The rocky, dark, and oppressive tunnel opened into a vast chamber that seemed to have been carved by giants millennia ago, or perhaps by the island's own wild, untamed magic.
Ancient ruins, covered in a thick, green moss that seemed to glow with a ghostly light of its own, rose amidst the gloom, broken columns like the bones of forgotten titans, crumbling walls that once told stories of glory and tragedy, now lost to time, as if a temple forgotten by the gods had been swallowed by the mountain and spat back out, in pieces, to haunt the living. There was an oppressive stillness here, a silence that seemed to carry the weight of centuries of loneliness, oblivion, and, perhaps, of unshed tears.
"What is this place, Erza?" Natsu murmured beside me, his voice surprisingly low, finally quiet, his Dragon Slayer instincts likely on high alert, like a wolf scenting danger in the dark forest. His dragon eyes, normally gleaming with a mischievous flame and chaotic energy, scanned the shadows with unusual caution, almost like a frightened animal. "It smells… old. Very old. And of sadness... and fear... a lot of fear."
Before I could answer, before I could even process his words or the strange energy emanating from the cold, damp stones, as soon as we set foot on the first worn step of the ruins, the world seemed to distort around us like a reflection on agitated water.
I felt an overwhelming dizziness, as if the floor were vanishing beneath my feet, gravity becoming a cruel joke, and the light from the torches Natsu had lit with his fire magic flickered violently, the flames dancing like crazed spirits before extinguishing with an ominous hiss, leaving us in total darkness for an instant.
When my vision cleared, the dizziness gradually subsiding like the waves of a rough sea, I was alone. Completely alone. Natsu had vanished, his warm, noisy presence torn from me without warning.
The imposing, silent ruins had transformed into an endless labyrinth of identical, narrow, claustrophobic corridors, the stone walls cold and damp to the touch, rising into a darkness that my eyes, even with my enhanced vision, could not penetrate. It was like being trapped inside a tomb, the air thin and icy, the silence an omen of unspeakable horrors.
"Natsu!" I called, my voice echoing strangely, muffled by the rock, as if the labyrinth itself were swallowing my words, mocking my growing concern, the panic that began to bubble in my chest.
Silence.
A heavy, absolute silence, pressing on my eardrums like deep water.
Only the sound of my own breathing, ragged and too quick for my liking, a testament to the fear I struggled to control, and the distant, irritating dripping of water somewhere in the depths of that stone nightmare, each drop seeming to amplify the oppressive loneliness and the overwhelming feeling of abandonment that began to settle in my heart.
An old, familiar feeling, cold and sticky like a spider's web woven in the depths of my soul during those endless years of servitude and hopelessness in the Tower of Heaven, trapping me, suffocating me. That childish, primal fear of being left behind, of being considered useless and disposable, of not being strong enough to protect those I loved, of being forgotten in the darkness.
I shook my head hard, the tips of my scarlet hair whipping my face, pushing it away as if it were an irritating fly, as if I could simply deny its existence with an act of will. I was Erza Scarlet, Titania of Fairy Tail.
I had no time for childish fears, for weaknesses. I had an exam to pass. I had to find Natsu, that irresponsible idiot. And I would not falter. Not again. Never. I refused to be that frightened little girl again.
But then, the whispers began. Faint at first, almost inaudible, like the rustling of dry leaves in the wind on a moonless night, creeping along the walls, or the brushing of insect wings in the dense darkness, the kind of sound that makes you question your own sanity, that makes you look over your shoulder at every moment, expecting to find something terrible lurking.
Distant echoes, voices I had tried desperately to forget for years on end, voices that belonged to nightmares I thought I had locked away forever in the depths of my memory, sealed under layers of gleaming steel and iron discipline, but which now returned with a renewed clarity and cruelty.
The cries of pain and despair from my friends in the Tower of Heaven, their young, terrified voices echoing in my mind, calling my name in agony, begging for help I couldn't give. The cruel, sadistic crack of the whip tearing through the air and the soft skin of defenceless children, a sound that still sent shivers of horror and helpless rage through me.
The sadistic, inhuman laughter of the cultists, their faces contorted into masks of sick pleasure, delighting in our suffering, our hopelessness, the breaking of our spirits.
The sweet, poisonous words of Jellal, my first friend, the first person I had trusted blindly, my first secret, painful love, my first and most crushing betrayal, promising a paradise that turned out to be just another form of hell, a gilded cage of pain, lies, and broken dreams, his words like shards of glass in my heart.
They were just sounds, I knew, I repeated to myself like a desperate mantra, a silent prayer. Auditory illusions, cheap tricks from the island, from my own accumulated fear, my own corrosive guilt that gnawed at me from within.
But every word was a red-hot needle piercing my soul, every whisper a sharp, ice-cold blade awakening traumas I thought I had buried under layers of armour and steely determination, but which now erupted with the force of a volcano.
"You are weak, Erza."
"No one will come to save you, never, you are alone and always will be, you freak."
"You abandoned us to die, you fled like a selfish coward."
"This is your destiny, Erza. To suffer. Alone. Always. Forever. There is no escape for you."
I stopped in a damp, dark corridor, the stench of mould and despair hanging in the air like a shroud. My hands were clenched into fists so tight my nails dug forcefully into my palms, releasing small drops of warm blood that trickled between my fingers, dripping onto the stone floor, but I barely felt the physical pain, for the pain in my soul was infinitely greater.
My entire body trembled uncontrollably, not from cold, but from a helpless rage and an ancient, familiar pain that threatened to consume me completely, to drown me in a sea of self-pity and darkness. The voices were so real, so raw, so full of pain and accusation.
I relived the paralysing fear of those cells, the feeling of absolute powerlessness as I watched my friends being tortured, the searing pain of losing every little hope, the crushing guilt that threatened to drown me, to silence me forever.
It was hard to breathe, the air seemed thick and heavy in my lungs, as if I were inhaling the very essence of despair, of failure, of my own worthlessness.
The tears threatened to escape, hot and bitter, burning my eyes, blurring my vision, but I swallowed them with the same stubbornness with which I swallowed fear, refusing to give these shadows, these ghosts from my past that haunted me, the satisfaction of seeing me break, of seeing me crumble, of proving they were right about me, about my weakness.
"Pain is just a sensation, little Redhead," Azra'il's voice, calm and analytical, almost cold in its clinical objectivity, but with an undercurrent of something I couldn't identify at the time, something that seemed like… a strange, unexpected understanding, perhaps even veiled empathy, sounded in my memory, as sharp and present as if she were there, beside me, with her usual air of one who has seen far worse things, who has felt unimaginable pain and yet remained standing, unshakeable as a mountain.
"What you do with it is what defines you. You can let it consume you, drown you in a sea of self-pity and bitterness, building even higher, colder walls around your already wounded, bleeding heart. Or you can use it. Turn it into fuel. Into strength. Into wisdom. Don't let it consume you. Burn it. Use that fire to forge a steel even stronger, an armour that no enemy can penetrate, not even your own inner demons that whisper lies in your ears."
I took a deep breath, the cold, stale air of the labyrinth filling my lungs with difficulty, trying to find that centre of calm, that eye of the storm Azra'il so often spoke of in her veiled teachings and in her melancholic songs that seemed to carry the sorrow of millennia. She was right. As always, that irritating, perceptive creature was right.
I couldn't let these shadows of the past dominate me, paralyse me, turn me into a victim again, into the frightened, defenceless little girl I used to be in that tower of horrors.
I had fought too hard to get here, to win my freedom, my strength, my family. I had suffered too much to surrender now. I was more than my pain. I was more than my scars. I was a warrior. I was a mage of Fairy Tail. I was Erza Scarlet.
I requipped my silver armour, the most familiar, the most reliable, a second skin forged in countless battles, every scratch a story, every mark a testament to my survival and my unshakeable will to fight.
Its presence was comforting, an anchor of familiarity and strength amidst the storm of my emotions and the oppressive, maddening chaos of the labyrinth. And I continued, one uncertain step at a time, each one an act of defiance, a refusal to yield, delving deeper into the treacherous labyrinth, each corridor a new trial, each shadow a potential threat, each echo a cruel mockery of my solitude.
The labyrinth seemed to mock me, its corridors twisting and changing like a living, malicious serpent, its cold stone walls seeming to close in and recede subtly when I wasn't looking, as if breathing with a life of their own, a malevolent life, watching me, judging me.
The corridors stretched endlessly into an oppressive darkness that seemed to have no end, or shortened abruptly, leading to frustrating dead-ends that made me want to punch the rock until my fists bled, or, even more irritatingly and maddeningly, back to the same place I had already been, laughing at my growing disorientation, my patience running out like sand in an hourglass.
It was a test of patience, of perseverance, of pure, mulish stubbornness. And, increasingly, a test of my sanity. The feeling of being trapped, of walking in circles, aimlessly, lost in the darkness, was a disturbing, painful echo of my childhood in the Tower of Heaven, of that dark, hopeless cell where I had spent so many years, dreaming of a sky I barely remembered.
Then, the illusions became visual. And infinitely crueller, more personal, as if the labyrinth had direct access to my deepest nightmares, to the most vulnerable, fragile part of my soul.
At a crossroads dimly lit by a spectral sliver of light coming from some crack in the distant ceiling, a pale, sickly light that seemed more to mock my search for an exit than to actually illuminate the path, the image of Jellal appeared.
Not the Jellal from the Tower of Heaven at his peak of power and cruelty, consumed by darkness and madness, the monster who had stolen my freedom and shattered my young, naive heart into a thousand pieces of pain and disillusionment. But, somehow, this one was even worse.
It was my first friend, Jellal, with his gentle, almost shy smile, and his eyes full of dreams of a free future and an innocent determination that inspired me, gave me the strength to carry on, even when all seemed lost.
The one who had given me my name, Scarlet, the vibrant colour of my hair, the first spark of identity I had in a world that only wanted to erase me, to reduce me to nothing more than a number, a slave.
He held out his hand to me, the same gesture he had used so many times to comfort me when I cried from fear or pain in those cold, dark cells, a gesture of promise and hope, a gesture I had held in my heart for so long.
"Erza," his voice was the sweet, painful melody I had loved so much and, later, hated so much, a lullaby and a battle cry at the same time, a song that still haunted my dreams and made me wake with a heavy heart.
"Why do you fight so hard, Erza? Why do you cling to this illusory freedom, this noisy, chaotic guild that only uses you for your strength, that sends you into endless battles where you risk your life for nothing? True freedom, the one we dreamt of together under the stars of that tower, is just another cage, Erza, a crushing responsibility that only brings more pain, more loss, more loneliness. Come with me, Erza. Together, as we always planned, as it was meant to be from the beginning, before everything went wrong, we can truly change the world, create our own paradise, just ours, far from all this madness, all this pain. We don't need friends who will betray you, who will abandon you when you need them most, as I did. We don't need Fairy Tail, which only pushes you into more battles, more losses, more suffering. Just each other, Erza. It was always like that, don't you remember? Just the two of us against the world, against all of them."
My heart clenched so tightly I thought it would burst in my chest, each beat a painful echo of that old betrayal, of that pain I carried like an open wound that never fully healed, always ready to bleed at the slightest touch.
It was a knife of ice thrust into a wound I thought I had cauterised with the fire of battle, the strength of my will, but which now bled anew, gushing fresh, searing pain, twisted with a calculated cruelty to break me, to make me doubt everything I believed in.
The temptation to believe, to yield to that promise of a long-lost paradise, of a time when hope had not yet been crushed by brutal, bloody reality, to have someone who truly understood me, to no longer be alone in that endless fight, was almost unbearable.
How many times had I had to fight against this same shadow, this same sweet, poisonous lie that appealed to the weakest, loneliest part of me, to the little girl who just wanted to be loved? Would I never be truly free of him, free of this pain he caused, this indelible mark he left on my soul, on my heart?
"No," my voice came out firmer than I expected, a thread of steel amidst my inner turmoil, each syllable an effort of will, an act of defiance against the part of me that still desperately longed for that blue-haired boy and his impossible dreams, for the promise of a future that never existed, that could never exist.
"The Jellal I knew, the Jellal I loved with the innocence of a child and who gave me hope when I had nothing but chains and darkness, believed in true freedom, the kind that comes with loyal friends, with unbreakable bonds, with the chance to protect others, not to oppress or manipulate them for his own selfish ends. He would never ask me to abandon my friends, my family in Fairy Tail, those who took me in when I had no one left, when I was just a frightened, nameless slave, a fugitive with a heart in pieces. They gave me a home. They gave me a purpose. They gave me love. And that, this freedom, I will never abandon. For anything. For anyone."
I requipped my Heaven's Wheel Armour, and the hundreds of swords appeared around me like a protective galaxy of steel and light, a shield of determination forged in suffering against the pain of his words, the insidious falseness of his empty promise.
Jellal's illusion flickered, his gentle smile dissolving into an expression of deep sadness, almost palpable regret, a pain mirroring my own, and vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving only the echo of his melancholic voice, the persistent bitterness of betrayal in my mouth, a taste I would never be able to completely wash away, no matter how many battles I won.
Further ahead, as if the labyrinth delighted in my agony, as if it wanted to rub salt in my open wounds until I bled completely, corridors lined with mirrors appeared, each polished, cold surface reflecting not just my current image, in Heaven's Wheel Armour and renewed but painful determination in my eyes, but also my deepest fears, my most ingrained insecurities, the ugly, shameful truths I tried so hard to hide from the world, and, mainly, from myself.
And in every mirror, a distorted reflection of my faults, my failures, my losses, like a personal horror film. Me as a child, small, scared in the dark, cold cell of the Tower of Heaven, my eyes red, swollen from crying silently, dirt, despair marking my young, thin face.
Me failing to protect Gramps Rob, the first person I considered family in that hell of stone, tears, watching him sacrifice himself for me, his kind, wrinkled smile fading as he died before my disbelieving, terrified eyes, his last words a desperate plea for me to live, to be free.
Me being called a monster by the cultists, their words full of hatred, fear echoing in my ears, searing themselves into my soul like a branding iron, making me question my own humanity.
Me alone, always alone, the armour as a cold, impersonal shell to hide the broken, frightened girl inside, that one who just wanted to be loved, who just wanted to belong somewhere, who just wanted a home.
The shadow of my past, always stretching like an insatiable, thousand-tentacled monster, trying to reach me, swallow me, drag me back into the darkness from which I had fought so hard to escape. That's how I felt sometimes. Hollow inside, just a facade of strength, a gleaming armour hiding a heart in pieces, a tattered spirit.
"It's not all roses, my Little Giant," Azra'il's voice, surprisingly gentle, understanding, despite her usual frankness that often hurt like a well-sharpened blade, sounded again in my memory of that night on the roof, her presence a silent, unexpectedly comforting rock beside me as I vented my most secret fears, pains under the protective cloak of the starry night, something I rarely, if ever, did.
"It's normal to be afraid, Erza. It's normal to doubt. It's normal to feel broken sometimes. Even the strongest warriors, those who seem as invincible as granite mountains, feel the weight of the world on their shoulders, feel the cold of loneliness, the bitter taste of loss. True courage isn't the absence of fear, as fools, liars believe, preach to others. That is just stupidity, or dangerous denial. True courage is the decision to press on in spite of it, to face it head-on, even when your legs tremble like green shoots, your heart wants to leap out of your mouth with so much dread. You are not the scars you carry on your body, in your soul, Erza. They are just maps of where you've been, silent witnesses to the battles you've fought, survived. You are the strength that overcame them, the indomitable will that made you get up all the countless times you fell, the incandescent spirit like a star refusing to be extinguished, no matter how strong the wind of adversity, how deep the darkness."
Alone. No, I wasn't alone anymore. That was a lie my fear insisted on whispering. I had Fairy Tail, my true family, the noisy, chaotic, wonderfully imperfect home I had never had before.
I had Natsu, with his canine loyalty, his protective fire that, despite his contagious stupidity, warmed my soul in the coldest, loneliest moments, a constant reminder there was warmth in the world.
I had Gray, with his irritating taunts, our childish arguments that, deep down, hid a genuine concern, a solid friendship like the eternal ice he manipulated, a bond forged in countless fights, reconciliations.
I had my comrades, my guild, people who accepted me as I was, with all my gleaming armours hiding so many invisible scars, all my inner demons I still fought to control, to understand, to perhaps one day, forgive.
And, in a strange, complex, almost frightening way in its growing intensity, I had Azra'il. Our friendship was peculiar, unlikely, born from the ashes, darkness of the Tower of Heaven. There, amidst despair, cruelty, we had found in each other a silent refuge, a tacit understanding that transcended words.
She, with her blue eyes that seemed to see through chains, lies, and I, with my newfound determination to fight for a future where we could be free. That connection, forged in shared suffering, had deepened over the years in Fairy Tail, evolving into something I didn't yet fully understand, but which had become an anchor in my life.
Her words, often cutting, but always with an undercurrent of disconcerting truth; her melancholic lute melodies, which seemed to give voice to the silent pain I carried; her enigmatic presence, sometimes distant, sometimes surprisingly close, awakened in me a warm, unfamiliar sensation.
It was a feeling that went beyond simple camaraderie, respect between guildmates. It was something that propelled me, made me want to be… better. Stronger, not just in body, but in spirit. In soul. To be someone who could, perhaps, one day, understand the secrets she guarded so jealously in her heart, who knows, alleviate a little of that sadness, melancholy I saw in her eyes on the darkest nights.
With a cry of fury, liberation, a roar echoing through the stone corridors like a defiant thunderclap, a sound tearing through the labyrinth's oppressive silence, I shattered the mirrors with my swords, each blow an act of defiance against the past, the lies it tried to impose on me, shattering the images of doubt, fear into a thousand pieces of glass, writhing shadows dissipating like smoke in the wind.
They were still there, I knew, the scars, the ghosts, an indelible part of me, a constant reminder of where I came from, the darkness I had faced, overcome, but they would no longer define me. I was more than my past. I was more than my pain. I was Titania of Fairy Tail, I refused to be an empty shell, an armour without a heart, a prisoner of my own memories.
At last, after what felt like an eternity wandering that labyrinth of nightmares, trials, it led me to its symbolic heart, or perhaps the heart of my own darkness, the very nexus of my pain: a frighteningly vivid, detailed recreation of the Tower of Heaven, not as a physical structure of cold stone, metal, but as a landscape of emotional nightmare, frozen in time, at the exact, terrible moment of Rob's death.
I saw his aged, frail body fall, his kind, fatherly-love-filled eyes fading as he protected me with his last breath, his warm blood staining my small, trembling hands, a sin I would carry forever.
I heard my own childhood screams, a sound of pure agony, despair that tore my soul to pieces, a sound that still haunted me on the darkest, most silent nights, when the armour couldn't protect me from myself.
I felt the unbearable weight of guilt crushing me, the paralysing, corrosive certainty that his death was my responsibility, my fault, a burden I would carry forever on my shoulders. It was a revived agony, more real, more intense than any bad dream, a torture calculated for the soul, to break my spirit.
And then, as if to increase my suffering, as if the universe delighted in my pain, Jellal, young, already horribly corrupted by the darkness that had possessed him, emerged from the shadows like a spectre, laughing with an inhuman cruelty that didn't belong to a child, his blue eyes, once full of dreams, now shining with a malignant, unfathomable madness. The betrayal. The pain. The loss.
The endless cycle of suffering that seemed to be my destiny, my curse, my cross. Replaying in my mind all the times I had to fight… all the times the world seemed to collapse upon me… all the times I failed to protect those I loved… all the times I felt completely alone, broken…
I felt my knees buckle, my strength abandoning me like the ebbing tide revealing the cold, desolate shore, leaving only the cold, empty sand of despair, hopelessness. It was too much. It was always too much.
The temptation to stop, to give up, to drown in that old, familiar pain almost comforting in its constancy, to surrender to the darkness calling to me with a promise of oblivion, peace, silence, was overwhelming, almost irresistible. Perhaps it's a great challenge that I don't crumble… Perhaps it's impossible this time… Perhaps I'm not strong enough to bear this anymore… Perhaps I should just… stop fighting…
"Erza!"
The voice. It wasn't a hazy memory, not a distorted echo from the past. Was it… real? Sharp and clear in my mind, as if she were right there, beside me, her presence a firm, unshakeable anchor in the furious storm of my emotions.
Azra'il's voice. Not calm, analytical as usual, but urgent, vibrant, almost desperate in its intensity, laden with an unexpected strength, a conviction that seemed to cut through the illusion itself like a blade of pure, incandescent light.
"Get up, Titania! Stand up, Erza Scarlet, for all heavens and hells! You are not a victim to be mourned or a broken doll to be discarded! You are a warrior forged in the fire of adversity, a survivor! You are stronger than this! Stronger than any pain, any shadow, any ghost of the past that tries to drag you into the abyss! Remember who you are! Remember why you fight! Remember the fire that burns in your soul, the one not even the deepest darkness or the most bitter despair can extinguish! Don't let the shadows of the past suffocate the light of your present, don't let them steal the promise of your bright future! The eagle flies highest against the strongest wind, remember? It is the resistance that strengthens it, that defines it, that makes it who it is! So, fly, Erza! Raise your wounded, bloodied, but indomitable, magnificent wings, and fly away from this darkness, fly towards the light!"
And then, within me, a melody began to emerge, soft at first, almost inaudible, a single note of hope amidst the silence of my pain, then gaining strength, growing, resonating in my chest, in my soul, as if my very heart were singing a song of defiance, a song of hope, rebirth. A song of resilience, of a strength refusing to be broken, to be silenced. Of an indomitable spirit.
My mind, previously a chaotic whirlwind of pain, doubt, fell silent. A strange calm, a cold clarity sharp as winter, yet refreshing as the first spring breeze, washed over me. I might have been physically alone at that moment, trapped in my own nightmares, confronting my worst fears, but I was not truly alone.
The voices of my friends, Elfman's warm smile, Lisanna's stubborn memory, Natsu's protective fire with his constant fights with Gray, even Mirajane's irritating provocations, Azra'il's constant, enigmatic presence in my thoughts, her words a lighthouse in the darkness. I believed. As high as the eagle flies, defying gravity, the storm, I too would fly. I would not fall. I would not break. I would not let this force that moved me, this flame lit by the hope, the love of my friends, be subjugated by the darkness of the past, the overwhelming pain of the present.
I looked at the illusions of Jellal and Rob, the phantasmal tower of my pain rising before me like a monument to my suffering, its shadows trying to swallow me, trap me forever. And for the first time, I felt not just agony or fear, but a cold determination like the steel of my best blade, a righteous, purifying fury that burned in my veins like liquid fire.
"Do what you will," my voice echoed in the illusory chamber, firm, unshakeable, each word laden with the weight of my decision, the strength of my conviction. "Try to face me, try to break me. Try to drag me back into the darkness. And with just a look, with just a thought, with every fibre of my being, I face you! Know this, demons of my past, ghosts of my pain, that I must pass. I must move on. Let me fly. To all those who stepped on me, who tried to destroy me, who tried to extinguish my light, know that I am still here! And I am stronger than ever! Because I no longer fight alone!"
The illusions flickered, as if struck by an invisible force, by the sheer intensity of my new resolve, retreating before the light emanating from me. I accepted the pain, accepted the scars as part of who I was, as a map of my journey, a testament to my survival, but I refused to be defined or imprisoned by them forever.
I thought of Azra'il, that unexpected, complex friendship that had blossomed between us like a wildflower on arid soil, a connection that made me feel… understood in a way I still couldn't fully comprehend, but which warmed my heart in a way I hadn't expected, made me feel less alone in the world.
It was a feeling that propelled me, made me want to go beyond myself, to become someone worthy of that silent faith I saw in her blue eyes at times, behind all the mockery and calculated boredom. It was... love? The word surged into my mind, large, frightening in its vulnerability, wonderfully liberating in its intensity. And now, this force, this new, overwhelming feeling, was part of me too, guiding me like an eagle flying in ascending circles, ever higher, above the storm clouds, treading a path back home, to the light, to hope, to the future I would build with my own hands.
With a cry that was both pain, liberation, a sound echoing through the depths of my soul, the labyrinth's walls like a purifying thunder, tearing away the last invisible chains binding me to the past, I passed through the illusion. And it dissipated like smoke in the wind, a forgotten nightmare at dawn, leaving behind only stillness, peace, the feeling of an immense weight being lifted from my weary shoulders.
The environment changed instantly. I left the mental labyrinth, the prison of my own memories, and found myself in a vast subterranean arena, wide, circular, lit by torches burning with a cold, bluish flame on the high walls, casting dancing shadows that no longer frightened me, for I had faced the shadows within me and survived, stronger, more whole. The air was cold, laden with the smell of ancient metal, centuries-old dust, a powerful, dormant magic, waiting to be awakened, to be challenged.
"Impressive, Erza Scarlet," an ethereal, ancient voice, yet with a surprisingly young timbre, laden with a warm gentleness that, somehow, calmed my still-racing, aching heart, echoed through the vast arena.
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, soft as the whisper of wind through leaves, yet with an undeniable authority, a resonance vibrating in the air, in my very bones. It made my heart leap, not from fear, but from an instinctive reverence, a feeling of being before something… ancient, profoundly powerful.
There was a magical signature there, a pure, vast energy I had never felt before, an immense gentleness intertwined with a power that seemed as old as the island itself. Who, or what, was judging me?
"You have faced the demons of your heart with a courage that honours the name of Fairy Tail, with a strength of spirit that would make the greatest heroes envious. Your inner light is truly remarkable, a star that shines even in the deepest darkness. But a Titania's ordeal does not end in the soul, my dear. It is forged in steel, in battle, in the discipline of the mind, the unshakeable will of the body."
The arena walls, previously smooth, bare, seemed to come alive. Deep carvings opened with a creak echoing like the sigh of ages, revealing niches stretching as far as the eye could see, each housing a different weapon: swords of every imaginable size, shape, from katanas thin, elegant as a moonbeam, to brutal two-handed greatswords that seemed wielded by giants; spears that shone with elemental power, their crystal tips yearning to pierce the heavens; heavy, rune-adorned axes that looked forged by dwarf warriors or demon smiths; long, elegant bows, made of dark, unknown wood, with strings seeming woven of moonlight, shadows; shields of all shapes, sizes, adorned with ancient runes, symbols of power, protection.
And then, with a ghostly creak that made my blood run cold, they began to levitate, hundreds of them, turning their sharp points, edges towards me like a phantom army, silent, deadly, thirsting for one last, glorious combat.
"To protect those you love, to defend your ideals and your friends against all threats," the voice continued, still soft, but now with a firmness resonating like the steel of an ancient blade, its words echoing through the arena with the wisdom of ages, with the strength of unshakeable conviction.
"A true Titania, the one who bears the weight of hope, protection, must master all forms of combat, not for love of battle, but for the need to be her people's shield. She must know the soul of every blade, not to take lives indiscriminately, but to defend life with precision, justice. She must understand the strength of every shield, not to hide behind it, but to interpose herself between danger, those who are vulnerable. She must be the impenetrable wall against the darkness, the unstoppable storm that sweeps away injustice. Show us your mastery, Erza Scarlet. Show us what it means to be the Queen of Fairies, a title not won by power alone, but with heart. Show us the strength of your indomitable spirit."
The weapons attacked. The first wave was a whirlwind of longswords, a rain of deadly steel descending upon me like a storm of blades, each seeking to impale me, to slice me, to reduce me to nothing. I didn't hesitate for an instant.
The fatigue of the mental battle still weighed on my shoulders like a leaden cloak, but a new wave of adrenaline, the familiar, welcome adrenaline of physical combat, coursed through me, sharp, invigorating as a blast of icy wind. My Heaven's Wheel Armour, with its silver wings, the promise of countless blades, already enveloped me, a harbinger of what was to come.
With a mental command, a silent cry of my will, the swords of my armour responded. Countless of them, which until then had hovered around me like a vigilant guard or were retracted into the armour itself, now sprang to life, flying, spinning into an impenetrable shield, and, simultaneously, into a devastating offensive.
They became an extension of my being, a storm of steel under my absolute control. The deafening metallic clang of my blades clashing against the ghostly weapons echoed through the arena like the prelude to a symphony of war, each note a spark, each impact a declaration of my resilience. The dance had begun again, but this time, it was a dance of a thousand blades against a thousand threats, one I mastered with fury, precision, and unshakeable determination.
Each wave of weapons was different, more cunning, more powerful than the last, a relentless test of my skills, my ability to adapt. Spears firing beams of pure energy forced me to use my agility and the right armour to dodge and absorb the impacts, each blow resonating in my bones.
Axes that created seismic shockwaves upon hitting the ground tried to unbalance me, demanding a foundation firm as a mountain and an unshakeable defence not to be swept away.
Arrows imbued with elemental magic multiplied in the air like a swarm of deadly wasps, each seeking a gap in my guard, a flaw in my armour, forcing me to use every gram of my perception to anticipate their trajectories.
And with each wave, each new challenge, I adapted, my body and mind working in perfect sync, the experience of a thousand battles guiding my movements, my choices.
"Think, Erza," Azra'il's voice, calm and irritatingly precise, as always, seemed to whisper in my mind again, not as a ghost, but as a stern, observant instructor, as if she were sitting somewhere in the arena's shadows, watching my every move, every decision, and taking notes for a future and certainly painful session of 'constructive and entirely necessary critique for your development, little Redhead'.
"Don't just fight like a cornered animal, waiting for the next blow. Anticipate. Observe the pattern, however chaotic it may seem. There's always a rhythm, a logic, even in fury. Use the right weapon for the right enemy. A sword isn't just raw strength, not just a piece of metal. It is intelligence, it is the flow of energy, it is the extension of your will, of your soul."
I requipped to the Adamantine Armour, its almost impenetrable defence a bulwark against the heaviest, most crushing blows, feeling the impact vibrate through the metal, but not breaking me. I switched to the Flame Empress Armour, my swords burning with consuming fire, creating a vortex of flames that repelled elemental fire attacks and cleared a path through a barrier of flaming shields that appeared from nowhere.
I changed to the Sea Empress Armour when sharp, cutting water blades, sharp as razors, surrounded me, using the elemental affinity to my advantage, dancing between the deadly waves. My Requip magic was fast, precise, each switch a calculated response, a testament to years of relentless training and the iron discipline I had imposed upon myself, every day, every hour.
Then, the weapons, as if possessed by warrior spirits, merged, or were wielded by ethereal, translucent, illusory warriors, but with a deadly skill that defied their ghostly nature. Each was a master of their fighting style, a legend from some forgotten age.
I faced a dark lancer whose speed and precision rivalled my own in the Lightning Empress Armour, his strikes seeking the smallest openings in my defence, forcing me to use my Flight Armour to gain aerial agility and escape his relentless attacks.
I fought a colossal barbarian with a two-handed axe that looked torn from a nightmare, each blow capable of splitting a mountain in two, requiring me to use my Giant's Armour to match his brute strength and resist his devastating blows, feeling the ground tremble beneath my feet.
I challenged an elven archer, agile and silent as a shadow, whose arrows seemed to have a life of their own, bypassing my defences and exploding with different elemental effects – ice, poison, darkness – which obliged me to use the Purgatory Armour and my own archery skill, a skill I rarely used, but one Azra'il had insisted I hone, reminding me that a true warrior masters all distances.
And, for each one, for each challenge, for each fighting style, I found an answer, an armour, a blade, a strategy, overcoming them not only with power, but with adaptability, with intelligence, and a deep, intuitive understanding of combat.
At the climax of this ordeal of steel and spirit, a figure emerged from the arena's densest shadows, a silhouette that was terribly familiar to me, a distorted reflection of myself. It wielded a dark version of my own Benizakura Blade, its dark blade dripping with a malevolent energy that seemed to suck the light from around it. It was me. Or, at least, a part of me.
A dark Erza, my eyes glowing with a cold, cruel red light, every movement a perverse reflection of my own, but laden with all my repressed doubt, my accumulated fear, all my unresolved anger and pain.
She was the personification of all my failings as a swordswoman, of all my hesitations, of all my past and future failures. To defeat her, I had to overcome myself, my own limitations, my own shadows.
The fight was brutal, a dance of broken mirrors, each blow a painful confrontation with my own weaknesses, each defence a denial of my own fears. But, remembering Azra'il's words about accepting one's own darkness to control it, about understanding that true strength lies in the union of light and shadow within us, I found the strength to face that distorted version of myself and, with a final, clean, precise blow, which was both an attack and an act of acceptance, I broke the illusion and the dark blade dissolved into dust.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of incessant battle, of steel against steel, of will against will, when my body was a map of pain and my magic a flickering thread, only one trial remained, the final challenge.
A single, immense spectral halberd, almost twice my size, materialised in the centre of the arena, hovering in the air for an instant that seemed to stretch for millennia, before beginning its slow, inexorable, and terrifying descent. Its gigantic blade shone with a power so concentrated, so absolute and indifferent, it seemed capable of splitting the sky itself, of extinguishing stars, of erasing existence itself with a single blow.
My eyes, however, were not fixed on the monstrous, descending weapon. They were pinned on the fallen figure directly below it, at the exact point where the reaping blade would make its impact. My heart stopped. And then it bolted with a violence that threatened to tear through my chest.
Fallen on the ground, sprawled awkwardly and frighteningly still, was Natsu. Natsu Dragneel. Not an illusion. Not a shadow of my past. It was him. The shocking pink hair was dirty with dust and perhaps blood, his clothes torn in several places, the scarf a little singed, but still firmly around his neck.
He was unconscious, completely vulnerable, the unconsciousness making him small and fragile in a way I rarely saw. How had he got there? The separation in the labyrinth… had it been a way to bring him, also tested and exhausted, to this exact moment of choice? It didn't matter. He was there. And death, in the form of that colossal halberd, was descending upon him.
"Protect him," the ethereal, ancient voice commanded, its words echoing through the arena, not as a suggestion, but as a divine decree, an order I couldn't, wouldn't disobey. They were soft, almost a whisper on the wind, but they carried an undeniable weight, an ancient authority that resonated in every fibre of my being, in the core of my warrior soul, awakening every protective instinct I possessed.
There was no room for questioning, no time for hesitation, only for the acceptance of a sacred duty, a silent oath I had made to myself and to my friends.
The spectral halberd descended with the force of a comet, the air hissing around it like a cry of death, a promise of total, inescapable annihilation. I had no time for a purely defensive armour that could withstand such a blow, there was no armour in my arsenal capable of such a feat.
There was only one choice, one sacrifice. I requipped my Purgatory Armour, the most fearsome, the most powerful in terms of raw strength, but also one of the least mobile and the one I liked to use least, for it represented a force I always feared losing control of, a darkness I fought to keep under my dominion. But it wasn't about dodging this time. It wasn't about me, about my safety. It was about resisting. It was about protecting. It was about Natsu.
I planted my feet on the arena floor, the gravel cracking under the pressure, feeling the solid rock beneath my boots like an extension of my own unshakeable determination.
I crossed my strongest swords, the twin blades that had so often defended my friends from countless dangers, over Natsu's unconscious, vulnerable form, my body becoming a living, pulsating wall between him and the imminent destruction, a silent, desperate promise that nothing would pass me as long as I could breathe. And I took the impact.
The pain was excruciating, an explosion of pure, incandescent agony that coursed through every nerve in my body as if a million red-hot needles were piercing me at once, as if my bones were being crushed and ground to dust.
The force was overwhelming, making my bones audibly groan within the armour and my muscles silently scream in protest, tearing under the inconceivable pressure. My Purgatory Armour, which I thought almost indestructible, a fortress of black steel, cracked in several places with the sound of splitting metal, the dark material twisting and shattering under the unbearable pressure, pieces of it flying across the arena like shrapnel from a dying star.
The blood trickled from my lips, hot and tasting of iron and ashes, and my vision darkened for an instant, the world becoming a blur of searing pain and blinding light. But I did not yield. I gritted my teeth until I felt they would break, anchored myself with all my willpower, all my determination, with every drop of love and loyalty I had for my friends, for my family. For Natsu. For Fairy Tail. For the promise of freedom.
When the dust slowly settled, like a curtain falling on a stage of tragedy, and the blinding light of the halberd finally dissipated, revealing an almost sacred silence, it was gone. I was still standing, though barely, my entire body trembling from exhaustion and pain like a leaf in the storm, but my feet, somehow miraculously, still firmly planted on the ground, protecting what was behind me. Natsu, behind the wall of my wounded body, was safe, untouched.
A soft, almost reverent silence filled the arena, broken only by the sound of my ragged, shallow breathing and the insistent, painful throbbing of my battered body.
The dust began to settle, revealing the true extent of the devastation caused by the last confrontation, but also the still, crucially, safe figure of Natsu behind me. And then, that ethereal, ancient voice, the mysterious voice that had guided and tested me, echoed again, but this time the tone of command had completely vanished, replaced by a warmth and an undeniable approval that seemed to wrap the arena like the gentle embrace of the morning sun after a long, terrible night of storm, chasing away the last shadows of pain and doubt from my weary soul.
"You have shown the strength of the body, Erza Scarlet, able to bear the unbearable and protect what is precious to you, even as your own strength drained away like sand through your fingers. You have shown the resilience of the mind, able to face your deepest fears, your oldest pains, those ghosts that haunted you, and emerge even stronger, more determined, with your inner light shining more brightly. And, above all, Erza, you have shown the unshakeable devotion of the heart, the pure, selfless will to sacrifice yourself to protect a friend, a comrade, even at your own expense, even when all seemed lost. You are not just a skilled swordswoman, with a thousand blades at your disposal to cut down your enemies, nor just a queen of fairies with a thousand armours to protect you like an impenetrable fortress. You are a true Titania, Erza, a protector in your purest essence, a living wall against the darkness that threatens those you love. And it is for this reason, with a pride that transcends time and a hope that is renewed in each generation of Fairy Tail mages, that I declare: You are approved."
The blue torches of the arena extinguished one by one, their cold, spectral light giving way to a soft, golden light that appeared on one of the distant walls, like the first ray of morning sun breaking through the clouds, revealing an exit, a stone arch promising a way out of that oppressive darkness and the ordeal that had tested every fibre of my being, every limit of my soul.
I rested on my knees for an instant, the air entering my lungs in painful, ragged gasps, my entire body a throbbing map of contusions, cuts, and sheer exhaustion. Every muscle seemed to scream in protest. I looked at Natsu. He was still sprawled on the floor, where the island's treacherous magic had placed him, as frighteningly still as before.
My heart gave another painful lurch, a mixture of relief and a fresh wave of concern. It hadn't been an illusion. It was the real Natsu, my hot-headed partner, transported to the epicentre of danger in some inexplicable way. The realisation made the weight of what I had just done, the risk he had run, settle on me with full force.
The instinct to protect him, the sight of him vulnerable under that monstrous blade, had been viscerally real because he was real. I sighed, a sound that was a mixture of deep relief that he was safe and a weariness that seemed to weigh a ton on my shoulders.
With an effort that made every muscle scream in agony and every wound burn like living fire, I walked to him, my steps uncertain and heavy. Carefully, but with what strength I had left, I passed one of his arms over my shoulders, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin, and hoisted his limp, heavy body.
He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep, disjointed words about food and fire, probably dreaming of some epic fight against a meat monster or an endless feast. Typical Natsu. Even unconscious, he was an adorably irritating burden and, at that moment, incredibly precious.
I emerged from that labyrinth of pain and the arena of trials, dragging Natsu with me, step by step, each movement a small victory against the exhaustion threatening to swallow me. I was not just a stronger mage in terms of raw power or combat skill, I knew that.
I was someone who had faced the depths of her own soul, her darkest fears, her oldest pains, and had come out the other side more complete, more confident, more… me. More Erza.
The scars of the past were still there, I knew, etched in my memory and in my heart like indelible marks, like the runes on an ancient sword that tell its story. But now, they were no longer rusty chains binding me to darkness and self-pity. They were a testament to my strength, my resilience, my unshakeable ability to love and to protect.
And, somewhere deep within me, where a new and strange melody was beginning to play, a soft song of hope and of a newfound strength, I knew that Azra'il, with her enigmatic smile that always seemed to hide a thousand secrets and her blue eyes that saw too much, that seemed to pierce the soul with a disconcerting clarity, would be… pleased. Or, at least, and that was high praise coming from her, slightly less bored with my 'dramatic and rather predictable tendencies', as she would certainly say with that air of amused superiority and a cup of suspicious tea in hand. And that, in itself, was a considerable victory.
The work of an older sister, of a comrade, of a Titania, after all, was never done. But, for the first time in a very, very long time, I felt that I was truly ready for it. With Natsu leaning on me, a familiar and, in a way, incredibly comforting weight, his warmth radiating into my aching body, I walked towards the golden light of the exit, towards whatever came next. And I was ready.
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Author's notes
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Which path was the most epic, emotional, or simply satisfying to read?
⚡ Azra'il VS Laxus - The Elegant Chaos
😈 Mirajane VS Gildarts - Overcoming Boss Fight Mode
🛡️ Erza VS Herself - Emotion, Trauma, and True Strength
😵💫 They all destroyed me emotionally. I'm in pieces. Thank you.