The relative calm following the key retrieval mission lasted only a couple of days before
a new, dissonant note entered the familiar symphony of Fairy Tail's chaos. Endralian,
nursing a cup of juice in his preferred corner, felt an almost subconscious prickle of
awareness, a subtle shift in the guild hall's ambient energy. He looked up, his gaze
drawn towards the entrance, and saw him: a tall man, impeccably dressed in attire that
spoke more of boardrooms than guild brawls. Sharp features, dark hair meticulously
styled, and a smile that, while superficially charming, seemed etched onto his face
rather than originating from genuine warmth. The man's eyes, cool and calculating,
swept the hall with an air of detached assessment before landing on Luxia, who was
currently engaged in a loud, theatrical critique of a poorly rendered monster on a job
request flyer near the main board.
That face… Recognition jolted through Endralian, cold and unwelcome. Makarov's
son? Luxia's father? The man who would betray the guild, founding Raven Tail to
actively sabotage Fairy Tail. Seeing him here, now, radiating an aura of sophisticated
control amidst the guild's cheerful anarchy, felt profoundly wrong. This smiling figure
was a phantom of future conflict, a walking contradiction to the warmth Endralian was
just beginning to tentatively trust.
The man approached his daughter, the polished smile widening fractionally. "Luxia, my dear. Flourishing, I see."
Luxia turned, her usual imperious expression shifting into something more complex – a
flicker of ingrained respect mixed with a hint of guardedness. "Father. What brings you
here?"
"Merely visiting my talented daughter," the man chuckled, a smooth, practiced sound.
He produced a small, velvet-lined box with a flourish. "A small token to encourage your
progress." Inside lay a sleek pendant fashioned from a dark, obsidian-like crystal,
pulsing faintly with contained magical energy. "A minor focusing conduit. It should help
refine the precision of your lightning, channel it more effectively."
Luxia accepted the box, her initial suspicion warring with obvious pleasure as she
examined the expensive-looking trinket. "Hmph. It's… acceptable."
"Only acceptable?" her father arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his tone light as air
but carrying an edge Endralian felt keenly. "Perhaps your grandfather's rather… laissez-faire approach to training isn't truly challenging you? Fairy Tail fosters camaraderie, certainly, a valuable trait in its own right. But true, unyielding power demands rigorous discipline, unwavering focus… qualities sometimes overlooked in favor of… exuberant displays." The criticism, veiled as paternal concern, landed squarely on Makarov and the guild's core philosophy.
Luxia's chin lifted defensively. "Grandfather's training is fine. And I am the strongest mage my age in this guild!"
"Indisputably, my dear," her father conceded smoothly, placing a brief, proprietary hand
on her shoulder. "The inherited magic power ensures certain advantages." His gaze then drifted, seemingly casually, across the hall, snagging on Endralian with unnerving precision. The boy quickly averted his eyes, focusing intently on the condensation beading on his cup, but the calculated attention was palpable.
The man strolled over, his expensive shoes making barely a sound on the worn stone
floor. "And you must be the latest kid Father has collected," he observed, his voice a
low, pleasant murmur that nonetheless commanded attention. He stopped directly in
front of Endralian's table. "Endralian, I believe? Forgive my forwardness, I am Ivan Dreyar, Luxia's father." He extended a hand, the gesture smooth and practiced.
Endralian hesitated for only a fraction of a second before taking the offered hand.
Ivan's grip was firm, cool. So, he introduces himself. Ivan Dreyar. Now the name
matches the face, and the future treachery. "Yes, sir. Endralian." He kept his own
introduction brief, wary.
Ivan withdrew his hand, his smile remaining fixed. "Luxia mentioned you in her letter, saying you assisted her with a minor errand recently. Admirable, lending your strength to support the guild's veterans."
Endralian met Ivan's gaze, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm despite the internal alarm bells. The man's smile was a carefully constructed mask; his eyes were sharp, probing, dissecting. He's twisting it again. Making it sound like Luxia was the senior mage. Is he testing me? Or just subtly diminishing Macao? "Uh, yes, sir. Ivan-san. Macao-san was the lead on that mission."
"Ah, Macao. A sturdy pillar of the guild, certainly, if perhaps lacking a certain… visionary spark," Ivan murmured, dismissing the experienced mage with the faintest condescension. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping further, creating an illusion of intimacy. "I perceive a rather… unique magical resonance emanating from you, young man. Quite potent, wouldn't you agree? Though perhaps… untamed, one might even say. There's an unusual quality to it... spatial, perhaps? Dark, certainly. Father mentioned your arrival was quite… abrupt." He tilted his head, studying Endralian intently. "Fascinating."
He senses the nature of it, the chaos, maybe the spatial element from the teleport? How much did Makarov actually tell him? Just that I appeared suddenly with strange magic? He kept his expression carefully neutral, a mask of polite deference. "Master Makarov is instructing me, sir. Helping me gain control."
"As well he should," Ivan nodded, his expression conveying thoughtful agreement.
"Control is the foundation upon which true power is built. Raw potential without discipline is merely a tantrum, destructive and ultimately futile. Tell me," he continued, his gaze sweeping briefly around the bustling hall, "how are you finding your integration into this… lively environment? It must present certain challenges, I imagine. Especially for one with such… unconventional beginnings." Each question felt like a carefully aimed dart, probing for insecurities, for information.
"It's… different, sir," Endralian replied, choosing his words with care. "Everyone has
been… welcoming, in their own way."
"Excellent, excellent." Ivan straightened, the mask of geniality firmly back in place. "But
remember, internal mastery is as crucial as external acceptance. Perhaps even more so,
for those blessed – or cursed – with unique gifts, like yourself and my dear Luxia." He
paused, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin, as if struck by a sudden, benevolent impulse. "You know, there is a simple meditation technique I personally find invaluable for achieving inner clarity, for truly understanding the ebb and flow of one's magical reserves. It might prove beneficial in your efforts to comprehend the nature of that unusual energy you possess."
Endralian's internal alarms shrieked caution, yet a conflicting current of desperate curiosity surged within him. Ivan was dangerous, a future enemy, but the promise of understanding, of control over the volatile power fused to his soul, was an almost
irresistible lure. Ivan proceeded to outline the technique – a structured process involving rhythmic breathing, visualization, and a focused descent into one's own magical core, the conceptual 'container' of Ethernano.
"Center your awareness, feel the energy that resides within you, observe its currents without judgment or fear," Ivan instructed, his voice smooth as silk. "True understanding is the indispensable first step towards ultimate mastery. Consider it a small gift, from an
experienced mage to one embarking on a challenging path."
"Th-thank you, Ivan-san," Endralian managed, the words feeling thick and insincere in his mouth. "I… appreciate the guidance."
"Think nothing of it," Ivan waved a dismissive, elegant hand, the picture of magnanimity.
He exchanged a few more words with Luxia, offered a final, unreadable smile towards
Endralian, and then departed as smoothly and unsettlingly as he had arrived, leaving a
residue of unease in the air.
Later that evening, the encounter replaying in his mind, Endralian made his way towards
the comforting familiarity of his chosen sanctuary – the storeroom. Near the guild's main entrance, Makarov caught his eye.
"Endralian, lad," the Master began, his usual cheerfulness tempered with genuine concern. "I saw my son Ivan speaking with you earlier. Regardless of his… opinions…are you absolutely certain you wouldn't prefer proper lodgings? Fairy Hills has vacancies, or we could easily find you a small apartment rental. The guild funds can cover it. Storerooms aren't truly suitable for living, you know."
Endralian felt a pang of gratitude for the Master's kindness, a stark contrast to Ivan's
veiled manipulations. Yet, the thought of a normal room, exposed and conventional, felt
alien. The storeroom, with its predictable shadows, dusty silence, and faint scent of old
parchment and forgotten things, had become his anchor, his one truly private space in this overwhelming new reality. "Thank you, Master, really. I appreciate it more than I can say. But I'm alright here. It's… quiet. It feels… safe. Cozy, even, in its own way. I actually like it."
Makarov studied him for a moment, then sighed, a hint of resignation in his eyes.
"Alright, lad. If you're truly sure. But the offer remains open, always."
Alone at last, surrounded by the comforting clutter of his makeshift den, Endralian sat heavily on his cot, pushing aside sacks of what smelled vaguely like dried beans. Ivan's unsettling presence lingered in his thoughts, a discordant note against the backdrop of
Fairy Tail's chaotic warmth. The man was undoubtedly dangerous, a future architect of
pain and betrayal. Yet… the meditation technique he'd offered… it sounded plausible, structured. And Endralian was desperate. Desperate to understand the strange energy
thrumming within him, desperate to grasp the reason for the newfound smoothness he'd felt, desperate for any measure of control that might prevent him from accidentally teleporting into another embarrassing face-plant, or worse.
He closed his eyes, deliberately pushing away the image of Ivan's calculating smile. He
focused on his breath, drawing it in slowly, deeply, releasing it with measured control, mimicking the pattern Ivan had described. He attempted to turn his awareness inward, to bypass the surface noise of his anxieties and the constant, low-level hum of the void energy that felt like a second heartbeat.
It was harder than it sounded. His mind kept circling back to Ivan's words, dissecting nuances, searching for hidden traps. The void energy itself felt like a veil of static, obscuring deeper perception, resisting his attempts to probe beyond it. But he persisted, anchoring himself to the rhythm of his breath, visualizing a slow descent into his own core, seeking the fabled source of a mage's power, the container of Ethernano.
Slowly, painstakingly, minute by agonizing minute, the structured focus of the technique
began to yield results. His internal senses, usually overwhelmed by the void's chaotic
presence, started to sharpen, to penetrate the static. He pushed deeper, moving beyond
merely feeling the familiar, turbulent thrum of the void; he began to perceive its origin
point, the very wellspring from which this alien power radiated.
And then… he found it.
Nestled deep within the core of his being, occupying the conceptual space where a mage's Second Origin or primary magic container was theorized to reside, was… something else entirely. Not a shimmering pool of liquid Ethernano, not a swirling vortex
of innate magical energy, but a distinct, tangible, utterly solid presence. It felt smooth,perfectly ovoid, roughly the size of his own head if he were to cup it in his hands, and it resonated with an immense, ancient, profoundly alien power that dwarfed his own fledgling consciousness. It pulsed with the familiar dark, faintly violet energy of the void, a slow, steady, rhythmic beat like some colossal, slumbering heart. It felt utterly foreign, an impossible intrusion into his very essence, yet simultaneously, terrifyingly, undeniably, intrinsically part of his soul, fused into the very fabric of his existence in this world.
His mind reeled, struggling to process the internal visualization, the overwhelming sensation of this object residing within him. Ovoid. Smooth-surfaced yet radiating immense, draconic, void-aspected power… The Ender Dragon Egg.
It wasn't just the crude egg from the game, it changed completely. It wasn't merely a symbolic trophy from a world that felt increasingly distant. It was here. Inside him. Fused to the core of his being. Acting as the source, the container, the very engine of the strange magic that defined him in this reality.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow, stealing the breath from his
lungs. Makarov said his power is a lost magic maybe, he also though he got a strange magic from the game and he treated it like that, but now? He knew the lore – this situation look a lot like The Second Generation Dragon Slayers, mages implanted with Dragon Lacrima, crystalized spheres of dragon magic, to gain their power. And here he was, Endralian, with a tangible, egg-shaped thing lodged in his soul, radiating his specific, bizarre brand of draconic power.
Where my magic container should be the egg is acting… like a Lacrima?! The thought was so absurd, so cosmically ludicrous, that a hysterical giggle threatened to escape his lips, choked off by sheer disbelief. But it's an egg! A literal, interdimensional dragon egg! Am I now a Second Generation Slayer because I have a freaking egg acting as my power source?! What the actual—?! The implications crashed over him, wave after wave of existential vertigo. Am I some kind of… counterfeit Dragon Slayer? An Ender Dragon Slayer? This is insane! Utterly, completely, certifiably insane!
He gasped, eyes snapping open, the fragile internal connection shattering instantly. He
scrambled backward on the cot, pressing a trembling hand flat against his chest, feeling
the frantic thud of his own human heart overlaying the phantom, silent pulse of the
ancient, alien object fused irrevocably within. He was reeling, profoundly shaken, his entire understanding of himself, his magic, and his very place in this impossible world tilting wildly, terrifyingly off its axis. The seemingly helpful, perhaps even wellintentioned, meditation technique offered by the charming, dangerous, future traitor Ivan Dreyar had inadvertently ripped back the curtain on a deeply unsettling, fundamentally bizarre truth about his own nature – a truth he had no idea how to even begin processing.