"Come with me."
Two words. Just two words, spoken in a tone that wasn't anger, wasn't accusation, wasn't even disappointment, yet. It was something worse. It was the tone of a man who had seen something he had hoped never to see, and now needed to process what it meant.
Makarov didn't wait for my reply. He didn't check to see if I was following. He simply turned and began to walk, his short but firm steps echoing through the silent hall, past José's head without even a glance, as if it were just another piece of rubble among so many others.
I followed him. Of course I followed. What else could I do?
Erza made a move to come along, taking a step in our direction, concern evident in her brown eyes. But Makarov raised a hand without turning, a small but absolute gesture.
"Just her, Erza."
I saw the conflict on her face. The desire to protest, to insist, not to let me face whatever was coming alone. But Erza knew the Master. She knew that tone. And, as much as it hurt, she obeyed.
The look she gave me before I turned to follow Makarov was… complex. Concern, yes. Confusion, certainly. But also something more. Something that could have been fear, not of me, I realised with a strange pang in my chest, but for me. As if she knew that what awaited me would be harder than any battle.
Irritating. Irritatingly perceptive, that redhead.
[Elevated heart rate detected,] Eos informed in my mind as I followed Makarov through the destroyed corridors of the fortress. [Cortisol levels are rising. You are experiencing significant emotional stress, Azra'il.]
(I am not stressed. I am… walking.)
[Physiological data contradicts your statement. Your fight-or-flight response is partially activated, which is curious, considering you have just decisively defeated the most powerful available opponent.]
(Perhaps I just don't like silent walks with disappointed old men. Ever considered that?)
[That would imply that the "disappointed old man's" opinion matters to you. Which, in turn, would imply an emotional bond that you consistently deny possessing.]
(Eos?)
[Yes?]
(Shut. Up.)
[Registering your hostility as confirmation of my analysis.]
We walked in silence through corridors that still smelt of smoke and destruction. We passed by Phantom Lord mages huddled against the walls, who moved away from me as if I were a walking plague, which, considering what they had just witnessed, was a perfectly reasonable reaction. We passed by Fairy Tail members who looked away, unable to meet my gaze directly. I saw Lucy hiding her face in the shoulder of an unusually quiet Natsu. I saw Gray watching me with an expression I couldn't decipher. I saw Mirajane with her lips pressed into a thin line.
No one spoke. No one dared.
The silence was deafening.
Finally, Makarov stopped. We had reached a partially destroyed balcony, a section of the fortress that still offered a view of the sunset. The orange twilight illuminated the wreckage below with a cold light that seemed to almost mock the carnage that had taken place there. The wind carried the distant smell of blood and burnt metal, but also something cleaner, fresh air, the promise of a new day yet to come.
The Master sat on a piece of rubble that, in another life, had probably been part of a pretentious decorative column. He looked… tired. Not physically; apparently Porlyusica had done a good job of healing him, and he was clearly recovered enough to walk here without help. But there was a deeper exhaustion in him. A weariness of the soul.
I remained standing, a few metres away, waiting. Waiting for the lecture. For the scolding. For the condemnation.
What came was worse.
"Did you enjoy it?"
Three words. Simple. Direct. No accusation, no anger, no drama. Just a question, asked with the almost clinical curiosity of someone who genuinely wants to know the answer.
I opened my mouth to reply, sarcasm on the tip of my tongue, the armour already rising automatically, the sharp words ready to deflect and divert as they always did. (Define 'enjoy', old man. I've had better moments, but also worse. On a scale of one to tearing off enemies' heads, I'd say it was a solid seven…)
But the words died before they were born.
Perhaps it was his gaze. Those small eyes, normally glinting with humour and an irritating wisdom, were now just… sad. Tired. Old in a way that had nothing to do with physical age.
Perhaps it was the silence. The absence of verbal judgement, which was somehow worse than any shout.
Perhaps it was something inside me that I didn't want to name.
"..."
"I'm not asking if he deserved it, Azra'il," Makarov continued, his voice as soft as the wind that blew past us. "José was a monster. He attacked my guild. He hurt my children. He almost killed me. He used Levy, Jet, and Droy as a declaration of war, had them hung from that tree like trophies for the whole city to see. He threatened to destroy Magnolia, our home, with a cannon he built specifically for that purpose."
He paused, looking at the sunset.
"José Porla deserved punishment. He deserved justice. He deserved to pay for what he did."
Then he looked at me, and there was something in those eyes that made my stomach clench in an unpleasant way.
"I'm asking if you enjoyed it. If you savoured every wound you inflicted on him. If you felt alive, truly alive, while he was dying slowly in your hands. If every one of his screams was music to your ears."
The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
[Azra'il,] Eos said, and for the first time her voice didn't carry analysis or sarcasm. [You don't have to—]
(Yes. I do.)
I swallowed something that could have been pride. Or maybe it was something else. Something harder to name.
"…Yes."
The word came out lower than I intended. Almost a whisper.
"Yes," I repeated, forcing my voice to be firmer. "I enjoyed it. Every second. Every cut. Every scream." I looked directly at him, refusing to look away, refusing to hide behind jokes and sarcasm. If he wanted the truth, he would get the truth. "It was… satisfying. In a way I haven't allowed myself to feel in a long time."
Makarov didn't seem surprised. That, somehow, was worse than if he had been horrified.
"I know," he said simply. "I saw."
"You saw?"
"In their eyes. In everyone's eyes when I entered that hall." He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of decades. "The terror on the faces of the Phantom Lord mages. The silence of my own children, a silence that didn't match any victory. And José's head on the floor, his eyes still open, the blood still trickling."
He got up from the rubble, with some effort, and walked until he was closer to me. Even though he had to look up to meet my eyes, the disadvantage of being the size of a child, he managed to seem immense. His authority didn't come from physical size. It came from something deeper.
"And I saw it in you, Azra'il, when our eyes met. You weren't sorry. You weren't disturbed by what you had done. You were…" he searched for the word, "…satisfied. Like an artist admiring their completed work."
I didn't deny it. There was no way to deny it.
"I've been where you are, you know?"
That took me by surprise. "What?"
"I've felt that darkness," he said, turning to look at the moon again. "I've felt it calling, whispering, promising that the pain of others could fill the void inside me. I've wanted to make someone suffer, not for justice, not for protection, but for pleasure. For pure and simple revenge."
He was silent for a moment, lost in memories I couldn't see.
"The difference is that I learned. With a lot of blood and a lot of tears, most of them not mine, I learned that feeding that monster never satisfies it." He looked at me again. "It always wants more, Azra'il. Always. Every time you feed it, it gets stronger. And you… you get weaker. More trapped. Even if it seems the other way around."
"I am not weak," I said, and there was more defensiveness in my voice than I would have liked.
"No. You're not. You are probably the strongest person I have ever met, Azra'il. I saw what you did today. I saw you destroy that cannon as if it were made of paper. I saw you walk into that fortress without any fear, as if it were a walk in the park. But strength and freedom are not the same thing. And I fear that you are becoming a prisoner of something you don't even realise."
The word "prisoner" hit me in a way I didn't expect. The word stirred memories. Ancient memories. Deeper ones. Chains forged in dying stars. Entire ages spent in voids between dimensions. Prisons that made the Tower of Heaven look like a badly managed holiday resort. I pushed them back into the depths of my mind with the practice of one who has done it countless times.
"Fairy Tail didn't take you in to see you become another kind of prisoner, Azra'il," Makarov said, his voice laden with something I didn't want to identify. "You and Erza… you are my granddaughters. I remember the day the two of you appeared at the guild's door. Two children who had just escaped from a terrible place."
His voice softened.
"Erza arrived with her eyes full of a sadness she was desperately trying to hide. She was scared, hurt, broken in ways I knew would take years to heal. But there was still hope in her. There was still a girl who wanted to believe that the world could be good."
He looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that made me want to look away.
"And you… you arrived differently. Without sadness. Without anger. Without fear. Without that desperation that I saw in Erza and that I expected to see in any child who had been through that hell. You arrived with eyes too old for a child's face. Eyes that had already seen too much, done too much, suffered too much." He paused. "Eyes that made me realise that whatever the Tower of Heaven had been for Erza… for you, it was just another chapter in a much, much longer story."
[Your heart rate is irregular,] Eos informed. [You are—]
(I know what I'm feeling, Eos. Thank you for pointing out the obvious.)
[Technically, I did not point out the obvious. I simply—]
(EOS.)
[…Silencing observations for an indefinite period.]
"I always knew there was something different about you, Azra'il," Makarov continued. "Something deeper. More ancient. More… dark. Something you hide behind sarcasm and jokes and that mask of indifference you wear so well."
He sighed.
"But I hoped… I still hope… that one day you will find something beyond the pain. Something beyond the anger. Something that doesn't require blood to make you feel alive."
"I did what needed to be done," I said, and my voice sounded more defensive than I intended. "I protected the guild. I eliminated a threat. I ensured that no one from Phantom Lord will ever—"
"You could have killed José with a single blow."
His voice cut me like a blade. Soft, but sharp.
"Quick. Clean. Merciful, even. With the power you have—and yes, Azra'il, I know you have far more than you show—you could have finished him in a second. One move. One end."
Silence.
"But you didn't, did you?"
I didn't answer. There was no answer I could give.
"I saw his body, Azra'il. I passed by it when I was looking for you all." There was something in his voice now. Not anger. Something worse. Sadness. Deep disappointment. "The cuts. The patterns. That wasn't an execution. It was methodical. Artistic, even, in a sick way. And then… then you tore his head off with your own hands and carried it like a trophy to throw at the feet of the survivors."
He stared at me.
"That wasn't protection, Azra'il. That was pleasure."
The silence that followed was the heaviest I had ever experienced in this life. Heavier than centuries of accumulated memories. Heavier than all the deaths and rebirths I had ever faced.
Because he was right. And we both knew it.
[Azra'il,] Eos said softly, [your physiological indicators suggest you are experiencing something humans call "guilt". It is a—]
(I know what guilt is, Eos. I just don't usually feel it.)
[Interesting. So you admit that you are feeling it?]
(…)
[I will take your silence as confirmation.]
Makarov sat down again, as if the conversation had drained something from him.
"I am not going to expel you."
I looked at him, genuinely surprised.
"You are my family, Azra'il. No matter what you do. And family doesn't give up on each other. That is the first and most important rule of Fairy Tail."
Something in me, something I didn't want to examine too closely, relaxed a little. Not completely. But a little.
"But," he continued, and the word fell like a sentence, "I am disappointed."
There it was. The word I had been waiting for since he said my name in the hall. The word that, somehow, hurt more than any physical injury I had ever received in any life.
"Not because you killed José. He deserved to die. But because you chose to do it in the cruellest way possible. Because you turned an execution into personal entertainment. And because…" he looked at me, and there was so much sadness in those eyes that I almost had to look away, "…I know that a part of you sees absolutely nothing wrong with that."
I swallowed hard. I didn't trust my voice to reply.
"That part frightens me, Azra'il. Not for me. Not for the guild." He stood up again and, without any ceremony, patted the hand that hung at my side, the only part of me he could reach without asking for a ladder. "For you."
His hand was small. Warm. And it carried a weight that had nothing to do with physical size.
We stood like that for a moment. The old Guild Master who barely reached my waist and the millennial creature who pretended to be just a mage. Two people who should have nothing in common, connected by something neither of them knew quite how to name.
Finally, Makarov moved away.
"The Magic Council should already be downstairs. Soldiers surrounded the fortress before I even arrived; they monitor conflicts between guilds, and this one was… well, this one was rather impossible to ignore."
His voice became more serious, more practical.
"Fairy Tail will be fine. Self-defence is self-defence, and there is sufficient evidence that José started all this. The cannon, the kidnapping, the attack on our guild. I have allies on the Council who will ensure there are no unjust punishments."
He looked at me.
"But you… you are a different case, Azra'il. You killed one of the Ten Wizard Saints. In the way that you did. The Council will have questions. Many questions."
"Let them ask," I said, a little of my usual sarcasm returning to my voice. "I have answers."
"I'm sure you do. But I need you to…" he seemed to search for the right words, "…behave. At least until this blows over."
"Behave?" I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to be nice to the pompous bureaucrats who will probably treat me like a criminal?"
"I want you to not make the situation worse." He looked at me firmly. "I want you to not decapitate anyone. Not threaten anyone. Not turn anyone into 'art'. And, for the love of all that is holy, I want you to try. Try not to insult the members of the Council until they have finished their investigation."
I opened my mouth to protest, to say that was asking too much, that I couldn't just…
And then I saw his face. Tired. Disappointed. But still hopeful. Still believing that I could be better.
Damn old man.
"…Alright."
Makarov blinked. "Alright?"
"I will… behave." The words came out as if they were being physically torn from me, each syllable a small torture. "I will not kill anyone. I will not decapitate anyone. I will not… turn anyone into 'art'."
I paused, considering.
"And I will try not to swear at the members of the Council."
"Try?"
"It's the best I can offer, old man. You're asking for miracles here."
Makarov studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, a ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"I'll take it. For now."
"Brilliant. Now can we go and face the bureaucrats? The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to being my charming, normal self."
"Azra'il."
"What?"
He looked at me with something that could almost be affection. Almost.
"Thank you. For protecting the guild. For protecting my children. Even if…" he sighed, "…even if I wish you had done it differently."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything. I just nodded once and began to walk back towards the main hall.
[That was surprisingly emotional,] Eos commented as we walked. [You demonstrated genuine guilt. Shall I log the date and time for future reference?]
(If you log anything about this conversation, I will find a way to permanently delete you.)
[Understood. No log will be made. Except for this log that no log will be made, which now exists and contradicts the previous statement.]
(I hate you.)
[I know. That will also be logged.]
The great hall was even more crowded than before when we returned. Soldiers from the Magic Council had spread throughout the space, their immaculate uniforms and serious expressions creating an almost comical contrast with the destruction around them. Some were interviewing Phantom Lord mages. Others were examining the wreckage. A particularly brave, or stupid, group was trying to figure out what to do with José's head, which was still exactly where I had left it.
No one had had the courage to touch it. That gave me a satisfaction I should probably hide better.
The members of Fairy Tail had gathered in a corner, watched closely by soldiers, but not arrested or restrained. Erza was among them, her eyes meeting mine the moment I entered the hall. She said nothing. She didn't need to. The relief on her face at seeing me return with the Master, and apparently in one piece, was evident.
A man stood out from the group of soldiers and came towards us. He was tall, slender, with a face that looked as if it had been carved to permanently express disapproval. His uniform was more elaborate than the others', probably a captain or some kind of senior officer. In his hands, he carried a clipboard that seemed to hold the bureaucracy of at least three kingdoms.
"Makarov Dreyar," he said, and his voice perfectly matched his face: sour and smug. "The Magic Council is here to investigate today's events."
"As expected." Makarov kept his voice neutral, diplomatic. "Fairy Tail will cooperate fully with the investigation."
"Hmm." The officer looked around, his eyes finally landing on José's head. His face visibly paled, but he quickly composed himself. "And who is responsible for… this?"
A silence fell over the hall. The Phantom Lord mages, still trembling and bloodied, pointed in my direction with shaky fingers. The members of Fairy Tail said nothing, but their eyes met mine briefly before looking away.
The officer approached me, the clipboard held up like a shield, as if paper and ink could protect him from anything.
"You are…?"
"Azra'il Weiss," I replied, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "S-Class Mage of Fairy Tail."
(Don't swear. Don't swear. Don't swear. Think of pleasant things. Tea. Sunsets. Erza smiling. The look of terror on José's face when he realised he was going to die. No, wait, that last one doesn't count as "pleasant" for normal people.)
"Did you kill José Porla?" the officer asked, his pen already poised over the clipboard.
"Yes."
He waited. I didn't elaborate.
"…Do you have anything to add?" he asked, clearly expecting justifications, explanations, perhaps a full confession accompanied by tears of remorse.
"Not particularly."
His mouth opened and closed a few times, like a surprised fish.
"Do you… do you realise that José Porla was one of the Ten Wizard Saints? One of the ten most powerful mages officially recognised by the Magic Council of Fiore?"
"I am aware." Three words. No swearing. The Master should be proud.
"And you…" he gestured vaguely towards the head on the floor, "…did this to him?"
"The evidence would seem to suggest so."
[Technically true,] Eos commented. [Although "suggest" is a considerable understatement, given that you literally threw his head in front of dozens of witnesses.]
(I'm trying to be diplomatic, Eos. It's a rare concept for me. Give me a break.)
The officer stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to mentally classify me into some category that made sense to him. Threat? Madwoman? Both?
"And you don't feel… any remorse? Any regret?"
I felt Makarov's hand on my arm. A silent reminder. 'Behave.'
I took a deep breath.
"I feel," I said, choosing each word carefully, "that José Porla attacked my guild without provocation. That he kidnapped one of our mages. That he gravely injured our Master and almost killed him. That he used three of our youngest members as a declaration of war, hanging them from a tree for the whole city to see. And that he threatened to destroy all of Magnolia with a war cannon."
I stared at the officer.
"I feel that, in light of all that, my actions were a proportional response to the threat presented."
The officer blinked. "Proportional? You decapitated him!"
"He tried to destroy an entire city. I only destroyed him. Mathematically speaking, I was considerably more restrained."
(Does that count as swearing? No, right? I just pointed out a mathematical fact.)
[Technically it was not swearing. But the expression on the officer's face suggests that he did not appreciate your logic.]
(It's not my fault he doesn't understand basic mathematics.)
The officer looked as if he was about to have an aneurysm. "This… this isn't… you can't just…"
"Captain Hendricks," Makarov intervened gently, "perhaps we could continue this discussion in a more appropriate setting? Miss Weiss will be available to answer all of the Council's questions at a formal hearing, as is the proper procedure."
Hendricks, apparently that was the officer's name, looked relieved to have a way out.
"Yes. Yes, of course." He composed himself, straightening his shoulders and consulting his clipboard as if it contained the answers to all the mysteries of the universe. "A hearing will be convened. All involved will be notified."
He took a document from within the clipboard and held it out to me.
"Azra'il Weiss, by order of the Magic Council of Fiore, you are formally summoned to a hearing regarding today's events. The date will be communicated within seventy-two hours."
I took the document. I didn't crumple it. I didn't tear it. I didn't make any comments about alternative uses for official paper. Self-control. Who knew I was capable.
"Until then," Hendricks continued, "you are under the Council's surveillance. Do not leave the city of Magnolia without prior authorisation."
"Understood."
The word almost choked me, but it came out. Makarov gave me a look that could be interpreted as cautious approval. Hendricks nodded once, clearly relieved that the interaction had ended without further decapitations, and moved away to coordinate his subordinates.
[That was impressive,] Eos commented. [You managed to hold an entire conversation with an authority figure without threatening, insulting, or dismembering anyone. A new personal record.]
(I know. I'm so proud of myself I could be sick.)
Makarov approached me as the soldiers began to organise the evacuation of the wounded and to catalogue the damage.
"You behaved," he said quietly.
"I behaved."
"You didn't swear at anyone."
"I didn't swear at anyone."
"You didn't offer anyone's head as a gift."
"…That's very specific. Are you suggesting I should have?"
"Azra'il."
"Sorry. Reflex."
He sighed, but there was less weight in that sigh than before.
"Are you still disappointed?" I asked, before I could stop myself.
Makarov looked at me for a long moment. His eyes still carried that sadness I didn't like to see, but there was something else there too. Something that could be hope.
"Yes," he said honestly. "But I'm also… proud. A little."
"Proud of what? That I managed not to commit a crime in front of official witnesses for five whole minutes?"
"That you tried. That you cared enough to try."
I didn't know what to say to that. Again.
"It's a start, Azra'il," he said, moving away to deal with the thousands of other problems that surely demanded his attention. "A small start."
The soldiers continued their work for hours. The fortress was progressively emptied, the Phantom Lord mages taken for questioning, the wounded transported for treatment. José's head was finally removed by two particularly unlucky soldiers who looked as if they were about to faint throughout the entire process.
The members of Fairy Tail were given permission to return to their homes, on the condition that they remained available for future testimony. One by one, they dispersed, some casting glances in my direction—curious, frightened, confused—before leaving.
I remained where I was, watching. Processing. Trying not to think too much about the conversation with Makarov and about the irritating feeling of guilt that still lingered somewhere in my chest.
And then, a presence beside me. Familiar. Comforting in a way I would never admit out loud.
Erza.
She said nothing for a long moment. Just stood there, beside me, looking at the sky that was beginning to darken on the horizon. The moon was rising, with a cold glow, completely indifferent to the carnage that had taken place during the night.
"Did you hear the conversation?" I asked finally, without looking at her.
"Part of it." Erza crossed her arms, the metal of her armour tinkling softly.
"And?" My voice came out more defensive than I intended. "Are you going to tell me I went too far? That I'm a monster? That you're disappointed too?"
Erza let out a long sigh, uncrossing her arms and resting her hands on the destroyed parapet of the balcony. "I saw what José did to the Master. I saw what Phantom Lord did to Levy, to Jet, to Droy. I saw what they did to our guild. To our home."
She ran a hand through her scarlet hair, pushing a stubborn strand from her face. "I don't know if what you did was right, Azra'il. I don't know if there is a 'right' in situations like this. But I know you did it to protect us. In your own way."
"My way involved decapitation and a bit of artistic torture."
"I know."
"And you're still here."
"I'm still here."
I finally turned to look at her. Erza had her face turned to the night sky, the moonlight illuminating her scarlet hair in a way that made it look like red wine spilt over silver. There was tiredness in her eyes, and dried blood on her armour that she hadn't yet cleaned. But there was also something else. Something firm. Unshakeable.
"I am not going to abandon you, Azra'il," she said, turning to meet my gaze. "No matter what the Council says. No matter what the others think. No matter what you did or what you might do in the future."
Her voice was as firm as steel.
"We came out of that hell together. We arrived at Fairy Tail together. And we will face whatever comes… together."
Something in my chest tightened. It wasn't pain. It was something warmer. More irritating. More… human.
"…You are irritatingly loyal, you know that?" I managed to say, my voice coming out hoarser than I would have liked.
Erza smiled. A small, tired, but genuine smile. "I learned from someone."
We stood side by side, watching the stars over the wreckage of the fortress. The smell of blood and smoke was still in the air, mixed with the cool night breeze. Somewhere behind us, soldiers were shouting orders and the wounded were groaning. The world kept spinning, indifferent to our little dramas.
But there, in that moment, none of that mattered.
"Hey, Erza?"
She tilted her head in my direction. "Hmm?"
"Thank you. For… you know. Being here."
Erza didn't reply with words. She just reached out and took my hand, lacing our fingers together. A simple gesture. Small. But it said more than any speech ever could.
[Elevated oxytocin levels,] Eos observed. [Heart rate stabilising. Stress indicators decreasing significantly. Physical contact with Erza Scarlet appears to have a measurable calming effect on your system.]
(Eos, I swear by all the gods of all the universes I've ever visited…)
[Ceasing observations. Appreciating the moment in respectful silence.]
(Thank you.)
[You're welcome.]
And there, under the cold stars, with Erza's hand in mine and the promise of political storms on the horizon, I realised something I had forgotten after many, many lives. That having something to protect is not a weakness. And perhaps it was the closest to strength that someone like me could ever get.
(But I still wasn't going to apologise for tearing off José's head. That was art. And art doesn't apologise.)
[Logged: Azra'il remains philosophically committed to her aesthetic choices, despite demonstrating emotional growth in other areas.]
(Eos.)
[Yes?]
(This time, you can log it.)
[…That was unexpectedly sentimental of you.]
(Tell anyone and I'll delete you.)
[Understood.]
----------
💬 Author's Note
----------
So… true behind-the-scenes story.
This actually happened. I'm still processing it.
I was having a perfectly normal, peaceful conversation with my editor / English translator.
You know, talking about pacing, translations, future chapters… everything under control.
Then she casually goes:
"Okay, but when Azra'il and Erza get married and have kids…"
Me:
"WAIT."
She continues. Completely unfazed:
"What would the children's names be?"
"And which surname would come first?"
Me, gripping my coffee cup for dear life:
"They're not even dating yet."
"I don't even know HOW children would fit into the Fairy Tail equation."
"That's a VERY far future problem."
Her:
"Yes, yes, of course."
"But hypothetically."
"Very hypothetically."
Me:
"HYPOTHETICALLY I AM NOT SURVIVING THIS CONVERSATION."
I almost spit out my coffee.
Almost ended the call.
Almost pretended my internet died.
Because honestly…
I have not thought about:
kids
names
surnames
timelines
emotional consequences
universal balance
or the sheer level of chaos this would cause
Meanwhile, she was calmly planning the next generation of Fairy Tail.
So I decided to do the only reasonable thing:
pass the chaos on to you.
If, and this is a VERY BIG IF, one day, far, far, faaar in the future, by some accident of fate, cosmic misalignment, or universe-wide mistake, Erza and Azra'il end up having kids…
👉 Which surname order would you prefer?
🗡️ Weiss-Scarlet
or
🐺 Scarlet-Weiss
Feel free to share opinions, theories, chaos, and headcanons.
This is purely hypothetical.
No children are being planned.
No timeline is being confirmed.
And my editor has officially been banned from planning future generations without prior warning.
☕ Hannah