Chapter 3: Echoes of Loss
The forest of Hakobe Mountains stretched endlessly, trees dripping with snowmelt. The air was sharp, each breath stinging the lungs.
Menma Uzumaki trudged through the underbrush, his black cloak brushing frost-covered ferns. His chains rattled faintly at his side, glowing with pale silver runes. Behind him, a massive beast made of ice and shadow lay bound, its furious roars muffled by links of magic.
Another job finished.
The request had been simple—eliminate a rogue elemental that terrorized a mountain village. But simple didn't mean easy. His body was sore, his reserves of Space Devil Slayer magic nearly drained, and the masks at his belt whispered impatiently for release. He ignored them.
"Too noisy," he muttered, tugging the chain binding the beast into a dimensional pocket, sealing it away. With a flick of his hand, the glow vanished. "You'll stay there."
By the time he descended from the mountains, dusk was painting the sky in orange and violet. Magnolia's lanterns flickered in the distance, warm and welcoming. The sight tugged something in him—something he wasn't used to. Home.
When he stepped into the Fairy Tail guildhall, chaos greeted him. Tables overturned, mugs clattering, laughter filling the air. Natsu was yelling about a fight, Gray was half-naked (again), and Cana was already drinking. It was alive, loud, reckless—everything he had grown to expect.
And yet… something felt missing.
Menma turned in his reward slip, collected his pay, and slipped into a corner seat, watching. Mirajane was behind the bar, smiling, pouring drinks, teasing Macao about losing a bet. Her laugh carried over the noise, warm as firelight. To everyone else, she was the heart of the guild, bright and unshakable.
But Menma's eyes—his eyes that saw through masks and shadows—caught something different. A shadow in her gaze. A heaviness in the way her smile lingered too long.
He frowned.
It wasn't until later that night, after most of the guild had staggered out, that he found out why.
He was helping Wakaba clean up when he overheard Macao sigh. "It's been a year already, huh?"
Wakaba nodded grimly. "A year since Lisanna… poor Strauss family. Can't believe Mira still keeps up that smile."
Menma froze, mug in hand.
Lisanna?
The name was unfamiliar, but the weight behind it wasn't. His Sharingan flickered unconsciously, memories of whispers he'd caught, moments of silence whenever Mirajane's family was mentioned. Pieces clicked together.
He glanced toward the bar. Mirajane was wiping down glasses, humming softly. Elfman had left hours ago. She looked so ordinary, so composed. But now Menma knew.
A sister. A death. A mask.
The thought followed him out of the guildhall, down Magnolia's empty streets. The night air was cool, the stars sharp above. But his mind was heavy. He'd seen too much of loss to mistake the signs.
By the time he reached the riverbank, he wasn't surprised to see her there.
Mirajane sat alone on the grass, knees drawn up, staring at the water. The moonlight painted her silver, hair glowing, eyes distant. She didn't notice him at first.
"You hide it well," Menma said quietly, stepping closer.
She stiffened, turning toward him. "Menma? What are you—"
"I heard," he interrupted gently. "About your sister."
Her lips parted, then closed. For a moment she looked like she'd snap at him, chase him away. But instead… she sighed. Her shoulders slumped, and for once, she didn't smile.
"It's been a year," she murmured, voice trembling. "Everyone thinks I've moved on. That I'm strong. But…" Her hands tightened in her lap. "I still see her every night. I still hear her laugh. And then I wake up and she's gone."
The mask was cracking.
Menma stood beside her, silent. Then, slowly, he sat down on the grass, cloak folding around him. The river lapped gently, carrying their reflections.
"You think you failed her," he said, not as a question but a truth.
Mirajane's breath caught. She turned away, tears glistening. "I was her big sister. I was supposed to protect her. Instead… I let her die."
The pain in her voice was sharp, raw. Menma felt it like his own. His parents' last stand flashed in his mind—the way he had been powerless as the space fiends tore them apart.
"I know what that feels like," he said. His voice was low, rough, but steady. "To wake up every day with the weight of it. To think you should've been stronger. Faster. Anything."
Mirajane looked at him, startled.
"I lost my family too," Menma continued. His hand rested on the ground, fingers digging into the earth. "And for a long time, I thought it was my fault. That if I'd just been more, they'd still be alive."
Silence. Only the river spoke, murmuring around stones.
"How did you…" Mirajane's voice cracked. "How do you live with it?"
Menma stared at the water, his reflection fractured by ripples. "You don't. You carry it. Some days it feels like it'll break you. But… you keep walking. Because if you stop, then the people you lost are really gone."
Mirajane's tears slipped freely now. She pressed her hands against her eyes, shoulders shaking. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."
Menma hesitated only a moment before placing his hand gently on hers, lowering them from her face. She looked at him through blurry eyes, and in his Sharingan she saw not pity, but understanding.
"You are," he said firmly. "You don't have to believe it right now. But I'll believe it for you."
Mirajane's lips trembled. Then, without warning, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Her tears soaked into his cloak.
Menma stiffened, heart thudding, then relaxed. His arms wrapped around her carefully, holding her steady as she cried into him.
"You don't have to smile if it hurts," he murmured.
For the first time in a year, Mirajane let herself stop pretending.
By the time she pulled away, the moon was high. Her eyes were red, her face streaked, but her smile—small, tired, fragile—was real.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Menma nodded. "Anytime."
And in that quiet moment by the river, an unspoken bond formed. Not just of grief, but of trust. Of two people who had seen too much loss, choosing to carry it together.
Word Count: ~1,760