Chapter 25: Of the Saintly
Arriving in Era was never a cause for celebration, at least not to the old guildmaster of Fairy Tail. In his eyes, the audacious city dedicated to the magical government body of their country was the beginning of the creature that replaced the noble cause of justice and peace that it was originally born from. It wasn't the fine streets or the well-kept structures that uniformly lined every path systematically laid out around him, but the unnatural mountain at the very center of his city and its housing on top of it that earned his ire. A magically crafted mountain that towered over all else in the area, only to be further drawn upon for the castle-like headquarters that the Council adopted as their base of operations. Not only did one have to look at the eyesore no matter where they were within Era, but they also had to waste half a day climbing the rock face just to get to where they needed to go.
His aching knees were telling him he was getting too old for all of this pageantry.
"Seriously, Old Man, why did I have to come, too?" Gildarts asked with an exasperation that Makarov doubted was exaggerated in any significant way. They paused themselves before the grand doors of the Council Headquarters, neither exactly ecstatic to continue further. There was an underlying weight that came to the forefront of the old master's mind when he looked up at Gildarts, one that wasn't at the fault of the younger man. The story he told the night of his return, the story of why he left the Century Quest unstarted and unfinished with only ugly scars to show for it wasn't one Makarov would shake easily, though it was imperative that he kept his focus elsewhere for the time being.
"Laxus has to stay behind to run the guild in my stead and my other S-class mages are on an important mission to the north. While it isn't necessary to bring anyone with me, I'd appreciate not wandering this place alone." There wasn't any threat of which Makarov had to be worried about while at the magic capital, but that didn't make him necessarily comfortable at the thought of reporting to Era by himself. From his brief talks with Yajima, there was something happening behind the scenes. What it was? Neither knew. Having three artifacts hidden away within the vaults of the Council stolen only weeks removed from the Lullaby debacle didn't quite boost confidence in anyone. "And, had you listened to me years ago, you would have had to attend these meetings with me anyway."
Gildarts scoffed at Makarov's little jab but kept silent as the two men continued forward and ventured into the massive building before them. Due to the blue medallion that dangled from the left breast of his pristine white jacket, no one batted an eye or had a word to say to the two Fairy Tail mages as they entered the grandiose headquarters. Rune Knights continued whatever duties they had without so much as a glance toward them, the regular workers remained focused on their tasks much the same with each sharing the same pace of urgency through the large halls, and as Makarov tried to recall a way through the vast corridors there was none that stopped to question what he was doing and where he was going. For the first time in a long time, Makarov found himself at a loss as his tired, aged eyes danced between the many separate corridors that all sprung from the grand entryway and none of them stirred any recollection of memory.
"Is that you, Maky?" Called a voice that brought a wave of nostalgia despite the creeping roughness of age being hewn into it. "I would have thought it would take a full-fledged war to get you to come here of your own volition. Little did I know it would only take an emergency call to action to our virtuous Saints."
Makarov turned around to see a man almost as stunted as he walking toward both he and Gildarts from a corridor that looked just the same as the rest. Yajima took slow, careful steps under a hunched posture as his hands hid themselves behind his back. While they kept in touch through a communications lacrima, it was much different to see his old friend as haggard as himself. Deep lines of age running across his face, loose skin beginning to hang off bone, strength reserved through small and careful movements as a smile peered through squinted eyes and the weight of thick eyebrows and a thin mustache. All the while, as Yajima approached the Fairy Tail Master and Ace, Makarov allowed himself to dance in the memories of when they were ambitious young mages that ran the world of magic so long ago.
"Yes, well, I do believe that the times have grown more dire as of late. It would be irresponsible of me to hold onto my grudges instead of taking action when needed." He replied as he grasped the extended hand of Yajima in a greeting shake of the hand. Had this been Fairy Tail, the occasion would call for something more rowdy and boisterous, but a shake of the hand would have to do for now. "And how else am I supposed to see my dear friend Yaji doing all of his important work?"
Yajima smiled at Makarov before releasing his grip on their handshake before he turned his attention to the man that stood a step or two removed from the conversation, quietly allowing the older men to have their reunion. The old councilman made it a point to lift his brow up to allow a greater view of his eyes than a harsh squint to take in the man's appearance. "Gildarts, my boy, it's been quite some time since I've seen you. You've gotten old."
Makarov heard the hacking cough from behind him at the word "old." Yajima was already turning around to lead the Fairy Tail mages through the headquarters before Gildarts could form any sort of coherent response, leaving the younger man to grumble something or other about old fools. As they walked, Makarov and Yajima fell into a sedate pace that had them side by side while Gildarts lingered off behind them as if he was their vastly overqualified bodyguard. It was no accident that the two older men drew close enough to catch even the shallowest whisper that could pass between the pair of them.
"You've mentioned some troubling activities around the Council?" Makarov spoke, his voice barely holding the strength to reach the ears of the man to his right, making it impossible for someone of a normal stature to be able to make any sense of his mutterings.
"Indeed. You've heard of the details around Lullaby, we were spoken into inaction before the attack on the laboratory, Deliora comes, and now we have another break-in of our vaults. Perhaps this is not all the same conspirator, but there is someone on the Council that is working against our interests." Yajima breathily explained, their eyes never straying from the path Yajima walked for them toward the Chambers of the Saints. "There is no way to determine who it could be, not with any degree of objectivity."
Makarov grunted at the hint given to him. Not with any degree of objectivity. It was no secret between the two old friends that Yajima was less than trusting of the newest recruit into the Council Chambers. Never has it been that a member was so fervently campaigned for and actually gained a spot on the Council itself. The old councilman tried to appeal to the Chairman more than a few times in private to dissuade the admittance of Jellal Fernandes. None such protests were heard, and now it was up to the two of them to keep as much of an eye on one of the most notable members of their government as they could. Passing along the boy to be an intermediary between the Council and Fairy Tail was all that could be done to keep any sort of consistent tab on him.
"Then there will have to be more drastic measures taken to locate them if things are to continue the way they are. We still haven't a clue when the next attack from Oracion Seis will come." The Fairy Tail master concluded with a sigh lost beneath the echo of his own small steps within the vast hallways around them. While it seemed as if everything was coming to a head at the same time, an instinct, be it born from age or conflict, told him that this was just the beginning. Being overwhelmed by the opening act didn't wasn't ideal in the slightest.
"Do not worry, my old friend. I have played these games for a very long time," a glance came from Yajima, one that Makarov caught in an instant. Utter surety that should belong to a man decades younger flashed within a moment and any unease that Makarov felt about the situation at the magical capital left him. "Patience is good in times of peace, but a firmer hand is needed when conflict brews. Rest assured, Maky, that I will be that firmer hand."
Yajima halted their trek through the labyrinthian halls of the Council Headquarters, stopping before a high-arched doorway that held the ornately decorated bronze doorway that led into the Chambers of the Saints, which, peculiarly, held no knobs to enter. Even as Makarov inspected the double doors that looked untouched by the many years since their construction, Yajima didn't drop the severe seriousness etched onto his face. Once his gaze returned, and the pair reached silent understanding, Yajima's severity was dropped in an instant as his attention was brought to Gildarts for the first time since they began their walk.
"Now, I do believe you and I are in need of a little investigative work, aren't we? Come, Gildarts, I hope your old feeble mind isn't too compromised to follow me to my office." In a light and jaunty tone, Yajima looked free of worry as he took a more lively gait toward where Makarov suspected was the direction of the councilman's office. Gildarts, however, looked confused as he stood unmoved a few steps from Makarov. Raising an eye at the lost man, Makarov gave a light scoff before taking a step toward the grand doors of his intended meeting.
"I hope you didn't truly believe you were only here to stand and wait as I bicker with my colleagues. I do think that there is a certain surname that's caught your attention." Without another word, Makarov heard the heavy footfalls of Gildarts following the path Yajima began to walk toward his office.
Before him, the guildmaster saw the subtle glow of blue that bore itself in the seam of the double doors just as it glowed on his chest where his Saints medallion sat on the breast of his jacket. Without breaking stride, Makarov was granted entry into the vast chambers hidden behind the sealed doors and let the darkness of the room overtake the contrasting overwhelming brightness of the white halls. Instead of a well-lit room with all of the excessive blue fixations that represented the Council itself, the Chamber of the Saints was draped in shadow save for the single glowing lacrima that came down to shine on the symbol of their order at the very center of the room. Around that center were ten thrones that all displayed the number of the rank of its owner. Each throne was exactly the same, despite their ranks displaying a very clear order, and were made with no less elegance than the next. Fine patterns were hand carved into a wood that held a hue more purple than brown and was smoother than water at the touch. Cushions less plush than no other rested in the seat, on the back, and even upon the tall grand armrests of the thrones. The number of the Saints' ranks were elegantly carved into the wood directly beneath the seat, where a gap would be found between the legs of more traditional chairs. These thrones, however, bore skirts that made it seem as if the purple wood grew from the ground itself.
Makarov hopped onto the impossibly lavish seat and looked around the room to see his peers quietly settling themselves into their own thrones. While Makarov was not a man of a normal stature, he felt somewhat vindicated to see all of his peers be swallowed by the massive thrones themselves. In a slow sweep of the room, the guildmaster's hard gaze swept across the room as he reacquainted himself with his peers that each held the distinction of being one of the ten strongest mages in the country.
Or, rather, the ten that the Council chooses to acknowledge.
While the title of a Wizard Saint was as prestigious as a title one in their world could be bestowed with, it was a poorly kept secret that the assignments of a title were questionable. It was as much about politics as it was about magic, as it tended to be within the Magic Council. That is where you have mages such as Gildarts who didn't sit amongst those he could stand on equal footing with, personal preferences aside. That, and the glaring lack of acknowledgement to those that tread on the wrong side of the Council's authority always allowed a looming discrepancy over the claim of those that sat in the circular room to be the "strongest" when spoken in absolution. Still, even when nitpicking the particulars over the titles of those Makarov shared the room with, he couldn't deny the strength that emanated from those around him. Had an average mage chosen to walk into the Chamber of the Saints as it was now, Makarov was certain the latent magical power the each of them gave off would be enough to cause clear discomfort. That was with two seats still empty.
For one of those seats, namely the throne crafted with the numeral of the strongest in their order, it would be more of a surprise if it was occupied. Despite being the strongest Fiore had to offer, heading the Four Gods of Ishgar, God Serena made it a point to ignore any summons to these meetings. A blessing disguised as a slight to them, Makarov was sure. While his magic and capabilities was under no doubt, there wasn't a drop of humility that the old guildmaster could find in the man from the moment he was introduced to the anomaly of a mage. His arrogance and shameless boasting would curb any meaningful discussion they could have. The other seat, that of the throne sitting immediately to Makarov's right, was a larger question. One that Makarov was sure had no favorable answers.
Skipping the vacant seat to his right, Jellal Fernandes sat within the throne of the Ninth Saint with the same confidence he held from the first day he was inducted to be one of the Ten. A leg was slung casually over the other, an arm resting on the chair's plush arm with his head delicately balanced on his fingers with an easy smile displayed for them all as he surveyed their colleagues as Makarov did. With a spare glance, Jellal caught Makarov's gaze for a moment to share a slightly widened smile and a wink of his eye before turning his attention elsewhere once again. Beyond Jellal, and further arcing around the large room, was the newest inductee of the Ten: Jura Neekis of Lamia Scale. A tall, muscular man with a tanned complexion and a bald head sat stoically and seriously in his seat and a deep frown digging trenches into his skin, making him appear much older than the young man he was. A heavy mantle of horizontal blue and white stripes lined in golden finishings sat over a torso bare of all but leather straps that crossed up his body. A matching loincloth wrapped around his waist nearly touched the floor even as the large man sat, light blue patterns dancing on a black field of cloth as golden fur trimmed the perimeter of the fine cloth. The two men rounding out the two final spots of their ten represented the future of their country and magical prowess, the two of them significantly younger than the rest of the order. Barring God Serena, of course.
On the other side of Makarov were the two seats that separated him from the Four Gods of Ishgar. Positions Five and Six were peculiarly held by a pair of siblings that had the tendency to change which seat they bore at any given time. Abbam and Altair, men of an age similar to Gildarts, were twins that shared not only a similar visage, but also a similar affinity to old magicks that they claimed to mirror one another the same way they did. Arc of Gravity and Arc of Space were abilities that went beyond what Makarov could comprehend after seeing only one display of each during their testing for induction. That one confusing display was still enough for Makarov to understand the power they wielded and was not surprised when they eventually eclipsed himself in the rankings years ago. Now, as Makarov looked over to the twins as they shared a quiet conversation between each other, there wasn't a way for Makarov to know if it was Abbam or Altair that sat to his immediate left. If he cared to ask, he'd likely receive the answer he always did from the enigmatic siblings, "Whether I am gravity or space, the significance remains." A somber voice, a frown to match, and heavy eyes were ever-present. Heavy cloaks dark as the night hid only white jackets and matching pants beneath when they sat in their thrones. Dark faces that began to show lines of age were shaved clean, though the shadows of thick hairs were always present on their cheeks, and dark brown hair was always kept short and clean. Though they always functioned in a pair, that pairing always seemed to make them look more secular from the rest of the Ten than the six individuals that sat around them.
Shouldering the left side of the twins were the three remaining Saints that represented the Gods that were ever-present at these meetings, despite being rather recluse outside of it. While all ten being of the Saints, it was important to note that the Four Gods of Ishgar showed a strength that separated them from the rest. While the Ten were filled with peculiar and incredible magics that tended to be rarer than the average mage's that wandered around, the Gods pushed those standards further.
Seated Four of their Ten, Warrod Sequen sat peacefully within his throne with his circling wooden staff splayed across his lap. What was supposedly once tanned skin was replaced with sturdy bark that emulated the appearance of wrinkles if one was to look at a glance. That bark continued to the top of his head before it separated into short branches that bore florets of greenery that represented what would have been hair decades ago. An elegant golden kimono with a high-collar and was tied closed by an equally fine sash at his waist before falling on either side of brown pant legs. Warrod was a man Makarov knew from his childhood, and every step since, and was one of the pioneers of their world. Founding Fairy Tail over a century ago and still overseeing things in times of strife such as these was something Makarov could have only dreamt of following. Decades younger, the Fairy Tail Master could only look at Warrod with more and more disbelieving respect.
Rounding the final two seats of the attending Saints were those that made the understood "leadership" of their order. While logic would say that their strongest, and the man bearing the primary numeral, would be one to lead them, Makarov was sure that this alternative was preferential. The Third, Wolfheim, was a man of a similar stature to Yajima, just larger than Makarov, but of a strength incomparable. A short temper was hidden beneath a stoic face that betrayed nothing but a shallow frown. Shrewd eyes gleamed under blue framed glasses as long fingers pulled at a beard colored in a way that Makarov could only liken to the forest or nature, though more subtle than the florets atop Warrod's own head. A hat that puffed and clouded itself around Wolfheim's hat in airy white fabric and crowned in a dark blue sat atop his head, a white vest with red buttons was worn over a dark shirt, and pants that matched the shade of his beard. Seated beside Wolfheim was a man that seemed every bit his opposite. A tall, slender man with elegantly maintained short dark hair that was parted on the left side and matched by an equally kempt mustache. An ornately decorated purple vest sat atop a buttoned up white shirt with a blue bow tie tied around its collar and a pair of unruffled black dress pants. A high-collared black cloak draped over the man's body like a curtain of darkness and a blazing red symbol standing out brightly on a pale forehead, four points crossed together and almost glowed in the darkness of the room in the same way impassive and hardened red eyes did. Where Wolfheim sat with a temper balanced on a blade's edge, Draculos Hyberion was forever unfazed and unmoved by that which happened around him. As Makarov saw it, Draculos Hyberion was what one should expect from the head of such an order. Not just confidence, but surety that was displayed quietly and respectfully.
"I believe it is time to start this meeting. There is no use in waiting for those that will not show." Hyberion started, his eyes closing and head bowing in a sort of greeting from his Second seat. Conversely, Wolfheim to the right of Hyberion forced his face into a harsh scowl as his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"Pathetic. Too arrogant to answer the call of our order. With only a few meetings a year, you'd think it would be hard to miss." While the words grumbled in a more contained frustration than the man's face betrayed, none were lost in the expanse of room. Makarov easily heard the man sitting directly across from him in their seated circle without even having to strain his ears to listen.
"Nothing can be done about it now, Wolfheim. The Council has called for our deliberation on the threat to the north. A lost demon from Zeref's disgusting Library, if I recall." Hyberion's eyes opened and focused their red piercing gaze to the man seated opposite of the empty throne to Makarov's right. Jellal had the unique position of retaining positions on both the Ten Wizard Saints and the Magic Council. It was a lot of power and a lot of information for such a position.
"Yes. Let us hear the politician's accounts of such an issue." This time, Wolfheim's ire was stern and direct toward Jellal. Even before the induction of Jellal, when the man showed clear interest in becoming more a man of the government than a working mage as he had been, Wolfheim made his distrust clear. Makarov Dreyer was not the first, nor last, man to show his distrust of the authority above them all.
"Rest assured, Master Wolfheim, it was I that ensured this meeting happened. Had I not, there would be eight Saints spread across the border for a demon that may or may not come." To his credit, under Wolfheim's attention and Hyberion's stoic piercing gaze, Jellal spoke as freely as he always seemed to. His hand waved off any suspicion in a moment and the customary smirk that Makarov associated with the man's more playful disposition was unbending.
Suspicions aside, Makarov had to credit the young man for holding such an attitude no matter where he was. It was easy to show such a lack of care in front of those he was stronger than and lorded over as a councilman. Here, around many that could easily threaten Jellal and challenge him, in spite of his prodigious rise, he still wore such a carefree temperament without fail. Even if such a tactic was lost on the two strongest Saints present who remained unfazed by the words.
"In fact," Jellal continued, his eye darting over to Makarov with a gleam that caught the old master by surprise, "this was a joint effort made by myself and our Seventh. It is his mages that will meet the demon first before any of us are dispatched toward the border." Perhaps it was a familiarity built over short personal meetings, or perhaps just general suspicion that Makarov felt toward the councilman, but the Fairy Tail master couldn't help but feel like there was a gleam in Jellal's eyes and a quirk of the lips that was meant for him and him alone. He has roped me into his word games in an instant. It wasn't as if there was deception, or anything untruthful in the man's words, but Makarov knew this was part of his play to establish himself further in his own position. Just as they planned to accomplish together.
There was something that unsettled him about that, now that he was to be an active participant in that plan.
"Yes, by my understanding, my children should be crossing the border to Brago in the coming days. One way or another, we will know to what extent we will be needed." The affirmation of Jellal's explanation by Makarov was either met by lessened suspicion from Wolfheim and a less pressing gaze from Hyberion or Makarov had only hoped as such was true. Even Jura Neekis, who sat otherwise unbending from his stiff posture during their discussion, turned and met Makarov's eyes to give a nod of acceptance that seemed to bypass Jellal entirely.
"Then what brings us all together?" The twin seated in the fifth throne, that Makarov was willing to guess was Altair, spoke with a soft voice. It was as if he whispered with a volume just barely acceptable to accommodate regular conversation. "If it was two Saints that proposed the plan, surely a comfortable solution could be met between the two."
"Now, Now, Abbam," Warrod's easy address of the man was almost enough to make Makarov frown. The elderly man showed an eye keener than his own, by far. "The safety of Fiore and her people is never a cause too menial. The stories of the destruction caused in Brago all those years ago should not be forgotten or overlooked."
"If this was simply about exterminating the beast, why send a group of mages that you are not sure can do it properly?" Jura now turned his attention to Jellal and sent a pointed look to the man, following his peers in turning the suspicious eye on the one man that could be singled out as such.
"Why use a shovel when a spoon would suffice? Why not always beat down opposition with your strongest spell up front? Why consider moderation when the maximum is available?" It was only now, just as he was making a succinct and notable point, that Jellal dropped his airy disposition and turned toward seriousness. The young man had yet to match the tone of the room, but he surely broke out of his own character for a moment. "There is much to be gained by using only what may be necessary. The mages sent by Saint Makarov are skilled and their assessment of Deliora, should it be slayed or not, will be more useful than just blatant annihilation. If that was my goal, Etherion would have been a better solution."
Etherion. What was essentially the Council's most damning leash to keep the magical world in order was rarely spoken with such freedom. Yet, Jellal's point was made as the silence around them grew thick and the questioning came to a close. Still, Wolfheim glared across the room at Jellal just as openly as he had before, the grip of his fingers on his folded arms as tight as ever.
"Very well. If you wish to learn what you must from this demon, what is it that we have to discuss here? Who shall go to dispose of what's left?" Abbam, who spoke with a voice much stronger than his brother had moments ago, pale eyes peering over Makarov's seat to look at Jellal.
"Why, you tell me, Saint Abbam. I'm just a politician." The councilman replied, an easy smile stretching across his lips. He adjusted himself within his seat, getting comfortable as he faded to the back of a conversation he was so forcefully brought to the forefront of.
The rest of the meeting went swiftly and without issue. There was little worry in the room about who or how the beast would be removed, should it be necessary. Though a demon of Zeref, there was a limit on how much strength the artificial being created by the Black Wizard to become. As the newest member, and lowest seat within the order, Jura Neekis was selected to travel to the border and intercept whatever came back across the border from Brago. Be it Makarov's children, Deliora, or both.
The meeting in its entirety lasted less than an hour by a fair margin, Makarov exiting the Chamber of the Saints with some haste to reach the man he knew would already be waiting outside of the door he entered. There was another pair of steps that followed Makarov's own out of the room, but he paid them no mind until their owner spoke up himself. It wasn't until Makarov had pushed open the sealed doors and saw the bored expression of Gildarts that Jellal spoke up.
"If only the Council meetings were as short and sweet as these, perhaps things would be done just a little quicker." The playful voice did nothing to put any bounce in Makarovs step or jaunt in his tone. "Though I suppose the most secure foundations are built with patience and time."
"Is there something I can help you with, my boy? I'm afraid I have a pertinent meeting to attend." It wasn't something he made mention of elsewhere. It was information more sensitive than any he could remember encountering in his life. When your Ace tells a story of a dragon nearly eviscerating him in a moment, there becomes a cause for concern that their world hasn't needed to address for centuries.
"None at all, Saint Makarov, I was just hoping to return this to you." Raising an eyebrow, Makrov turned his head toward Jellal, only to be surprised at the closeness of the man as his hands tugged on the left breast of his jacket. Looking down, Makarov watched the medallion of the Wizard Saints be reattached to the fabric with nimble fingers. It was only when the man pulled away that words came falling from his mouth in quick succession. "Watch what you say to the Chairman."
Surprise became blatant on Makarov's face, so much so that he almost missed the insistence on Jellal's face before he turned and walked away. There was something about the look that drove the point home more than the old master could have expected. At first, one could have taken it as a warning to keep certain things strictly between Jellal and himself. But, in the moment's thoughts that accrued while watching the man retreat down the halls of the massive headquarters, the more Makarov thought he meant the opposite. It isn't to keep information between us, but away from the Chairman. If that was the case, if that was what Jellal truly implied, then the situation in the capital was more dire than he could know.
"You alright, Master?" Gildarts called down from his side, the pair of them staring down the now empty hallway.
"Ask me in a few months, boy."
The trek to the Chairman was one with a few wrong turns, a few more reroutes, and at least three misdirections before Makarov was brought to the entrance to the Council Chambers. The glowing room, arrayed with shining spots indicative of the members that would be, was brighter than the Chamber of Saints but considerably dimmer than the rest of the building. Standing alone within it was the large, imposing body of the Chairman that instantly pulled himself from his reading to look down at Makarov with large, round eyes.
"Makarov Dreyer, Gildarts Clive, what do I owe the pleasure?" Crawford Seam asked with a tone full of equal parts confusion and a warming welcome.
"Unfortunately, Chairman, there is no pleasure to be had in this conversation." Makarov said shortly, taking a small breath in pause before he continued. There was a stray thought that was cast to the warning from Jellal, but it was cast away by the severity of the topic at hand. "There has been a terrible sighting to our east…
…The Black Dragon, Achnologia, has been spotted and engaged by my Ace on his most recent assignment."
Yea, I'm a day late. Literally drove 1100 miles over the last two days and was fucking burnt last night. But, the chapter is here, it is published, and I'm calling it all a win