked a sardonic smile, "We really should get back on topic. I still have a late train to catch."

Laxus narrowed his eyes at him, "Fine... but this isn't over."

"Of course," Davian tapped his nails against the table, "We were talking about sacrifice, yes?"

Laxus nodded.

"There are three key components you need to keep in mind. Firstly, the god with whom you are trying to gain favor. Second, the person making the sacrifice. And third, you must have a clear understanding of the situation for which it is taking place. Every piece is personal to you and to Oros and dependent on why you're doing this. Take, for instance, bloodletting. Since you are anemic and can't practice bloodletting like I can, blood would be a meaningful sacrifice from you, because it has a greater personal cost to you, and so should only be reserved for more serious situations. Does that make sense?"

"I guess," Laxus huffed, "This is too fucking complicated."

"Yes, unfortunately, there is not one set of rules for these things. Rituals are... pliable, personal, subject to many different factors. Even this Grimoire, although absolutely beautiful and comprehensive, there's not many rituals in here that I would follow to the letter. It is a foundation; it gives good suggestions and components, but you can find substitutes that would fit you or your god better. Just try to remember that Oros is, first and foremost, the god of creation out of destruction. If you've ever heard of ouroboros in alchemy, the snake that eats his tail, the never-ending cycle – these are his iterations. Oros will typically require destruction. We -" Davian motioned towards himself "- tend to favor consumption, that's just the sort of thing that calls to us. It's most common to give fine wines and meat, but also blood and occasionally, um, effigies. Human practitioners tend to favor fire. So, burning blood-soaked strips of paper, perhaps, blue butterflies, or personal things that hold some sort of importance to you. Locks of hair, important gifts... if you remember the coin I had blessed, the one your grandfather gave you?"

Laxus recoiled from him slightly, "How did you know Gramps gave me that?"

"I just know," Davian didn't meet his eyes, seemingly much more interested in rubbing at something on his wrist, "Any questions so far?"

Laxus shrugged.

"Very good," Davian said decisively, before pressing the tip of the blade into his hand and holding it still above the saucer.

"Woah, woah. I thought you said I should be doing that?"

"Absolutely not," Davian punctuated the 't' harshly, "Besides, I'd imagine blood from the Favorite Son will work a bit better."

The incision was small, not at all like when he evoked the rite during their fight with Rut, or even the time he solved the riddle at Bianca's lair. He didn't seem perturbed in the slightest as the bead of crimson swelled around the tip of the blade slipped down the length of his palm. After an extremely long moment where Laxus could only really stand and stare, he finally drew the blade away. Davian's skin, now much more blue than it had been before, closed back up as if nothing had ever happened.

They made their way into the living room and Laxus sat down on the floor and awaited Davian who meticulously began closing windows and drawing curtains, slowly shutting out the waning light.

"Do you meditate at all?"

"No," Laxus crossed his arms and stared down at the saucer. The small bit of blood there had shifted off-center and it bothered him.

"Well, you should definitely pick it up. It will help you," he was unclipping his jacket, revealing his dark shirt beneath and the tattoos that wreathed his shoulders. He crossed his legs and dropped to the floor in front of Laxus, rolling his shoulders back and assuming a position that seemed all too natural for him.

"Help me what? Fall asleep?" Laxus griped, but mirrored him.

"Connect with your higher self but yes, that as well," Davian spoke down his nose at him and arched his brow, "For someone who's asking me to teach them, you don't seem anything less than skeptical."

He huffed. Davian rolled his eyes.

He tapped his knees where he sat with legs crossed, "This is a neutral position of prayer. We have very many different positions of prayer but this one is most common. We are relaxed with back straight, creating a bridge between the earth below us and the heavens above us. The right hand is in alignment with our body. When I assume this pose, I begin at eye level but it's really your preference. The left hand creates a loop with two fingers of your choice, making our continuous circle. So, right hand is the bridge between the heaven and earth, left hand, endless cycle. Understand?"

"Got it," Laxus muttered and when Davian watched him expectantly, he copied him.

"Very good. Now, you're going to focus on where to pull the Virale from. Different deities tend to prefer different places. We will pull from here," he motioned to his chest, placing two, pointed fingers just below his heart, "the core, where your um... ah... the unfiltered emotion comes from. Instinct."

"Instinct," Laxus reiterated with a grimace. The tightness in his chest was back and he felt uncomfortable where he sat.

"Yesss..." Davian said slowly as he placed a single candle that Laxus had scrounged up earlier between them. He lit it and the small flame flickered as it slowly climbed higher, "Before we begin the introducement-"

"Introduction."

"Introduction," Davian shot him a look, though his voice continued to unfurl soft and calm, "we need to cleanse the body and spirit. This was short notice so less body, but we can still get in a good headspace. We breathe deeply and we are simple. Try to avoid any complex thoughts, worries, emotions. Focus on the simplicity in existing. We are alive. We are focused. We are ready to harness our waiting potential and receive a message from the outer world..."

Silence settled heavily between them, as if they'd been blanketed in snow. It crept around like shadows in a dying fire's light until Laxus felt nothing short of cold and uncomfortable. Sitting on the ground, listening to Davian breathe, felt strange. Even as they sat there, though, Laxus could see the faintest of light begin to seethe into Davian's skin. The gold in his scars was breaking into riot against the dark. Davian blinked his eyes open.

"Do you feel cleansed?"

"I feel silly," Laxus admitted.

"It takes practice," Davian shrugged, "I'd be surprised if you felt something on your first try, to be completely honest."

"How long does it usually take?"

"Just like any other skill, all that has to do with natural inclination and practice. It doesn't work the same way as Magic. It's subtler. It's easy to believe that these things aren't real, that they don't work, or maybe it's all chance that things turned out how you wanted. It may take time before you believe it to be working... or you may never believe it's real at all," he sighed, "It's a personal experience."

Laxus's brow furrowed, "But I've watched you..."

"I am not human, and at that, I'm the Favorite Son. Most chameleons can't evoke The Rites like I can," Davian stopped him. He opened his mouth like he might say something before shutting it again and glancing around, "Do… do you think we'll need salt?"

"Why in the hell would we need salt?"

"Well… like I said when you cast your voice to the void-"

"I thought that was what the blood was for?" Laxus growled.

"It doesn't hurt to have insurance…" Davian was on his feet and in the kitchen, quickly shuffling through cabinets. He found it easy enough and returned, something like an easy-going look on his face. He tiptoed around the space he had made, creating a small circle just big enough for him to sit in, stopping for just a moment to step in before closing the circle and settling himself back to the floor, "There we go. I feel better already."

Laxus crossed his arms and waited as Davian arranged everything to his liking once more. Candle situated between them, saucer just before him, sheathed knife within reach.

"Right. Good. Now, let us begin. We start with an evocation, a prayer.

Oros, God of Creation out of Destruction, Lord of Divine Wrath and Blood Sacrifice,

I call upon you to receive this offering and commune with me,

Bestow upon me your gifts that I may live, thrive, and feed your hunger,

If it so pleases you,

Into the shadow with teeth bared.

...Now, you."

Laxus hesitated, "I feel like I'm talking to the air."

"Yes, that will fade with time. You can close your eyes, if you'd like. Pretend there is someone else here with us."

Laxus grimaced and his stomach knitted. He felt ridiculous, but he closed his eyes. He took a slow breath and reluctantly repeated the words Davian had just spoken.

"Yes, very good…" his voice was soft again, nearly a hum, "Now, feel that energy that thrives deep inside of you. The directionless instinct that has been pushed down and denied. That inside of you which is raw and can't be contained, that is where our power comes from. The basic, the pure. Feel this energy shift and warm you, how it grows with each intake of breath and shrinks with each exhale. Imagine that it reaches farther throughout your being with each breath. You can feel it interweave between your bones, your tissue, your skin. It is alive like you are, and when you feed it, it grows. It extends out around you now, feeling into the void, waiting to be touched by the divine… to take in the message that you have been unable to hear… for so long now…"

Laxus shivered. He felt cold and his legs were starting to become numb trapped under his body as they were. And, of course, he felt utterly silly. He didn't feel anything... new. He definitely didn't feel any energy. Not any that he wasn't already aware of, anyway. Long after Davian's voice had faded and the two were just sitting there breathing deeply and patiently, Laxus's mind just couldn't stop spinning over how stupid he felt doing this. Stupid and maybe a tad disappointed. He'd expected something. He didn't really know what exactly but something.

Maybe he was thinking something would appear like the shadow man in all of his dreams, that it might step forward and explain it was all in his head all along and now that he has done this he'd be fine. Or maybe he'd hear some disembodied voice say welcome to the fold we won't kill your boyfriend now. Nothing of the sort happened. The silence spun onward like a massive snake coiling circles around them and growing tighter, encroaching shadows closing inwards towards them, almost burying the tiny light of the candle. The blood remained untouched in the saucer, coagulating in the strange environment it had been dropped into. There was only the sound of silence and breathing.

Laxus wasn't sure how long he sat there waiting. It felt like forever and the curtains drawn seemed to have lost some of the light of day beyond them. Maybe it had been an hour…

He let out a tense sigh and crossed his arms again. Davian must have been deep into his meditation or else committed to ignoring him, because he didn't stir. Laxus watched him for a minute or two, how his spine was straight and his eyes were closed and his tattoos were shimmering dimly. Obviously, he was doing something, although Laxus had no idea what, and that stung him in a way he didn't really expect.

He set his jaw and shut his eyes again. Tight, tighter, until splotches of light began to dance behind them. He could do this. He could do this. He just needed to concentrate. It was like learning to use Magic, right? Hard at first and then it got easier? If Virale was in everything, then it was in him. So there was no reason why he couldn't figure this out. He rolled his shoulders and sat up straight, deciding he could at least give this one more try before he asked Davian for more direction or just gave up entirely. After all, there was a lot more than pride at stake, wasn't there?

What had Davian said? That Oros's teachings were base? Base how, exactly? Base like having a knee-jerk reaction? Base like fight or flight? Base. Base like raw, unfiltered, atavistic. Like… Davian's hunger? Or Gajeel's heat, lust? Like the rage he'd felt that day in the courtyard when Zahir had Gajeel by the throat? Dark and red and messy… base. Base like eating lightning or when he and Gajeel had intertwined their Magics, feeling the fall from the sky and the unfurling of wings. Base…

The dark thing that cling to Laxus's ribcage shuttered just a bit. Festering or thriving. Maybe both. He remembered the rubber-band-snap of it, how it had built and built and built until Gajeel had collapsed in his arms. And then he'd heard Zahir laugh and…

He felt warm, uncomfortably so. He wasn't cold on the floor anymore, and the feeling of being silly, of playing pretend and saying a prayer that meant nothing was slipping a little farther to the back of his mind. Should he be hopeful? Or would that brake this, this cycle that he was starting? The dark thing, the thoughts of violence, was that what he was supposed to feel? But he didn't think Gajeel was dark, did he? Not all the time. Not when he didn't want to be. No, he didn't want to stain the thought of their time together in the safe house with thoughts of violence. Although, maybe it was at times… but it was also more. It was unrestrained and wild and consuming. It was lust, but it was also love, and acceptance, and knowing. It was frightening too. But it was good.

Laxus still felt warm. The black thing in his chest wasn't so black anymore, wasn't so hateful, and it had swelled up inside him like something he'd eaten that hadn't settled quite right. Or maybe it was more like when Wendy healed him after he'd taken an awful hit to the gut by something he hadn't seen coming. It was uncomfortable but it wasn't bad, just there. He stifled the urge to ask Davian what he should feel like. Did he need to have his hand held even more? He decided he'd at least give it a try before he subjected himself to asking more questions.

His voice was trembling just a bit, and he told himself that Davian was too concentrated in what he was doing to notice.

"Oros… God of Creation and Destruction… out of Destruction,

Receive this offering and communicate with me

Give me your gifts so I can live… thrive…

If it pleases you.

Into the shadow with teeth bared."

Laxus felt a breath at his shoulder, long and slow.

In.

Out.

As it passed by his ear, gooseflesh scattered down his chest and up the back of his neck. Suddenly, the light behind his eyes went dark and his whole body locked. The candle had gone out.

There was a creak at the stairs and Laxus's eyes snapped open. He stared at them, waiting for something to move, expecting a shadow but just seeing stairs. Something in the kitchen settled. Laxus balled his hands into fists and for a moment he stared at Davian whose eyes were still closed and tattoos were still glowing. A voice like a hiss, or maybe it was a whisper, tapped like feather-light spiders' legs across his skin.

"It has been... a while."

Laxus couldn't pinpoint where the voice had come from because it seemed to have come from everywhere or nowhere. The candle shivered and suddenly lit with a blue flame that looked both unnatural and cold. It quaked as it climbed upwards, tall and slim like a tiny ghost sitting on the fragile wick.

"Davian..." Laxus breathed, "Davian."

Davian didn't move. Or, Laxus hadn't seen him move. But his back wasn't straight as it had been and his shoulders sagged as if they were immensely heavy. The voice sounded again, louder, and Laxus snapped his head around the room to try and find a source, coming up short.

"This vessel is incomplete."

It was movement from Davian that jolted Laxus's attention back. He moved slowly and reached out a hand to the saucer. His eyes had opened just slightly but there was no responsiveness there. His entire eye had been consumed with gold, not even broken by the black slashes of his pupils. When he touched the plate, the blood also bloomed with glowing color. Flecks of it broke away and floated up into the air as if it were caught in a draft. It wafted away in a thin line of ethereal smoke, twisting and tilting until it disappeared.

Laxus's jaw was tight as he watched the weighted movements of the chameleon, the fluidity as if he were somehow trapped underwater. Davian seemed alien to him now, eyes glowing like that and skin turning deeper shades of blue. Laxus had seen him with feathers before but not like this. They were growing long, sloping down to touch his shoulders and shimmering opal in the dim light. He sat like he was waiting for something, lips straight and closed and pale, staring at the floor blindly.

"Who are you?" Laxus demanded, although he wasn't sure how he ended up with that question out of all of the ones swimming around in his head. But the voice wasn't Davian's, and starting there seemed as good a place as any.

"You do not know the name which you called to?" the voice spoke through the floorboards, descended from the ceiling, "You do not know me. You are not mine."

Laxus could laugh at how overwhelmed he felt in that moment, at the impossible amount of options scattered around him like shards of glass from something shattered on the floor. When one casts his voice to the void and all that nonsense Davian had spouted; here they were sitting with a voice in the darkness, Laxus at a loss of what to do, and Davian so deep in whatever trance he was in that he didn't seem aware of what was going on. It wasn't like Laxus had ever talked to a ghost or spirit or whatever before. So he found himself saying again, dumbly, the words he'd spoken once before with full expectation of a different answer – which he'd heard once was the literal definition of insanity.

"Who are you?"

The syllables clattered out about as clumsily as they ever could, like he were in the process of forgetting how to speak. There was a lengthy bit of silence where Laxus thought maybe whatever he was talking to had decided not to grace him with an answer, even if just the same one from before. You do not know me. You are not mine. There was something sort of hopeless about that, but Laxus didn't know what exactly, or why. He suddenly felt the need to rush and fill the silence.

"Are you the thing I've been seeing in my nightmares?" he asked.

"The Mages' genius, and perhaps their flaw, is an obsession with order. I see it in your architecture, your literature, your laws – the fierce denial of darkness, unreason, chaos. Here, when the who has failed you, you ask the what, the why. The illogic of it frightens you and yet you find it terribly attractive, don't you, youngblood?"

There was a deep breath and Laxus could feel it shiver the very atoms that lined his skin, but nothing on him moved. The voice which cascaded down around him smoothly, tolerantly, and stuck somewhere between a whisper, a breath, and a venomous hiss, continued.

"Pragmatists are often strangely superstitious. For all your logic, who lives more in abject terror of the supernatural than you? The Dragons were different. They had a passion for order and symmetry, but they knew how foolish it was to deny the unseen world, the old gods. Emotion, darkness, barbarism..."

Laxus's heart was starting to race. He swung his gaze around as the voice struck onward, eyeing corners in the room and where the shadows huddled a little too tightly against the walls, but none of it seemed amiss or wrong or anything aside from empty and cool blue in the wan light of his single candle.

"Easy, youngblood. I do not stalk dreams and shadows. It serves me little purpose. But there are places in this world humanity was never meant to see; sheltered beneath red rock and the ages that wear it down to nothing but fine powder oceans with depths that reduce cities into sand-covered ruins, places isolated by time and solitude, where sharp teeth and brutal claws still hold sovereignty and the treacherous night waits to behold the glory of day; there, returned to the root of the soul, where none court man's delusions or forfeit ecstasy in their flight from pain, where the sense of self is lost and the bonds of a thousand chains vanish, no longer satisfied with the empty show of your world, that is where I reside. I am as far from you as you are to the time when the mountains punctured the stars with their knife-edged peaks. Your tongue does not have the shape, nor your teeth the edge, to hold my name on it."

Laxus let out a tight breath and tried to remain level-headed, but it was very, very hard. In his head, the question of what he was talking to kept reverberating around louder and louder. His chest twisted whenever he glanced at Davian.

"We... I... the sacrifice was meant for Oros," Laxus said quietly.

"What an old name that is. What brings a mage to consult with the depraved gods of foreigners, those creatures of hunger, lust, and shifting whims? Did no one tell you that the gods to not barter facile offerings for forbidden knowledge? Or is what you're searching for more senative and sublime, derived from the mutterings of aged heretics and madmen? Or, is it simply power that you seek to gain, youngblood? You would be better suited to counsel with demons."

"I don't want any of that," Laxus snarled, "I need help."

"Help? From gods?" the voice held something new in it, something like amusement but also not. It seemed far-reaching, like wings stretching out wide over a nest, "Why would any god come to your aid? Did you not know that these are things that could fill graveyards with what they've learned from your kind? And at that, what could they possibly have to offer that you and all of your magics could not attain?"

Laxus would have answered right away if not for the subtle motion that caught his eye. Something black had pearled on the lip of Davian's golden eye and spilled over his cheek. He still stared vacantly downwards, unmoving aside from whatever force made his hair flutter and feathers grow longer. They were almost to his collarbone now, flowering into shades of royal blue and turquois.

Laxus shook his head slowly, "I don't think magic can help, or if it can I can't use it. Not like this."

"So, it is power that you seek."

"No, it's... maybe. I just want to keep someone I care about safe," Laxus scowled, clenching his jaw, "I don't want him to die."

"Death is just one part of our never-ending cycle. How arrogant to assume it can be broken."

Laxus nearly snarled in frustration. He felt like he was grappling with a bar of soap, one hand grasping to find words to explain everything in a way that might appeal to this whatever, and the other feeling horribly ridiculous for doing so. And Davian was looking even more horrific as a black line had begun from his other eye and plunked softly down to the ground. That couldn't be good, could it? What was he doing?

"I just... I think Fath-"

The candle flared in an instant, and alongside it the house seemed to come alive. The floor creaked loudly around him, like something heavy had just alighted and vanished again. He activated his magic on reflex and didn't like how strange it felt to be flooded by that energy, how it zinged in his veins anew and palpable and stabbed into his eye and made his head spin. The world tilted and he braced himself against the floor, feeling like he was going to throw up. Gods he was weak. His body throbbed and he could smell copper. With a final, sickly snap of electricity between his fingers, everything faded and he was left breathing heavily in the silence, body near the point of shivering and colors spotting his vision.

Low and gentle and simmering up around him like carbonation in a shaken soda bottle, the voice returned.

"Do not speak the name of a spirit when the veil is made thin. Names hold power, youngblood, and things will answer when called."

Laxus couldn't even nod. He squeezed his eyes shut against the magic deficiency, against the feeling of his fever returning. Something warm settled like a knot under his sternum, growing warmer.

"What a strange little mage you are. You come and pull the vein thin, cast your voice into the void and ask for guidance from a god that is not yours, and all with the breath of death so close to your neck. But you do not fear death and you do not ask to save yourself. What else could it be than the curse of love that motivates you? For wherever love is, death is always so close after, always too soon, be it minutes, days, years or decades... Who is this one you are so desperate to save?"

Laxus could hardly breathe. He could feel the slick of blood running down his lips. His nose was bleeding, and the blue light of the candle was growing more and more hazed.

"Gajeel... Gajeel Redfox."

The warmth in his chest grew hotter, spreading through him like warm soup on a frigid winter night. For a while, silence descended back again and the pounding in Laxus's ears grew maddeningly loud. He thought maybe he just couldn't hear for the sound of it, his whole head throbbing like an abused base drum.

"I know this name, though it is not mine." When the voice returned, it shifted smooth as silk or stream water, cool where his blood was painful. "This life as you know it cannot be saved. It is covenanted."

Laxus's breathing hitched and his stomach twisted up against his lungs, "What?"

"A life is required; a life has been promised."

"How? What do you mean his life has been promised?" Laxus demanded, finding the strength to look around him. Of course, he found nothing.

"The circle must start again. The Favorite Son must take his place as Aurincarae. A life is required; a life has been promised. Gajeel Redfox will die."

"No. No, no, no, no!" Laxus clenched his fists and glared, feeling his throat starting to close, "There has to be something I can do!"

"Are you to override the pact that has been made? Find a life worth greater than his and sacrifice it in his stead? Do you have that kind of greed in you, youngblood?"

The warmth that had been gentle and calming had suddenly turned hot, climbing across his chest like a burning vine crawling across his ribs. Laxus gritted his teeth against it.

"No, I just... there has to be something else?"

"Something else?" Laxus's chest got even hotter and he doubled over from it, nearly crying out at the pain that spindled its way through him. Laxus realized it was outrage... and it was not his own, "Life is the most sacred gift the gods have ever given. There is no more precious a sacrifice that can be made than to give that life back to the gods."

Laxus cried out. He wasn't sure if it was the pain that brought his vision back into focus, or if whatever the heat was in his chest had brought back some of his strength, but he found himself blinking at the candleflame, and then past it. Davian's eyes remained half-lidded, his body unmoved, but black was now streaking down the sides of his face like tears, from his nose, and even the corner of his mouth. Blue skin had faded to a sallow grey color, and the feathers once vibrant and opalescent, were now dulled. Once had fallen to the ground, landing alongside black claws now far too long and digging in to the wood floor.

"Fuck... Davian..." Laxus wheezed, trying to push himself back up, "What's wrong with him?"

The whispering voice seemed farther away. "The vessel is incomplete."

"V-vessel?" Laxus felt like he could breathe a bit more. The red-hotness in his chest eased suddenly, like his chest were a stovetop and the heat had been abruptly cut off. The incandescence was quickly fading away. "Wait... what's wrong with Davian?"

"The vessel is incomplete. It cannot contain my influence. The ritual must be completed."

"What ritual? Wait, wait! Where the fuck are you going?" Laxus screamed into the darkness at the fading voice, at the candle that was slowly leaching with orange, at Davian's eyes that were losing their golden glow.

"The ritual must be completed. The vessel is incomplete. The circle must start again..."

The rest of the warmth faded and Laxus found himself clutching at his chest, as if by doing so he could trap it there, keep it from leaving. Why did he suddenly feel so hopeless? Tears were welling up into his eyes. He couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat.

"Fuck..." he breathed as the weakness and throbbing pain all came crashing back to him. His eye was searing and his lungs hurt from exhaustion. He was so, so cold. So miserably, wretchedly cold...

Laxus heard that breath by his ear, a long in and out.

"You will hear my voice again. You do not know me, but I know you, Laxus."

Black edged into his peripherals and white spots blotted his vision like the end to a film reel. Laxus passed out just as he heard Davian screaming his name.

Author's Notes:

Learn Oumnic:

Oros - Ancient god of Creation out of Destruction, Rebirth, Divine Wrath and Blood Sacrifice (chiefly worshiped by Lizardfolk)
Aurincarae - Golden Flesh or Gold Incarnate
Oragatohl'i - God's Throat
Z'thowsa de Aure - literally translates to The Thousand Golden. Most would translate it to The People of Gold or The Golden People
Auré - Gold, Golden, The Golden
Orotrushit - God's Hunger
Anak - children
Z'ragnaró de Draodh - The Holocaust of Witches

Virale - "Lightning in the Blood", a life energy that exists in all things and allows one to perceive the messages of the metaphysical, typically from the gods or their messengers