The guild hall quieted a piece at a time—mugs set down, chairs scraping to a stop, lantern light pooling warm across the floorboards. Makarov stood near the front with his hands on his staff, eyes kind. Erza took one step back to give space, Gray folded his arms, and even Natsu went still—flames dying to embers at his fist. Lucy and Levy shared a glance that said we're here. Happy hovered low; Carla perched by Wendy's shoulder, watchful.
Ryuji pushed himself to his feet. He wasn't steady at first; the boards felt louder under his boots than they should. He swallowed, glanced once at the door, then back to the circle of faces waiting—not pressing, just... waiting.
"I... want to say this first: thank you," he said, voice rougher than usual. "For carrying me in. For not asking before I was ready. For... staying."
He drew a breath that shook. "I'm... a little scared." His gaze dropped to his hands. "But if you want—I can tell you about my past."
Wendy stepped forward without a word. She gave him the soft, certain smile that never rushed him, slid her hand into his, and squeezed. The tightness in his shoulders eased a fraction.
Ryuji nodded, lifted his chin, and began.
"My name is Ryuji Kazuma. I wasn't born with that surname. I carry it because of a promise.
Before the day the dragons vanished—7/7/X777—Kazuma, the Winter Dragon, raised me. We vowed: he would be my father, and I would be his son. He told me a name is something you protect with your life, so I took Kazuma as mine.
On that day... he was simply gone. No warning. No farewell. One heartbeat he was there; the next, only wind over snow. I was four. I waited on the ridge until the stars blurred and my fingers went numb. I told myself he'd land just out of sight, that if I stayed, he'd find me. I waited through sunrise—a whole day of listening for wings that didn't come.
By the next morning, I was too scared to wait. I climbed down the mountain to look for him.
That's how I walked into a village the same hour Crimson Veil came.
They were a dark guild hunting children. I ran. It didn't matter. Rough hands, a sack, the taste of dust—I woke in a cage. There were three other kids—Sakura, Alu, Xenon—and an Exceed with bright, clever eyes named Glen. We didn't know each other, but fear makes introductions fast.
Crimson Veil called it 'research.' It was extraction. They drew our ether-nano into lacrima and sigils—stones that throbbed like trapped heartbeats, circles that burned cold into skin. Some kids lasted days. Most didn't. We counted time by who was still breathing when morning came.
We kept each other human. Glen told awful jokes until we laughed anyway. Sakura was the bravest—heart first. Alu was stone-strong and loud enough to drown out fear. Xenon watched everything and mapped patterns; he said patterns turn locks when you don't have keys. I tried to believe that if I kept believing, we'd get out.
One night a man pressed to the bars and whispered Sorin—Magic Council, undercover. We didn't trust him. Xenon listened anyway. Sorin said the guild master would leave on business four days from then. If Sorin opened the cages, he could lead the youngest out while we pulled pursuit. We didn't have choices; we had timing.
On the fourth night a lever clanked and locks released. Doors flew open. The hideout erupted—alarms, spells, shouting. Sorin waved the little ones down a service corridor. Sakura, Alu, Xenon, Glen, and I ran the other way, toward the noise, because we needed the noise to follow us.
We didn't know the worst truth until it was too late: the guild master didn't care about the others. He wanted me. He'd sensed my reserves; Dragon Slayers carry more ether-nano than most. He sent his elites.
Alu went first—on purpose—charging a wall of them with a roar I still feel in my ribs. "Move!" he shouted. We moved. Shadow detonated. He didn't get back up.
Xenon flung a barrier across a narrow bridge, stitching it out of every glyph he had left. We sprinted onto the span. The barrier screamed, spider-webbed, and shattered. We hit the midpoint as shapes poured onto the far end—more lackeys, blades grinning. Behind us: elites closing.
No way forward. No way back.
Sakura grabbed my wrist. Her fingers were hot and unafraid. She met my eyes and said one word—"Live."—and pushed me off the bridge.
Air punched the breath from me. Cold snapped. The world spun.
Glen dove after me. A spell clipped his wing. He kept going—hooked his claws into my shoulders and beat the air with everything he had left. We crashed through pine and powder, tumbled hard. I held him and begged him not to go.
He smiled—he always smiled when I needed him to. "Run forward, kid," he told me. "Live—and choose your family."
Then he was quiet.
I buried him before dawn with my hands because there was no shovel. I stacked stones. I said his name so the world would have to hear it.
At morning a small village found me in the road. They took me in—soup, bread, a bed. Someone put a blanket over me while I slept. It felt wrong to only take, so I learned to stir broth without scorching it, to slice onions without crying every time. I learned a lullaby on a borrowed instrument and played it until the notes were softer than my hands. For a little while, I thought: maybe this is the place we whispered about when the lamps went out.
Crimson Veil's hunters came.
The villagers told me to run. Some stood in the street with hoes and old staves like that would be enough. The last thing I saw before the smoke was a woman pushing me out the back door and saying, "Go." I went. When I looked back from the trees, there wasn't anything to look back at.
After that, I stopped believing in staying.
For four years, I moved every couple of weeks. I played markets and taverns for coin. I slept in lofts, on roofs, in stables—never twice in the same place. I never gave a real name. If a room felt wrong, I didn't finish the song. If a man watched my hands too closely, I left before the last chord.
I learned where to stand in a crowd to disappear. Which towns close their gates at dusk. Which rivers carry lanterns for the dead. Winter by the bite it left in my fingers; summer by dust glowing in late light. I learned to fight only enough to keep breathing and never enough to be remembered.
Then... Magnolia.
I didn't come to stay. Roads cross here, and happiness fills a pocket fast when you play well. But that first night I heard something I didn't know how to hold: a guild hall laughing like a family. Arguments that end in hugs. Promises said like statements, not wishes. I told myself I'd keep my head down.
Then Wendy listened to a song and didn't look away.
That's the shape of it. The vow I carry. The people I lost. The way I kept moving because stopping felt like a trap and staying felt like painting a target on whoever was kind.
You asked who I am and why shadows follow me. This is the only answer I have:
I am Ryuji Kazuma because a dragon taught me family isn't just blood—it's the name you protect and the people you choose. I ran because running felt like the only way to keep others safe. And I'm standing here now because, somewhere between your laughter and her hand... I realized I don't want to run anymore.
That's my story."
Wattpad footer:
Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima/Kodansha. I only own Ryuji Kazuma and this fan story. Non-commercial fan work.