Chapter 23: The Past of Rex. 3
Rex's eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, the world was nothing but a blurry swirl of color and shadow. Then, slowly, his vision sharpened, and he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
"…Where am I?" he muttered, forcing himself upright despite the dull ache spreading across his body. Beneath him was a soft bed, cleaner than anything he'd laid on in years.
"I see you're awake."
The voice came from his side. Rex turned his head to find a tall, stern-looking woman standing over him.
"And who the hell are you?" he shot back without thinking.
The woman clicked her teeth sharply. "Tsk. Manners, boy. Ever heard of them?" She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "My name is Porlyusica. Be grateful, human. I'm the one who saved your life."
She stood at around 172 cm, slim, tall, and deceptively delicate for her age. Her muted pink hair, touched by time, was pulled into a tight bun secured by two long crescent-ended pins that gleamed like slivers of moonlight. Two neat bangs framed a face equal parts stern and elegant.
Her deep reddish eyes were sharp enough to cut. A beauty mark rested just beneath the left corner of her mouth, softening her severity without diminishing it.
She wore a dark green blouse tied at the collar, a long matching skirt, and plain practical shoes. Over her shoulders hung a crimson cloak with a wide, high collar, from which dragon-horn–like decorations curled outward. White, arch-shaped markings lined its edges, giving her silhouette an unmistakable authority.
Even in stillness, Porlyusica radiated a presence that filled the room, calm, commanding, and impossible to ignore.
"Saved my life…?" Rex echoed. He looked down at his chest and saw a long, freshly closed scar.
"That bandit…" he murmured under his breath. The memory of the slash, the pain, and his own desperation came crashing back.
He looked up again. "Where exactly are we?"
"You're in my house," Porlyusica replied flatly. "Now stop talking and rest."
Before he could answer, she was already turning away, done with the conversation entirely.
Rex scoffed quietly. "Tch… whatever."
With little else to do, he glanced around the room.
Porlyusica's home was less a house and more a carved-out sanctuary, an enormous hollow chamber within the living trunk of a tree. Everything inside was arranged with blunt practicality: a worn work desk cluttered with herbs and vials, smooth wooden stumps used as chairs, crates and barrels stacked in oddly deliberate disarray.
Shelves carved directly into the tree walls held dozens of books, some ancient, some new, giving the place a strange scholarly heaviness.
The air smelled of sap, herbs, and something sharp and clean, like nature's own medicine.
It was simple. Strange. Efficient.
Completely Porlyusica.
"I'm glad you're finally awake," a gentle voice said.
Rex turned his head. An extremely short elderly man stood in the entrance, no taller than a child but carrying himself with surprising presence. He looked like someone's kindly grandfather.
"…And who are you supposed to be?" Rex asked.
The old man smiled and bowed slightly.
"My name is Makarov Dreyar. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Are you the one who healed my wounds?" Rex asked.
Makarov straightened to his usual posture and walked over with a calm smile. "I'm not. I only helped bring you here. Porlyusica was the one who treated you."
Rex's gaze slid toward the pink-haired woman. "Woah… you're the one who healed me, old hag? Guess I should say thanks."
"If you want to repay me," Porlyusica snapped, "then leave. I can't stand humans, nothing but loud, hot-headed trouble."
Rex shrugged. "Is she always like this?"
Makarov let out a warm, rumbling "Hohoho!"the kind of laugh only an old man with too many stories could make.
"Don't mind her. She talks harshly, but she's not a bad person."
"How'd she heal me anyway?" Rex asked, slowly pushing himself upright. His body still ached, but the pain had dulled.
"Porlyusica is a master of healing magic," Makarov said proudly. "Especially wounds caused by Magic. She's earned the title of Healing Mage."
Rex nodded, stretching his limbs a bit.
"My name's Rex. Thank you, both of you, for saving my life. I owe you one."
That was the last straw.
Porlyusica grabbed the broom leaning against the wall. "If you won't leave, I'll MAKE you!"
Makarov raised a hand gently. "Porlyusica, wait, the boy just woke up. He's confused—"
"Confused or not, he's TALKING too much and RESTING too little!"
CRACK!
The broom slammed into the floor right beside Rex's head, the wood trembling like it regretted its life choices.
Porlyusica's voice dropped into a deadly register.
"Out."
Rex blinked. "Uh—"
"OUT!!"
The broom shot toward him like a javelin.
"AGH—HEY!! WHAT'D I DO?!" Rex yelped, scrambling backward like a startled cat.
"Porlyusica, please—let's not resort to viol—"
WHACK.
The broom smacked Makarov squarely on the forehead.
"Ow! Porlyusicaaa!" he squeaked, rubbing his new lump.
"Old man or brat, it makes NO difference! OUT!!!"
That was enough.
Rex bolted for the exit. Makarov followed with tiny, frantic steps.
Behind them, Porlyusica charged like a storm cloud wielding divine judgment.
"And DON'T TRACK MUD INTO MY HOME AGAIN!"
Rex dove out the doorway and into the rain.
Makarov stumbled after him.
Porlyusica slammed the broom against the doorframe like a war drum, the sound echoing through the forest.
"I SAID REST, NOT RUN YOUR MOUTH! COME BACK WHEN YOU LEARN TO LISTEN!"
BANG!
The door shut with explosive finality.
Rex and Makarov stood outside, drenched, breathing hard, and silently questioning their life choices.
Since the rain was pouring and the forest gave little cover, the two hurried toward the nearest large tree and ducked beneath its shelter.
Rex's foot slipped the moment he reached the roots. He caught himself on his hands, cursing under his breath.
"Damn… this rain's a bitch." He panted lightly, his fight with the bandits had drained more from him than he wanted to admit.
While Rex grumbled at the sky, Makarov quietly shrugged off his orange hoodie, revealing a simple white shirt underneath.
He laid the jacket on the ground between them, then held out his hand over it.
A soft foosh sounded as the jacket burst into gentle flames, radiating warm, steady heat.
Rex blinked. "Fire Magic? Huh. Who would've thought you were a wizard, old man."
As the warmth spread, his eyes drifted down, fixing on the dark mark imprinted on Makarov's shirt.
"Is that a guild mark? You in a guild or something, old man?" he asked, curiosity overtaking the fatigue.
The mark was a bold, stylized silhouette, all sweeping curves, part wing, part flame, part tail, sharp, fluid, unmistakable.
But instead of answering, Makarov rested his hands behind his back, speaking in the calm, steady tone of a teacher.
"I'm not going to ask how you ended up so injured. That's your business." He paused, eyes softening. "But tell me, why is it that you fight?"
Rex blinked. "Huh?"
"Why do you throw yourself into danger?" Makarov continued gently. "Do you have no friends? No family? Would it not be better to fight for someone you care about… instead of only yourself?"
Rex's expression shifted, then, slowly, a carefree smile spread across his face. He leaned back against the tree, shoulders loosening.
"I grew up on the streets of Magnolia, old man. Had no one. I learned everything on my own."
A small chuckle escaped him. "So, naturally, I trained my body. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Running rooftops. Climbing trees and walls. Whatever I could do."
He pushed himself to his feet, grin widening, not cocky, just honest.
"What I want most in this world… is to live a fun life."
"One where I do what I want, when I want. Whether I spend today crying or laughing, tomorrow still shows up, same as ever."
Rex glanced back at Makarov, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. "In that case… shouldn't I laugh?"
Makarov thought for a moment, the rain-softened firelight flickering across his tiny frame, before finally giving his answer.
"Rex… if it's fun you're after," he began gently, "you could always join my guild."
His voice carried that familiar grandfatherly warmth, soft, reassuring, yet beneath it was the unmistakable glint of mischief only Makarov Dreyar could pull off.
"We may be a legal guild, yes… but don't let that fool you."
His shoulders shook as he chuckled.
"Hohoho… the Magic Council certainly wishes we behaved like one."
Then, slowly, the humor faded, replaced by something quieter. Something real.
"But listen well, boy."
The fire crackled between them, warm and steady.
"If you want a place where you can laugh, fight, struggle, grow… a place where you can live every day with your head held high, then Fairy Tail is the guild for you."
"We don't just take jobs together." His voice softened. "We live together. We cry together. We raise hell together."
"We're a family. A real one."
He placed a small hand over his heart.
"And no matter how much trouble we cause…
…we never abandon our own."
A proud, stubborn smile tugged at his lips.
"So if you truly want a life of fun, chaos, and bonds that won't break… come to Fairy Tail. You'll be welcomed the moment you step through the door."
Rex rested his thumb on his chin, thinking it over. Honestly, it wasn't a bad offer. He had nothing to lose. If he didn't like it, he could simply leave. But… he didn't feel any reason to say no either.
"...but isn't only a guild master allowed to invite someone to join a guild?" Rex finally asked.
"Hohoho…" Makarov chuckled, stroking his mustache with theatrical pride. "Then it's a good thing I'm a guild master."
He straightened his back, just a bit.
"My name is Makarov Dreyar. And I am the current Guild Master of Fairy Tail."
Rex stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! What the hell, old man? You couldn't have told me that sooner?!"
Once he calmed down, he extended a fist toward the short, elderly mage with a bright, genuine grin.
"Alright then. I'll join your guild, Master Makarov."
Makarov mirrored the smile with one of his own—small but overflowing with warmth—and returned the fist bump.
"It is a pleasure to have you, Rex."
In Earth Land, guilds serve as the backbone of society, organizations built around shared trade, common purpose, and the flow of requests from clients to their members.
Though they all function as hubs for mages seeking work and Jewels, guilds fall into three distinct categories.
Legal Guilds are approved and registered by the Magic Council, working openly to accept jobs, protect civilians, and oppose criminal mages.
Dark Guilds exist outside the Council's authority, operating as unlawful organizations that take on forbidden tasks and thrive in secrecy.
Between them lies the rare Independent Guild, neither sanctioned nor criminal—groups that act freely so long as they avoid earning the Council's ire.
Every guild carries its own insignia, a symbolic crest reflecting its name and identity. These marks, imprinted painlessly with a Magic Stamp Tool, serve as proof of membership and legitimacy, more than decoration, they are declarations of belonging.
In the end, a guild is more than its walls or name.
It is a home, where mages gather to find purpose, companionship, and the courage to step forward into the world.
And so… years passed.
Sitting on the rooftop of an old Magnolia building, Makarov let out a long, weary sigh.
The year was X776—October 31st.
Ten months before the current events.
"What's with the sighing, old man?" Rex asked as he plopped down beside his guild master, legs dangling lazily over the edge.
Makarov didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the distant lights of Magnolia, soft and troubled.
"...The Magic Council summoned me," he finally said. "With troubling news."
Rex raised a brow. "Troubling how?"
Makarov's expression darkened. "According to them, a rogue scientist tied to an old classified project has resurfaced. He's been performing forbidden experiments… implanting Lacrimas into children in an effort to artificially create mages."
His tone grew heavy, slow, almost bitter.
"The Council issued a single directive."
"One of Fairy Tail's members was to infiltrate the project, uncover its purpose, and gather every scrap of information they could."
Rex stared blankly. "Okay, but why's that a problem? You've got tons of guild members. I counted, like, what—at least a hundred?"
Makarov shook his head. "This mission wouldn't be quick, Rex. The Council classified it as long-term. Possibly months. Possibly a year."
He rubbed his face, exhaustion leaking through the cracks.
"The reward matched the danger: high-grade magical resources, a huge sum of Jewel, and even political goodwill. Completing it would strengthen Fairy Tail's standing with the Council… something we desperately needed at the time."
Then he fell silent.
Rex waited.
Makarov continued.
"As for why they chose Fairy Tail… it wasn't because we're obedient. Or manageable. Or easy to control."
He chuckled bitterly.
"No… they chose us because out of every legal guild in Fiore, Fairy Tail has one trait the operation needed above all else."
"When innocent lives are threatened… no one is more relentless."
Fairy Tail's recklessness was a curse in politics.
But a blessing on missions like this.
The Magic Council itself was the highest governing force in the magical world, a sprawling system of ordinary officials and elite Mages that regulated Magic across every continent. Legal Guilds fell under its command. Dark Guilds were hunted by its decree. And every mage—every spell, every crime, every misuse of Magic—was subject to its judgment.
It existed to maintain balance.
Whether mages liked it or not.
Rex sat quietly through the explanation… until one detail finally hit him.
"...so if someone took the job," he asked slowly, "how much money would that person get?"
Makarov rubbed his chin. "Hmm… I believe they said around… 10,000,000 Jewel."
Rex's soul left his body.
"…"
"HUH?!" he exploded, eyes going wide. "10,000,000 JEWEL?! FOR REAL!?"
Before Makarov could blink, Rex sprang to his feet.
"Six–figure payout, here I come!!" he shouted, sprinting across the roof and preparing to jump.
"WAIT!" Makarov yelled. "You don't even know where it is!"
Rex skidded to a stop at the edge, turned back with a grin far too bright for someone who'd just heard about illegal child experiments.
"Don't worry, Master! I'll figure it out. Who knows. maybe I'll find a new member while I'm at it!"
And with that, he leapt off the rooftop.
Makarov reached out helplessly.
"REX—!! …ah, too late '
…
Elsewhere.
Deep within the ruined laboratory—far from Amon and James, far from sunlight or movement—the world sat frozen in a wounded hush.
Dust drifted through the broken corridors.
Shattered glass glittered faintly in the dark.
And in the center of one devastated room…
stood a statue of ice.
Rex.
Trapped exactly as he'd fallen, frozen mid-breath, mid-thought, mid-life, ever since Alex's spell had swallowed him whole.
CRACK.
A tiny fracture crept across Rex's leg, thin as a hairline.
CRACK.
Another split across his arm.
CRACK.
His chest.
The sound multiplied, sharp, rapid, relentless, like the heartbeat he'd been denied.
The ice trembled.
SHATTER.
A deafening explosion of frost burst outward, shards scattering like deadly snow.
When the mist settled…
A figure stepped through the drifting ice dust.
Cold steam curled off his skin.
His eyes—calm, razor-focused—held none of the playful recklessness they once did.
This was no statue.
This was no corpse.
This was no victim.
This was Rex.
Awake.
Alive.
And terrifyingly serious.
After all this time…
the wolf had broken free.
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