Chapter Three: Seeds of Power
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Year X700 – Magnolia, Fiore Kingdom
Victor turned four near the end of the year. The cold mornings had returned, frost kissed the rooftops, and the hearth inside Fairy Tail's guildhall stayed warm from more than just magic. By now, Victor had settled into the life of a junior member—a boy among giants, rarely noticed, but never truly forgotten.
Everyone in the guild knew he had some sort of illusion magic. They'd seen it: a flicker of double vision, misplaced footsteps in a sparring match, light bending slightly around him. Harmless, they assumed. Subtle tricks. Parlor games for a boy with promise.
But they didn't know what he truly was.
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Belial's Training
In the quiet woods beyond Magnolia, Victor honed what the system had given him. Under fallen leaves and between still branches, he spoke with Belial.
The Djinn appeared to him as a shadow edged in silver, five eyes burning dimly. His voice was a whisper layered in tones, both ancient and surgical.
> "You are slow," Belial said one evening.
Victor, now sharper and more precise in body, rolled to his feet from a crouch. Sweat clung to his brow. "I'm four."
> "You have eternal youth. Four will last you centuries if you let it. We do not waste time."
They tested the reach of Belior Zakera—the illusion spell that could tamper with thoughts, vision, sound. Victor could barely cast more than a flicker, enough to create a double image or dull someone's hearing for a second.
It wasn't much. But it was dangerous.
More than once, Belial had warned him: this is not for play.
> "Each time you touch a mind, you leave a whisper behind," the Djinn had said. "A trail. A scent. Someday, someone will follow it."
Victor understood. But the taste of power was too real to ignore.
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Makarov's Collision
One afternoon, Victor was watching older mages train outside when a blur slammed into his shoulder.
"Ow! Hey, move it, dummy!"
Victor turned, rubbing his arm. The culprit stood small but loud: a blond boy with round cheeks, a cocky smirk, and fire in his eyes. A year older than Victor, but twice as loud.
"Makarov Dreyar," the boy announced like it meant something. "Future Guild Master. You should learn to watch where you're standing when important people walk by."
Victor blinked slowly. "You tripped over your own boots."
Makarov crossed his arms. "Whatever. You're that weird quiet kid who plays with fog magic, right? Gotta step it up if you wanna be one of the greats."
Then he strutted off, laughing at his own joke.
Victor watched him go. Part of him was annoyed. Part of him admired the audacity. And a very small part of him filed Makarov away as one to watch.
> Belial: "That one smells of arrogance and potential. A volatile mix."
Victor smirked. "I'll let him think he's ahead. It'll hurt more when he realizes the truth."
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Guild Pillars
Victor spent countless hours watching the guild's most formidable mages—those whose names were spoken with a mix of reverence and wariness. He studied them not as a fan, but as a tactician gathering intel.
Corvin Hale – The spatial mage who moved like the world bent for him. Cold-eyed and silent, Corvin rarely spoke unless directly addressed. He had an eerie calm, and people cleared the hallway when he passed. He preferred solitary missions and had a reputation for making entire bandit camps vanish without a trace. No one knew if he had friends—or if he even wanted them.
Junia Larksong – The lightning songstress with golden eyes and a performer's grace. She used aria-based tempo magic, harmonizing attacks to her voice. Dramatic in combat, theatrical in social settings. She was sharp-tongued, flirtatious, and often seen leading tavern singalongs. Despite her flair, she trained harder than most and mentored younger guild members in basic rhythm casting.
Thorne Gavel – A broad-shouldered brute with a terrifying calm. His pressure magic didn't look like much—until your bones felt like they were collapsing under invisible weight. Thorne was oddly fatherly in the mornings, cooking breakfast for early risers, but transformed into a war machine during missions. He had a soft spot for orphans and once carried an entire village's worth of supplies on his back alone.
Victor respected them all—not for their power, but for what they represented: distractions, obstacles, and one day, stepping stones.
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Time Ticking
At night, he'd sit with Belial again. The Djinn was cold, calculating, and endlessly inquisitive.
> "You plan to build a guild that wears evil to fight evil. And yet you join a guild of dreams."
Victor sat cross-legged by the hearth inside Marla's house. "Every dream casts a shadow. Fairy Tail's is wide and loud. No one looks behind it."
> "And when will you begin?"
Victor glanced toward the window. Snow drifted down.
"Soon. Not yet. I need to grow. I need them to look at me and see nothing."
Belial tilted his head. "You are patient. That may be the only honest strength in you."
Victor didn't argue.
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Chapter End Teaser
In the still woods beyond Magnolia, Victor trained again. Alone. Belial floated beside him in twilight.
> "If you could kill with a word, would you?" Belial asked.
Victor answered without hesitation. "Only if the world's better for it."
> "Then be careful how you define better."
Victor nodded once, eyes cold.
Snow crunched underfoot as he stepped forward, hands behind his back, cloak sweeping against frost.
A shadow, waiting for the world to forget him.
So he could reshape it from the dark.
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END OF CHAPTER THREE
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