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Chase the Wind and Touch the Sky

Chapter 2: Ninjas, Tigers, and Stairs

Notes:

Just an FYI: Carla is going to be largely absent from this fic. The Exceeds are often hard to implement when it comes to any non-comedic writing for the Dragon Slayers (Carla especially, since she and Wendy are almost never apart) and tend to take up space in the narrative meant for the Slayers by virtue of always being around them. This might change if Carla winds up having a role to play, but Wendy is the focus of this fic, and I’m not good enough as a writer to split the focus of each scene between the two of them if they were partnered together like normal. So, just assume that Carla’s somewhere offscreen doing her own thing for the majority of this fic.

Also, below is the link to the fanart that I envisioned for Wendy’s outfit this chapter.

https://kimbeekitty.tumblr.com/post/137206323063/shes-grown-so-much-as-a-character-and-as-a-wizard

Chapter Text

“Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.”
- Nikita Gill


As the adopted daughter of a dragon, and a former member of the notably spartan, reclusive guild Cait Shelter, Wendy had spent the majority of her life without many of the trappings characteristic of modern society. Her sleeping had been done outside (or in one of Cait Shelter’s huts), her food had been cooked over a fire, and it wasn’t until her relocation to Magnolia that she discovered the wonders of unremitted access to indoor plumbing.

She didn’t realize how her time surrounded by the creature comforts of modernity had spoiled her until around the second hour of her current predicament, being confined to a horse drawn carriage, when she found herself thinking longingly of the trains she’d frequented on missions with her team.

Sleek, mechanical marvels, those trains covered distance in record time, and with such unbelievable smoothness that riders could barely even tell they were in motion. They offered the length of their interior as a tract for passengers to walk and stretch their legs, along with various compartments stocked with an assortment of confections and beverages.

Trains had air conditioning.

The same could not be said for Wendy’s current method of transportation.

The carriage jerked and shuddered with the gait of the steeds it was hitched to, forcefully enough that Wendy had almost certainly acquired bruising with how often her luggage was battered against her legs. She’d have moved her suitcases, if not for the fact that the carriage’s cabin was roughly the size of her washroom back at Fairy Hills, and afforded her barely enough room for both herself and her belongings.

The heat, however, was far worse than the lack of space. In no time at all, the carriage had quickly transformed from a quaint traveling apparatus into a prison of sweltering torment under the harsh June sun. Even at its reduced length, her hair was still plastered to the back of her neck with sweat. She had long since rolled up the sleeves of her dress, and was dearly regretting her choice to include black stockings as part of the ensemble.

Maybe observing the passing scenery would help take her mind off her discomfort?

Turning to gaze out the nearest window, Wendy was initially less than impressed by the view of craggy slopes and intermittent foliage she was presented with. The scenic panorama such mountain ranges were often lauded for must only be visible from the summit, it seemed.

She spotted a thin stretch of river, a cluster of roosting birds, chunks of starkly white rock-

Despite the stifling bubble of heat surrounding her, a sudden chill dripped down Wendy’s spine.

Several yards off to the side of the road, the shattered trunk of a Face monument jutted up from the ground. The component pieces, ranging from small stones to fragments larger than the carriage, dotted the landscape in a perimeter extending further than Wendy could see. Fault lines marking the monolith’s breakthrough from below the surface stretched out like spidery fingers, as if inviting her to descend into their depths once more.

Wendy found she didn’t much mind staring at nothing in her lap until the carriage drew to a halt, and the driver announced, “We’ve arrived at Hawthorn Town, miss.”

“Thank you for your service, sir!” more than ready to escape her sweltering confines, Wendy hefted up her belongings before hopping out onto the cobblestone street below.

It was the abundance of such material that stood out in Wendy’s first impression of Hawthorn. The buildings- architecturally styled in both traditional, boxy structures and other taller, more rounded edifices- were hewn from stone. The streets were neatly paved with stone, rising and falling with the natural slopes of the terrain. The backdrop of mountains that overlooked the city were no doubt comprised of stone.

In keeping with this theme, so too was the massive tiger, baring twin oversized tusks from it’s perch high atop a particularly grand, important-looking building.

Sabertooth must have reserved quite a hefty sum of Jewel for their mason.

Either that, or they possessed quite a skilled Stone Make wizard among their ranks.

If things go right for her today, Wendy told herself, she’d learn the answer soon enough.


Wendy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting after knocking (hopefully not too quietly) on the large set of doors that made up the entrance to Sabertooth’s guildhall. Would she be greeted as a prospective client? Would anyone here recognize her from the Grand Magic Games as a member of their most contentious opposing guild? Had word of Fairy Tail’s disbandment reached this part of the country?

Her expectations weren’t so much defied as they were utterly trounced by the jarring one two combo that was the sudden, deep-voiced inquiry from behind her of, “What business do you have with Sabertooth?” followed by the revelation- after Wendy whirled around, narrowly biting back a shriek- that the question was posed by a man who’s only features not hidden behind thick black fabric were his eyes, and head of spiky chestnut hair.

Not in even her wildest, most outlandish musings had Wendy been expecting ninjas.

Or, that is... a ninja. One... Singular... Not many...

Wendy’s gobsmacked silence carried on a few moments more, long enough for the ninja- should she ask his name? Would that be rude of her?- to raise his eyebrows, somehow conveying his eroding patience despite half his face being covered. Regardless, it was enough to jolt Wendy into action.

“I’m here to see Sting! About matters involving the recent conflict against Tartaros, that is. Is he in right now?” Wendy folded her hands before her to keep them from adjusting the lay of her dress out of nerves. Why hadn’t she rehearsed this ahead of time?!

“While Master Sting is indeed present,” the title, and the dissatisfaction Wendy had wrought with her neglect to use it, was clearly heard as the ninja spoke. “he is quite busy with his many responsibilities as the leader of this guild. Not to mention, he’s only just returned from a very hard-fought battle, and needs to recover.” hard brown eyes assessed her up and down. “How is it that a teenage girl like yourself is aware of the war waged by a dark guild?”

A teenage girl. He didn’t even consider that her knowledge of Tartaros’s actions could hint at her profession? He thought she was a civilian? Wendy was accustomed to people being surprised by her status as a Dragon Slayer, or that she was actually capable of fighting like one. She didn’t like it, but she could at least understand that people didn’t expect such things from a mild-mannered thirteen year old. But to have even the possibility of her being a mage at all dismissed out of hand, without even attempting to sense any magic power from her?

“I know about it because I was part of that battle!” a few weeks prior, Wendy wouldn’t have adopted such a bellicose demeanor with what amounted to a total stranger. The old Wendy would’ve waited before demurely explaining her presence, probably apologized for causing an inconvenience, and humbly sought this man’s assistance in her endeavor. This new Wendy, with a war, a dead mother, and the loss of yet another home under her belt, was not nearly so forbearing as to be brushed aside by a man clad in dark linen pajamas.

“I’m Wendy Marvell, Dragon Slayer, and my Sky magic could have set Sting right as rain twice over in the time I’ve been talking to you! I have urgent matters to discuss with your Master regarding our battle with the dark guild Tartaros. Now, are you going to delay me further, or can I see to my business with him?”

It felt... good, asserting herself like that. Good enough that she was willing to overlook her slight stretching of the truth. She had come here to speak with Sting, and the topic did relate to Tartaros, in a way, but to phrase it in such a manner... Well, granting Sting a clean bill of health during their meeting ought to make up for any dramatization on her part.

Mr. Ninja’s eyes had gone a little wide over the course of her outburst- serves him right, Wendy thought heatedly- before they glanced down and away, narrowing in deliberation.

Wendy had all of three seconds to fret that her harsh words had severely damaged her chances of entry, before the black-clad man brushed past her with a mutter of, “Follow me.”

Stooping to take hold of her traveling cases- she’d dropped them in shock when he first spoke to her- Wendy trailed after her guide as he pushed open the entrance to Sabertooth’s guildhall. Inside, Wendy was almost taken aback by the sheer opulence she observed before her. The walls of the cavernous main hall were draped with lengths of fine silk, and richly colored rugs were laid out across the floor. Two ornate fountains trickled gently at opposing sides of the room, and the prideful visage of tigers was carved into works of stone at multiple points within the hall. Great windows higher up on the walls let in natural light, causing the polished marble surfaces to gleam and the various accents of gold to sparkle.

Scores of mages occupied the hall, clustered into groups at tables or leaning against walls and columns. Wendy knew the names of less than ten Sabertooth wizards, and those with whom she could decidedly claim to be on speaking terms were even fewer, so it was with a measure of relief that she turned to follow Tall, Dark, and Irritable towards the wide spiral staircase to the left.

Her relief curdled into dismay when a glance upwards revealed the heights to which they’d have to climb to reach the landing above, while she lugged both of her weighty suitcases with her.

If Mr. Ninja felt the way her eyes were boring into the back of his head, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t even glance back at her as they reached the landing, instead rapping smartly on the official-looking oak door before them. “Master Sting, pardon the interruption, but you have a... very insistent visitor.”

Through the grace of her heightened hearing, Wendy could perceive a short sigh and a muttered, “‘Being Guildmaster is an honor’ they said...” followed by a louder, “Bring them in, Dobengal.”

With poise and decorum that went beyond her years, Wendy didn’t make so much as a chortle at the disclosure that this stuffy, uptight man was named Dobengal, and followed him past the threshold into the office of Sabertooth’s Guildmaster.

Said Guildmaster was currently studying a stack of documents on his desk, his posture hunched to a degree that Wendy felt her neck twinge in sympathy. She saw the moment his nose twitched, registering her scent, and his head whipped up to look at her.

At the sight of his face, Wendy immediately lost her grip on her collectedness, as well as her suitcases.

“Oh, Sting,”

The injuries marring the Dragon Slayer’s face- currently multiple days into their own healing process- had been given sufficient time to present themselves fully against his skin. The end result was almost hard to look at. Dark purple splotches surrounded both of his eyes, no doubt the result of multiple broken capillaries. His upper lip was split and partially scabbed over. A deep cut angled downwards from behind his hairline. Worst of all, his nose- clearly broken- sat crookedly in the center of his face.

“You should see the other guy.” the blond dismissed breezily, flashing what might’ve been a charming smile were it not for the way it pulled at his split lip. He leaned forward on his elbows, regarding her amicably. “I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. To what do we owe the pleasure, miss Sky Sorceress?”

All at once, Wendy found herself tongue-tied, fingers knotting anxiously as her words clustered somewhere in the back of her throat. Any conviction she’d invoked against Dobengal guttered and died like a matchstick in a rainstorm. It felt like she was standing on a precipice; toeing the line between the life she had come to know, and the treacherous, unfamiliar unknown that was laid out before her. Her fears, her losses, and her hopes all warred behind her ribs, and Wendy tried to breathe them out alongside a measured sigh.

She ended up forcing a swallow past the lump in her throat, instead.

“As... as you know, due to recent events... Fairy Tail i-is-” Wendy bowed her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she wrestled for her composure.

Because of this, she failed to see the exchange of gestures and facial expressions silently taking place between the two Sabertooth mages occupying the room.

There was a pop, then another, a light clattering of dishware, one final pop, and when Wendy raised her head, the room was one Sabertooth wizard poorer, and two delicate china teacups richer.

“Dobengal doesn’t enjoy it much, but his magic is really convenient for fetching drinks.” Sting remarked as he finished dragging a wooden chair over to rest opposite the one behind his desk. “I normally offer my guests ale, but I thought you’d prefer tea, just like I’d prefer to avoid a visit from the authorities for the intoxication of a minor.”

“Tea...” Wendy could detect the subtle scent of jasmine. The darjeeling tea Carla loved so was most certainly an acquired taste, one the Sky Dragon Slayer hadn’t quite managed to emulate in all their years together. Sweeter, floral teas were more to her liking. She was aware Sting couldn’t possibly have known that, but Wendy decided to accept the kind gesture as an optimistic omen.

There is no trouble so great or grave that it cannot be diminished by a good cup of tea.’

“Tea sounds lovely, thank you.” Wendy was about to claim the proffered chair, when she paused. “But first...”

Cup of tea in hand, she rounded the desk until she was standing before Sabertooth’s seated Guildmaster. Sting gave her a puzzled look, and received only a smile in response before Wendy raised the steaming teacup to her lips, hands glowing softly, and blew the vapor in a gentle stream towards his face.

No sooner had the steam made contact with his skin, than his wounds all began to fade from sight. The dark tissue around his eyes lightened and returned to normal. The gashes on his lip and forehead stitched back together seamlessly. Without so much as a twinge of discomfort, his nose was properly realigned and the break was mended.

Satisfied with her work, Wendy turned and strode back to sit in the chair she’d been offered, allowing herself to grin at the sight of Sting prodding experimentally at his face, expression slack with awe.

“Alright, you’ve officially landed yourself in my good books.” Sting informed her, that winning smile restored to its former glory. “Consider yourself a beneficiary of the White Dragon Discount, if you came here to hire some of my wizards. Or is this a social visit?”

Taking a lengthy sip of her tea in a last minute bid for clarity and calm, Wendy met Sting’s gaze head on.

“I lost my guild this week. It wasn’t the first time, but that doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, I think the only thing that saved me from giving up was a promise from someone very important to me. He promised that he would come back to me in a year, and I promised I would have made something of myself the next time we saw each other. Sabertooth is the best place I can think of to do that. With you and Rogue here, I’ll be able to train with other Dragon Slayers to improve my magic. And, aside from that...” here, Wendy found she couldn’t look Sting in the eyes, and instead dropped her gaze to his teacup. “I’m a healer, but so much of the pain caused by this war with Tartaros is the kind I can’t do anything about. I want to do whatever I can to reverse the harm I’m capable of healing. I think the person most in need of my help... is Minerva. I want to try and undo her transfiguration.”

Her motives and ambitions confessed, Wendy looked back up at Sting, and felt her heart abruptly sink like a stone.

“Wendy,” Sting’s expression was pained in a way that a broken nose and busted lip hadn’t managed. “I’m sorry, but... I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“What?” it was as if all the warmth was draining from Wendy’s body, tongues of fiery panic beginning to lick at the dry tinder of her assuredness. “No, no, I do! I’m a fast learner, I promise. It’s okay if you don’t have time to train with me- you’re the Master after all- just watching is enough for me to learn. I swear, I’ll pull my weight as a guild member, and I can heal whoever needs-”

“No! Not- that’s not what I meant!” Sting’s eyes had gone wide, and he waved his hands as if physically dismissing her misunderstanding. “Wendy, Sabertooth would be more than happy- honoured, really- to accept you as one of our wizards. That’s not the part I have concerns about.”

Her initial distress mollified, Wendy was able to draw her own conclusions as to what subject had earned Sting’s apprehension.

“Has... has something changed with Minerva? Is she not here?”

“Oh no, she’s here all right.” Sting huffed a completely mirthless laugh. “We put a lot of work into making certain of that. But she’s... she isn’t...”

Running a hand over his face, Sting abruptly got to his feet. His expression as he met eyes with Wendy held more seriousness than he’d displayed at any other point in their meeting.

“I think you should see things for yourself before deciding if you can help her.”


“We’re going underground?”

It was the first utterance Wendy had made on their journey.

Previously, she’d been content to silently follow behind Sting as he led the way to Minerva’s quarters, not particularly eager to attract the attention of the various Sabertooth mages they passed. If her interaction with Dobengal was anything to go by, it seemed that these Tigers weren’t exactly fond of odd young girls taking up their Master’s time. (She hoped Dobengal was just an irritable anomaly, though).

They’d traversed across the main hall, and through a series of passages and doorways, until Wendy abruptly found herself standing at the top of a staircase that went so far down, it might as well have been the entrance to the underworld.

Deep, dark caverns full of sickly sweet air... An oppressive, cataclysmic force, bearing down on her senses as it slowly grew in power... Her heartbeat ramping up as she mentally kept track of the countdown...

“I know. You must think we’re monsters.” Sting’s voice- filled with a tired sort of resignation- pulled Wendy back into the present. He’d taken her words as an admonishment towards Minerva’s presumed lodgings, instead of a dread-laden realization in regard to their undertaking. He didn’t seem to have noticed her brief lapse back into... then.

“I wish things could be different, but down here’s the only place that can hold her. You’ll understand when you see her.”

In any other circumstance, such a foreboding remark would’ve sent Wendy into a flurry of apprehension.

As it were, the act of forcing herself to descend after Sting, one supremenly tense step at a time, demanded the majority of Wendy’s attention. Her body didn’t have any additional dread to spare.

Breathe in, and out... There’s more than enough air... You can do this...

Wendy didn’t know whether to be mortified, or grateful, when a missed step on her part encouraged Sting to take her hand for the rest of their descent, his other held aloft and shedding more than enough white radiance to ensure the remaining steps passed without incident. It may have been at the cost of her pride, but Sting’s warm, steady hold on her hand made it a little easier for Wendy to traverse further underground.

At the bottom, Sting set to work opening an imposing-looking iron door, it’s surface glinting faintly with line upon line of runes. Wendy’s understanding of the symbols was rudimentary at best, but she caught multiple references to ‘contain’ and ‘demon’.

She knew what had become of Minerva. Wendy had seen her new form up close and personal. Still, she had to fight to contain a shudder when Sting finally cracked the door open, and a fierce tide of demonic energy spilled outward from the room within. The sensation carried with it a trace of the foul, skin-crawling essence unique to demons, but was also tinged with a fury so deep it bordered on bloodlust.

Wendy looked at Sting, wide eyed, but his gaze was fixed resolutely ahead.

Like he was preparing himself.

“Wait here until I call you in.”

And with that, the Master of Sabertooth slipped through the door, pulling it nearly shut behind him.

It was less than four seconds before Wendy heard a mighty crash of wood splintering and breaking.

“That was even slower than last time. You're losing your touch.” that had been Sting’s voice, carefully conversational.

“You’ll lose your tongue the moment I’m free, you bastard!” that enraged bellow could have only been Minerva.

“I’m so glad you chose a more kid-friendly bodypart than yesterday to threaten to remove,” Wendy had to admire Sting’s gall, adopting a cheery tone in the face of such utter rage. “I’m sure our new friend appreciates it.”

“What are you prattling about, cur? Have you brought more fools to gawk at me? Am I to be the captive beast in the circus you’ve made of this guild?”

“You said it, not me.” Sting snickered. This time, the shriek of rending paper could be heard before two objects smacked harshly against the wall.

“‘Treaties and Armistices of Fiore’s Second Trade War’. I’ll keep your review in mind before I add that one to the nightstand. Now, where were we... Ah! Yes, our new friend. She came a very long way to see us, so make sure to give her a nice big Sabertooth welcome!”

Minerva’s retort was lost amidst the screech of metal that heralded the door swinging open. At the threshold stood Sting, who ushered Wendy inside with a hand on her shoulder that stayed there after she was moved to stand beside him, a few feet back from another bold rune barrier that lined the edges of the room.

At first glance, Wendy could tell that a great deal of effort had been made to ensure the room was comfortable for its occupant. Multiple lacrima lamps mounted on the walls belied the lack of any natural light, and the stone floor was swathed in soft rugs and carpets. A lengthy shelf of books took up the majority of one side of the room, with other spaces reserved for a seating area, a serviceable kitchen, and two curtained off sections that could only be the lavatory and the bedroom.

And it had all been ravaged.

Deep gouges had been carved into the floor and walls, along with what looked like multiple scorch marks. An armchair had been reduced to a heap of leather and kindling, and the sofa bled fuzzy gore from several tears and slashes that marked its surface. Less than half of the books housed on the shelf remained, their brethren gutted and left scattered across the floor in heaps of paper and the husks of covers. Two kitchen cabinets had been fully divested of their doors, a third dangling by one hinge, with their contents crushed, decanted, splattered, and otherwise discarded at various points within the room.

The only area that seemed to have been spared was the bathing section, and to a lesser degree, the bedroom. The bathroom’s curtain was untouched and sufficiently in place, leaving the condition of that section somewhat ambiguous. (But not greatly so. Even without her enhanced senses, Wendy was confident she would've been able to smell if Minerva hadn’t bathed or properly relieved herself during her stay here). The curtain for the sleeping area bore a few rips and tears, and Wendy could see three slashes down the length of the mattress, but it was still relatively serviceable for sleeping.

“Minerva, this is Wendy-”

“I remember this little shrew.” time hadn’t done much (read: anything) to improve Minerva’s physical condition. She was still trapped in a form that resided somewhere in between the bounds of humanity and the demonic. What the past week had done, it seemed, was drain her of anything even resembling the spark of compassion she’d displayed in her handling of Erza. Something hard and jagged seethed in the remaining eye she regarded Wendy with, and the small upward curl of her lip was anything but authentic. “We had a bit of a scuffle, when last we met. Are you here to see it through, or do you need your Exorcist nearby to stand against me?”

Like with Dobengal, had Wendy been the subject of Minerva’s ire before the war with Tartaros, she would’ve reacted far differently. She might’ve simply ignored her goading, or even placated her antagonist out of a sense of pity for her condition. The Wendy from before would have allowed the belittlement in favor of not making waves, and potentially obstructing her path towards providing treatment.

Now, Wendy found herself grateful for her many years of exposure to the crisp wit and razor-sharp tongue that Carla so readily employed.

Observation had always been one of Wendy’s most ardent instructors.

“I came here with a far more important goal than finishing a spat with you, Minerva.” the Sky Sorceress put everything she could into an affectation of apathy, gazing cooly at the woman across from her. “Quite the opposite, actually. I plan to do what I can to reverse your transformation.”

At this, Minerva bared her now-pointed teeth, lunging forward until her claws were splayed out against a barrier none of them could see. The runes that lined the floor between both parties were clearly at work, absolute in the enforcement of their rules.

“This is no mere ‘transformation’, you foolish girl.” Minerva spat the words out in a low voice. “I was baptized in a vat of darkness- such that surpasses human comprehension- and born anew into this vessel. Demonic energy resides within my heart, my skin, my very veins.” she raised a hand to the web of black lines that spanned her face. “These are not scars, they are my heritage as a being infernal. The woman known as Minerva Orland is no more. My existence is a malady beyond anything your pitiful charms or spells could hope to cure.”

Wendy fought not to visually react to the tinge that colored Minerva’s voice. It sounded suspiciously like... regret, a word Wendy would have previously been hard pressed to associate with the woman before her. Haughtiness, pride, uncompromising unrepentance, those were the terms that came to mind when she considered the Territory mage.

As she contended with the alluring, seductive power Minerva had found in new form, Wendy had anticipated having to fight to dissuade her from fully renouncing her old life. From becoming a monster.

Wendy never thought she’d have to convince her that she wasn’t one already.

“You aren’t a demon.” Wendy made sure to look Minerva steadily in the face as she spoke, calling to mind the details Mira had provided regarding Tartaros’s laboratory facility. “No more than I’m a dragon. Tartaros most likely imbued you with some degree of their power, enough to alter your body to this extent, but the fact that you still possess your Territory magic alone is proof of your humanity. These runes apply to you because of the presence of whatever demonic essence Tartaros imparted to you during the transformation. It’s going to take a while, but I’m confident I can undo the changes they wrought in you.”

“And then what?” it was undoubtedly to Sting that Minerva posed the derisive query. “Restore my looks, and everything returns to normal? You’d only be making my darkness less visible on the outside. I was a monster long before I aligned myself with Tartaros, and everyone above us knows it. Am I to be welcomed back into the guild that I abandoned? That my father terrorized?” drawing her tattered cloak around herself, Minerva turned and stalked away. “This girl might be able to repair my body, but my soul is far beyond saving.”

“That’s not true.” despite his words, Sting’s voice was weary and tired sounding. This was evidently a frequent debate between the two of them. “Jiemma had his hooks in all of us, yourself included, and we’ve all had to work to get on the right track after that. Whatever guilt you’re feeling, we can work through it with you. We don’t want to lose you, Minerva.”

“This cage I’m in has made that very clear, Eucliffe.” Minerva’s tone was clipped. “When will you learn that demons don’t long for the company of others? I rescinded any bonds of camaraderie alongside my humanity.”

At this, Sting could only heave a dejected sigh.

“Let’s head back, Wendy.”

Wendy had turned to follow the man, when she paused. She had quite a daunting task ahead of her, working to undo the corruption Tartaros had inflicted upon Minerva, made more onerous by the woman’s cynical dismissal of her potential for redemption. If only there was something that could pierce through the veil of her despondency...

“Minerva, you said you gave up on any bonds,” she kept her gaze facing the door as she spoke. “but I think you’d like to know... Erza made a full recovery from her injuries.”

There was no response to be heard from the brooding woman, but Wendy could sense the quick flutter of air that was Minerva’s gasp at the news.

It wasn’t much, but for now, that would have to do.


“Believe it or not, this was actually one of her good days.” Sting confessed once they reached the stairway’s lofty summit. “Sometimes she’ll refuse to see anyone, or do nothing but tear apart the room until she exhausts herself. It happens quicker on the days she refuses to eat.”

It seemed as though their brief encounter with Minerva had done more to wear Sting out than the previous hours spent cloistered in his office, leaving him unable to fully disguise the signs of his growing weariness. Even with the effects of Wendy’s healing magic, there was notable tension around the Dragon Slayer’s eyes and mouth, with a crease already beginning to form between his brows. The easygoing grin from before was nowhere to be seen within his dour, pensive expression.

Wendy wondered how often it was that Sabertooth’s young Guildmaster allowed himself to be seen looking so tired.

If his talk of Jiemma’s lingering influence was anything to go by, it was a very rare sight indeed.

The sight of another person in pain was something Wendy could never abide, and thus it was with little thought that she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. While she didn’t flush his body with another dose of healing energy- no matter how much she wished otherwise, alleviating emotional fatigue was beyond her purview- she had long since learned that gestures of compassion had a restorative power all their own.

Sometimes, rather than a healer’s hand, there were pains that called for the presence of a friend.

It was a role she’d gladly fill for the kind, fiercely devoted man beside her.

“Sting,” she murmured when cobalt eyes found her own. “it’s clear to me just how much the welfare of your guild, and it’s members, means to you. It reminds me of how Fairy Tail had been. Seeing that- someone trying to make their guild into more than just a workplace- it makes things feel a little more hopeful after everything that’s happened.”

The tightness in her throat returned again, but this time, Wendy found it easier to swallow past it and proceed. “I don’t know what will become of Fairy Tail in the future, whether or not it will stay gone, but for now... I’d very much like to work to become better alongside you and your guild.”

And just like how her magic had chased away the scrapes and bruises from Sting’s face, her words now rid him of the melancholy slant to his expression, allowing him to flash her a grin before he straightened, adopting a more formal bearing as he rose to his full height.

A hand was held out in the space between them.

“Wendy Marvell,”

Like earlier, on their trip down the stairs, the grip of Sting’s hand around her own was reassuringly steady, and invitingly warm.

“it is my pleasure to welcome you to Sabertooth.”