After separating from Rei, the ruins seemed to grow quieter.
Not empty—never empty—but watchful.
Kai and Cana moved forward at a measured pace, Pixie's soft glow skittering over stone walls carved with timeworn murals. Some showed crowds of figures clustered together beneath towering symbols etched into the sky. Others depicted fractured lines through the land, people scattering, then later returning—dancing, rebuilding, hands raised toward the same symbols that once loomed ominously above them.
Cana frowned at one such mural. "They really liked telling stories on walls, huh?"
Kai slowed beside her, eyes scanning the imagery with interest. "More than that. This wasn't decoration—it was record keeping. Oral history fails. Stone doesn't."
"Still creepy," she muttered, rubbing her arms.
They passed several branching tunnels—some narrow, some wide enough for wagons—and Kai marked each one with subtle sigils scratched into the stone, barely visible unless you knew what to look for. Not magic. Just habit. Directional memory carved into the world.
Eventually, the corridor widened into something altogether different.
A literal crossroads.
Not two or three paths—but many. At least seven distinct passages branched downward from a broad circular chamber, each sloping into darkness at a slightly different angle. Some were jagged and uneven, others eerily smooth, as though shaped intentionally. The ceiling above them arched high, lost in shadow, while the floor bore faint grooves—old tracks, maybe, worn by countless feet over centuries.
Cana let out a low whistle. "Well… that's inconvenient."
Kai stopped at the center of the chamber, boots planted firmly as he slowly turned, eyes tracing each path in silence.
"So," Cana said, breaking the quiet. "Which way, oh wise ruin whisperer?"
Kai just walked forward and spoke dryly. "The path of common sense".
Pixie floated ahead of them, its glow pulsing softly as it hovered near the edge of one path. Something about the light caught Kai's attention—not the shadows it cast, but the way they seemed thicker than before.
His eyes narrowed.
"Pixie," he murmured, stepping closer.
Cana blinked as Kai suddenly reached out and grabbed the little metal spider mid-hover.
"Hey—!" she started. "What are you doing?"
"Checking something," Kai replied calmly.
He turned Pixie over in his hands, fingers deft and practiced as they popped open a small compartment beneath its thorax. Inside, a faintly glowing lacrima pulsed weakly—its light dull, uneven, flickering like a dying ember.
Cana leaned in, brows knitting. "Is that… bad?"
Kai stared at it for a moment longer, then sighed. "Yeah. It's nearly drained."
Her eyes widened. "Already? But you just turned it on when we entered."
"Exactly."
He snapped the compartment shut and held Pixie up, comparing its dim glow to the ambient darkness around them.
"That guy wasn't exaggerating," Cana said slowly. "This place really does drain magic."
Kai nodded—but his expression was thoughtful rather than alarmed. "It does. But notice something else?"
Cana tilted her head. "What?"
He gestured vaguely between them. "You and me. How do you feel?"
She blinked, then paused, actually checking. "Uh… fine? Normal? Slight headache but that's probably the lack of booze."
Kai huffed softly. "Same. My reserves haven't dropped that much at all."
He looked back at Pixie. "But this thing's almost empty."
Cana frowned. "So… the ruins target objects more than people?"
"Or," Kai corrected, "they drain active external conduits faster than internal circulation."
She stared at him blankly.
"…In normal words?" she asked.
Kai sighed. "Stuff that constantly emits magic gets eaten faster. Living beings regulate their output. Pixie doesn't. Lamps didn't. Lacrima tools don't."
Cana slowly nodded. "So if we rely too much on magic tools—"
"They'll die," Kai finished. "Fast."
"Well," she said, crossing her arms. "That's reassuring."
Kai straightened, slipping Pixie into a dormant mode before attaching it back to his belt. Its glow dimmed to almost nothing.
"I need to test something," he said suddenly.
Cana eyed him. "Whenever you say that, something explodes."
"Not this time." He smirked faintly. "Probably."
She rolled her eyes. "Great."
"Take a break," Kai added, already rummaging through his pouch. "But don't fall asleep."
Cana sat down on a low stone ledge, watching him curiously as he pulled out a handful of components—small gears, thin plates of metal, a marble-sized lacrima with a faint reddish hue.
He paused, holding the lacrima up, studying it with interest.
"Huh," he muttered. "This one's still pretty full."
Cana propped her chin on her hand. "You look way too happy about that."
Kai's hands began to glow faintly—not bright magic, but a controlled, precise shimmer that wrapped around his fingers like invisible tools. His brows furrowed slightly as he began to assemble the parts, movements fluid and practiced, like muscle memory guided by intuition rather than thought.
Metal clicked softly.
Gears aligned.
Energy flowed.
A few minutes later, he stopped.
In his hands sat… a small toy-like car. Four wheels. Boxy body. A tiny bracket mounted at the front.
Cana stared at it.
"…That's adorable," she said flatly. "You sure like cute things."
Kai looked at her. Completely deadpan. "That explains why I don't like you."
"Hey!"
He ignored her, setting the car gently on the stone floor. With a flick of his wrist, he attached a simple torch to the front—real flame, not magic—and tapped the side.
The little car whirred to life and began rolling forward, heading down one of the darker paths.
"Now," Kai said, sitting down cross-legged. "Let's see."
Cana watched as he closed his eyes and placed one palm flat against the ground. He tapped the stone lightly, rhythmically, like someone listening for an echo.
She opened her mouth—ready, finally, to talk about the thing she'd been holding back since yesterday.
Then she stopped.
Because for once… Kai was quiet.
Not joking. Not teasing. Not smirking.
Just focused.
Calm.
The ruins seemed to breathe around them.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Cana shifted, growing restless. "You know," she started, "if this is some dramatic buildup—"
Kai's eyes snapped open.
He stood abruptly, causing Cana to flinch.
"Come on," he said, already walking toward the path the little car had taken.
"Huh? What? Did it explode?"
"No." Kai smiled faintly. "It survived."
They rounded the bend and saw it—the faint orange glow of the torch, wobbling slightly as the car crawled toward them.
But it was slow.
Painfully slow.
And then—several meters away—it sputtered.
The wheels stopped turning.
The torch flickered once… twice… and died.
The corridor plunged into near darkness again.
Kai laughed softly. "Figures."
Cana stared at the inert little car, then at him. "Okay," she said slowly. "I'm officially lost. Figured what?"
Cana watched in silence as Kai retrieved the small car and sat back down holding it.
With a few deft movements, he dismantled it almost casually—panels sliding apart, screws loosening as if they wanted to be removed. The tiny lacrima was extracted and set aside, still faintly glowing, while the half-burnt torch was placed carefully on the stone floor nearby.
He straightened and turned to her, expression unusually serious.
"Alright," he said, holding the lacrima up between his fingers. "Let me explain what I figured out. In simple words for your small brain."
Cana raised a brow. "Wow. I feel so respected."
Kai smiled at that. "This little thing"—he tapped the lacrima lightly—"was fully charged when I bought it back at the market. When I pulled it out of my pouch just now, it was still fully charged."
Cana nodded slowly. "Okay… and?"
"That means," Kai continued, "the ruins couldn't drain it while it was inside my magic pouch. The pouch isolates contents from the surrounding magical environment."
She leaned forward a little, interest growing. "So your stash is safe."
"Exactly." He nodded. "Which is good news, because I have a lot of supplies in there."
Cana crossed her arms. "You still haven't told me how that helps us explore this safely if they will be drained once out."
Kai smirked faintly. "Good. You're paying attention."
He crouched again and pointed to the place where the small car had stalled. "When I sent the car down that path, it had enough energy to travel about a hundred meters and return. I've tested it before—same build, same lacrima."
Cana hummed. "But it didn't come back."
"Nope," Kai replied. "And here's the important part: the energy it spent moving should've matched the time it took for the torch to burn out. Maybe off by a minute or two. But that didn't happen."
He picked up the torch and showed her the partially burned end. "It's only about halfway gone. Yet the lacrima was almost completely drained."
Cana's eyes widened slightly. "Meaning…?"
"Meaning," Kai said calmly, "this place drains mana at roughly twice the normal rate."
"That's bad," Cana said flatly.
"It is," Kai agreed. "But here's where it gets interesting."
He stood, dusting his hands off. "If the drain was purely environmental—uniform—then while we were waiting, you and I should've lost the same proportion of magic as the lacrima."
Cana instinctively checked herself again, focusing inward. "…But we didn't."
"No," Kai said. "I lost maybe a quarter of what the lacrima lost. You probably lost even less."
She nodded slowly. "So… living beings are affected less."
"In normal conditions," Kai corrected. "When we're not actively using magic."
He hesitated for just a second, then added, "But when I was tinkering earlier—actually using my Tinkerer magic—I felt it."
Cana looked at him sharply. "Felt what?"
"A stronger pull," he replied. "Not just the cost of the spell itself. It was like the ruins took the magic from the spell and then dipped into what I was actively expending on top of that."
He clenched his fist once, remembering the sensation. "Almost double the drain."
Cana's expression sobered. "So if we fight… or spam magic…"
"We'll get drained dry," Kai finished. "Fast. And not evenly. The more you push, the more it takes."
She let out a slow breath. "So the solution is…"
"Don't use magic unless necessary," Kai said simply.
Cana stared at him.
"…I don't like that solution."
Kai laughed softly. "Yeah. I figured you wouldn't."
He turned away and began pulling items from his pouch—coiled rope, steel hooks, simple iron pitons, two ordinary torches. No enchantments. No magic. Just tools.
A few minutes later, they stood together again, a rope securely tied around both their waists, leaving just enough slack for movement but not enough for separation in case of a accident. Kai lit one torch, its mundane flame casting uneven shadows along the walls. The other was secured at Cana's waist, unlit, ready for use if needed.
Kai scratched a simple mark into the stone near the path they'd tested earlier—a crude arrow and a line. Direction. Reference.
Then he turned to Cana, eyes steady.
"Old-fashioned exploration," he said. "Slow. Careful. No magic unless absolutely necessary."
She grimaced. "You realize you just described my personal hell."
He grinned. "Stick close, brownie. You'll survive."
She snorted but nodded, fingers tightening briefly around the rope between them.
"Alright," she said. "Let's go before I change my mind."
Kai stepped forward, torch raised, and together they descended into the chosen path—stone swallowing their light inch by inch as the ruins waited, patient and hungry.
Meanwhile — Fairy Tail, Magnolia
The guild hall was loud.
Not the usual kind of loud—no laughter, no brawls, no music. This was sharp, frantic noise. Voices overlapping. Chairs scraping. Tension thick enough to choke on.
Mira stood behind the bar, pale, hands clenched together as members argued all around her.
"It doesn't make sense!" one mage shouted. "No S-Class signed it out!"
"I'm telling you, it was there yesterday!" another yelled back.
Then Laxus spoke.
"I saw a cat," he said casually, arms crossed. "Sneaking around the second floor last night."
The room went quiet.
Mira's eyes widened. "A… cat?"
"Blue," Laxus added. "Talked too much."
Happy.
Natsu.
And suddenly—
"NATSU AND LUCY ARE GONE TOO!" someone shouted.
The realization hit like a thunderclap.
Mira swallowed hard. "They… they took a job."
Makarov, who had been silent until now, slowly rose from his chair. "Which one."
It wasn't a question.
Mira hesitated. Just for a second looking through the board again.
Then she answered.
"…The Cursed Island of Galuna."
The guild froze.
Even the air seemed to still.
Makarov's face drained of color. "That's… that's an S-Class mission."
"No one under S-Class is allowed anywhere near it," someone whispered.
Makarov slammed his cane into the floor. "LAXUS."
Laxus turned his head slightly, amused. "Yeah?"
"Go after them," Makarov ordered. "Bring them back. Now."
Laxus scoffed. "Why should I?"
The old man's fury flared. "Because they're children walking into a death trap!"
Laxus smirked. "This is Fairy Tail, old man. We handle our own messes. Or did you forget that?"
Makarov growled. "Erza isn't here. Kai isn't here. You're the only one strong enough to—"
Before he could finish—
"I'll go."
All eyes turned.
Gray stood up, fists clenched, eyes burning. "I won't let that idiot salamander get himself killed."
Makarov stared at him. "Gray—"
"I don't need to be S-Class for that idiot," Gray snapped. "I can bring him back myself."
He turned and walked toward the door without another word.
The doors slammed shut behind him.
Mira watched the empty doorway, heart heavy.
Far away—beneath ancient stone, where magic was devoured and light struggled to survive—two mages moved carefully forward, unaware that above ground, the pieces of another disaster were already falling into place.