The moon hung low over the city of Crocus, casting long, silvery shadows over the white stone architecture. But while the city was quiet, the atmosphere inside the lodgings of the participating guilds was thick with tension. In one part of the city, pride was being shattered; in another, a father was preparing for a storm that hadn't yet broken.
In the luxurious, high-end hotel occupied by Sabertooth, the air was cold—colder than any ice magic. The members of the "strongest guild in Fiore" stood in a rigid, trembling line in the center of the grand hall.
Sting, Rogue, Orga, Rufus, and the fallen Jareth stood with their heads bowed. Even Frosch and Lector, the Exceeds, were huddled together, trying to make themselves invisible.
At the head of the room sat Jiemma. He was a massive man, his presence alone enough to make the floorboards groan. He didn't look like a guild master; he looked like a warlord. He sat on a throne-like chair, swirling a glass of dark wine, his eyes burning with a quiet, murderous fury.
"Explain," Jiemma rumbled. The word was low, but it carried the weight of a mountain.
"Master..." Sting began, his voice shaky. "The Chariot race... the motion sickness was—"
CRASH.
Jiemma didn't move from his seat, but a blast of raw magical power shattered the marble table in front of him. Sting flinched, a small cut appearing on his cheek from a flying shard.
"I do not care about your biological failings," Jiemma hissed. "I care about the brand. Sabertooth is strength. Sabertooth is the pinnacle. And yet, look at the board."
He pointed a thick finger toward the window, where the magical scoreboard in the city square was visible even from here.
1. Team Fairy Tail A
2. Team Fairy Tail B
...
8. Sabertooth
"Last," Jiemma spat the word like it was poison. "The 'strongest' guild is being looked down upon by everyone. Jareth was defeated in a single strike. Rufus was outplayed by an amateur. And you, Sting... you crawled in the dirt like a worm."
Sting gripped his trousers, his knuckles white. The humiliation of the Chariot race was still fresh, but the terror of Jiemma was worse.
"This is the final time I hear of Sabertooth failing," Jiemma stated, his voice dropping to a deathly whisper. "The world is watching. If you fail another time... if you bring shame to this mark again... there will be severe consequences. I do not keep trash in my house. If you cannot be the strongest, you have no right to exist."
"Understood, Master," the guild chorused, their voices devoid of hope, filled only with the instinct to survive their own leader.
---
Across the city, in the more modest but comfortable Honeybone Hotel, the atmosphere was the polar opposite.
In the master suite, the lights were dimmed. The sound of the bustling city was a distant hum. Inside, Blake stood near the edge of a massive, plush bed.
Alphonse was sprawled out horizontally across the mattress, snoring softly, his small hand still clutching the toy dragon Bisca had won for him at the carnival.
Celeste was curled up against Mirajane's side, her breathing rhythmic and peaceful. Cana was draped over the other side of the bed, a half-finished book resting on her chest, her hair fanned out over the pillow.
Blake looked at his family and felt a warmth that no amount of magical power could replicate. He reached out, gently tucking a stray hair behind Celeste's ear.
However, despite the peace, Blake's mind was moving at a thousand miles per hour.
He stood up silently, his movements fluid and ghost-like, and walked over to the balcony. He leaned against the stone railing, looking out over the flickering lights of Crocus. He closed his eyes, extending his sensory reach.
His Observation Haki expanded like a silent ripple across the city. He scanned the alleyways, the other hotels, and specifically, the underground structures beneath the Domus Flau.
Nothing.
He had spent the last two days searching for a specific signature. In the original timeline he remembered, a version of Lucy Heartfilia from a doomed future was supposed to appear right about now. She was meant to warn them of the Eclipse Gate, the 10,000 dragons, and the end of the world.
But Blake had found no trace of her.
"Is she not coming?" Blake wondered to himself. "Or did my interference in the timeline already erase the 'Bad Future' that created her?"
He had saved the Tenrou group. He had prevented the seven-year gap from being a total loss. He had neutralized the Oración Seis and Grimoire Heart more efficiently. The world was already vastly different. If there was no future where everyone died, then there would be no Future Lucy to send back.
Yet, something nagged at him.
During the preliminaries and the first two days of the games, he had felt something. It was like the present Rouge, but heavier. More weathered.
"Maybe he is the future Rouge," Blake mused, looking toward the Royal Palace, Castle Mercurius.
He knew the Royal Family and the Knights of the Cherry Blossom were planning something. Princess Hisui and Arcadios were convinced that the gate was the only way to save the world from Zeref and Acnologia. They were gathering the power of the mages in the tournament to fuel the gate.
Blake's eyes glowed with a faint, dangerous light.
"They think they are opening a door to salvation," he whispered to the night air. "But they're just ringing a dinner bell for the past."
He thought about the 10,000 dragons. In the original history, the gate was supposed to connect to 400 years in the past, letting the dragons through.
Blake leaned back, a calm, almost predatory confidence settling over him.
"Well," he said, looking at his hands. "There's no need to think that hard about it. If the gate opens... I'll just contain it."
In this timeline, the dragons wouldn't find a helpless world. They would find him. They would find a man who had mastered the laws of life and death, a man who possessed the power of the Soul Reaper, the Haki of a King, and the strength of a father.
"If a single dragon steps through that gate," Blake promised the stars, "I will cut it down before its feet touch the grass. No dragon is entering this timeline. Not while I'm standing."
He felt a soft presence behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Mira sat up on the bed, wrapped in a silk robe, her eyes soft with concern. "You're thinking too much again, Blake."
Blake turned, the hardness in his eyes melting instantly. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her head, pulling her close. "Just making sure the neighborhood is safe, Mira."
"The neighborhood is fine," she whispered, leaning her head against his chest. "Our guild is winning. The kids are happy. Come back to bed."
Blake kissed the top of her head. "You're right. Whatever comes tomorrow, we'll handle it together."
He slid back into the bed, positioned between his two wives and his children—a shield for the people he loved.
As Blake drifted into a light, watchful sleep, the city of Crocus continued to hum. Deep beneath the palace, the gears of a massive stone gate began to groan, hungry for the magic of the mages above. But for the first time in history, the gate was not the most dangerous thing in the city.
The most dangerous thing was a father who had already decided that the future was not written in stone, but in the blood of anyone who tried to harm his family.
Day Three was coming. But for Blake, it was just another day to show the world that the Fairies were the true masters of their own fate.