X778
The sun shone bright across the mountains, filtered gently through clouds that danced in golden rays. Fafnir stood on the edge of a cliff, the wind weaving through his long white hair as he overlooked the valley below.
Behind him, Irene stepped out from their mountain home, crimson robes fluttering. Her enchantments shimmered faintly on her sleeves, and her gaze fell upon him with both affection and a small glimmer of concern.
"You've been quiet all morning," she said, coming to stand beside him.
Fafnir didn't answer immediately. The wind carried distant bird cries and the scent of pine.
"It's been almost a year since I saw Wendy again," he finally said. "And now I can't stop thinking about the others I.. no we've left behind."
Irene arched an eyebrow. "You mean Natsu?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I mean… Erza."
Her shoulders tensed. Just for a moment. But Fafnir noticed.
"You never talk about her unless I bring her up," he said gently. "But I see it, Irene. You miss her."
She turned away from the valley, her voice quieter.
"I left her. On purpose. How could I not miss her?"
Fafnir stepped closer, his hand brushing her shoulder.
"Then maybe… it's time we look for her. Together."
---
Their first stop was the village of Rosemary, where Irene had left her infant daughter behind. The journey took less than a day by flight. Fafnir soared as a white dragon through clouds, his massive wings churning wind across the land, Irene astride his back with enchantments keeping her warm and steady.
They landed as the sun began to set... but the village was gone.
Charred ruins. Broken beams. Scorched earth.
Nothing but a husk remained where Rosemary once thrived.
Irene stepped down in silence, her boots crunching across burned grass and blackened stone. Her breath caught in her throat as she wandered through the ashes of memory.
"It's gone," she whispered.
Fafnir said nothing. He knew grief well and how it should not be interrupted.
She knelt near what remained of a well and pressed her fingers to the cold stone. She didn't cry. Not at first. She only stared, eyes distant.
"I left her here. I remember… I handed her over to a nun. She was so small. Her hair already red…"
She touched her stomach unconsciously, a habit Fafnir had learned not to point out.
"What kind of mother leaves her child behind?" Irene murmured.
Fafnir knelt beside her, laying a hand over hers.
"A mother who believed it was the only way to protect her."
At last, her voice cracked.
"I thought I'd forget her face."
She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking.
"But I never did."
---
Over the next two months, Irene and Fafnir scoured nearby towns, following every thread of rumor they could. From port cities to countryside hamlets, they asked for anyone who had seen a red-haired girl orphaned around X766.
They found false leads. A girl in a convent. A mercenary with a fiery temper. A street thief with magic talent.
None were her.
Irene grew quieter with each failed lead. Not colder just more… restrained. But Fafnir noticed the cracks. He would wake at night to find her staring into the fire. Or hear her whispering Erza's name in her sleep.
Fafnir asked if she wanted to stop.
She always shook her head.
"She's alive," she insisted. "I know she is."
---
Eventually, they came across a wandering priest who claimed to have heard rumors of slavers operating from a remote coastal island to the east. Rumors of children with magic potential being taken from orphanages, including one that used to be in Rosemary.
"They say the children are never seen again," the priest muttered, eyes wary. "Taken to some secret compound… a place ruled by magic and cruelty."
Fafnir and Irene followed the trail to the eastern coast, but even from the skies, they saw nothing.
Fafnir, flying high in dragon form, scanned the waves. His enhanced vision saw no island only ocean.
Eventually, they found it. Or rather… they found nothing.
From atop a windswept cliff, Fafnir surveyed the endless sea. No islands. No towers. No ruins.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked.
Irene narrowed her eyes and scanned the horizon.
"There's… something. It feels wrong. But I can't touch it."
And yet, nothing physically blocked them. No enchantment pinged against their senses.
But they didn't see it but in truth it was
a veil of ancient enchantments, woven by Zeref's forbidden magic, wrapped the Tower of Heaven in illusion and silence. Even Irene the mother of enchantment herself couldn't sense it. Not directly.
Fafnir clenched his fists.
"Maybe she's not here."
But his voice lacked conviction.
Irene shook her head.
"She was taken. I know it."
They searched again and again. Flying in spirals. Drawing glyphs. Questioning sea birds enchanted to see hidden places.
Nothing.
Eventually, they stopped. Not because they gave up but because they understood that something stronger than either of them didn't want to be found.
"Whoever did this," Fafnir muttered one night by their campfire on the edge of a cliff, "they knew how to cover their tracks."
Irene stared into the flames, her eyes haunted.
"It wasn't just any magic. It must have been someone strong."
She stepped away from the edge of the cliff, and for the first time since her rehumanization, Irene Belserion wept openly in his arms.
"She was my only child…"
"She still is," Fafnir whispered. "And you're not alone anymore."
They stayed like that long into the evening, until the stars rose high above the ocean that guarded its secrets.
---
In a dark, stone corridor, chains rattled in rhythm with children's footsteps.
Erza, now thirteen, hauled stones across the cold floor, her arms aching with exhaustion. Her red hair stuck to her face with sweat. Her eyes, once bright with fire, had dulled tempered by despair.
She sat beside the old wall at night, her arms wrapped around her knees. Rob, the elderly man who had become her closest friend in this hell, sat beside her, his voice soft and warm.
"Your heart is still kind, Erza. Even in chains. That's strength."
She smiled weakly, clutching the locket she wore around her neck.
Inside was no picture. Only a name, scratched in trembling letters. Given to her by a nun in the orphanage she told Erza it was given to the nun by Erzas mother.
"E. Belserion"
It was the only thing she had from her mother.
She didn't answer at first. Then, quietly, she whispered:
"I don't want the name Belserion."
Rob blinked. "But it was your mothers name, wasn't it? You told me, it is written in your locket."
Erza's fingers curled into fists.
"She left me. If she really wanted me, she wouldn't have abandoned me in a ruined village with strangers. She gave me nothing but a name and I don't want it."
Rob placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have the right to name yourself. Just don't forget where you came from."
She looked at him then, eyes hard.
"I haven't."
But the hatred wasn't toward Rob. It wasn't even toward her unknown mother. It was directed at the absence itself. The why that had never been answered.
And until that question was answered she would be Erza Scarlett.
---
Back on the eastern cliffs, Irene sat beside Fafnir as the waves crashed below. She stared out to sea, eyes shining with resolve now tempered by grief.
"We'll find her someday," she said softly. "And when we do, I'll tell her everything."
Fafnir placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently close.
"We'll both be there."
She smiled, a sad smile, but real.