Chapter 1: The Boy with the Masks
The port town of Hargeon woke slowly under the dawn light. The tide lapped lazily at the docks, gulls cried overhead, and shopkeepers rolled open shutters with yawns. To most, it was an ordinary morning.
To Menma Uzumaki, it was another step toward a choice he couldn't ignore.
He stood at the pier's edge, a dark cloak drawn around his frame, hair falling over eyes that were anything but ordinary. His left eye shimmered scarlet, a whirl of tomoe circling lazily like fire. His right glowed faint violet, marked by concentric rings. These weren't relics of bloodlines or forbidden arts—they were Eye Magic, a discipline feared and misunderstood even among Fiore's strongest.
The scarlet eye was called Sharingan, a magic that sharpened perception beyond human limits, seeing the ebb and flow of magic power as if the world itself breathed. The violet eye was Rinnegan, rarest of all, bound to space itself. And when the tomoe in his Sharingan evolved into his Eternal Mangekyō, he commanded Kamui, a warping ability that could bend reality for an instant.
Menma didn't flaunt these gifts. He had learned young that people feared what they didn't understand. So he wandered, keeping to the shadows, helping when he could, never staying long enough to plant roots.
Until he met her.
Mirajane Strauss.
The memory stirred warmth against the cold breeze. Months ago, in a border village scorched by monsters, he had crossed paths with the white-haired girl. While others fled, she fought, her Take-Over magic radiating raw strength. When a stray beast lunged from the smoke, Menma had summoned the Mask of the Beast, one of his nine bound guardians. A towering jackal-headed warrior of shadow and flame had struck the creature down, and in the aftermath, Mirajane's soft smile had found him.
Since then, their paths had crossed twice more. Enough to linger in his mind. Enough to make Magnolia—and the guild she called family—feel like the place he was meant to go.
"Fairy Tail," Menma muttered, scanning the horizon. "Let's see what kind of home you really are."
Magnolia greeted him with bustle and noise, but Menma barely noticed. His senses drank in the air—magic everywhere, pulsing like a heartbeat. His cloak and hood kept him inconspicuous, though the weight of his Devil Slayer aura still drew glances.
Then he stood before it. Fairy Tail's guildhall. Loud voices spilled through the doors, laughter mixing with crashing wood. Menma smirked faintly. "Peaceful isn't the word I'd use."
The doors opened before he could push them, and a familiar voice brightened the morning.
"Menma?"
Mirajane stood there, tray balanced easily in her hands, silver hair shining in the sun. Her blue eyes widened, then softened into a smile.
"Yo," Menma said, his voice low but warmer than usual.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Checking out the guild you kept talking about." His gaze flicked past her shoulder, at the chaos inside. "Looks noisy."
Mirajane laughed, and the sound tugged something deep inside him. "That's Fairy Tail for you. Come in before someone thinks you're a spy."
Inside, the guild quieted almost immediately. Dozens of eyes turned to him, measuring, wary. His magic was impossible to ignore—devilish, alien, laced with space.
"Who's the new guy, Mira?" asked a blond boy crackling faintly with lightning. Laxus, if Menma remembered right.
"His name's Menma Uzumaki," Mirajane said lightly. "He's… a friend."
The word friend was simple, but it carried weight. Menma didn't deny it.
From the balcony above, a booming laugh shook the silence. "A new face, eh?"
An old man with short stature but overwhelming presence leapt down, landing before Menma. Makarov, the Master. His eyes crinkled with warmth, but his gaze pierced sharper than steel.
"You've got unusual magic flowing in you, boy," Makarov said. "What is it?"
Menma's cloak shifted as he stood tall. "Space Devil Slayer Magic. Nine Mask Summons. And…" His scarlet eye gleamed as tomoe spun into three. "Eye Magic."
Whispers filled the hall. Eye Magic was rare—rumored to bend perception, copy spells, even tear open reality itself.
Makarov's brows lifted. "Dangerous tools, depending on the hand that wields them."
Menma reached to his side, pulling free one of his carved masks. He pressed it against his palm, and shadows burst forth, forming a massive armored figure with a beastly visage. Its eyes glowed crimson before it faded like mist.
"The masks are bound to me," Menma said calmly. "I use them to protect. Nothing more."
Mirajane nodded quickly. "Master, he's saved people. He's saved me. His power isn't something to fear."
Makarov stroked his beard. "If Mirajane vouches for you, that's worth more than any proof. Still…" He peered into Menma's mismatched eyes. "That right one of yours… the Rinnegan, was it? I feel space magic ripple around it."
Menma inclined his head. "It lets me perceive dimensions differently. As for my left…" His eye shifted, tomoe morphing into an intricate starburst pattern. Gasps rippled through the hall. "Eternal Mangekyō. Its gift is Kamui—warping space at will. But it costs me dearly if I misuse it."
The tension thickened, then broke under Makarov's hearty laugh. "Hoho! Then I say, welcome! If your heart is true, Fairy Tail can be your family."
The guild cheered, suspicion fading into acceptance. Menma let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"See?" Mirajane whispered, brushing his arm. "Told you it wouldn't be bad."
A rare smile tugged at Menma's lips. "Maybe."
Night fell, and the guild quieted. Menma sat by a window, cider untouched, watching stars blink into life.
Mirajane slipped into the seat across from him, setting down another mug. "You didn't tell me you were thinking about joining."
"Didn't decide until this morning," he admitted. "Been running too long. Figured it's time to stop."
"Running from what?"
His violet eye dimmed, almost sorrowful. "The weight of what I've seen. Of what my magic can do."
Mirajane didn't press. She simply reached out, laying her hand gently over his. "Then maybe Fairy Tail can be where you stop running."
The words struck deeper than she could know. For once, Menma didn't feel like an outcast, or a wanderer. He felt… seen.
The peace shattered with a roar. The guild shook, glasses rattling, and a surge of suffocating magic flared outside. Menma was on his feet instantly, cloak billowing, Sharingan spinning as it tracked the source.
"Trouble," he muttered.
Mirajane was at his side, fire in her eyes. "Then let's end it."
Outside, a band of rogue mages filled the street, their leader's aura dark and warped. Shadows writhed around him—mocking echoes of Devil Slayer magic.
"Fairy Tail!" the leader bellowed. "Hand over the boy with the cursed eyes, or this town burns!"
The guild bristled, but Menma stepped forward, his mismatched eyes glowing.
"You want me?" His voice was ice. "Try."
The man hurled a torrent of black flame. Menma's hand flashed through a seal as he pulled free the Mask of the Serpent. A colossal spectral snake coiled protectively, swallowing the flames into nothingness.
Gasps erupted behind him.
Then his eye twisted into its starburst form. "Kamui."
Space warped, the rogue's spell bending midair and vanishing into a spiraling void. In the same heartbeat, Menma blurred forward, his palm swirling with crackling energy.
"Rasengan."
The sphere smashed into the rogue's chest, detonating in a shockwave that knocked the leader unconscious and sent his followers fleeing.
Silence. Then Fairy Tail erupted in cheers.
Menma stood in the street, cloak whipping in the breeze, eyes fading back to calm. Mirajane joined him, her smile bright and proud.
"Not bad for your first day," she teased.
Menma exhaled, the faintest grin on his lips. "Guess I'll fit in after all."
But deep inside, he knew this was only the start. His Eye Magic, his masks, his power—they carried secrets that would one day test everything he cared about.
For tonight, though… Fairy Tail was home.
Word Count: ~1,740