Date: April X787
Location: Central Magnolia — Beneath East Vault Ruins
The stone beneath Teresa's feet felt unnatural—not for its material, but for its stillness. No echo followed her steps. No dust shifted. The air did not move. Even the earth here had learned to hold its breath.
She had descended forty meters below Magnolia's lowest known ward line, guided only by residual Yoki threads and fragmentary glyph patterns Hibiki had relayed from Blue Pegasus. The vault site—once dismissed by the Council as collapsed—was intact. Just buried. Hidden beneath layers of magical camouflage and political neglect.
A single archway loomed ahead, hewn from obsidian-veined granite. No inscription. No sigil. Only a vertical fracture running down its center. Teresa paused.
Her hand rose slowly, palm out—not to touch, but to listen.
Yoki unfurled from within her like silk drifting underwater. No pulse. No flash. Just a whisper of presence. The air shifted faintly—glyph threads pulsed behind the stone—intermittent, unsynchronized.
Someone had already been here.
She exhaled, slow and precise.
This was not a ruin.
This was a door.
And it was waiting.
Location: Fairy Tail Guildhall — Upper Table Briefing Room
Tension prickled the air.
Warren spread a projection sheet across the table, a hovering schematic of Magnolia's subterranean vault system flickering above them. At its center glowed a single red point, beneath the east quadrant.
"We're picking up interference again," Warren said. "Magical rebound from channels we thought were collapsed. And it's moving—slowly, but consistently."
"Could it be Teresa?" Romeo asked from the corner.
"Partly," Warren nodded. "Her Yoki's distinct. But something else is pulsing with it—something older. Not hostile. Just… awake."
Kinana leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Vaults don't wake without a trigger. Who else is down there?"
Macao didn't answer immediately. He stared at the node, unmoving. Finally, he spoke. "Send a silent signal to Task Force Nine. No movement yet—just readiness checks."
Warren nodded.
"And Teresa?" Kinana asked softly.
Macao's voice was flat. "We don't disturb her unless the world ends."
Location: Ruins Interior — Eastern Passage
Teresa moved without sound.
The door had parted without resistance. No lock. No defense. Just… invitation.
She stepped into a narrow corridor, its walls pulsating faintly with the faintest traces of buried glyphwork. The passage stretched impossibly far, longer than Magnolia's hill should allow. Pocket-space compression. Vaultwork design.
Old. Pre-Second Origin.
Shallow grooves lined the walls, too precise to be writing, yet aligned in rhythmic intervals. They resonated with her steps. Not active magic—just memory. Stone remembers heat, sound, and time.
She stopped before a curved descent. The floor shifted from stone to dark metal, cold beneath her feet, etched with half-formed circles.
Ahead, a glimmer.
Not light.
Motion.
She drew her sword—not in threat, but for balance. Its weight steadied her breath, tuned each muscle to alertness. In this place, every fiber of her was a sensor.
She stepped down.
Location: Council Citadel — Deep Intelligence Chamber, Era
Ethne leaned over the latest report, her expression sharp.
"The vault beneath Magnolia wasn't inert," she said.
Her aide stiffened. "That site was marked defunct two years ago. It didn't register during the Trial."
"Because it isn't open," Ethne replied. "It's filtering."
"Filtering what?"
"Mana. Memory. Maybe time itself. It's not sealed—it's selectively dormant. It only responded when someone matched the glyph key pattern."
The aide swallowed. "And Teresa?"
"She's inside."
Silence.
Weight.
Ethne tapped a data rune.
"Track her passively. No interference. If the system reacts violently… We'll only know by what vanishes."
Location: Vault Inner Sector — Spiral Well Core
Teresa reached the corridor's end. No chamber awaited—only a vertical well spiraling down into blackness. No stairs. Just angled stone rings carved with half-symbols.
She dropped a pebble.
No sound returned.
The void wasn't empty. Just deep. Listening.
Yoki brushed outward.
There—halfway down—the glyphs pulsed. Brighter now. And aware.
She began her descent.
One step.
Then another.
The spiral tilted at a warrior's balance point. The air—wrong.
Not toxic. Not heavy.
Just watched.
She did not fear. But her sword remained forward.
Halfway down, the well opened. Widened into a dark basin.
At its center stood a single figure. Hooded. Arms folded behind his back. Motionless.
She said nothing.
He turned.
"Teresa of the Faint Smile," he said. His voice sounded like dry air scraping stone. "Claymore. Guild mage. Survivor."
She raised her blade slightly. "You know me."
"I do."
"What do you want?"
"I want to see if the myth walks. Or if she stumbles like the rest."
She stepped forward, slow, deliberate.
"I don't stumble," she said.
He smiled.
"Good," he whispered. "Then bleed."