Fifteen minutes earlier.
The forest didn't so much hide the werewolf den as it tried—and failed—to deny its existence.
Even before Krampus consciously reached for his power, his Revelation Eyes flared open, reacting to the wrongness ahead. Roots, stone, blood, fear—layers upon layers peeled back all at once. The ground itself betrayed the lair, revealing tunnels carved with claw, fang, and crude magic, a vast, interlinked nest burrowed beneath ancient trees whose roots had long since been hollowed out and repurposed.
Not a den.
A fortress.
"So that's where they're hoarding," Krampus muttered, voice calm, almost curious, as if commenting on an overstocked pantry rather than a monster nest.
Laxus followed his gaze, golden eyes narrowing as the sheer density of life registered. "That many?"
"Close to a hundred," Krampus replied without hesitation. "The alpha's ambitious. Stockpiling betas like this… it was planning something bigger."
Neither of them slowed their pace.
They didn't announce themselves. They didn't stop to coordinate. They didn't need to.
The moment they crossed into the den's outer chamber, the air changed.
The alpha felt them.
A massive white‑furred werewolf loomed atop a natural stone rise, its hulking frame half‑silhouetted by crude torchlight. Scarlet eyes snapped toward the intruders as instinct screamed danger. For a split second, raw panic rippled through its body—hackles rising, muscles tensing—before it was drowned beneath feral rage.
It threw its head back and howled.
The sound tore through the tunnels, a violent, commanding roar layered with snarls and guttural growls, vibrating through bone and stone alike. The howl wasn't language, but every werewolf in the den understood it perfectly.
Kill.
Defend.
Buy time.
Dozens of shapes surged forward in response, claws scraping stone as the pack hurled itself toward the intruders.
Krampus and Laxus exchanged no words.
They split.
Krampus moved first.
His claws lengthened mid-stride, blackened metal and divine curse intertwining as the Rule of Rending activated. The sound was subtle—a muted metallic whisper—as if reality itself were being unsheathed.
He didn't charge head-on.
He flowed.
Krampus slipped into the oncoming mass like a shadow poured between bodies, his movements smooth, almost lazy. Claws passed within hairs of snapping jaws and swinging limbs, his body twisting just enough to let attacks miss by fractions that felt intentional rather than evasive. Every step carried him through another gap that shouldn't have existed.
Wherever he passed, clean arcs followed.
There was no resistance. No struggle.
Werewolves didn't fall.
They came apart.
A shoulder slid free from a torso. A spine separated in two perfect halves. Heads left bodies so cleanly their expressions didn't have time to change, eyes still burning with feral intent as they tumbled away. Blood sprayed in short, sharp bursts, but Krampus was already gone, moving on, leaving behind nothing but neatly sectioned ruin.
Dozens died without ever landing a blow, their bodies collapsing into chunks as if someone had reached into the world and edited them out with surgical precision.
Laxus took a different approach.
Lightning crackled beneath his skin, arcs dancing along his muscles and veins—but he held it there, contained.
"Not burning the forest," he muttered.
Godspeed detonated through his body.
The ground shattered beneath his feet as he vanished, speed folding space around him. At the same time, electromagnetism flared outward, violent and precise. Iron sands hidden within the soil ripped free, screaming as they were dragged into orbit around him.
A storm formed.
Razor-thin grains vibrated at impossible frequencies, blurring into silvery ribbons as Laxus ran.
He didn't dodge the werewolves.
He passed through them.
Claws missed empty air as bodies were peeled apart mid-motion, iron slicing through flesh and bone at hypersonic speed. Some were cut before their muscles even finished contracting, bodies falling in delayed pieces that didn't immediately realize they were dead.
Even with Godspeed, though…
Laxus noticed it.
Krampus was only slightly slower.with his casual slaughter speed.
The alpha watched from its stone rise as its army vanished in seconds.
It threw its head back and howled.
The sound was raw, fraying, no longer a command but a panicked, furious roar that echoed through the tunnels. Spittle flew from bared fangs as it slammed its claws into the stone, scarlet eyes wide as instinct finally overwhelmed dominance.
Then it turned.
And ran.
Krampus felt it the instant their eyes met.
Marked.
It wasn't a metaphor.
The moment that scarlet gaze locked onto him, something deeper than sight snapped into place. The alpha's presence burned itself into Krampus's perception—its mana signature, its twisted soul-pattern, its direction of movement all branded at once. Distance ceased to matter. Terrain ceased to matter.
It didn't matter where it fled.
He could track it to the ends of the world.
For the briefest fraction of a second, instinct flared in both him and Laxus.
Chase.
End it now.
They both felt it—and just as quickly, they let it go.
Because the pack was still moving.
Because even now, betas were breaking formation, trying to scatter through side tunnels and hidden exits. If even one slipped through, it would survive. Adapt. Either sink into an omega, feral and bitter… or grow, sharpened by fear, into another alpha.
Priority shifted.
Clear them all.
The decision passed between Krampus and Laxus without a word, without a glance. A pulse of shared understanding, then silence.
They didn't even bother with Bound Prison.
There was no need.
The remaining betas hurled themselves forward instead, bodies trembling, throats tearing as they howled. Some attacked wildly. Some fought with grim, shaking determination. Others simply charged, knowing exactly what they were doing—throwing their lives away to buy their alpha seconds.
It still wasn't enough.
Krampus moved like a closing net, his claws flashing in short, efficient arcs. Laxus became a living boundary, Godspeed carrying him from tunnel to tunnel, iron sands screaming as they erased escape routes entirely.
No one got past them.
Minutes later, the den was silent.
Not the tense silence of hiding beasts.
The absolute silence of nothing left alive.
Krampus flicked his claws once.
The Rule of Rending pulsed outward, invisible and absolute. Blood, meat, and viscera peeled cleanly from both him and Laxus, lifting away in a heartbeat before vanishing entirely. The air snapped, pressure equalizing, as if the violence that had filled the tunnels seconds ago had been forcibly erased from reality.
"Let's go," Laxus said.
They took ten steps.
Krampus stopped.
His brow furrowed, Revelation Eyes narrowing.
"…It's dead?"
Laxus slowed, turning back. "What?"
"The alpha," Krampus said slowly, confusion threading through his certainty. "Its mark just vanished. It's already dead. How?"
They moved anyway.
They found the body not far from the den's exit.
The alpha lay crumpled against the stone, massive frame twisted at an impossible angle, neck snapped so violently that bone had torn through flesh. Its scarlet eyes were dull now, the feral dominance that once filled them gone entirely.
Nearby, two freshly turned werewolves sat slumped against the tunnel wall.
Not beasts.
Not yet.
Their forms were unstable—half-shifted, claws shaking, faces still recognizably human—but it was exhaustion more than terror that weighed them down. Blood matted their fur and skin alike, cuts and bruises marking where the battle had taken its toll. They were slumped rather than cowering, backs pressed to cold stone, chests heaving as they fought for breath.
Bernard's shoulders trembled, but when he looked at Logan, there was a crooked, breathless smile there—soft, almost disbelieving. He laughed weakly, a sound torn and hoarse, but genuine.
Even with the curse clawing at the edges of his mind, even with the looming fear of losing himself, the fact that he had confessed—and that his feelings had been answered—kept the despair from fully taking hold.
Logan leaned closer without thinking, battered and bleeding, his presence steady and grounding. Whatever waited for them now, they weren't facing it alone.
And then—
The timeline caught up.
—
Krampus's attention snapped back to the present.
The echo of steel, blood, and panic from moments earlier was still hanging in the air.
Bernard on his knees in the churned earth, breath coming in ragged pulls as he tried to keep pressure on Logan's wounds.
Logan half-slumped against a broken tree, axes buried in the dirt where his strength had finally given out, chest rising and falling in painful, stubborn defiance.
Alive.
Barely holding on.
Krampus's jaw set.
"They won't lose their sanity under my watch," he said firmly—not loudly, but with the kind of certainty that didn't allow argument.
His Revelation Eyes flared fully open.
Demonic. All-seeing.
His gaze locked onto Bernard and Logan, peeling back flesh, mana, curse, and soul all at once. The sensation was overwhelming—like being laid bare beneath a divine autopsy.
Bernard sucked in a sharp breath, fingers digging into the dirt as his instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, to bare fangs at the impossible presence staring straight through him.
Logan gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright despite the pain, muscles screaming as he planted himself between Bernard and Krampus by instinct alone.
Neither of them moved.
Because beneath the terror, beneath the pressure crushing down on them, there was no malice in that gaze.
Only focus.
Krampus, meanwhile, was smiling.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "Absolutely fascinating."
He straightened and, instead of keeping his observations to himself, began speaking out loud—fast, animated, clearly forgetting for a moment that he was addressing two injured men and one very tense lightning mage.
"Alright, listen," Krampus said, pacing in a slow circle around Bernard and Logan as if they were a living diagram. "This curse is crude, but the core design is excellent. Instantaneous enhancement to physical strength, durability, and recovery. Muscle density spikes, bone reinforcement, heightened mana circulation—the body is forcibly optimized in one go."
Bernard blinked. "I… that sounds—"
"Useful?" Krampus supplied cheerfully. "Very. And that's before the secondary transformation."
He gestured vaguely at Logan's still half-shifted form. "The beastman state isn't just cosmetic. It's a multiplier. Reflexes sharpen, sensory range explodes, raw output jumps another tier. For frontline combatants? It's practically cheating."
Laxus crossed his arms. "You're saying this thing turns regular people into monsters."
Krampus nodded enthusiastically. "Into weapons, yes."
Bernard swallowed. "Then… what's wrong with it?"
Krampus stopped pacing.
"The baggage," he said, tone shifting from delighted to clinical. "Forced transformations under lunar influence. Progressive mental degradation. And the big one—loss of self."
He tapped his temple lightly. "The insanity isn't random. The curse manufactures a beast soul—an artificial construct. It grows alongside your own, feeding on stress, fear, instinct. Given time, it overwhelms and consumes the original soul entirely."
Logan's jaw tightened. "And when that happens?"
"The body keeps moving," Krampus replied matter-of-factly. "But you are gone. Just a beast wearing your skin."
Bernard went pale.
Krampus, meanwhile, smiled again.
"Which is tragic," he said brightly, already drawing his Rule of Rending saber, the blade sliding into existence with a soft, ominous hum. "Because everything else about this curse is honestly fantastic."
Bernard yelped. "W–Wait, why do you have a knife?!"
Logan stepped forward despite the pain, instinct flaring. "Hey—put that thing away—!"
Too late.
Krampus cut.
Not flesh.
Concept.
The portion of the curse responsible for generating the beast soul was cleanly severed. The infant beast souls themselves were erased mid-formation. The forced full-moon transformation unraveled and vanished.
Krampus paused, thoughtful.
"…I'll keep the alpha growth potential," he decided. "And the ability to spread the curse. You never know."
Then golden chains manifested.
Rule of Binding activated, fusing what remained—not a curse anymore, but a blessing—directly and perfectly into Bernard and Logan's souls.
Control absolute.
Spread optional.
They gasped as power settled into them, heat and strength flooding muscle and bone in a way that felt startlingly right.
Logan let out a sharp breath. "Holy—" He flexed his hands, watching claws slide out and retract at will. "I didn't even think about it."
Bernard stared at himself, wide-eyed, then barked out a laugh—breathless, disbelieving, bright. "It doesn't hurt," he said, almost laughing again. "Logan, it doesn't hurt at all."
They laughed together then, the sound raw and a little hysterical, relief finally punching through the fear.
"Try it," Krampus prompted, clearly delighted. "Don't force it. Just… breathe."
They shifted.
Human to werewolf. Werewolf to human.
Again.
And again.
The change was instant, effortless, costing nothing—no strain, no backlash, as natural as drawing breath. Fur rippled into skin, bone adjusted smoothly, mass redistributing without resistance.
Logan snorted as he shifted back, rolling his shoulders. "That's… that's way too easy."
Bernard nodded, still smiling. "It's like it's always been there. Like my body finally knows what it's doing."
Only after several transformations did the problem register.
Logan glanced down.
"…Uh."
Bernard followed his gaze.
Their clothes were… gone.
Krampus cleared his throat. "Easy," he said, lifting both hands slightly as if to steady the moment. "You've just been through a fight, a confession, a curse rewrite, and several wardrobe violations. So—what do you want to do next?"
Bernard and Logan exchanged a look.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't panicked.
Seconds passed as they simply looked at each other, breathing syncing, something unspoken settling between them.
Logan was the first to nod.
Bernard followed.
Then they spoke at the same time.
"We want to follow you."
Krampus blinked.
Laxus blinked harder.
"…Huh," Laxus said. "Didn't even hesitate."
"Why?" he asked, tone not unkind, just blunt.
Bernard exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as the weight of the decision finally surfaced. "Because Bareshade won't accept us like this," he said. "They barely tolerated us before—for knowing a bit of magic, for being… different."
Logan's jaw tightened. "Now we're werewolves," he said. "And we're not hiding anymore."
He glanced at Bernard, then back at Laxus and Krampus. "If we go back, we'll be watched. Feared. Or worse—used."
Bernard nodded. "And even if the curse won't take our minds anymore… the town will never see us as the same people."
He hesitated, then added more softly, "…And Santa's right here."
Krampus tilted his head.
"Wherever Santa lives," Bernard continued, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips, "has to be better than a place where we're expected to pretend we don't exist."
Krampus stared at them for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
Warm. Genuine.
"I definitely can't say no to two hunky werewolves looking for shelter," he said easily. "Fairy Tail welcomes you. Loudly. Permanently. And with very questionable life choices included."
Logan snorted despite himself.
Laxus huffed out a laugh. "You'll fit right in," he said. "Plenty of burly idiots. People who don't ask where you came from—just what you can do and whether you'll pull your weight."
He paused, then added more gruffly, "And yeah. There are gay guys there. Still a minority, but you won't be alone."
Bernard's shoulders loosened, tension bleeding out of him all at once.
"…Thank you," he said quietly.
Krampus waved it off, already casting. "Thank me after you survive your first guild brawl."
With a quick Reparo, clothes restored, they returned to Harold.
The village elder stared at them in silence for several long seconds.
"The… den is cleared?" Harold finally asked, eyes flicking between Krampus and Laxus, then to Bernard and Logan standing just behind them.
"Completely," Laxus replied.
Harold let out a sharp breath. "That fast?"
He frowned—then paused.
"…Ah."
Krampus's reputation caught up with him.
Right. That Krampus.
Harold rubbed the bridge of his nose, a short, helpless chuckle escaping him. "Of course it is. I don't know why I'm surprised anymore."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"But what does surprise me," he said slowly, "is why Bernard and Logan are standing there like they're about to leave town."
Krampus answered easily. "Because they are. We recruited them. Fairy Tail."
Harold blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…You agreed?" he asked, looking directly at Bernard and Logan.
Bernard nodded, nervous but resolute. Logan stood a little straighter, shoulders squared.
For a moment, Harold said nothing.
He knew this village.
He knew its limits.
He knew Bernard—quiet, thoughtful, too kind for Bareshade's narrow ways. He knew Logan—strong, temperamental, fiercely loyal. He knew the way Bernard's eyes always lingered a second too long when Logan wasn't looking.
And he knew Bareshade was not the place for feelings like that to grow.
"…Fairy Tail," Harold murmured, almost to himself. "That's… the big leagues."
He looked back up, expression softening.
"You'll be safer there," he said simply. "Stronger. And freer."
Then he sighed, long and heavy, before straightening.
"Very well."
He turned to a nearby chest and opened it, counting out coin with careful precision. When he handed the pouch to Krampus, it was noticeably heavy.
"That's the full reward," Harold said. "And then some. Bareshade may be small, but we keep our word."
Krampus inclined his head. "Much appreciated."
Harold stepped closer to Bernard and Logan.
"I won't pretend I didn't see this coming," he said quietly. "And I won't pretend I don't think this is for the best."
He placed a hand on Bernard's shoulder, then Logan's. "Go build something better than what we could give you here."
Bernard swallowed. "We will."
After that, there wasn't much left to say.
Krampus glanced between them. "Pack what you need. Want help?"
Logan shook his head. "We don't have much."
Bernard smiled faintly. "Just a few things."
They hurried back into town, returned with small packs, and ran out to the forest edge where Krampus and Laxus waited.
"Everything?" Krampus asked.
Logan nodded. "Everything that matters."
Krampus smiled—and opened a portal.
Golden light spilled outward, revealing stone streets, towering buildings, and the distant hum of a living city.
"Magnolia," he said.
They stepped through.
A new life began.
----------------------------------
Magnolia hit Bernard and Logan like a spell to the face.
They slowed without realizing it, steps lagging a half‑beat behind Krampus and Laxus as they entered the main streets. Magical lights hovered overhead in soft colors, some drifting lazily like fireflies while others were fixed in careful patterns. Shop signs animated with runes and illusions called out silently—moving letters, shifting images, enchanted mascots bowing and gesturing to passersby. The streets were alive with laughter, music, and the steady hum of mana woven so casually into everyday life that no one seemed to notice it anymore.
Bernard turned slowly, eyes wide, taking it all in as if afraid that blinking too long might make it vanish. "It's… bright," he said, awe creeping into his voice despite his best effort to sound composed. "And loud. In a good way."
Logan frowned faintly, scanning the crowds with a hunter's habit he hadn't quite shaken. "And busy."
People moved with purpose, but not the bone‑grinding exhaustion Bernard and Logan were used to seeing back home. There was no hollow look in their eyes, no slump of shoulders worn down by endless labor. Merchants hauled crates while chatting easily. Artisans worked open stalls, muscles moving with practiced confidence rather than desperation. Adventurers laughed, argued, flirted, and even brawled lightly near taverns, the clashes sounding more like sport than survival.
And they were fit.
Not lean from hunger. Not hard from necessity.
Fit because they could be.
Bernard blinked, watching a woman effortlessly hoist a crate onto her shoulder before waving cheerfully at a friend. "Why does everyone here look… strong?"
Logan crossed his arms, brow furrowing as the thought bothered him more than he expected. "We're built like this because we had to be," he said. "Lumber. Hunting. Fighting monsters ourselves when help didn't come."
He gestured vaguely at a passing mage with broad shoulders and an easy stride, robes cut fashionably rather than patched and repaired. "These people live in a city."
Bernard watched a group of young mages jog past, laughing, clearly just finished training, sweat on their skin but smiles on their faces. He followed them with his eyes for a moment, thoughtful. "Maybe they don't stop moving," he murmured. "Or maybe magic changes things."
Behind them, Krampus and Laxus walked a little ahead, voices low.
"You seem unusually pleased," Laxus said, glancing back briefly at Bernard and Logan before looking at Krampus. "And that's saying something."
Krampus smiled, hands clasped behind his back, his tail swaying slowly. "Bernard, specifically."
Laxus raised a brow. "I figured. You saw their history."
"Yes," Krampus replied easily. "But that's not what pleased me."
He slowed just enough that his voice softened, the bustle of Magnolia washing past them as background noise. "It was his choice."
Laxus didn't interrupt. He could tell this mattered.
"For Logan's happiness," Krampus continued, choosing his words carefully, "Bernard endured in silence. Watching the man he loved marry someone else. Standing beside him. Supporting him. Wanting his happiness even when it tore him apart."
His smile turned faint, almost wistful. "He wanted Logan to be happy more than he wanted to be chosen."
Krampus exhaled quietly. "That kind of love… it resonates with me."
Laxus stopped walking.
"…You're saying," he said slowly, eyes narrowing as the implication settled in, "that if I hadn't answered your feelings—"
"I would have done the same," Krampus said simply. "Ensured your happiness. Even if it killed me inside.""
Laxus turned fully and grabbed Krampus's paws hard.
"That would never happen," he growled, voice low and fierce. "I'd sexually attack you in bed long before that ever came close."
Krampus froze.
For a heartbeat, his mind stalled—then his ears flushed hot and red beneath his fur.
"…That's incredibly romantic of you," he said earnestly, without a trace of sarcasm.
Laxus stared at him.
Then huffed a short laugh. "You're impossible."
Krampus gazed at him openly, unabashed, affection pouring out of him without restraint. His halo shimmered overhead, the neon blue light softening, warming—blushing into a faint shade of pink.
The change rippled outward.
Around them, people slowed.
Steps faltered. Conversations trailed off. Laughter softened into quiet smiles.
Memories stirred.
First loves. First kisses. The warmth of a hand held too long. Old feelings long buried resurfaced gently, unbidden, like embers stirred back to life.
Magnolia itself seemed to respond. The air grew hazy, tender, suffused with a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the heart.
This had been happening a lot lately.
Ever since Krampus and Laxus got together, the city had developed a hazy romantic atmosphere. Not overwhelming, not intrusive—just a soft veil over Magnolia, making smiles linger longer, memories feel warmer, and love sit a little closer to the surface.
Behind them, Bernard felt it first.
A strange tightness caught in his chest—not pain, but fullness.
He glanced at Logan.
Logan glanced back.
Neither spoke.
Without a word, their hands found each other, fingers fitting together naturally, as if they'd always belonged there.
They walked the rest of the way like that, hands clasped, steps unconsciously syncing, neither quite brave enough to comment on it—but neither willing to let go, either.
The Fairy Tail guild hall loomed ahead.
Even from outside, Bernard could feel it—heat, noise, life packed so densely it pressed against the walls. The building itself looked worn but proud, scarred by age, battle, and repairs done in a hurry rather than with care.
The doors swung open.
Conversation stopped.
Not gradually. Not politely.
It was as if someone had snapped their fingers.
Every head turned.
Krampus and Laxus entered first, familiar silhouettes framed by lamplight and lingering magic.
Behind them—Bernard and Logan, still holding hands.
For half a second, the entire guild hall took them in. Their size. Their posture. The way they stood close without hiding it.
There was a collective, knowing beat.
Then—
"NEW MEMBERS!"
The hall exploded.
Benches scraped back. Chairs toppled. Someone fired off harmless magic into the ceiling just because they could.
This had happened before. Carlo and Adam had walked in the same way once—hands linked, eyes nervous, backs straight. The signs were familiar, and Fairy Tail never missed them.
Cheers crashed over Bernard and Logan like a wave.
Laughter. Whistles. Shouted welcomes.
Drinks were already being poured, mugs sliding across tables toward them without anyone asking what they wanted.
Bernard and Logan were immediately absorbed into the crowd.
Hands clapped their backs—hard, approving, friendly. Voices overlapped in welcomes, questions, half-jokes, and invitations shouted over one another as if volume alone could convey sincerity.
Bernard handled it surprisingly well. Years of running a general store kicked in easily, his voice carrying without strain despite the noise. "I'm Bernard," he said, smiling as hands kept clapping his back. "This is Logan. We're from Bareshade. I used to run the general store there."
He nudged Logan lightly with his elbow. "He's a lumberjack. Carpenter too, when there's work."
That alone seemed to earn a fresh round of approving noises.
Logan, on the other hand, stiffened.
Too many people. Too many voices. Too many eyes on him at once.
Billy noticed first.
Then Matthew.
A quiet word passed between them, subtle and practiced.
Suddenly someone shoved a heavy mug into Logan's hand. Another slapped an elbow down on a nearby table. "Arm wrestling," a voice declared, already grinning. Someone else laughed and clapped Logan's shoulder like they'd known him for years.
Logan blinked—then snorted.
He rolled his shoulders, set the mug down carefully, and planted his arm on the table. "Alright," he said gruffly.
Cheers broke out.
Logan relaxed.
This… he understood.
Meanwhile, Krampus and Laxus slipped away to the bar, where Makarov was already well into celebration.
"Makarov," Krampus said cheerfully. "Mission complete."
Makarov squinted up at them over the rim of his mug, clearly several drinks in. "Already?"
He paused, eyes narrowing as he took in their expressions.
"…Right," he said at last, snorting. "It's you."
Krampus launched into the report without ceremony. He didn't dramatize it, but he didn't spare details either—werewolf den, alpha, betas, the nature of the curse, Bernard and Logan's involvement. He spoke quickly, efficiently, as if reciting something he'd already finished sorting through in his head.
Makarov listened.
By the time Krampus finished, his brows were somewhere near his hairline.
"You fixed the werewolf curse?" Makarov demanded.
"Modified," Krampus corrected mildly. "With a couple of slashes."
Makarov buried his face in his mug with a groan. "Your magic is completely unreasonable as ever. Do you have any idea how many mages have lost sleep over that problem?"
He peeked back out, eyes sharp despite the drink. "You're sure it's stable?"
"Perfectly," Krampus replied. "Full control. No loss of self. Optional transformation."
Makarov let out a slow breath, then looked past them to where Bernard and Logan were being half-drowned in attention.
"…They're welcome," he said at last. "Wholeheartedly."
He took another swallow before continuing. "As for the werewolf part, we'll call it Takeover magic. Werewolf soul. Simple, familiar, and nobody outside the guild needs to ask questions."
"That works," Laxus said easily.
"Takeover's common enough," Krampus agreed. "Only special variants get attention anyway. Like Sorano's Seraph Soul."
Makarov waved a hand dismissively. "Details. We'll sort it out if anyone makes noise."
He raised his mug high. "Welcome to Fairy Tail," he declared.
Cheers answered him from across the hall.
As the night rolled on, laughter filled the guild, growing louder and looser as drinks emptied and refilled.
Eventually, Makarov leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting upward as if already looking ahead. "Next thing to plan…"
Krampus smiled, already knowing where the thought was going.
"The Magnolia Harvest Festival," he said.
Makarov chuckled. "Of course it is."