Reyn slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. A strange, pungent smell hit his nose.
"It stinks…" he muttered, scrunching up his face in disgust.
Still, the foul odor seemed to ease the pounding in his head—a side effect of regaining the memories from his past life.
He sat up and looked around.
The room was small and simple: two or three wooden beds, one of which he occupied. In the center hung a bundle of long white cloth. A breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying fresh air with it. Sunlight streamed in, catching the dust in the air like drifting spirits.
It was clear this was a place for the injured.
From outside, Reyn could hear faint voices. The smell was unbearable, so instead of staying in bed, he followed the sound.
As he reached the doorway, a woman's voice became clear.
"So, what was the result over there?"
A man replied, his tone cautious. "Things are… complicated."
"Then speak simply."
"They're members of the Black Magic Cult—followers of the legendary black magician, Zeref. They want to bring him back."
"You humans are always so troublesome," the woman said with open disdain.
"Are those the R-System people?" Reyn thought, his eyes narrowing.
With his past-life memories now clear, he understood. That explained why they were capturing children—they needed labor for the Tower of Paradise.
The male voice continued, "That kid should be waking up soon. You can take him back later."
Reyn didn't bother to hide the fact he was awake. He pushed the door open and stepped outside.
Two figures stood before him: a short, bearded old man and a tall woman with long pink hair draped in a cape.
Thanks to the memories he'd inherited, Reyn recognized them instantly. His gaze fell on the old man—Makarov. He remembered seeing him just before blacking out, when the magic inside him had been completely drained away. His body had gone hollow, his spirit dimmed. If not for Makarov, he might not have survived.
"Thank you for saving me," Reyn said sincerely.
"It's nothing," Makarov replied with a wave of his hand. "Just magical power overdraft. A few days' rest and you'll be fine." Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "Do you remember what happened before you fainted?"
Reyn's expression darkened. "…Mm."
Even with his past life's memories, he couldn't erase the pain from this life. He wasn't the type to cry, but the memory of the Black Magic Cult had carved itself deep into his heart.
"My name is Makarov, Master of the Fairy Tail guild," the old man said, relieved the boy wasn't breaking down. "If you don't mind, you can join our guild. Or, you can visit first before deciding."
"If the Guild Master doesn't mind, I agree," Reyn answered without hesitation.
Makarov blinked, surprised by the quick response. He didn't know Reyn had already guessed the alternatives—going to a church, living as an orphan, or training with someone strong enough to help him one day face the Black Magic Cult. Makarov, one of the Ten Wizard Saints, was the perfect choice.
"Is my reputation really that good now?" Makarov muttered with a smirk.
"Come here. I'll check you over."
The woman—Porlyusica—didn't wait for permission. She scooped Reyn up and carried him back inside. His small body was no match for her, so he simply hung there like a sack of grain.
The examination was quick. Aside from exhaustion from magic overuse, he was fine.
"Take your medicine and rest," she said bluntly, pointing to the door. "If you're fine, leave quickly. Don't bother me."
"Then, see you later," Makarov said with an easy smile.
"Better yet, don't come back at all," she replied, already turning back to her herbs.
"Thank you," Reyn said with a bow before hurrying after Makarov.
Porlyusica's home was far from Magnolia, and the walk was long for a child. But Reyn's determination carried him through. By the time they reached the town, the sky was painted gold with the setting sun.
They stepped onto smooth cobblestones. Houses lined the street, the air filled with the sound of running water from the canal that cut through town. Passersby greeted Makarov warmly.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a wide, three-story building. The sign above the door read Fairy Tail. A yellow flag waved overhead, bearing the guild's white fairy emblem, as if it were flying toward the golden horizon.
"This is Fairy Tail," Makarov said, standing on the steps and offering his hand. A warm grin spread across his face.
"It's also your future home."