The corridor outside Phantom Lord's library stretched long and unnervingly narrow, built less like a normal hallway and more like a controlled passage separating the guild's chaos from the silence of its archives.
The walls were made from massive blocks of dark stone, rough and uneven, nearly black beneath the dim lighting.
Years of age and neglect had carved shallow cracks into the surface, while scattered gouges and scratches hinted at old fights and careless destruction.
Exposed pipes and conduits crawled across the walls and ceiling in tangled, industrial patterns, vanishing into reinforced panels overhead.
The lighting was poor by design. Only a few dim lamps hung from blackened chains overhead, deliberately spaced far apart. Their pale glow barely reached the floor, leaving much of the corridor drowned in shadow. Every so often, one of the lamps flickered. And when it did, the shadows shifted across the damp stone.
The floor was made of dark stone tiles reinforced with iron plating near the library entrance. Time had worn parts of the stone smooth beneath countless footsteps, while the metal sections were scarred with dents and old scorch marks left behind by reckless mages.
Several support beams had been torn from the walls. They hung crookedly from broken mountings, while detached pieces lay scattered across the flooded floor in twisted heaps of iron. Above them, exposed conduits sparked faintly, casting brief flashes of blue light through the darkness.
Water covered the floor entirely—high enough to reach the knees of a child.
Amid the wreckage lay a boy beside a shattered section of wall. One of his arms bled steadily, wrapped roughly with strips of torn cloth. His hair was long, thick, and sharply spiked, reaching down to his upper back. Most of it was slicked backward, though loose strands hung beside his face.
His eyes were an unnatural crimson with slit pupils. Three metal studs rested above each eye like artificial brows, two lined either side of his nose, and a pair sat beneath his lower lip. Dark flame-like markings curled upward from his forearms.
Floating effortlessly in front of him was a girl.
She had a slender frame, with midnight-blue hair tied into high pigtails by pale blue ribbons. Soft bangs framed her face, and her eyes were a vivid azure blue—large, calm, and strangely distant.
Combined with her pale complexion, she resembled a porcelain doll.
Her clothing was casual and slightly oversized: a deep navy varsity jacket with silver-white sleeves, dark gray shorts resting just above her knees, and chunky navy sneakers. Clutched tightly in her arms was a plush seal colored soft gray, white, and blue.
"The master has spoken about you," Juvia Greywater said with hollow calm. "He holds your strength in high regard."
"You mean José?" Gajeel Lionheart scoffed. "He only cares about power. That's why this place turned out so damn rotten."
"…He mentioned something else," Juvia continued. "He said you're searching for a dragon made of iron."
"Metalicana." Gajeel's expression hardened. "Yeah. I'm looking for him. He's my old man." He leaned his head back against the stone. "What do you know about him?"
"Nothing," Juvia said flatly. "I don't even think dragons are real."
Gajeel raised an eyebrow. "Then why bring it up?"
"Because there's something I'm looking for, too," Juvia said, her blue eyes fixing on him. "I thought we might be able to help each other."
Gajeel let out a short, rough laugh. "Heh. So that's your game." He grunted, adjusting his posture against the wall. "You acted like you didn't wanna fight, but you just wanted to flex your magic so I'd listen."
He shrugged. "Fine by me. You're pretty tough, kid."
"Thank you," Juvia replied quietly. Then her voice leveled out. "Have you ever heard of the Ebonveil Clan?"
'Ebonveil…?' Gajeel thought. A memory flashed in his head. «My name is Albion Ebonveil.»
'Right. The brat.'
"Never heard of 'em," Gajeel lied plainly. "Why? Who are they?"
"They're an ancient clan," Juvia explained calmly. "They rule a hidden village somewhere in this country. They train shinobi."
"Shinobi?" Gajeel grunted. "You mean like soldiers?"
"No," Juvia said. "They aren't soldiers. They don't protect people. They're weapons." Her voice dipped slightly. "They only care about results. Assassinations. Espionage. Sabotage."
"So they're a bunch of dirty killers," Gajeel summarized bluntly. "Sounds like criminals to me."
"Essentially, yes."
"Wait a second." Gajeel rubbed his chin. "Aren't those just ninjas?"
Juvia stared at him for a quiet moment. "That's a very childish way to put it. But yes. They are ninjas."
"Then who cares?" Gajeel spat to the side. "I'm not scared of some damn ninjas."
He understood what murder was, but he didn't care for the concept. He fought because he liked the hit, the sound of iron breaking, and the challenge of surviving. Cold-blooded slaughter held zero appeal for him.
Juvia raised her hand. The water covering the floor surged upward, swirling into a tight, suspended ring before hardening into a detailed emblem. Three solid circles rested inside a triangular layout, bound together by an outer ring with three sharp inward curves.
"This is the Ebonveil crest," Juvia said.
Gajeel stared at the floating mark. "Wait a minute..."
Juvia pointed to the left side of her neck, where a deep indigo guild mark rested against her pale skin.
"Just like every guild member carries a mark," she said, "the Ebonveil Clan brands their own."
Gajeel reached up, touching his own shoulder where the dark metallic insignia of Phantom Lord was stamped into his skin.
"That doesn't make any sense," Gajeel said, his eyebrows pulling together. "If they've got official marks like that, it means they're set up like a guild. But criminals can't just register a guild. The law doesn't work like that."
"I don't know how they got it," Juvia admitted softly. "I just know it exists."
The water emblem collapsed back into the floor with a splash.
"I wonder if the Council knows about this mess..." Gajeel muttered.
Juvia blinked. "The Council?"
Gajeel smirked, a sharp, mocking grin spreading across his face. "Heh. Don't tell me you don't know who the Magic Council is? Read a book, idiot."
"Just explain it," Juvia said, her expression flat.
"They're the top dogs," Gajeel said, crossing his arms. "Bunch of old geezers and high-ranking mages who make the rules. They keep guilds from tearing up towns, and if someone goes rogue, they send enforcement to drag 'em in. You mess up bad enough, and the Council wipes you out."
"I see," Juvia nodded slowly. "I didn't know that."
"Your master never told you?"
"I don't have a master," Juvia replied smoothly. "My magic just awakened naturally."
She lifted her palm, and tiny beads of moisture detached from the dark air, gathering around her fingers in spinning spheres.
"My water doesn't come from nothing. I collect the moisture in the air and control it." The droplets fell back down into the flooded corridor.
Gajeel's grin faded instantly. The mention of masters and inherited magic brought up memories he hated—words from an old voice he'd rather forget.
His mood turned sharp. "Alright. I answered your questions," Gajeel said, his tone dropping several degrees. "Now it's my turn."
Juvia nodded. "Go ahead."
"First off," Gajeel said, leaning forward. "How do you know so much about these ninja guys? You talked like nobody's supposed to know about them, but you know their whole damn history."
Juvia looked away briefly. "...I can't tell you."
"What the hell do you mean you can't?"
She looked back at him, her azure eyes completely steady. "I mean I won't."
Gajeel clicked his tongue aggressively. "Tch. Fine. Next question." He pointed a finger at her. "How'd your magic awaken? Give me the full story."
"I won't tell you that either," Juvia said softly. "That's personal. We just met."
"Are you kidding me?" Gajeel's voice rose. "I just gave you a whole lesson on the Council, and you shut your mouth the second I ask something?"
"I'm sorry," Juvia said, bowing her head slightly. "I'm not going to answer."
Gajeel let out an irritated breath, grinding his back against the rough stone wall. "Damn it. Fine."
He went quiet for a second. Albion's face flashed in his mind.
"If someone in this guild had that last name... Ebonveil," Gajeel said, his red eyes narrowing into slits, "what would you do to 'em?"
Silence stretched between them. The water around Juvia's feet stopped rippling.
"That's strange," Juvia said quietly. Her tone had completely lost its soft edge. It was cold, focused, and heavy. "I never said anyone in Phantom Lord had that name."
She slowly floated backward across the water, putting distance between them.
"What?" Gajeel frowned. "You just asked me—"
"I asked if you had ever heard of the clan," Juvia interrupted. "I didn't say one of them was here."
Her azure eyes narrowed locked straight onto his face. "You lied to me."
'Damn it', Gajeel thought. 'Messed that up.'
Juvia raised her hand. The water on the floor trembled, and several heavy droplets rose around her fingers, compressing under intense magic pressure until they hummed like tiny blades.
"Tell me the truth, Gajeel," she said softly.
The air in the corridor turned freezing cold. The quiet girl with the plush seal was gone; in her place stood a mage radiating pure, controlled animosity.
"Do you know someone named Ebonveil... or are you going to keep lying to me?"