In the World of Fairy Tail...
The sun hung high over Magnolia, casting warm golden light over the cobbled streets as the town bustled with daily life. Merchants called out from colorful stalls, children played in the alleys, and distant booms and sparks echoed through the city as magic users practiced or misfired their spells. Above all the chatter and laughter, the grand and unmistakable structure of the Fairy Tail guild stood like a lighthouse of chaos and camaraderie, drawing in wayward souls and powerful mages alike.
Inside the guild hall, the atmosphere was as rowdy and vibrant as ever. Cheers rang out from arm-wrestling matches. Loke flirted shamelessly with a pair of mages. Cana was already working on her second barrel of ale. Bursts of magic occasionally erupted in mock duels. It was the typical, unpredictable heart of Magnolia, pulsing with warmth, chaos, and fierce loyalty.
A normal day in the fairy tail guild.
But in the middle of all that noise and joy, Erza Scarlet sat in uncharacteristic silence.
The mighty Titania, known across Fiore for her unmatched strength, rigid discipline, and terrifying temper, sat alone at her favorite table. Her armor gleamed under the shifting lights, catching the eye of anyone nearby. But no one dared approach. Her posture was still and rigid, almost statuesque. Before her sat her favorite dessert—strawberry cake, fresh and sweet—but not a single bite had been taken.
Her elbow rested against the table, her cheek leaning into her fist as her eyes stared into nothingness. Her other hand tapped against the wood with a distracted rhythm. The vibrance that usually radiated from her presence was gone, replaced with an unusual quiet. Something in her seemed... unsettled.
"Hey," Gray called as he wandered over, soda in hand. "That's the third time I've seen you doze off today."
Lucy, scribbling at the next table, looked up with a small frown. "Erza, are you alright? You've barely moved all day."
"Yeah!" Natsu added from the bar, his voice muffled through a mouthful of food. "Even your cake is lonely. That's scary. Did someone switch you out with a look-alike or something?"
Erza blinked slowly and lifted her eyes toward them. Her usual steel gaze was dulled, lost in thought. But she forced a faint, polite smile. "I'm fine. Just... reflecting."
Levy leaned forward curiously. "You? Reflecting? That's either really deep or really dangerous."
A soft, humorless chuckle escaped Erza's lips, but it lacked its usual vigor. "No battles today. I promise."
The others exchanged wary glances. They respected Erza's strength, but they knew her well enough to see something was bothering her. None pushed further, but the concern lingered in the air.
Erza's thoughts were a maelstrom. A conversation replayed over and over in her mind.
Kenji.
The mysterious figure from the Multiversal Chat System. A man from another world. Someone who had shared information she could barely comprehend.
"Over four hundred years."
He had said it with such ease, such conviction. That she—Erza Scarlet—was over four centuries old. That her life, everything she had fought for, endured, and cherished, was part of a story—one read and watched by countless people in another world. Fiction.
At the time, she'd scoffed. While he hadn't voiced it she had refused to accept such madness. She turned down his offer to send her this so-called "story." To read about her own life like it was some book in a library.
But now...
Now the words haunted her.
She thought of her past—growing up in Rosemary Village, the Tower of Heaven, the adventures with her friends. Every moment, every memory felt heavier now. Like they were pieces in a puzzle she hadn't realized. Could it be true? Could everything she'd lived have been prewritten? Controlled? Observed?
Was she even real?
Her identity—the core of who she was—felt like it had been thrown into a whirlpool of doubt.
She looked down at the untouched cake.
"Would it be wrong?" she whispered, eyes narrowing. "To read it? To know?"
Would it be a betrayal of her life's struggles, or would it give her the answers that had always escaped her?
While she looked like she had never been borthered by the lack of knowledge of where she came from that wasn't always true and over time it had lessen. but now..
She wasn't afraid of pain. She had faced death, betrayal, and suffering more times than she could count. But the idea of all that being... a story? That frightened her.
Was everything meaningless? Everything she had ever done.
"I should ask him," she muttered.
In Another World—Disboard
Above the floating chessboard lands of Disboard, the sky shimmered with hues of violet, gold, and deep blue. Massive airships soared between floating continents. Magical beasts moved through the clouds like birds. And the nations below all held their breath for the next great game to shift the tide.
In the royal castle of Elkia, in a chamber built for strategy and solitude, the King of Imanity lay sprawled in disarray.
Sora, the supreme gamer, for once had no plan. No clever ploy. No master strategy.
He just stared.
Piled atop a mountain of pillows, with game consoles scattered around him and maps of nations crumpled at his side, Sora wasn't being lazy. He was lost.
Beside him, Shiro silently flipped through a dense book, probably one of the history books of one of the sixteen races that they had been reading up on... But even she was slower than usual, her eyes occasionally flicking to her brother with concern.
"Sora," she said gently.
Sora blinked. "Yeah?"
"You're not talking."
He sighed. "I know."
"Why?"
"Because... I think we might not be real."
Shiro tilted her head. "Kenji?"
"Yeah."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. "He said we were fictional that our lives were part of a show. A story from another world."
When Kenji had said that the first time Sora had brushed it off, he didn't even want to think of the implications but his mind always came back to that and their latest conversation just lit a fire in his mind that won't go off.
Shiro nodded. "He offered proof?."
"I didn't take it," Sora admitted.
He stood and walked across the chamber. "But now, I keep wondering. If everything we've done—beating the Flügel Jibril, becoming kings—if all of that was written by someone else… what does that make us?"
Shiro's voice was quiet. "Us."
Sora turned to face her.
"What if we were made? Created to follow a script? Every joke, every trick, every win... not truly ours?"
"Then we break the script," Shiro said.
Sora laughed—low and bitter. "Always the rebel, huh?"
He looked out the window.
"I don't know if I want to know... or if I need to."
He paused. "But I can't lie. I'm curious. If it's true, if there's a story out there that shows everything we've done, even things we don't remember... I want to see it."
Shiro came up beside him. "Then ask."
Sora nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe I will."
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