The silence in the clearing was a sharp contrast to the chaotic thunder that had defined the last three weeks. Wendy lay unconscious in Carla's arms, the soft blue glow of her healing magic fading into the twilight.
Blake lay still, his chest rising and falling in a shallow, fragile rhythm, surrounded by the members of Fairy Tail who owed him their lives.
Then, a soft light bloomed from above.
It wasn't the harsh glare of an attack, nor the fiery hue of a dragon's breath. It was a gentle, golden luminescence, descending from the high branches of the Great Tenrou Tree. The leaves rustled as if parting for royalty, and a small, barefoot figure floated down, lighter than a feather.
She wore a layered, frilled dress of pale pink and a red ribbon tied around her neck. Her long, wavy blonde hair trailed behind her like a golden river, and wing-like tufts of hair framed her youthful face. Her eyes, green and ancient, held a depth of sadness and overwhelming pride.
She landed softly on the grass, though her feet didn't seem to press down on the blades.
Master Makarov, who had been watching Blake with a heavy heart, looked up. His eyes widened to the size of saucers. His jaw went slack.
"I-It can't be..." Makarov stammered, his voice trembling.
He knew who she was. He knew her body was encased in a lacrima crystal beneath the guild hall, locked away as Lumen Histoire, the "Fairy Heart." He knew she was technically in a state between life and death.
He knew she could project her thoughts... but this? This was a full-body manifestation, clear as day, walking among them.
The rest of the guild stared in confusion.
"Who's the kid?" Natsu asked, tilting his head, wiping soot from his face.
"Is she lost?" Lucy whispered. "She's... glowing."
The girl smiled, a warm, benevolent expression that instantly calmed the frayed nerves of everyone present. She walked—or rather, drifted—toward the center of the group.
"You have all done very well," she said. Her voice was like a wind chime, soft but carrying an undeniable authority. "You have shown courage in the face of despair. You have protected the bonds of our family."
Makarov stepped forward, bowing his head deeply, tears welling in his eyes.
"First Master..."
The guild went dead silent.
"First... Master?" Erza repeated, blinking.
"Wait," Gray said, staring at the girl. "You mean... that's Mavis Vermilion? The founder of Fairy Tail?"
"But she died a hundred years ago!" Gajeel grunted.
Makarov turned to his children, straightening his posture. "Listen well, brats! Standing before you is the founder of our guild! The First Master, Mavis Vermilion!"
A collective gasp echoed through the clearing.
"EHHHHHHHHHH?!"
The shock was palpable. This little girl was the legendary tactician? The Fairy Tactician?
Mavis giggled, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Hello, everyone! It is wonderful to finally meet you all. I've been watching you for a long time."
She turned her gaze to the unconscious form of Blake. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of deep gratitude.
"And you..." she whispered to the sleeping warrior. "You protected my children. Thank you, Blake."
Near the edge of the clearing, the Council Medic—the woman Erza had kidnapped from the ship—was packing her medical kit. She paused, looking around with a furrowed brow. She saw the Fairy Tail mages staring at an empty patch of grass, gasping and bowing.
"Um..." The medic raised her hand tentatively. "Excuse me?"
Erza turned. "What is it? Does Blake need something?"
"No, he's stable for transport," the medic said, looking nervous. "But... who are you all talking to?"
Silence fell over the group again.
Natsu pointed at Mavis. "We're talking to the First Master! She's standing right there!"
Happy flew up. "Aye! She's glowing!"
The medic squinted at the spot Natsu was pointing to. She saw the grass. She saw a rock. She saw the evening air. She did not see a blonde girl in a frilly dress.
"There's... no one there," the medic said slowly, stepping back. She looked at them with pity. "I understand you've all been through a traumatic event. Hallucinations are a common symptom of extreme magical exhaustion and stress. Perhaps you should all sit down..."
Makarov froze. He realized the problem instantly. Mavis was a spirit. She bore the mark of the guild on her very soul. Only those who bore the crest of Fairy Tail—or perhaps those with exceptionally specific spiritual attunement—could perceive her. To the Council medic, they looked like a cult worshipping thin air.
"Ahem!" Makarov coughed loudly, banging his cane. "Ah, yes! Of course! You cannot see her!"
"See who?" the medic asked, reaching for a sedative potion in her bag, eyeing Makarov warily.
"The... Spirit of the Island!" Makarov improvised rapidly, sweat pouring down his face. "Yes! The Guardian Spirit of Tenrou Island! She is very shy! She only reveals herself to members of the guild! It is a... a local phenomenon! Quite standard for holy ground!"
The guild members exchanged glances.
"Spirit?" Natsu whispered.
"Just go with it," Gray hissed, elbowing him.
The medic blinked. "I see... magic creates strange phenomena, I suppose." She didn't look convinced, but she decided not to argue with a guild full of wizards who had just defied a dragon.
Mavis leaned in close to Makarov, hovering near his ear. Only the guild could hear her voice.
"Actually, Third Master," she whispered mischievously, "I'm not bound to the island. I can go wherever I want. I've been wanting to see how Magnolia has changed!"
Makarov choked on his own spit.
"WHAT?!" he shouted, then quickly lowered his voice as the medic stared at him. "I mean... is that so, oh Great Spirit?"
Mavis winked at the guild members. "But let's keep that a secret from her. It's more fun this way."
The guild members nodded in unison, a sweat-drop appearing on everyone's forehead.
She's definitely Fairy Tail, they all thought. She loves mischief.
"Alright!" Makarov commanded, trying to regain control of the situation. "We are leaving! Load Blake onto the stretcher! Gently! If you drop him, I will expel you!"
Gildarts and Laxus, the two strongest men, stepped forward. They lifted the makeshift stretcher with the care usually reserved for newborn babies or extremely volatile explosives. Blake lay motionless between them, his breathing ragged but persistent.
The procession moved toward the coast. The sun had fully set, and the stars were out—the same stars that had watched the battle for twenty-one days.
As they boarded the ship, Mavis floated alongside them, poking her head through walls and asking Lucy questions about her clothes. The medic sat in the corner, eyeing them suspiciously as they seemingly conversed with the air, but she focused her attention on monitoring Blake's pulse.
The journey back to the mainland was solemn but underlined with a buzzing energy. They were alive. They were going home.
But every few minutes, eyes would drift to the stretcher in the center of the deck.
Cana sat beside it, holding Blake's cold hand. She didn't drink. She didn't speak. She just held on, as if her grip was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal coil. Mirajane sat on the other side, wiping sweat from his brow, her face pale and drawn.
---
The ship docked in Hargeon under the cover of night. The town was quiet, asleep, unaware that the saviors of the continent had just arrived at their pier.
There was no fanfare. No celebration.
"Move out!" Erza ordered. "We need to get him to the East Forest immediately!"
They didn't wait for a carriage. Natsu, Gray, Gajeel, and Elfman took over carrying the stretcher, sprinting through the cobblestone streets and into the dark woods. The rest of the guild followed, a stampede of desperate hope.
Mavis floated above them, her expression serious now, guiding them through the trees with spectral light.
They reached the clearing in the East Forest within twenty minutes. The small, wooden house on stilts stood silent, surrounded by medicinal herbs and the smell of drying roots.
This was the home of Porlyusica, the human counterpart of Grandeeney, and the guild's reluctant doctor.
Natsu banged on the door. "Granny! Open up! It's an emergency!"
"We need help!" Lucy cried.
The door slammed open. An elderly woman with pink hair and a scowl that could curdle milk stood there, holding a broom like a weapon.
"NOISY!" Porlyusica shrieked. "I told you humans to stay away from my—"
Her eyes fell on the stretcher.
She saw the bandages soaked in blood. She saw the unnatural pallor of the man lying there.
Her scowl vanished, replaced by the sharp, analytical gaze of a master healer.
"Bring him in," she ordered, her voice clipped and professional. "Now! Don't bang him against the doorframe, you idiots!"
The boys carried Blake inside and laid him on the operating table in the center of the room. The room was filled with the scent of antiseptic and bitter herbs.
Porlyusica moved to the table and she scanned the body. Her eyes narrowed.
"This damage..." she muttered. "Massive lacerations. Shattered skeletal structure."
She looked up at Makarov. "Who did he fight? A god?"
"A Dragon," Makarov said grimly. "Acnologia."
Porlyusica froze. She looked at Blake with a new light—not just as a patient, but as an anomaly.
"He fought the Black Dragon... and he is in one piece?" She shook her head. "Miracle doesn't begin to cover it."
She turned to the crowded room. The entire guild was crammed into her small hut, breathing down her neck, dirt and soot falling everywhere.
"OUT!" Porlyusica roared, grabbing her broom again. "Get out! All of you! You're contaminating the sterile field! You're using up the oxygen! GET OUT!"
"But—" Natsu started.
"OUT!" She whacked him on the head. "Go wait in the forest! Go back to the guild! Just get out of my house!"
She herded them out like cattle. Natsu, Gray, Lucy, Erza, Wendy—all of them were pushed out the door.
However, three people refused to move.
Makarov stood by the head of the table, his cane planted firmly. "I am staying, Porlyusica. He is my child."
Cana Alberona sat on a stool beside Blake's right hand, clutching it to her chest. She looked up at Porlyusica, her eyes red, dark circles under them. She didn't say a word, but her expression said, You will have to kill me to move me.
Mirajane Strauss stood on the left, holding a basin of water she had already fetched. "I will assist you," she said softly. "I know how to dress wounds. I won't get in your way."
Porlyusica looked at the three of them. She sighed, a long, exasperated sound.
"Fine," she grumbled. "But if any of you make a sound, I'm throwing you out the window. Mira, heat more water. Makarov, hold his shoulders steady. Girl with the cards, just... stay out of the light."
The door slammed shut, locking out the rest of the guild.
The long night began.
For hours, the only sounds in the hut were the clinking of glass vials, the tearing of bandages, and the low chanting of Porlyusica's magic.
She worked with terrifying efficiency. She stripped away the field dressings the Council medic and Wendy had applied. She cleaned the deep gouges on his back, flushing out the foreign mana that was preventing the flesh from closing.
"This is going to hurt him," Porlyusica warned, holding a needle threaded with magic-infused gut. "Even unconscious, his nerves will react."
"Do it," Makarov said, his voice tight.
She stitched the muscles. She set the ribs that had been ground to powder, using magic to fuse the bone fragments back together. She applied a poultice made of Sky God herbs that smoked when it touched his skin, burning away the infection.
Blake groaned in his sleep, his body arching off the table.
"Hold him!" Porlyusica snapped.
Makarov pressed down on his shoulders. Cana leaned over, whispering into his ear, "It's okay, Blake. We're here. It's okay."
Mira dipped cloths into hot water, wiping away the sweat and blood that beaded on his skin. She watched the needle go in and out, her heart clenching with every stitch.
The night wore on. The moon climbed high and then began its descent.
Outside, the guild members didn't leave. They sat in the clearing, huddled around small fires, silent and waiting. Mavis sat on the roof of the hut, swinging her legs, keeping a spectral watch over the proceedings.
By the time the first rays of dawn filtered through the trees, the work was done.
---
Sunlight, pale and gray, streamed through the window of the hut. The smell of blood had been replaced by the smell of clean linen and lavender.
Blake lay on a fresh bed. He was wrapped from neck to toe in white bandages. Only his face was visible, pale and peaceful, though marred by a few healing scratches. His breathing was slow, rhythmic, and deep.
Porlyusica washed her hands in a basin, the water turning pink. She wiped them on a towel and turned to the three vigils. She looked exhausted, looking every bit her age.
"I have done everything I can," she announced, her voice raspy.
Cana stood up so fast her stool toppled over. "Is he...?"
"He is alive," Porlyusica said.
A sob broke from Cana's throat. She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
Mira closed her eyes, tears leaking out, and leaned against the wall for support. "Thank goodness..."
"However," Porlyusica continued, her tone sharp enough to cut through the relief.
The room froze.
"Do not celebrate yet."
She walked over to the bed and looked down at Blake.
"His body is mending. The bones will knit. The skin will scar, but it will close. Physically, he will recover."
She turned to Makarov.
"But his mind... his soul... that is a different matter."
"What do you mean?" Makarov asked, gripping his cane.
"He didn't just overexert his magic," Porlyusica explained, gesturing to Blake's head. "He drained his very life force. He used a power that consumes the spirit to fight that dragon. To survive, his body has shut down completely to preserve what little spark is left."
She looked at Cana and Mira directly.
"He is in a deep coma. A spiritual hibernation. I cannot wake him with smelling salts or magic. He has to wake himself up. He has to find his way back from the edge."
"When?" Cana asked, her voice trembling. "When will he wake up?"
Porlyusica shook her head slowly.
"I don't know. It could be a week. It could be a month. It could be ten years. Or... he might never wake up. He might just sleep until his body gives out."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Never?" Mira whispered.
Cana looked at Blake. He looked so peaceful, like he was just taking a nap. The idea that he might stay like this forever was terrifying. She reached out and touched his bandaged hand again. It was warmer now than it had been last night, but it was limp.
"No," Cana said, shaking her head. "He promised. He told me he'd come back."
Makarov walked over. He placed one large hand on Cana's shoulder and the other on Mira's arm.
"He kept his promise," Makarov said gently. "He came back to us. He is here."
He looked down at Blake with a fierce, unwavering belief.
"You saw him fight. You saw him hold back the end of the world for twenty-one days. Do you really think a little nap is going to defeat him?"
Makarov smiled, though his eyes were wet.
"Don't worry. He is stubborn. He is Fairy Tail. He will fight his way back to us. We just have to be here when he opens his eyes."
Cana sniffled, wiping her eyes aggressively. She looked at Blake's face.
"He'd better," she choked out, trying to sound tough but failing miserably. "Or I'll drink his entire reserve while he's sleeping."
Mira managed a weak, watery smile. "We'll wait. However long it takes, we'll wait."
Outside, the sun rose higher, bathing the forest in light. The birds began to sing, unaware of the drama in the hut. The nightmare of Tenrou Island was over. The dragon was gone.
And in the quiet of the healing house, surrounded by the people who loved him, the man who defeated the apocalypse slept, dreaming of a world he had saved.