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The morning sun hitting the guest room window was way too bright.
Erza sat up straight in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs as she instantly reached her right hand up to her face. Her fingers didn't hit thick medical cotton or dried blood. They just slid against smooth, normal skin.
She bolted out from under the covers and sprinted straight to the small washroom mirror on the wall. She stared at her own reflection, her left eye wide, while her right eye blinked back at her perfectly. The iris was a dark, natural brown, completely matching the other side. There wasn't a single scar left around the eyelid. The empty, agonizing socket that had kept her screaming in her sleep for weeks was just gone.
"It wasn't a dream," Erza whispered, her voice cracking as she stared at her own face. "He actually did it."
She stood there for a few minutes, just closing her left eye and looking around the small room with only her right, checking the corners of the ceiling and the wood grain on the door. It was perfect.
But the quiet didn't last. The second she heard a distant wooden thud from downstairs, the familiar knot of panic tightened in her stomach. She scrambled back into the bedroom, dragging the heavy, rusted metal chest-plate she'd found on the beach over her shoulders. The iron was cold, scratched up, and smelled like sea salt, but strapping it down was the only thing that stopped her hands from shaking.
She picked up her dented short sword, tucked it under her arm, and cautiously pushed the door open to head downstairs.
The main tavern floor was mostly empty, smelling like stale ale and pine floorboards.
Master Makarov was sitting by himself at the center bar counter, staring blankly at a massive stack of official parchment papers. The old man looked like he hadn't slept a wink. He had a wet rag pressed against his bald head, groaning softly every time the morning birds chirped outside the window.
"I'm telling you, old man, you're going to get an ulcer if you keep reading those things," a lazy voice called out.
Erza stopped on the bottom step, her hand gripping the wooden railing.
Merlin was sitting backward on a wooden stool right next to the Master, his chin resting on the top of the chair's backrest. He wasn't wearing his fancy purple cape today, just his simple white magus robes, and he was casually chewing on a piece of toasted bread while kicking his boots back and forth.
"Shut up, Merlin," Makarov groaned, slamming a heavy gold-trimmed envelope onto the bar. "The Magic Council's enforcement division sent three courier birds before dawn! They want a full, written explanation about the massive magical energy spike that went off in my office last night! They think we're hiding an unregistered ancient relic!"
"Well, technically, we aren't hiding it. It's right here in my coat pocket," Merlin chuckled, pointing a crumb at the old man. "Just tell them it was a localized lightning strike. Or blame it on Phantom Lord. The Council loves blaming things on Jose."
"You used a legendary artifact to remake a kid's eye!" Makarov yelled, though he quickly winced and lowered his voice, clutching his temples. "You can't just write that off as bad weather! They have sensors, you idiot!"
Merlin just shrugged, taking another bite of his toast. Then his gold eyes drifted over to the staircase, spotting Erza standing there like a statue. His lazy smirk widened.
"Morning, tiny knight," Merlin waved his piece of bread at her. "Look at that. Both eyes firing on all cylinders. I told you it'd work."
Erza walked nervously toward the counter, keeping her eyes glued to the white-robed Saint. "Master Merlin... Master Makarov. Good morning."
"See? She has manners. You should take notes, old man," Merlin said, turning around on his stool. He looked down at her clunky, oversized boots and the rusted iron plate covering her chest. "But seriously, kid, why are you still wearing that pile of junk? You look like a walking scrap heap."
Erza defensively pulled her dented sword closer to her ribs, her jaw tightening. "It's... it's my armor. I need it."
Makarov's expression softened, and he pushed the stack of Council complaints away. "Leave her alone, Merlin. If the armor makes her feel safe, she can wear it. Are you hungry, Erza? I can have the kitchen grease up a plate for you."
Before Erza could even answer, the heavy front doors of the guildhall were kicked open with a loud slam that made Makarov's hangover violently spike.
"Makarov! I'm back!" a loud, bratty voice shouted.
A ten-year-old kid with messy dark hair and an angry scowl stormed into the tavern. He was wearing a dark open jacket, but his face was smudged with dirt, and he looked like he had just been picking a fight with a rock outside. It was Gray Fullbuster. He had only been with the guild for a couple of years, and he still carried a massive chip on his shoulder from the whole Deliora disaster.
Gray marched right up to the bar, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Erza standing there in her clunky, oversized metal plate.
"Uh... who the heck are you?" Gray barked, crossing his arms and staring at her with a heavy squint. "And why are you wearing a bunch of garbage inside the tavern?"
Erza's left eyebrow twitched. After months of dealing with cruel guards and cultists, her defensive instincts were completely hardwired. She didn't see a kid—she saw a threat. Her red hair seemed to flare up as she stepped forward, her left eye narrowing into a terrifying glare.
"What did you just say to me?" Erza hissed, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone as she tightened her grip on her short sword.
"I said your armor looks stupid!" Gray yelled back, stepping right into her face, completely unbothered by her scary look. "What, you think you're tough just because you're carrying a dented piece of metal? Come on, let's go!"
"Hey! Break it up, you brats!" Makarov yelled, slamming his hand on the counter, but his head throbbed so hard he immediately doubled over, groaning. "Ow... my brain..."
The two kids ignored him, practically pressing their foreheads together, ready to throw actual fists right there on the floorboards.
Thwack.
"Ow!" Gray yelled, instantly jumping back and clutching the back of his head.
Merlin was leaning back on his stool, casually holding the long wooden shaft of his staff. He had just tapped the kid's skull with the blunt end, a bored expression on his face.
"Keep it down, brat. The old man's head is about to explode," Merlin said, resting the staff back over his shoulder. He looked Gray up and down, then let out a loud, mocking snort. "And honestly, if you're going to try and act like a tough guy to the new girl, you should probably put some pants on first."
Gray blinked, confused. "What are you talking about? I'm wearing—"
He looked down. His dark trousers were completely gone. He was standing in the middle of the tavern floor in nothing but a pair of boxers and his unzipped jacket, with absolutely no idea where his clothes had actually gone.
"HUH?! Where did my pants go?!" Gray screamed, his tough-guy act completely evaporating into a total, red-faced panic as he started looking under the nearby tables.
Erza stared at him, her furious glare instantly turning into a look of absolute disgust. "Are you... completely insane? Why would you take your clothes off in a tavern?"
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Gray yelled, blushing furiously as he finally spotted his trousers draped over a random chair across the room. He scrambled over to grab them, grumbling under his breath about how much he hated this place.
The tension in the room completely broke, and Erza slowly lowered her sword, looking back up at Merlin. The guy was just grinning, completely amused by the whole stupid interaction.
"See? I told you this place was full of idiots," Merlin laughed, leaning his elbow on the bar counter. He looked down at the dented sword under her arm. "But he wasn't totally wrong, kid. Carrying all that extra weight around is just going to slow you down. If you want to be a real knight for this guild, you need to learn how to store your gear properly instead of dragging it through the mud."
Erza looked down at her rusted sword, then back up at him. "Store it? How?"
"It's called a spatial pocket," Merlin said, lifting his left hand and flicking his fingers. A tiny, brief ripple appeared in the air, right over his palm, before vanishing. "You don't need to carry the weight on your back all day. You just build a little room in the gaps between space, lock your armor inside it, and pull it out whenever someone starts acting stupid. It's basic Space-Time magic."
Erza's eyes widened slightly. She thought back to last night, remembering the incredible blue-and-gold sheath he had pulled out of nowhere to fix her eye. He wasn't just strong; he knew things that regular wizards couldn't even dream of.
"Can... can you teach me how to do that?" Erza asked, her voice dropping its defensive edge for the first time.
Merlin lazily picked up another piece of toast, flashing her a smug, casual smirk. "Maybe if you stop looking like a grumpy tin can, little warrior. We'll see."
Erza didn't smile, but she didn't glare either. She gripped her sword a little tighter, looking around the loud, weird tavern. For the first time in her life, she felt like she had found a wall she actually wanted to climb.
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[ If you want to read an extra chapter ahead, go check out the p@treon
Search for foresight_geek or https://[email protected]/c/foresight_geek,
you can buy a membership for the entire month just for -- 1 $ ]