"The gathering is nearly over. I deeply regret the earlier incident that disrupted the mood. As an apology, if anyone wishes to remain at the resort for a few more days, I'll cover all expenses for your food and lodging."
As the organizer, Hyberion felt responsible for the disturbance and wanted to make amends. The surrounding mountains and hot springs offered plenty of scenery, so it seemed a fitting gesture.
But the others didn't mind the interruption and declined politely one by one.
Makarov was tempted, free drinks sounded appealing, but duty as Guild Master called. He had too much waiting for him back in Magnolia. At least, that's what he told himself. It definitely wasn't because drinking alone would be boring… definitely not.
"Very well, in that case, let's part here for now." Hyberion gave a courteous farewell, then suddenly paused. "Oh, right, before you leave, you may want to pay attention to a man named Bryliens."
The name rang a bell for Rhodes.
"Bryliens? The Guild Master of Morning Sun?" Jura asked curiously. "What about him?"
"I've heard the Council is considering him as a candidate to fill one of the open seats among the Ten Wizard Saints," Hyberion explained.
Ulfheim's brows furrowed. "He's one of those new-era mages, isn't he? Just like the rest of his guild. Is that really acceptable?"
"Being a new-era mage is part of why he's being nominated," Hyberion replied evenly. "The Council wants to show impartiality, to prove it isn't biased toward traditional magic. If this had been announced earlier, perhaps today's incident wouldn't have escalated as it did."
Rhodes thought it over, then shook his head. "That will make things more difficult. His appointment will likely face delays."
Hyberion raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that? Wouldn't today's events make it smoother?"
"No," Jura answered in Rhode's stead. "From my experience working with the Council, politics and appearances matter. If they confirm his seat now, so soon after today's attack, it will look like they're bending to pressure."
Rhodes added, "Even if their intent is good, making the announcement now could easily be misinterpreted. For the Council's own face, the decision might be postponed."
Ulfheim scowled, slamming a fist into his palm. "Ridiculous. The Wizard Saints should be chosen by strength alone! I'll fight him myself, if he's worthy, fine. If not, he can get lost!"
"Lord Ulfheim, please don't be rash!" Jura urged. "The Council has its own methods for testing strength. No one unworthy could simply be handed the title."
Makarov quickly stepped in to smooth things over. "Let's not jump to conclusions. None of us know enough about Bryliens yet. We'll look into him, learn more, and then give our opinion to the Council. I suspect that's why Hyberion brought him up in the first place."
Hyberion nodded. "Right. This isn't something decided in a day or two, no need to rush."
Wolfheim forced down his temper, resolving to dig into the matter himself. He was already thinking of calling in a favor from a Councilor he knew and asking what the Council was really planning. If they intended to hand the Wizard Saint title to someone unworthy, he'd sooner toss his own rank aside.
With a huff, Wolfheim strode off. Hyberion gave a small bow and drifted away, cloak billowing as he floated down the corridor.
"Master Makarov," Jura said, "I didn't see your airship when I arrived. Would you like to take mine back?"
"No need," Makarov replied. "We've got our own way home. Thank you, though."
"In that case, I'll take my leave." Jura still had a mission to file back at Lamia Scale.
Soon, only three remained in the banquet hall.
"Master Warrod," Rhodes asked politely, "would you like to come visit our guild with us?"
"The guild, huh… I do miss it," Warrod said, a fond smile creasing his bark-like face. "But I think I'll pass. It's your era now. If I showed up, everyone would only feel awkward, don't you think?"
"Absolutely not," Makarov said at once.
Rhodes agreed. As long as the old master let a few more "just kidding, just kidding" lines slip, everyone would quickly realize this legendary founder was also a first-class jokester.
Warrod chuckled and shook his head. "We'll meet again if the chance comes. I've got my own work to do anyway. It's almost time to find a new desert."
"Deserts?" Rhodes blinked.
"Yes. Since retiring, I've been traveling from desert to desert, using my Magic to halt their spread. Call it public service… or call it a hobby."
Rhodes glanced at Warrod's tree-like skin, a touch of worry in his voice. "Your current… appearance isn't from overusing Magic, is it? Please take care of yourself."
"Wahahaha! Someone told me something similar once, though not nearly as kindly." Warrod's eyes warmed. "In some ways, you're very much like him, and in other ways, very much like her. I look forward to seeing Fairy Tail reborn." He tipped an invisible hat. "Well then, goodbye."
"..."
Riddlers, truly the worst. Rhodes watched Warrod's back recede down the hall. "Her" could only be Mavis. But "him"? Surely not the Second Master… did he seek Warrod out at some point?
Makarov watched Warrod go, then turned to Rhodes. "Come on, let's head out. Weren't you going to show me a little Magic?"
"It's a rare trip abroad, we should bring gifts back, right?" Rhodes grinned, already making a list in his head: specialty sweets and spirits, unusual ingredients, a few rare herbs you couldn't easily find in Fiore.
Makarov wasn't exactly dazzled by "abroad," but if Rhodes wanted to browse, he wouldn't spoil the fun.
They wandered the foothills, then combed a few nearby towns. Only after their shopping bags were pleasantly heavy did they decide to return.
"Master, I'm set," Rhodes said at last.
He raised his right hand and traced a circle in midair. A blue ring of light blossomed open, runes shimmering around its rim like dew on silver leaves, his Hextech Gate humming to life.
Meanwhile, back in Magnolia, the Magic circle Rhodes had inscribed in Mira's bedroom flared to life.
In an instant, both he and Makarov were pulled into the glowing formation. A sphere of blue light enveloped them, propelling their bodies forward like a comet streaking through the night sky.
Makarov felt his stomach lurch as dizziness washed over him. All around, the scenery blurred into streaks of color, vanishing behind them as the sphere carried them at incredible speed.
The most unnerving part was how the light orb didn't avoid obstacles at all. Mountains, trees, and even buildings lay straight in its path, and rather than swerving, the sphere simply barreled ahead without hesitation.
Instinctively, Makarov tried to leap aside or raise a defensive spell, but to his shock, nothing happened. Within this subspace of light, his own Magic wouldn't answer his call.
For a tense heartbeat he thought they would crash headlong into a cliff face, but the blue sphere passed through as though the mountain were mist. The realization dawned on him, they were traveling through a pocket of subspace, overlapping with the real world yet detached from it. Obstacles could be seen, but no impact ever came.
Before Makarov could fully steady himself, the flight ended. Within seconds the two had traversed mountains, rivers, and forests at impossible speed.
The sphere of light flickered once, then deposited them gently onto solid ground, landing not in a battlefield or a Council hall, but in the quiet, ordinary setting of Mira's bedroom.