The path Makarov followed was less a trail and more an intuitive suggestion woven through the dense undergrowth, a route where the ancient trees seemed to grudgingly permit passage. Endralian stumbled after the surprisingly spry old man, his shorter, unfamiliar legs protesting the effort required to navigate gnarled roots and slick patches of moss. Every footstep felt alien, the connection between his mind and these new muscles still buffering, lagging behind his intentions. He was acutely aware of the cool, damp air raising goosebumps on his bare arms, the snag of a low-hanging branch catching momentarily on the unfamiliar texture of his strange jacket, and the rhythmic, soft violet glow emanating from the soles of his boots – a bizarre, persistent pulse in the dim light, reminding him with every step of his impossible situation.
His mind raced, a frantic scramble to process the irreconcilable data flooding his senses. Makarov Dreyar. The Makarov Dreyar, a figure previously confined to pixels and manga panels, was walking just ahead, occasionally glancing back with those sharp, disconcertingly knowing eyes. This wasn't a dream. The persistent ache in his head and the damp chill seeping into his clothes were too real for that. It wasn't a VR simulation malfunction; the sheer sensory fidelity of this place—the rich scent of pine needles crushed underfoot, the distant, melodic call of an unidentifiable bird, the almost palpable thrum of something vibrant and energetic in the very air—screamed reality. Ethernano? He remembered the term from his obsessive consumption of Fairy Tail lore. Was he actually sensing ambient magic?
Okay, Leo, think. Gamer mode. He forced the thought, a familiar mental framework onto this utterly illogical scenario. Objective: Survive. Information Gathering: High Priority. Threat Assessment: Makarov... currently zero threat, potential ally, source of information. Environment: Unknown fantasy world, confirmed connection to Fairy Tail anime/manga, specifically Fiore, near Magnolia. Player Character Status: De-aged (approx. 11-12), physically present, possesses unknown chaotic energy signature detected by Makarov. Inventory: Empty. Skills: None confirmed, possible latent magic. He mentally cataloged the points, a desperate attempt to impose order on the chaos threatening to overwhelm him.
"Not much of a talker, eh, kid?" Makarov's voice broke the silence, gruff but not unkind. He'd paused by a large, moss-covered boulder that resembled a sleeping giant, waiting patiently for Endralian to catch up.
Endralian jumped slightly, startled out of his internal analysis. "Uh... just... thinking, sir." His voice still sounded too high, too young.
Makarov grunted, stroking his magnificent mustache. "Suppose you got a lot rattling around in that head. Fair enough." His eyes flicked over Endralian's attire again. "Those clothes are... something else, different fashion , though. Didn't get 'em 'round here, I bet. You never did say where you tumbled from, Endralian."
The question hung in the air, less philosophical now, more direct. Endralian hesitated, his mind racing through implausible lies. Another dimension? Although Makarov won't be surprised because he know the existence of different dimension, but the one i came from have them as some work of fiction, no no impossible, maybe i sayi stumbled across a forgotten portal? None of it sounded remotely believable. "It's... complicated," he mumbled, unable to meet Makarov's gaze, focusing instead on the intricate patterns of moss on the boulder. "I don't really remember clearly. There was... a light. A lot of noise. And then... here." It was the truth, just stripped bare.
Makarov studied him for a long, silent moment, his gaze sharp enough to feel like a physical touch. Endralian felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. But then the old Master just let out a short sigh, a puff of air. "Hmph. 'Complicated,' is it? Seems like half the folk who wash up on my doorstep say that." He didn't push, didn't demand answers the boy clearly wasn't ready, or able, to give. "Come on, then. Magnolia isn't far now. You'll be able to see the rooftops soon."
He set off again, resuming his surprisingly brisk pace. Endralian hurried to follow, a sliver of wary gratitude mixing with the ever-present knot of fear in his stomach. Makarov wasn't pressing him. For now. That felt like a small victory.
As they walked, the character of the forest gradually began to change. The ancient, deep woods gave way to younger trees, the canopy thinning slightly, allowing more sunlight to penetrate the gloom. The air grew warmer, carrying the faint, distant sounds of civilization – muffled shouts, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer, a general hum of activity that spoke of life and commerce. The rich, earthy smell of the deep woods began to mingle with the scent of woodsmoke from chimneys and something else... something sweet and savory, like baking bread and roasting meat.
They crested a small rise, the trees parting like a curtain, and Makarov stopped, gesturing ahead with a sweep of his hand. "There it is. Magnolia."
Endralian stepped up beside him, his breath catching sharply in his throat. Below them, nestled in a wide, gentle valley carved by a sparkling river that snaked its way towards a distant sea, lay the town. Magnolia. It was instantly, achingly recognizable, yet subtly different from the animation stills burned into his memory. The buildings were a charming, organic jumble of architectural styles – timber-framed houses with steep gables painted in cheerful colors stood shoulder-to-shoulder with sturdy stone
structures boasting arched windows and flower boxes overflowing with blooms. Rooftops tiled in varying shades of red, brown, and even blue created a vibrant mosaic. Cobblestone streets, wider and cleaner than he might have expected, wound through the town, bustling with people – ordinary townsfolk in simple attire mingling easily with figures whose vibrant clothing, unusual accessories, or faintly glowing auras hinted at magical professions. He could see the soft glint of lacrima crystals embedded in ornate streetlights, already beginning to glow as the afternoon sun dipped lower, and faint shimmers of contained magical energy around elaborate shop signs advertising wares he couldn't begin to guess at. It was vibrant, alive, bustling, and undeniably real.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Makarov said, his voice filled with quiet pride. "Not the biggest city in Fiore, not by a long shot. But it has heart. And the best guild in the kingdom, of course."
Endralian could only manage a choked nod, best guild you say, overwhelmed by a fresh wave of disorientation. Seeing it on a screen, knowing the layout from anime/manga – that was one thing. Standing here, smelling the baking bread on the air, hearing the distant murmur of countless conversations, feeling the gentle breeze stir his unfamiliar hair... it hammered home the irreversible reality of his displacement more profoundly than anything else had.
They descended the gentle slope and entered the town proper. The bustle intensified, surrounding them with noise and movement. People nodded respectfully to Makarov as they passed, their faces lighting up with recognition. Greetings of "Morning, Master!" or simply "Master Makarov!" followed them down the street. He responded with cheerful waves or brief, pleasant inquiries about family or business, clearly a well-known and deeply respected figure. Endralian trailed in his wake like a small, bewildered shadow, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, acutely aware of the curious, sometimes suspicious, glances his own strange appearance drew from the townsfolk.
And then, he saw it. Dominating the end of a wide street that led towards the river – the Fairy Tail guildhall. It looked... mostly the same, yet subtly different, like a memory slightly out of focus. The iconic, slightly whimsical architecture was there, the blend of tavern and fortress, the large arched doorway promising warmth and chaos within. The familiar flag bearing the stylized fairy emblem fluttered proudly from the roof peak. Perhaps the wood looked a little newer, the paint brighter, the whole structure lacking the comfortable, lived-in wear-and-tear of the guildhall he knew from later arcs. This is strange, did they renovate it?.
Makarov beamed, puffing out his small chest slightly. "Home sweet home." He marched towards the massive wooden doors, placing a hand on the worn wood and pushing one open with surprising ease for his size, revealing the pandemonium within.
The moment the door swung inward, a wave of sound, energy, and smell washed over Endralian, making him physically stagger back a step. It was chaos, pure and unfiltered, but somehow... cheerful. Energetic. Loud laughter echoed off the high, vaulted rafters, punctuated by boisterous shouts, the rhythmic clatter of tankards slammed onto tables, and the occasional thump or crash from a far corner that suggested a minor brawl might be underway – or concluding. The air was thick, almost viscous, with the mingled scents of spilled ale, roasting meat, old wood polish, honest sweat, and that faint, electric tang of ambient Ethernano that he can somehow feel , much stronger, much more concentrated here than it had been in the forest.
The main hall was vast, dominated by heavy wooden tables and benches scarred by years of use, most occupied by rowdy groups engaged in conversation, arm-wrestling, or simply drinking. A long, polished bar stretched along one wall, tended by a stout, apron- clad man Endralian didn't recognize. The request board, plastered haphazardly with job flyers of varying sizes and colors, took up a significant portion of another wall. He scanned the faces, his instincts automatically kicking in, trying to map the environment, identify NPCs, assess threats. He spotted a younger, less grizzled Macao Conbolt gesturing wildly while arguing with Wakaba Mine over a game of cards, smoke curling lazily from Wakaba's pipe. Near the bar, a tiny girl with familiar Brown hair tied in pigtails – Cana Alberona, surely no older than six or seven at this time – was attempting, with comical stealth, to discreetly sip from a discarded mug before the bartender gently shooed her away.
This picture lagged his brain so hard, it was more bizarre than how he got here.
It was Fairy Tail, alright. The heart, the soul of it felt the same. But it was... younger. Less crowded. Missing the explosive, incandescent core group he knew so well. No pink hair, no shirtless ice-mage, no scarlet-haired knight hitting those two, no white haired devil.
"Oi! Gramps! You're finally back!"
The voice was high-pitched, sharp as cracking ice, and carried an unmistakable note of command that sliced effortlessly through the general din. Endralian instinctively turned towards the sound, near the entrance they'd just come through. The only one who call Makarov like that is, probably his grandson if I'm in this time period.
Standing there, hands planted firmly on her hips in a posture of supreme confidence, was a young girl, perhaps seven or eight years old. She had a cascade of bright blonde hair pulled back severely in a high ponytail that swished like a whip when she moved. Her eyes, the greyish eyes, were sharp, intelligent, and currently narrowed in impatience. Faint sparks of yellow electricity seemed to crackle almost invisibly around her fingertips, making the very air near her hum faintly. She wore practical, well-made clothes – sturdy trousers, a fine tunic, and boots that looked expensive – but carried herself with an air of inherent superiority that seemed too large for her small frame.
Endralian's internal database stuttered, lagged, then crashed. Blonde hair. Calling Makarov Grandpa. Electricity. It had to be Laxus. Except... this Laxus was undeniably, illogically, unequivocally, a girl.
"Honestly, Luxia," Makarov sighed, rubbing his temples tiredly, though a hint of deep affection still colored his tone. "Must you bellow like a this every time I walk in the door?"
"You took ages!" Luxia retorted instantly, ignoring his complaint and tossing her ponytail with an imperious flick. Her sharp eyes then landed squarely on Endralian, who was still hovering uncertainly near Makarov's legs. Her gaze swept over him, coolly dismissive at first, then narrowing with childish suspicion as she took in his strange clothes, his pale face, and the faint violet glow from his boots. "Gramps! Who is that? He's all... dusty. And his boots are glowing! That's weird! Why'd you bring him here?"
Endralian flinched inwardly at the barrage of observations, delivered with the blunt honesty only a child could muster. He felt pinned by her intense gaze, suddenly intensely aware of his otherness, his displacement, the strange clothes. This wasn't just Fairy Tail. This was Fairy Tail with a female Laxus, and she clearly wasn't impressed by the dusty, weird-booted newcomer, what else, oh right, he doesn't know much about this time period, well played, and rest in peace the idea that he wanted to take advantage of the plot.
Welcome to Fairy Tail, indeed.