"Material Recast Magic?" Mira blinked her bright blue eyes, curiously pointing a finger.
A glowing butterfly fluttered down, landing delicately on her fingertip. Its wings shimmered, sprinkling tiny sparks of magic dust.
"Can it completely change matter?" Erza chimed in, voice full of awe.
As if triggered, the air stirred.
Butterflies swirled like petals in the wind, landing in the girls' hair and on their shoulders.
Erza raised her arm—one settled on her gauntlet, intricate wing patterns clear in the light. Each flutter shed more magic powder.
Others dove into ground holes, vanishing.
"Exactly," Roger said, smiling at their reactions, nodding.
"This magic…" He waved a hand—golden sparks danced.
"Breaks any material down to basic magic particles, then reshapes it however you want."
"It can freely alter form and properties—like turning rock to water, steel to flowers."
"Amazing!" Erza leaned in, studying the butterfly on her arm.
"Almost identical to real ones. A new spell from studying 'Nirvana'?"
"Yup." Roger snapped his fingers.
Green inverted triangles popped above both girls' heads.
"Besides recasting, I added perception marks to detect good and evil."
"Red for hostile, yellow neutral, green—like now—for friendly."
"Ara~" Mira teased lazily, tapping her green mark with a sly, charming grin.
"Only three colors? Shouldn't mine be pink for deep love~?"
"No way there's pink," Erza crossed her arms, deadpan.
"This is for combat or scouting. What's pink gonna do?"
Mira fake-sighed, glancing at Roger.
"It's a couple-bonding trick~?"
"Erza's still too pure for this stuff."
"WHAT?!" Erza's eyes widened. "That counts?!"
Roger chuckled at their bickering, shook his head, and turned to the massive magic crystal in the hall's center.
White flickers sparked in his eyes. He raised both hands—golden palms glowing—fingers dancing like typing.
Time ticked. The crystal's ends lit softly, brighter… then blazed—before dying out, drained and dull.
Roger waved—the huge crystal vanished into his system space.
"Pulling one crystal from the linked system was tricky," he said, flexing his fingers.
"Like carefully untangling one thread from a knotted ball of yarn."
"With more study, I can revert it to its original magic core form."
He repeated the process, storing the other five.
The instant the last vanished—BOOM! The space shuddered. Walls groaned, cracks spiderwebbing. Dust and debris rained.
"Power source gone—high-level shaping magic failing. Let's go!"
Roger's back flashed—energy wings burst out.
He shot upward, golden palm raised.
Anything it touched—walls, falling rocks—crumbled, reshaping into deep-red rose petals, swirling in a dreamy storm.
Erza and Mira, flying behind, froze at the sight: his winged silhouette against a rain of petals born from destruction.
The collapse's roar faded into background noise.
"Fleeing a crumbling ruin with someone important… petals everywhere…"
Mira caught a petal—soft, real yet ethereal. Her lips curved.
"Kinda romantic~"
"Yeah…" Erza, unusually soft, eyes misty.
"Straight out of a manga."
They burst out as Nirvana collapsed—most turning to endless rose-petal rain. The rest scattered, unrecognizable.
On the ground, Roger aimed at the debris—crush magic pulverized the last traces to dust.
Done, he flew with the girls toward Cait Shelter.
Meanwhile, at Cait Shelter, Roubaul felt his magic on Nirvana lift.
His 200-year sin—gone.
Relief smiled across his face, but sorrow and emptiness lingered in his eyes.
He stood alone a long while—remembering, saying goodbye—then sighed deeply.
Grabbing neatly folded clothes, he shuffled out.
Soon, he found Wendy chatting softly with Charle in the village square.
"Wendy, Charle," he said gently.
"I have a favor."
He handed Wendy a finely made skirt—soft fabric, embroidered with Nirvit patterns.
"Could you give this to Roger?"
"Mr. Roger?" Wendy stood, confused, hugging the skirt.
She recalled: "Lucy said they're heading north to meet everyone, right?"
Charle nodded, arms crossed. "Yup. That tomcat said so."
"But… why a skirt?"
Roubaul smiled warmly, wrinkles softening.
"Roger's ladies seem to like our style."
"I had Fiti hurry and weave this Nirvit-exclusive skirt as thanks."
A hint of regret: "Too late to give it myself. Wendy, please?"
"Mm!" Wendy nodded hard, cradling it.
"Just hand it to Mr. Roger, right?"
"Yup," Roubaul chuckled. "And don't lose the note inside—it's our thank-you letter."
Wendy nodded. She and Charle headed out.
Villagers swarmed—greeting, stuffing gifts into her arms.
Sweets, handmade toys, cute headscarves, trinkets.
By the gate, she was buried—barely holding on.
Wendy tried waving goodbye—one item slipped.
A middle-aged man picked it up, dusted it, tucked it back—and magically added wrapped snacks on top.
"Be careful out there, Wendy," he said, eyes full of love.
"Watch for bad people—don't get tricked."
"Eat on time, no picky eating, or you won't grow!"
Wendy, warmed yet helpless, smiled sweetly.
"I'm just delivering clothes—I'll be right back. No need to worry!"
"Mhm…" He stepped back into the crowd.
Roubaul waved from the front. "Safe travels, Wendy."
"Okay! Master, everyone—I'm off!" Wendy called brightly, turning with Charle onto the forest path.
Villagers waved, watching the pair shrink… then blur into soft white light, faces smiling, fading one by one.
When Wendy vanished around the bend, only two remained beside Roubaul.
The burly man gazed after her. "The chief can rest easy now."
"Those folks are good. Wendy'll be happy in their guild."
He dissolved into golden light.
The woman continued gently: "And Charle's with her. Blunt, but thoughtful—perfect for Wendy's softness."
"Hope Charle likes the flower tea I made…"
She faded too.
The bustling gate fell silent—Roubaul alone.
He stared down the empty path, etching it into memory.
A heavy sigh. He turned, shuffling deeper into the village—back hunched, lonely.
"Sorry, Wendy… I decided for you without asking."
Memories flooded: a blue-haired girl curled in a rundown house, face buried in knees, tiny shoulders shaking with sobs.
His back bent further, steps lead-heavy.
Where he walked, buildings faded—color draining, crumbling into ancient ruins.
The lively village became forgotten wreckage.
"I couldn't bear your tears for us."
Pain filled his cloudy eyes. "You belong with real, living people—not phantoms left by time."
"In Fairy Tail, you'll find true joy and home."
He dragged to his little house, sat in his usual spot.
About to dispel his final illusion, his eyes caught the projection crystal on the table.
Memories surged:
"Grandpa Master! Look! I found a warm white egg!"
"Grandpa… does Charle hate me? She ran off…"
"Grandpa, prettiest flower ever—for you! Be happy!"
Tears slipped down wrinkled cheeks.
His body—from feet up—turned to golden light, drifting away.
Lips trembling, in his final moment, he forced out a faint, loving whisper:
"Wendy… stay happy—forever…"
The last spark vanished. The ruined room fell dead silent.
Only the dusty crystal remained—holding timeless warmth.
---
Nearby their destination, Wendy stopped cold.
Charle looked up. "Wendy? Why'd you—"
Her cat eyes shrank. "Wendy?! Why are you crying?!"
"I'm… crying?" Wendy touched her cheek—wet.
She stared at damp fingers, lost. "I don't know… suddenly my heart feels—"
"Empty. Like something important… left forever."
She scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, forcing a smile. "Maybe… just my imagination! Let's deliver this and head back to the guild!"
"…" Charle glanced worriedly but didn't push, jogging ahead.
"But… everyone seeing us off felt weird."
"Like saying goodbye to someone leaving forever?"
"Hm…" Wendy tilted her head, shaking off the sadness.
"Maybe they just care too much?"
"We'll be back after delivery—no big deal."
They jogged to the north forest meetup—spotting Roger's group.
Wendy brightened, rushing up.
"Mira! Roger! Wait! I've got something for you!!"
Panting from the run, she started—then Natsu pointed at her armful, loud:
"What's all th—"
THUD. Erza's elbow sunk into his gut.
He folded like a shrimp, mouth open in silent agony.
"Th…?" Wendy blinked, confused.
"S-SNACKS!" Lucy jumped in, nervous grin.
"Natsu's food-obsessed! Saw your pile and thought treats—couldn't help himself! Haha—"
Wendy bought it, weird feeling pushed down.
She eagerly handed out leaf-wrapped treats.
"Oroba's specialties—village favorite! You'll love 'em."
"Wendy, the skirt," Charle nudged, paw-pointing.
"Oh! Right!" Wendy remembered, handing Roger the folded skirt and note.
"Master asked me to give you this. Fiti wove it—best hands in the village!"
"Thanks, Wendy," Roger took them, unfolding the note in Roubaul's familiar script:
'Roger, please look after Wendy. She's shy, soft-hearted—may struggle adjusting at first. Thank you.'
'This skirt is for her. If possible, give it on her 16th birthday. She always loved this style.'
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American TV Series: Young Sheldon mike edition