When the last shadow of Zeref, with whom I apparently now shared tea recipes and reflections on the futility of existence, finally dissolved into the forest's gloom like a bad idea stubbornly fading away, I let out a sigh. A long, heavy sigh, the kind that seems to carry the weight of several poorly-slept existences and the accumulated frustration of dealing with cosmic dramas before luncheon.
(Seriously, Eos,) I thought, massaging my temples, (I did not sign up to be a private therapist for immortal entities with suicidal tendencies and a questionable wardrobe. I didn't even want to come to this bloody S-Class trial in the first place. I'd rather be at a spa with thermal waters that remove toxins and memories of recent encounters with Black Wizards.)
[Your ability to attract individuals of high existential complexity and a problematic history is statistically remarkable, Azra'il,] Eos replied, with her usual, irritating objectivity. [Perhaps you should consider adding 'counselling for cursed beings' to your already vast curriculum of useless skills.]
I rolled my eyes at the void. I looked towards the clearing's entrance, from where Happy, with the impeccable timing of a comic relief in a Greek tragedy, was dragging a fish. And what a fish it was. It was a creature that looked like it had crawled out of a mad Mage's nightmare after a long night with a particularly creative marine biologist. Multiple eyes, a worrying greenish luminescence, and what looked like small tentacles where fins ought to be. A true masterpiece of evolution gone wrong.
"Azra'il-chan! I got one!" he announced, triumphant and panting, dropping the… delicacy at my feet. "He put up a bit of a fight, tried to hypnotise me with his shiny little eyes, but I was smarter!"
"Brilliant, Happy. Literally brilliant," I commented, staring at the fish with a mixture of morbid fascination and deep culinary suspicion. "Since you went to the trouble of bringing such a… trophy of this island's dubious biodiversity, I suppose it would be a waste not to, er… appreciate it." The prospect of eating it was slightly less appealing than licking Laxus's boots, but hunger, that old enemy, was beginning to make its presence known. And, frankly, after that chat with Zeref, I needed an earthly distraction.
Happy nodded enthusiastically, seemingly oblivious to my reservations about his catch's mutagenic properties. With a few efficient movements and a discreet spell or two to neutralise any particularly exotic toxins or residual curses, I began to prepare the fish. I retrieved from my inventory (disguised as an innocent rummage in my rucksack) a few jars of rare spices, the kind that would turn even the most tasteless of twigs into something remotely palatable.
As the flames of my magic fire licked at the bizarre fish's scales, which now sizzled and released a surprisingly… not-horrible aroma, I turned to Happy.
"Happy," I began, my tone casual but with a firmness he would recognise. "About our… previous visitor. The gentleman with a peculiar taste for dark vestments and an aura that makes flowers commit suicide."
"Oh, the bloke with the face like he's swallowed a lemon?" Happy asked, his eyes wide. "He was weird, Azra'il-chan! And scary! Even my fur stood on end!"
"Yes, he was… singular," I conceded. "But listen closely, Happy. What you saw, what you heard, or what you think you saw and heard… it's best to forget it. Completely. Consider it a bad dream, or one of those delusions induced by an excess of spoiled fish."
The little Exceed tilted his head, confusion in his large, feline eyes. "Forget? But why, Azra'il-chan? He seemed powerful… and sad."
I sighed. How to explain to a creature of pure, simple feline joy the complexities of ancient curses, destructive power, and the delicate tapestry of fate that could unravel with a single careless comment?
"Because, Happy," I said, choosing my words carefully, "some knowledge is like a very hot flame. It's fascinating to look at from a distance, but if you get too close, or try to play with it, you get burnt. And, in this case, you might end up burning not just yourself, but also the people around you, people you love. Like your Natsu." The mention of the Dragon Slayer's name seemed to have the desired effect. Happy's eyes widened further, this time with an alarmed understanding. "What we discussed, what he represents… are secrets too heavy for shoulders as small as yours, or for hearts as loud and careless as certain fire mages we know. It's for your own safety, Happy. And for the safety of us all."
Happy was, deep down, a cat. A kitten, at that. He wasn't built for complex machinations, for world-shaking secrets, or for the kind of sadness that clings to the soul like a shadow. But he was loyal. And, in an irritatingly adorable way, he trusted me. Perhaps it was the fact I hadn't let Laxus turn him into an electric titbit, or perhaps he just had a good instinct for when I was being serious, beneath all the layers of sarcasm. His small shoulders slumped a little, and he stared into the flames for a moment.
"I get it, Azra'il-chan," he said at last, his voice a little lower. "If you say it's better to forget… then I'll forget. Aye!" And, with the resilience typical of beings with an admirably short attention span, his eyes lit up again at the prospect of roasted fish. What a simple creature. Almost enviable.
The fish, against all my expectations and Eos's apocalyptic warnings about its mutagenic properties, turned out to be surprisingly delicious. An exotic flavour, slightly sweet, with a texture reminiscent of a cross between eel and something I had only tasted at an imperial banquet in the Xylos galaxy. The spices, of course, helped. A lot.
When we finished eating, the last ray of sun was fading on the horizon, painting the sky over Tenrou Island with hues of orange, purple, and a melancholy pink that vaguely reminded me of Natsu's hair. It was almost nightfall. The forest around us was coming alive with the sounds of the night, unknown creatures beginning their serenades or their hunts.
(Eos, a purely hypothetical question, for the purposes of anomaly cataloguing,) I thought, as I watched the shadows lengthen, the smell of roasted fish starting to dissipate on the cool night air. (That… unexpected visitor of ours. The individual with the 'end-of-the-world-with-a-hint-of-poetic-sadness' aura. He's clearly not a lost tourist looking for the island's gift shop. Why in the blazes would he be wandering a place like this, an apparently sacred island to Fairy Tail, enjoying the weather and accepting tea invitations from strangers with a dubious taste for philosophical conversations and a cat with a fish of alarming provenance?)
[Analysing available data on the high-necrotic-magic-signature individual, previously identified as Zeref, the Black Wizard, and Tenrou Island, Azra'il. Concrete information regarding his current motives is… scarce, as expected of such a reclusive and legendary figure,] Eos's voice sounded, calm and precise as ever, but with a hint of caution I rarely heard. [However, there are a few hypotheses based on arcane texts and the unique nature of this island. One possibility is that the high concentration of primordial Ethernano here, and perhaps some intrinsic property of the island's magic linked to the First Master of Fairy Tail, exerts some kind of containment or balancing effect on his… condition. A location where he can exist with a lower risk of triggering involuntary catastrophes, or where the ambient energy partially mitigates the effects of his dark magic. It is an unproven theory, but one that echoes in some of the more obscure legends about him.]
(A refuge, then? Or a self-imposed prison? What a… depressing thought, even by my standards,) I considered, poking the embers of the fire with a twig. (And the connection to the First Master… intriguing. A Black Wizard seeking proximity to the sacred site of a guild's founder. Very intriguing.)
[Another hypothesis, Azra'il, is that he is here for reasons entirely unknown to us, perhaps seeking a specific artefact, or lost knowledge that could only be found in a place of such magical and historical importance as this. Legends of Zeref paint him as a being of vast, unfathomable, albeit corrupted, knowledge. He could be on a personal quest that, by sheer chance, has brought him to this same stage of trials,] Eos paused, as if processing an immense amount of data. [It is important to note that his presence, regardless of the reason, exponentially elevates the danger level on this island, especially for individuals with an Ethernano signature as… peculiar and, at the moment, limited as yours, Azra'il.]
(Ah, Eos, your ability to remind me of my current, irritating limitations is always so… refreshing,) I thought, with a sarcasm she would likely register, but ignore. (So, to sum up: we haven't the faintest idea what he's doing here, except that it's probably not to appreciate the local cuisine, and that he's a walking time-bomb with whom I decided to share my best tea. Excellent. My life choices remain impeccable.)
[Your assessment, though colourfully expressed, is essentially correct, Azra'il. I recommend constant vigilance and avoiding future encounters, if possible. The probability of… unfavourable outcomes increases with each interaction.]
(Constant vigilance, of course. But avoid future encounters? Eos, my dear, you really don't know me, do you? Curiosity, as the foolish mortals say, killed the cat. But, occasionally, it also yields fascinating information and a healthy dose of entertainment for those who observe from the shadows. And I am an excellent observer.)
A small, satisfied, almost imperceptible smile played on my lips at this thought. For now, the mystery of Zeref and his melancholic presence on this island would be just another intriguing item in my vast catalogue of 'existential anomalies to be investigated when boredom reaches critical levels'. There was an exam to supposedly try and pass, and a night fast approaching, bringing with it the unknown creatures and dangers of this peculiar island.
With a sigh that was more an acknowledgement of the inevitability of future effort than anything else, I looked at the embers of the fire, which now crackled in a softer glow, and at the sky turning a deep purple, heralding the arrival of night. Happy, stuffed with that multi-eyed, surprisingly pleasant-tasting fish, was already yawning ostentatiously beside me.
"I think it would be prudent to make camp here," I announced aloud, breaking the clearing's silence, my voice sounding more tired than I would have liked. That encounter, though brief, had been mentally… draining. I stretched like an ancient cat that has just had a satisfying meal and now only wants a good place to digest its complex thoughts and, preferably, enter a state of semi-hibernation. "The prospect of wandering this island infested with unknown dangers, creatures of dubious morals, and, apparently, immortal black wizards with unresolved existential crises, during the dark night, does not seem particularly… invigorating or conducive to my already frayed patience. Besides, you look like you're about to nod off, furball."
"But what about the First Master's tomb, Azra'il-chan?" Happy asked, wiping his whiskers with a paw. "What if Erza-chan or Mira-nee find it first?"
I shrugged, Happy's concern about the competition sounding like a distant, frankly irrelevant buzz. I was already bending down to rummage in my rucksack, from which I pulled, with a few tugs and what looked like minimal effort for someone supposedly carrying a full camp, the components of a tent. It was a simple model, of sturdy canvas and light poles, a matching set I bought with Mirajane that time we went camping in the forest to train.
"If they find it first, Happy," I began to say, as I unfolded the dark fabric, the faint smell of canvas present, and fitted the poles together with an efficiency born more from an aversion to prolonging mundane tasks than any camping enthusiasm, "they've simply arrived first. Congratulations to them on their diligence or, more likely, their blind luck. I highly doubt Master Makarov, with his well-known, irritating fondness for dramatic plot twists, has devised an exam so… straightforward and dull. Finding the First Master's tomb is probably just the first part of a much larger, considerably more annoying puzzle, and, undoubtedly, with multiple opportunities for him to observe our suffering with a satisfied smile."
I sighed, finishing pitching the structure with a final tug, the result a small, functional fortress against the elements and, hopefully, against unwanted visitors. "That sadistic old man loves a good bit of suspense and the chance to watch his 'dear children' struggle a bit for his private entertainment. There will be other tests, other trials. And I, personally, would rather face any of them after a good night's sleep, perhaps a few eight or nine restorative centuries of rest or, failing that, at least eight uninterrupted hours and, who knows, a little more tea."
[Efficiency suggestion: Utilise my long-range sensors for a three-dimensional scan of the island's topography and triangulate the most probable residual magical signature of an ancient artefact or burial site with a high concentration of Ethernano, such as Mavis Vermilion's tomb. Estimated time to location: 17.3 minutes,] Eos offered, with her impeccable logic.
(What a lovely demonstration of your capability, Eos,) I replied, as I arranged some soft blankets inside the tent. (But where would be the fun in that? Or, more importantly, where would be the opportunity for a prolonged, strategic nap? No, no. Tomorrow. Or the day after. We shall see.)
With the tent set up and Eos duly instructed to operate in perimeter surveillance mode, monitoring for any hostile or simply very… interesting energy signatures within a radius I considered minimally safe for a decent nap, she probably expanded that radius on her own, knowing my tendency to underestimate others' boredom and its propensity to manifest in destructive ways, I declared the night officially open for the long-awaited, well-deserved rest. Or, at least, for a heroic attempt at it.
(Eos, dear, be a good processing unit and alert me if any particularly noisy monsters, any mages with destructive intentions, or, Merlin forbid, any traveller from the dark with a sudden desire to discuss the philosophy of suffering, shows up nearby while I am… unavailable to the world,) I instructed.
[Alert configured for threats of Gamma Level or higher, and for any energy signature matching Zeref or individuals with a tendency for existential monologues. Probability of uninterrupted sleep: Low,] she replied dryly.
I ignored the last part. I picked up a surprised Happy, who was about to nestle down in his own corner, and placed him beside me.
"A-Azra'il-chan? W-what are you doing?" he squeaked, his eyes wide.
"Considering the stressful day we've had, Happy," I said, arranging him like a fluffy, slightly protesting pillow, "I've decided I deserve a little therapeutic comfort. And you, my dear fellow, with your natural thermal insulation and your ability to purr softly (when not shouting about fish), are the perfect candidate."
"But I'm not a pillow! I'm a cat! A warrior!" he protested, wriggling weakly.
"Shhh," I murmured, already snuggling down. "The best warriors also serve as excellent emergency pillows. It's a little-known, but true, fact. Now, shut your gob and be a good pillow. And try not to dream about radioactive fish. Your twitching is annoying."
Ignoring his muffled murmurs and occasional, pathetic demands for 'fish as payment for room service', I closed my eyes. The darkness of Tenrou Island, with its secrets, its dangers, and its melancholic black wizards, could wait. For now, Azra'il Weiss was going to take a well-deserved, much-needed nap. With a blue, grumbling pillow that smelt faintly of roasted fish. What a night.
--------------(*)---------------
The morning light on Tenrou Island was different. A treacherous thing. Filtered through a canopy of trees so dense it looked more like a mouldy stained-glass window painted by an artist with a dubious taste for yellow, it bathed the forest in a yellowish, ethereal glow, the kind that makes you wonder if you've just woken up in a fairytale or in the stomach of some giant plant creature.
The air carried the almost palpable hum of ancient magic, a constant reminder that this was not a place for carefree picnics, unless your concept of a picnic involved being devoured by forest spirits or tripping over millennial curses.
I emerged from my tent, stretching with the indolent satisfaction of one who has managed, against all statistical odds and the intermittent snoring of a certain blue cat, a reasonably decent night's sleep.
The aura of impending doom from Zeref, the Immortal Black Wizard and apparently my new exotic tea-tasting companion, had not dared to disturb my dreams of a particularly vivid, chaotic rebellion of garden gnomes armed with teaspoons, a high-speed chase mounted on a giant dodo through a burning library (whose books, to my horror, were all self-help), and an endless philosophical debate with a particularly stubborn talking platypus about the nature of reality and the secret recipe for the perfect parfait.
Nothing out of the ordinary for my subconscious, really. A small victory, I consider it, to have escaped any deep reflections on cursed immortals during my hours of rest.
Behind me, with a groan that would make a ghost pity him, Happy emerged from the tent entrance, moving like a blue pretzel that had been run over by a stone Golem and then used as a floor mop. Each step was an ode to his night of 'service' as my personal lumbar support and emergency heater. His back, I imagined, was in a state that defied feline anatomy.
"My poor little back… Azra'il-chan…" he whimpered, attempting a pathetic contortion to stretch his spine, with little success. "I don't think I'll ever be able to fly in a straight line again… or sit comfortably to eat a fish… or anything other than gruel through a straw…"
"Ah, the morning melodrama," I commented, solemnly ignoring his suffering with the practical indifference of one who has heard far more elaborate lamentations from considerably more important beings about far worse fates than a night as a pillow. "A little muscle stiffness never killed anyone with the proper determination, Happy. Think of it as strengthening your posture, an incentive to keep your spine straight like a true aerial warrior. You were starting to get a bit… hunched, like a melancholy prawn. Besides," I added, with a touch of magnanimity, "your purring, though intermittent and occasionally accompanied by some agitated dreams about giant flying fish, was surprisingly effective as a mantra to ward off nightmares about black wizards with existential crises and teas of dubious provenance."
I looked around, the fresh morning air laden with the scent of dew and mystery was, I admit, refreshing. "Well, I think we've procrastinated long enough in this delightful, certainly safe clearing. It's time to go hunting for a certain tomb of a certain First Master, don't you think? Before boredom completely consumes me and I start to consider the dissection of local fauna as a viable, scientifically valid form of entertainment. And believe me, some specimens around here look like they're begging for a more… in-depth analysis."
(Eos, my dear, overly logical processing unit, since you were so eager yesterday with your efficiency calculations and disaster probabilities,) I thought, as I began, with an efficiency that would make a battalion of house-elves envious, to dismantle our small, luxurious camp, (what is the least irritating course of action, least prone to encounters with more dark entities, and ideally, the most direct, to locate this venerable, hopefully not too well-guarded or overly sentimental mausoleum?)
While Happy, still grumbling about his displaced vertebrae, tried uselessly to roll up his blanket (which was, in fact, a scrap of moon-spider silk I had 'borrowed' from a certain arachnid queen in a past life), I finished folding the tent. With a nonchalant movement of my arm towards my travel rucksack, the considerable volume of the folded tent and blankets vanished inside as if swallowed by a private wormhole, which, in essence, wasn't far from the truth. The beauty of the system inventory. To an outside observer, I was just a very organised mage with a surprisingly spacious travel bag.
[Recalculating optimal route based on data collected overnight, residual Ethernano fluctuations, and your obvious aversion to any unnecessary physical exertion, Azra'il. The magical signature most consistent with a location of historical importance and high concentration of pure natural energy – likely Mavis Vermilion's tomb, unless this island has another equally magic-laden, tragically historic tourist spot, which wouldn't be surprising given the local pattern, is located approximately 3.7 kilometres north-west of this position. The terrain is, as expected, uneven, with a considerable density of hostile flora, potentially lethal fauna, and a non-negligible probability of ancient traps, grumpy protection spells. Nothing your… expeditious methods, your usual irritating luck shouldn't resolve without great difficulty, or, hopefully, without causing mass destruction.] The jab of sarcasm in Eos's voice was as subtle as a meteor hitting a lake.
A quick breakfast was prepared, a refreshing infusion of Star-Ice Tea with a touch of Mind-Clarity for me (this was purely to sharpen the senses, my already battered patience with the world, hopefully, erase any remnants of gnomes or oneiric platypuses), and some wild berries that Eos, after a complete scan, a series of probabilistic calculations on toxicity, hallucinogenic effects, guaranteed were of culinary disappointments. 'nutritionally adequate for a feline organism, with a low probability of inducing visions of dancing rabbits, or the spontaneous growth of extra limbs, although the possibility of slight indigestion due to the sudden absence of an exclusively piscivorous diet cannot be completely ruled out' for Happy.
To the immense, audible sorrow of the little Exceed, whose stomach seemed a black hole with an exclusive passion for anything that had ever swum at some point, fish was not on the morning menu. Especially not that fish. Life, my dear, disappointed cat, was often a long, unpalatable series of culinary letdowns, questionable-fish-induced dreams.
With Happy perched on my shoulder (after some negotiation involving the vague, non-binding promise of perhaps considering fishing as an acceptable recreational activity later, if he behaved like a minimally useful partner and not a blue, whinging dead weight), we followed the discreet but precise visual instructions Eos projected onto my retina, a small, glowing map superimposed on the wild landscape.
The forest of Tenrou Island was a verdant labyrinth of ancient trees, whose branches intertwined overhead like the bony fingers of sleeping giants, gnarled roots like claws ready to grab the ankles of the unwary, a cacophony of sounds from creatures I preferred, for the sake of my sanity, my appetite, not to identify too closely.
Several 'monsters', if one could even call them that, those aberrations of nature looking as if designed by a committee of particularly drunk minor gods with a terrible aesthetic sense, crossed our path, likely attracted by my aura of 'easy, delicious target' or Happy's residual fishy smell. A species of boar with iridescent lizard scales and tusks that glowed with a sickly purple light. Some spiders the size of small dogs, with more eyes than common sense would allow, who tried to enwrap us in sticky webs that smelt of mould, despair, previous adventurers' regrets.
A flock of birds with feathers that looked like rusty razors, which shot small, irritating electrical discharges. For each one, a disdainful gesture on my part, a contained, elegant spell (after all, I didn't want to expend too much energy on the riff-raff or dirty my clothes with monster innards), or a particularly bored look laden with a promise of painful annihilation was enough to send them back into the damp shadows from whence they came, usually with a yelp of surprise, a small cloud of smoke, or a subtle smell of singed fur.
Happy, on my scruff, just clung tighter, his eyes wide as saucers, alternating between abject terror and an admiration bordering on canine idolatry.
"They don't even get close to you, Azra'il-chan! You're so strong and so… frighteningly calm!"
"It's a matter of presenting the correct aura, Happy, one that clearly says 'do not disturb or suffer the existential consequences'," I explained with the patience of a zen master trying to teach quantum physics to a hyperactive squirrel. "Most creatures, much like most so-called intelligent beings, react predictably to the unmistakable scent of imminent danger or, in my particular case, to absolute boredom, the implicit promise of a swift, efficient, possibly slightly sadistic annihilation if they bother me too much during my moment of philosophical contemplation or, Gods forbid, during my nap. It works as a universal repellent, far more effective than any mixture of stinking herbs."
At last, after what seemed a pleasant walk (for me, at least, who appreciated the solitude, absence of trivial conversation), a series of mini-heart attacks, muffled squeaks (for Happy, who seemed to see a soul-devouring monster in every shadow, every falling leaf), we reached a set of ancient ruins, partially swallowed by the island's lush, aggressive vegetation. Stones covered in slippery moss, broken arches defying gravity, what looked like the entrance to a deeper structure, almost like a dark, inviting wound in the side of a verdant hill.
"Interesting," I murmured, more to myself than to the cat still trembling on my shoulder. "The architecture suggests a civilisation with a notable appreciation for symmetry, a clear, tragic lack of knowledge about durable seismic engineering. Or perhaps just a taste for picturesque ruins. One never knows with the ancients."
I began to explore, my senses sharpened by the ambient magic seeming to pulse from the very stones. The energy here was different, more concentrated than in the forest, more… pure, ancient. There was a narrow passage, almost completely hidden by a dense curtain of thick-as-a-man's-arm creepers with small, vibrant white flowers. I pushed them aside with a nonchalant movement of my hand, entered a dark corridor that sloped gently into the bowels of the earth.
The deeper we went, the stranger, more luminous the vegetation around us became. Thick roots, like the pulsating veins of a sleeping being, glowed with a soft, golden Ethernano, intertwining on the cold stone walls, the low ceiling, the uneven floor, creating intricate, hypnotic patterns. The air became lighter, almost ethereal, a reverent, almost sacred silence hung over the place, broken only by the soft sound of our footsteps, Happy's increasingly rapid breathing.
And then, the passage opened into a vast subterranean chamber, the sight that unfolded before me made me stop for an instant, a rare expression of… not quite surprise, for few things in this universe could still truly surprise me, but of a genuine aesthetic appreciation, perhaps.
It was a mystical, almost oneiric scene, like something out of an old painting or a fever dream. In the centre of the chamber, upon a raised structure of pale, polished stone, bathed in a soft, diffuse light seeming to emanate from the gigantic crystals themselves embedded in the cave walls, rested what could only be the tomb. It was simple, elegant, without the vulgar ostentation of many mausoleums I had visited (and, on a few occasions, plundered), but it radiated a deep peace, an antiquity that was almost palpable, like a sigh from time itself.
The ground around was fissured in intricate patterns, as if the very earth had bowed in respect, reverence, delicate, luminous roots spread from the tomb's base, as if protecting, nurturing it with their vital energy. Beside it, a more weathered, darker structure, with a circular opening in the centre resembling a blind eye staring into eternity with a silent sadness, contrasted with the mausoleum's luminous serenity.
The vegetation there grew wildly among its time-eroded stones, as if nature were slowly reclaiming what was hers. The atmosphere was one of deep mystery, silent contemplation, a mute dialogue between untamed nature, structures forgotten by centuries, a reminder of the ephemerality of all things, except, perhaps, boredom, stupidity.
"Well, well," I said, breaking the respectful silence with a voice deliberately casual, almost disinterested, to contrast with the oppressive solemnity of the place. (That wasn't as difficult as I expected. I thought we'd have to fight a three-headed dragon with self-esteem issues, or solve a particularly irritating riddle about the meaning of life, or, worse still, participate in some sort of tacky magic gameshow to get here. A bit anticlimactic, don't you think, Eos? Almost… too efficient to be Master Makarov's handiwork.)
[If by 'not so difficult' you refer to completely ignoring my optimised route projections on at least three separate occasions, straying from the shortest, safest path to investigate random rock formations you deemed 'moderately interesting in their geological banality', and allowing me to do all the heavy lifting of recalculating hostile entity encounter probabilities, triangulating high-concentration magic signatures, filtering energy anomalies, basically, telepathically guiding you as if you were a stubborn, disoriented child in a haunted, poorly-signposted theme park, then yes, Azra'il, it was 'not so difficult' for you, you lazy, ungrateful ancient entity,] Eos's voice sounded in my mind, laden with a level of sarcasm, exasperation that, I must admit, rivalled mine on its best days.
[My processing units, however, have formally requested a period of rest, recalibration after this 'simple' location task. And, perhaps, an upgrade to my patience module.]
I gave a small, almost affectionate smile. She became so… human when she was cross. (Don't be so sensitive, Eos. You love a good computational challenge. And I immensely appreciate your… enthusiasm, your ability to keep me on the right path, even when I insist on exploring the most picturesque dead-ends. Consider it a test of your navigational skills in chaotic environments with temperamental users.)
I looked around the vast chamber. Not a sign of Erza, Natsu, Mirajane or Elfman. No other living soul, or dead, besides myself and a very nervous blue cat. Apparently, my strategic procrastination, combined with the underestimated, frequently criticised efficiency of my private AI, had put me in the lead, for now. How ironic. I, who had been dragged to this exam, was the first to find the objective. The universe, as always, had a wicked sense of humour.
"Looks like we arrived first, Happy." I commented, approaching the tomb with slow, deliberate steps. It seemed to glow a little more brightly at my proximity, a soft, welcoming light pulsating like a sleeping heart, but it did nothing more. No spectacular traps, no furious spectral guardians, no irritating riddles carved in indecipherable runes. Just… peace. A deep, ancient peace.
It was a strangely tranquil place, a sanctuary of silence in the island's wild, pulsating heart. (A rather pleasant spot for an eternal rest, I must admit. And, to be honest, considerably better decorated, with much superior ambient lighting than some of my old, rather gloomy quarters in certain forgotten citadels.)
With a sigh of one who finally finds a comfortable sofa after a long, tiring day of dealing with mortals' irritating trivialities, the complexities of existence, I sat down, leaning casually against the cool, smooth base of the pale stone tomb. The contact with the ancient stone sent a subtle vibration through me, a resonance of pure, serene, surprisingly dormant magic. It was almost… relaxing.
Happy, who had followed me with the caution of a mouse entering a lion's den, looked at me with eyes wide as saucers, horror stamped on his feline face as if I had just committed the greatest of sacrileges.
"A-Azra'il-chan! Y-you can't sit there! N-not like that!" he squeaked, his voice strangled with panic. "It's the tomb of Fairy Tail's First Master! It's… it's a sacred place! It's… it's disrespectful! What if she gets angry, curses us with… with eternal bad luck in fishing?!"
I stared at him with an arched eyebrow, my chin propped on my hand, the very image of personified indifference. "Disrespectful, Happy? With all due respect to the late First Master, I doubt she, wherever her soul may be resting, or causing trouble, remotely cares about my sitting habits, my momentary posture. If she was as wise, as powerful as legends say, she would probably appreciate someone with a refined taste, an encyclopaedic knowledge of funerary architecture recognising the superior quality of her final resting place. Besides," I added, closing my eyes for an instant, savouring the unexpected quiet, "I'm just appreciating the tranquillity. And, frankly, my back is still a little sore because of a certain blue, furry, excessively fidgety pillow that moved all night as if being chased by a shoal of giant squid with bad intentions."
Happy just babbled something unintelligible about respect, tradition, the possibility of angry ghosts with a terrible sense of humour, but I was no longer listening, lost in the stillness of that ancient place, waiting, with a patience I rarely showed, for whatever came next. Or, more likely, just waiting for a good excuse for another strategic nap before the next act of this magical comedy of errors began.