With a final, decisive leap, Ankh propelled himself from the depths of the shattered earth, landing gracefully on the rim of the colossal crater he had created.
The dust settled around him, revealing Erza and the others who had gathered nearby, their expressions was a mix of relief and awe.
A collective sigh escaped them as they confirmed Ankh was completely unscathed.
It wasn't a lack of faith in his formidable strength, but rather the inherent, unsettling uncertainty that accompanied any encounter with a demon.
Such ancient evils always carried an aura of unpredictable danger.
Their celebratory chatter had just begun to bubble up when a familiar, if somewhat battered, figure stumbled into view from the direction of the forest.
Natsu, covered in soot and small scratches but wearing a triumphant grin, waved enthusiastically.
Spotting him, Ankh crossed his arms with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Hey Natsu. Not bad efficiency for a change."
Though he looked weary, Natsu puffed out his chest, planting his hands on his hips.
"Of course! That gloomy windbag talked a big game, but he was nothing special. I handled him quick!"
Happy, floating beside him, immediately put a paw to his mouth in mock thought.
"Aye, sir! 'Handled him' after getting blown around for an hour! Natsu couldn't land a single punch at first! His flames kept getting cut off!"
Natsu's face flushed a brilliant scarlet.
"That's—! I figured it out, didn't I?! It was a... a tactical adjustment! You have to find the right angle against wind!" he sputtered, launching into a heated, nonsensical argument with the exceed.
Listening to their familiar, childish bickering, a knowing smile touched Ankh's lips.
The outcome of Natsu's battle with Erigor had, in a way, been preordained by the very premise of their clash.
In the general logic of this world's magical combat, when mages of roughly equal skill met, wind held a natural advantage over fire.
It could disperse, deflect, and suffocate flames.
Yet, Natsu, the fire user, had emerged victorious.
Setting aside his characteristic tenacity and those inexplicable bursts of "protagonist" resolve, the core reason likely resided in the very nature of his magic.
Natsu's flames weren't ordinary fire magic; they were the legacy of an ancient Dragon.
This granted his power an extraordinary depth, adaptability, and a raw, primal quality that far surpassed Erigor's more conventional, if skilled, wind magic.
This train of thought led Ankh to a broader speculation, one he had mulled over for years.
Beyond physical prowess, tactical ingenuity, and environmental factors, another critical element decided battles between Mages: the very quality of their Magic Power.
From his own unique experiences and observations, Ankh suspected that the rarer and more potent the type of magic—such as the Dragon Slayer magic, the transformative Take Over magic, or the forbidden Lost Magics—the higher and purer the quality of Magic Power it generated from the user's source.
This quality wasn't about volume, but about density, potency, and affinity with fundamental forces.
It defined a Mage's ceiling, their ultimate potential.
Of course, this was purely Ankh's personal theory, pieced together from observation and battle.
He was no stuffy academic buried in the Royal Library's restricted section, after all.
The truth of the magical world was likely more complex, but the framework felt intuitively right to him.
...
Their post-battle reflections were interrupted by the belated arrival of the Magic Council's troops.
The officials' expressions soured immediately upon recognizing the Fairy Tail emblems.
However, before their first accusatory word could be formed, Ankh had already materialized silently among them.
A single, cool, warning glance from the young Wizard Saint was all it took.
Recognition dawned, followed by palpable fear.
The name "Ankh" on the list of the Wizard Saints was a particular nightmare for mid-level bureaucrats.
Older Saints could be negotiated with, pressured through connections, responsibilities, or sentiment.
But the young ones, especially the famously unpredictable and powerful youngest of them all?
They were recklessly principled, notoriously short-tempered with authority, and feared no consequence.
Confronting Ankh over procedural nitpicking was a sure way to end up embarrassed, injured, or both.
The Council members quickly deflated, scrambling over themselves to mutter apologies and begin the battlefield cleanup, avoiding eye contact.
With a dismissive wave, Ankh sent the chattering officials on their way, and with Erza's efficient oversight, the first mission of their "strongest team" was officially concluded.
Objectively, the mission's difficulty hadn't been extreme.
Ankh's primary objective had always been simpler: to share an extended task with Erza.
As for the legendary Lullaby, its power had ultimately fallen short of his expectations.
The potential of its curse-based, life-draining magic paled in comparison to the profound and direct authority of his own "Terror" magic.
The journey, in that respect, felt somewhat anticlimactic—a case of high hopes met with mediocre returns.
Yet, it wasn't a loss.
While Ankh felt a tinge of personal disappointment, the other team members clearly viewed it as a thrilling success.
....
Back in Magnolia, life at the Fairy Tail guild hall quickly settled into its familiar, cheerful rhythm.
With a rare stretch of free time, Ankh found himself adrift between training sessions and the guild's chaotic daily life.
This often translated into being dragged on shopping trips by Mirajane—a task more perilous than any demon hunt, in his opinion.
A few days after their return, Ankh was the picture of leisurely contentment, reclining on a plush chair in a quiet corner of the guild.
A small table within arm's reach held an assortment of fresh fruits and a cool drink.
The most enviable detail, however, was Mirajane herself.
The guild's idol, the "Perfect Goddess" from the covers of magazines, stood behind him, her delicate yet surprisingly strong hands expertly working the tension from his shoulders.
Ankh sighed in pure comfort but couldn't stifle his curiosity.
"Mira... you've been so... consistently gentle lately. What's the occasion?"
Mirajane leaned forward slightly, her silvery hair brushing his cheek.
She blinked and smiled a smile, a smile that could melt stone.
"What's wrong? Do you... not like it?" Her voice was like a soft, melodic murmur.
Even knowing this was part of her transformed personality, that tone sent a warm, pleasant shiver down his spine.
Ankh's own voice softened in response. "I do like it... really, I do."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But... I like every version of you. The fierce one, the gentle one. There's no need to be someone you're not... just for me."
He felt her hands hesitate for a fraction of a second before resuming their rhythm, perhaps a touch lighter.
"I like every version of you, too," she whispered, her voice even sweeter, carrying a faint, shy lilt that was entirely new.
Ankh, who had been on the verge of dozing off, suddenly felt wide awake.
But Mirajane smoothly changed the subject before he could process it.
"But I feel perfectly fine like this. It's not that I don't like this me." Her tone was calm and assured once more, leaving Ankh utterly bewildered.
'Was I reading too much into it? Could her personality shift really have no deeper connection to our... whatever this is?' he wondered, mentally scratching his head.
'A woman's heart is a deeper mystery than any God Slayer incantation.'
He glanced wistfully across the guild hall.
'Look at Seram—straightforward, says what it means. So much easier to deal with.'
Seram: [?′??]
Not far away, Gray and Cana sat slumped at a table, nursing their drinks as they observed the scene enveloped in what they swore were visible pink sparkles.
Gray grumbled into his mug, "When did that happen? Since when are they like... that?"
Cana, the guild's self-appointed romance analyst, shook her head with worldly wisdom.
"The best stage between a man and a woman isn't when they're officially together. It's that agonizing, delicious period where they understand each other's unspoken words, dancing around it." She took a long swig.
"Clearly, these two have been doing that dance for so long they're wearing a groove in the floor. Don't worry, the walls are gonna come down soon."
She finished her philosophical pronouncement and turned away, only to snap her head back a second later, her face darkening.
In that brief moment, Gray had managed to do what Gray always did.
"YOU STRIPPER!" Cana roared. "Where are your clothes?! We were having a conversation here!"
Gray looked down, genuinely surprised to find himself shirtless once more.
"Huh? Oh. Must be the heat."
The ordinary, happy chaos of Fairy Tail continued unabated.
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