Chapter 52: Mirajane, Lisanna, and Elfman
"Grandpa Makarov brought back three more kids, huh?"
That was Moen's first thought when he saw the group walk in—one elder, three youngsters.
But he wasn't the least bit surprised.
After all, more than half the kids in Fairy Tail had been "picked up" by Makarov at some point—including Moen himself.
Today, Makarov was dressed fairly normally—
a deep blue leisure coat over a bright yellow training outfit.
His height was still comically short, but at least he didn't look like some actor from a traveling circus.
Leading the trio, Makarov entered the guildhall, casually introducing them as they walked:
"This isFairy Tail, a guild of mages—
a warm, welcoming family made up of people just like you."
He strolled up to the bar, hands behind his back,
then suddenly leapt onto the counter and sat down with a thud.
Well, given his height, that was probably the only way he could eat and drink comfortably.
"Eleanor! One bottle of sake!"
He called to Eleanor, who was already cleaning up after breakfast service.
Then he pointed at the stools around him, gesturing for the three kids to sit down.
"Drinking this early in the morning, Master? You really ought to take better care of yourself."
Eleanor gently scolded him while stacking plates.
"You've gotten sonaggy, Eleanor…"
Makarov grumbled back in mock annoyance, earning a helpless smile and a shake of the head.
Still, Eleanor walked over, set down a fresh bottle and a small sake cup, and even poured for him with care.
"You're 82 years old, you know. Might be time to start acting like it."
Moen walked over and offered his own advice—but he already knew it would fall on deaf ears.
"I'm perfectly healthy, thank you very much."
Makarov shot back with a huff, still acting like a rebellious teenager as he downed the first cup and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Thanks to his immense magical power, Makarov's body was still unnaturally strong for someone in his eighties.
Unless his mana ever dried up, the man was virtually immune to illness, so a bit of alcohol wasn't much of a concern.
Moen didn't push it further. He'd said his piece—that was enough.
"So, who are these three?"
Moen turned his gaze toward the kids.
All three had white hair, clearly siblings.
The eldest, about the same height as Erza, had a downcast expression.
She was thin—almost fragile—and kept herself tightly wrapped in a cloak,
especially her arms, which she refused to let anyone see.
Moen could faintly sense it—her right arm was exuding a dark, twisted magic.
Next to her stood a younger sister in a pink dress, adorable and sweet, the very picture of innocence.
Then there was the brother—a bit rough around the edges, with darker skin and rugged features.
He clearly took after their father more than the girls did.
If not for the matching white hair, you might not even think they were related.
"I found them just outside the guild,"
Makarov explained mid-sip.
"They were watching Natsu and the others goofing off.
So I called them in."
So this time, he didn't "rescue" them—they came on their own.
He just happened to spot them by the gate.
But judging by the look on the eldest girl's face,
Moen had a feeling—these three were carrying more than just bags on their backs.
"You three look like you've been through a lot…
Did you run away from home? Or were you specifically coming to join Fairy Tail?"
Moen asked the three children curiously.
He wondered if Fairy Tail's reputation as a magical orphanage had already become this widespread.
These three were covered in dust and dirt, clearly homeless for quite some time.
They looked even more worn out than Moen had during his rough days living off the land in the Vast Forest.
It made sense why Makarov had invited them in—they clearly weren't doing well on their own.
"No… we were just passing through…"
The girl in the cloak finally spoke up.
Her voice was soft and gloomy, matching her sullen expression.
She curled in on herself, giving off the same withdrawn energy Erza had when she first joined the guild—
the kind that screamed: "I've seen things."
"We were kicked out by the villagers."
Unlike their gloomy older sister, the younger two—her little brother and sister—were much more open.
They took turns explaining what had happened.
Their last name was Strauss:
The withdrawn elder sister was Mirajane,
The sweet younger sister in pink was Lisanna,
And the rugged-looking boy was Elfman.
As it turned out, the villagers hadn't just ostracized them randomly—
they had been driven out because of Mirajane.
She was believed to have been possessed by a demon.
"Possessed by a demon…? I doubt it's that simple."
Moen was surprised—not so much by the accusation of possession,
but by Mirajane's magical potential.
The story was this:
Their village church had become home to an actual demon.
Mirajane, being bold and kind-hearted, decided to take matters into her own hands and tried to drive the demon out.
During the battle, she had somehow absorbed the demon into herself.
As a result, her right arm had transformed into what it was now.
"Mind if I take a look at that arm?"
Moen asked politely.
Mirajane didn't answer.
But after a brief pause, she reluctantly pulled her right arm out from under her cloak.
She didn't even try to hide her disgust—she loathed the very sight of her own limb.
Her right arm was dark red and withered,
covered with jagged purple crystalline growths, densely packed and unpleasant to look at—
the kind of grotesque detail that would trigger anyone's trypophobia.
"She wasn't possessed,"
Makarov said while gently swirling his sake.
"That's not a curse. It's a type of magic—Take Over magic."
He confirmed Moen's hunch.
Mirajane hadn't been corrupted.
Instead, she had absorbed the demon.
It was in the heat of battle that her latent talent awakened—
a rare ability called Take Over Magic, specifically a form that let her house a demon's power within her body.
Had she not awakened this magic, there was no way she could've defeated the demon that haunted the church.
"Magical Awakening" wasn't something just anyone could experience.
Most people had to spend years learning, meditating, and slowly building up the strength to wield magic.
But a true prodigy didn't need training—
All it took was one moment of awakening, and the magic came naturally.
The last person Moen had seen undergo this was Erza.
According to her, she had suddenly burst with magical energy one day,
and in that instant, mastered her "Requip: The Knight" magic without being taught.
Now it had happened again—with Mirajane.
And it was clear:
These siblings weren't just strays.
They were special.