"Click." The library door shut softly behind me, with Makarov leaving. Only then did I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Talk about intense scrutiny from a man barely taller than the average stack of encyclopedias. Honestly, it was kinda cute, like a grumpy badger trying to figure out if a new rock in its den was actually a sleeping bear.
Thankfully, my Oscar-worthy performance of 'Deeply Focused Scholar' seemed to leave him no choice. He just gave a little grunt, mumbled something about "letting the young ones study", and shuffled off. Bless his tiny, suspicious heart.
Alone again. Finally. Peace. Quiet. And approximately a bazillion books written in what looked like the frantic scribbles of a caffeinated squid dipped in ink. Seriously though, not a single recognizable symbol.
For your average Joe or Jane, this would be the ultimate dead end. Probably frustrated tears and maybe hurling a book or two.
But thankfully, I'm a semi-goddess and it has perks. One of them is languages. All the languages.
Seriously, if a particularly eloquent pigeon started cooing outside the window, I could probably hold a decent conversation about the merits of stale bread versus fresh crumbs.
Understanding the meaning buried beneath the weird just takes… effort. It's like tuning an old radio – lots of static, then bam, crystal-clear reception.
So, I was not panicked. Just… mildly annoyed. Standing up, I stretched. Right. Time for a different tactic. Pictures. Diagrams. Anything with visuals.
Fortunately, this library was a goldmine. Shelves groaned under the weight of illustrated bestiaries, anatomical charts that would make a surgeon blush, star maps that looked like drunken spiders had spun them, and scrolls bursting with intricate spell circles. Jackpot.
A slow smile spread across my face, hidden by the blindfold but warming me nonetheless.
"Looks like I'm going to be very busy in the coming days," I murmured to the dusty air. And I honestly couldn't wait.
New knowledge, new stories, new worlds contained within parchment and leather — who wouldn't sign up for this? That thrill of discovery is pure, unadulterated bliss. Bring on the weird squiggles, so my first grind in the Fairy Tail world started just like that.
...
...
...
(3rd POV)
The moment the heavy library door clicked shut behind Makarov, the cheerful, slightly mischievous twinkle in his eyes vanished like smoke.
His small frame, usually radiating a kind of boisterous warmth, seemed to tense.
He leaned against the cool stone wall of the corridor outside, letting out a long, low sigh that ruffled his impressive white mustache. A distinct, uncomfortable pressure settled in his chest, right where his guild mark pulsed faintly.
That woman… Medusa. Her presence wasn't like anything he had ever come across; it was… monolithic.
Standing near her felt like standing at the foot of some ancient, slumbering mountain range — vast, immovable, radiating a quiet, terrifying, and strange energy.
The sheer weight of her aura was enough to make the Ethernano in the air around her seem to cringe. It screamed danger, power, something utterly alien to Fiore.
But the thing that really tied his tiny brain in knots: she was also… calm. Serene, even. Like a deep, still lake reflecting the moonlight.
Not a single flicker of malice, no restless energy seeking an outlet.
She hadn't so much as glanced at him like a threat — more like she was looking for some answer from him. She just looked like someone very powerful but a little bit confused. Confident, yes, but less like a predator and more like… a curious and confused woman.
This should technically not be possible. On the one hand, that aura is that of someone who has killed, who is strong, and who looks down on humans. But on the other hand, this just feels like a confused young girl.
His mind raced, discarding theories like used tissues. His first thought was possession, then maybe a second soul rattling around in her body — after all, it wasn't unheard of in this world: dark magics, cursed artifacts. But it felt… off. Too simple. It didn't explain the void.
Because that was the other impossible puzzle. Porlyusica, that cranky old healer, operated outside the standard Ethernano system, true.
But in Medusa's case, although she didn't have Ethernano, it was different from Porlyusica. It was like her very cells rejected Ethernano.
He hadn't felt a single wisp of the world's ambient magical energy within her. Nothing.
Instead of Ethernano, he sensed another type of unknown energy inside her. No, it wasn't one — but multiple somethings (Divinity, Mana...).
They just felt strong, dense, fundamentally different from Ethernano. Energies Makarov, with centuries of magical experience under his belt, had never encountered. Not even a note in the oldest texts.
And then… her eyes. Or rather, the energy concentrated around them — that was where the wildness lived.
It wasn't chaotic, but it was untamed, raw power held in check by sheer will — and that strip of cloth. It felt… dangerous.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Mysteries upon mysteries. An enigma wrapped in an aura of quiet menace, reading picture books in his library. Fairy Tail certainly didn't do boring, did it?
Then, like the sun bursting through storm clouds, the worry lines smoothed from Makarov's face, replaced by a wide, utterly shameless grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Ah, well!" he declared to the empty corridor, his voice regaining its familiar, gravelly cheer. "She's family now!"
And by family, he meant Fairy Tail — that chaotic, boisterous, fiercely loyal mess of misfits he loved more than life itself.
And well, the guild had finally snagged a member whose sheer, otherworldly elegance could truly live up to the Fairy part of their name.
Puffing out his chest (as much as his diminutive stature allowed), he marched back towards the cacophony of the main guild hall. Throwing open the double doors with a dramatic flourish, he planted his feet, amplified his voice with a touch of magic, and bellowed:
"ALRIGHT, MY BELOVED CHILDREN OF FAIRY TAIL! LISTEN UP!"
The usual din — clinking mugs, raucous laughter, the thwack of someone getting smacked by an irate Lucy, the distant boom of what sounded like a minor explosion in the kitchen — died down instantly.
Dozens of faces, covered in food, drink, or soot, turned towards him, eyes wide with anticipation. Announcements from the Master usually meant either trouble or a party. Often both.
"TODAY," Makarov roared, his grin threatening to split his face, "WE ARE THROWING THE MOTHER OF ALL WELCOME PARTIES! A CELEBRATION FIT FOR ROYALTY! FOR OUR BRAND NEW, SHINING MEMBER!"
He paused, letting the suspense build. Voices whispered through the crowd — well, these whispers made Makarov doubt if these people had the brain of a fish for forgetting.
"New member?"
"Who?"
"Did someone finally beat Gildarts in an arm-wrestle?"
"Is it hot?"
"WHO IS SHE?" a woman yelled, already hoisting a barrel of ale precariously.
"PATIENCE, MY IMPATIENT CHILDREN!" Makarov chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "SHE'S A BIT… BOOKISH AT THE MOMENT. BURIED IN THE LIBRARY! BUT SOON ENOUGH, YOU'LL ALL MEET THE GUILD'S NEWEST TREASURE! UNTIL THEN…" He raised his own suddenly materialized mug high. "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED! DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE!"
The roar that erupted could have shaken lacrima from the rafters. Who the new member was? Irrelevant! Free booze? RELEVANT! The hall exploded back into chaotic life tenfold.
Music started (somehow), tables were shoved aside for an impromptu dance floor (involving a lot of stomping and questionable coordination), and the air filled with the glorious, raucous symphony of Fairy Tail celebrating absolutely anything.
Mission accomplished. Makarov watched the chaos unfold, his earlier worries momentarily buried under the wave of affection for his ridiculous, wonderful family. Let the poor girl study in peace.
Tonight, Fairy Tail welcomed her in spirit, with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. Just the way he liked it.
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...
Peace. Glorious, quiet peace. Well, as quiet as Fairy Tail's main hall got during daylight hours, when most of the heavy hitters were off causing property damage… sorry, solving missions elsewhere.
Noëlle, stationed behind the bar like a calm island in a choppy sea, savored the relative tranquility. This was prime reading time.
No one setting the request board on fire, no one requesting drinks, and most importantly — no fights. Just the low murmur of a few early drinkers and the satisfying rustle of pages as she delved into her latest romance novel. Bliss.
"Tap. Tap."
Noëlle didn't look up immediately. Probably Nate demanding strawberry cake inventory, or Wakaba needing a light.
"Hang on," she mumbled, engrossed in a particularly dramatic confession scene.
"Tap. Tap. Tap." A little firmer this time.
Okay, fine. With the sigh of someone pulling themselves from a warm bath, Noëlle marked her page very deliberately and looked up, ready to deliver a scathing remark about interruptions and the sacredness of reading time.
The words died in her throat.
Standing before the bar, radiating an aura of unnerving stillness, was… her. The Librarian. The Ghost of the Stacks.
The woman who'd joined a week ago and promptly vanished into the library depths like a beautiful, blindfolded mole.
Noëlle only remembered she existed because the Old Man had tasked her with delivering meals three times a day.
Even then, the woman would simply take the tray with a quiet "Thank you," and the heavy library door would shut again, leaving Noëlle feeling like she'd just delivered offerings to some reclusive oracle. The guild had already dubbed her the Saint of the Library.
Seeing her here, in the slightly sticky, sunlight-dappled chaos of the main hall, was like finding a snow leopard lounging in a pub. Utterly incongruous. Noëlle blinked, rapidly recalibrating. Right. Job. Missions. Logging. Professionalism. Deep breath.
"Can… can I help you?" Noëlle managed, her voice only slightly higher than usual.
Medusa didn't waste words. A slender finger, cool despite the warm air, tapped a specific request pinned to the board.
"This one." Her voice was low, smooth, utterly devoid of inflection. It wasn't a request but more like telling her what mission she had chosen.
Noëlle leaned over the bar slightly, peering at the indicated mission sheet. Her eyebrows shot up. That one? The Volcano Village plea?
...
Request: Urgent Aid – Mount Cinderfoot Activity
Location: Pyre Island Village
Client: Village Elder Goran
Details: Mount Cinderfoot shows signs of imminent eruption (increased tremors, gas vents, lava dome growth). Villagers refuse evacuation, fearing loss of homes/livelihood. Request assistance to either safely delay eruption long enough for organized relocation OR find a way to protect the village structures WITHOUT accelerating volcanic activity. Extreme caution required. Magical interference could trigger catastrophe.
Reward: 2,000,000 Jewels
Difficulty: Effectively A-Class (Non-Combat Hazard)
...
Noëlle swallowed. This wasn't just difficult; it was a delicate, high-stakes nightmare. It required precision, control, and an understanding of geology and magic that bordered on the esoteric.
Brute force would just blow the top off faster. Subtle earth or ice magic could backfire spectacularly. Several S-Class mages around Fiore had looked at it and shaken their heads, muttering about "impossible variables" and "too much risk." It was a mission that demanded finesse, not firepower, making it uniquely brutal.
She wanted to ask Medusa if she was sure. To maybe suggest something simpler, like wrangling a rogue Vulcan or clearing out a bandit camp.
But then she remembered Makarov's specific instructions, delivered with unusual gravity the day Medusa joined: "Noëlle, listen. Whatever mission our new member picks… whatever it is… you don't question it. You don't try to talk her out of it. You just stamp it, log it, and wish her luck. Let her be. Understand?"
Right. Trust from the guild master is trust. Even if this felt like handing a lit match to someone standing in a fireworks factory. Noëlle forced a professional smile, grabbed the guild stamp, and brought it down with a firm thwack on the request sheet. She slid it back across the bar.
"This is… a challenging one," Noëlle offered, unable to completely hide the understatement. "Very surprising choice. Be careful on the road, and… good luck. You'll need it." She meant it.
Medusa simply took the stamped paper. A single, almost imperceptible nod. "Thank you." No warmth, no anxiety, just quiet acknowledgment.
She turned. Her movement was fluid, silent — like shadow given form. She walked toward the guild's main entrance, the usual rowdy atmosphere seeming to hush slightly in her wake as a few members noticed the Saint emerging into the light.
At the door, she paused. Didn't turn back. Just raised one hand in a brief, casual wave of farewell — a gesture utterly at odds with her imposing stillness — and then she was gone, swallowed by the sunlight outside.
---
From his favorite vantage point on the upper floor balcony, hidden partially by a large, slightly lopsided potted plant (a gift from a friend that refused to die, despite Gildarts' occasional encouragement), Makarov let out another sigh.
His tiny fingers drummed a worried rhythm on the wooden railing. That mission… Worthy of himself at his best, demanding a unique kind of power and control. And the reward was of course astronomical. Enough to set someone up comfortably for a good long while.
Which brought him to his other, more mundane concern: money. He'd noticed.
How could he not? Medusa hadn't ordered a single drink, hadn't bought supplies, hadn't so much as glanced at the guild's modest members-in-need fund jar (decorated with Happy's face). She'd arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back and that unsettling aura. She was clearly penniless.
The old Guild Master's heart ached. He wanted to help. To slip her some jewels, buy her decent traveling gear, offer a train ticket. Fairy Tail took care of its own!
But he knew, with the bone-deep certainty of years dealing with proud, powerful souls, that she wouldn't accept it. Not yet.
People like her… they were fortresses. They carried their burdens silently, shoulders squared against the world, never asking, never showing weakness.
Offering unsolicited help would feel like pity — a crack in their formidable walls. She needed to earn it herself. She probably needed trust, a bond forged in shared experience, before she'd even consider accepting a crust of bread.
That's why her choice made a grim kind of sense. She'd scanned the board, her head tilted just so, and gone straight for the biggest payout.
No hesitation. Like the inherent danger was just… background noise. Irrelevant. The sheer, quiet confidence radiating off her in that moment had been staggering. Not arrogance. Not bravado. Just… certainty. The calm assurance of someone who knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they could.
A slow, proud smile, tinged with relief, replaced Makarov's frown. "I wasn't wrong," he murmured to the potted plant, which rustled slightly as if agreeing. "Looks like the guild hasn't just gained a mystery… we've gained another powerhouse. A bona fide S-Class, mark my words."
The thought warmed him. Then, another thought struck him, making his mustache twitch with mischievous anticipation. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see Gildarts' face when he gets back and finds this particular Saint waiting in the library. Might finally snap that lug out of his self-pitying funk."
Gildarts Clive. Currently the second-strongest mage in Fairy Tail. Or… he used to be. The thought of his Ace brought a familiar pang of sadness and frustration.
Ever since Cornelia — that fiery, wonderful woman who'd somehow loved the chaotic mess that was Gildarts — had finally had enough… well. It hadn't been pretty.
He was a ghost haunting dangerous missions, fleeting pleasures, and the beds of women whose names he wouldn't remember by dawn.
The cheerful, boisterous spirit that defined him was buried under layers of regret and booze. He was running, hard and fast, from the gaping hole Cornelia left behind.
Maybe, Makarov mused, watching the spot where Medusa had vanished, the arrival of someone whose power felt stronger could spark something in Gildarts. That old competitive fire. A challenge.
A reason to look up from the bottom of a mug. And who knew? Stranger things had happened in Fairy Tail than a broken powerhouse finding a flicker of… something… in the calm presence of a stone-cold goddess.
Though knowing Gildarts' usual approach to women ('Hey there, beautiful!'), Makarov wouldn't be surprised if the young man ended up beaten — probably with some sense knocked into that thick skull.
(END OF THE THE CHAPTER)
If the powers stones today reach my estimation, I will upload 5.000 words a day of this story for a week at least.