The rising sun, with its usual, irritating cosmic punctuality, painted the sky in vibrant shades of orange, pink, and a gold that promised a new day – a day that would hopefully be less chaotic, less painful, and with considerably fewer necromantic monsters than the previous ones. I opened my eyes slowly, feeling the familiar stiffness of my muscles protesting against the movement. Erza still slept peacefully nestled on my lap, her serene, almost angelic face illuminated by the soft, golden morning light filtering through the cave entrance. For a moment, I allowed myself just to watch her, that small, stubborn redhead warrior who, somehow inexplicably, had become an unexpected, surprisingly welcome constant in my long, complicated existence. With a care that still surprised me, I gently touched her shoulder.
"Morning, stubborn little giant," I whispered, my voice hoarse from sleep and the smoke of the nearly extinguished fire. "Time to get up and face the world. Or, at least, find something decent to eat."
She opened her eye slowly, her long red lashes fluttering, and blinked a few times, looking a bit disoriented and confused at first, like a newborn kitten exploring the world for the first time. Then, her brown eye, still a little swollen from sleep and the tears of the previous night, focused on my face, and a small, hesitant smile appeared on her lips. It was a smile that warmed in a strange way.
"We need to get something in our stomachs before we head off," I suggested, trying to maintain a practical tone and ignore the uncomfortable warmth spreading in my chest. Feelings. What an irritating thing. "There's a river nearby, as you saw. I can try my luck and see if I can catch a few unsuspecting fish for our breakfast. My fishing skills are… questionable, but hunger is a great motivator."
"I… I can look for some fruit in the forest," Erza offered, her voice still a little sleepy but already with a touch of her usual determination, as she stretched like a lazy cat, now visibly more awake and alert. "I know some edible plants."
We briefly separated to find our improvised breakfast. The river, to my surprise and relief, was teeming with plump, silvery fish that seemed almost to beg to be caught, and with a little patience and a few tricks I'd learned in some particularly famished life, it wasn't difficult to capture a few reasonably sized specimens. When I returned to the cave, triumphant and with the fish speared on a branch, Erza had already collected a small but impressive variety of colourful, visibly ripe wild berries, which she displayed with adorable, childlike pride.
With a skill that would surprise those who only knew my facade as an ancient warrior and cynical entity, I prepared a simple but delicious meal of fish roasted over the embers of the rekindled fire and fresh, sweet berries. Sitting side by side at the cave entrance, under the morning sun now warming the forest, we savoured every morsel of that improvised meal – it was, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, infinitely better, tastier, and more nutritious than anything they had served us as food in that damned, unholy Tower of Heaven. Freedom, it seemed, tasted deliciously of roasted fish and wild berries.
"Where… where are we going now, Azra'il?" Erza asked between bites of fish, her brown eyes fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity and a newfound confidence that was both touching and a little unnerving.
"Hmm, let's see…" I replied, snapping my fingers in the air as if having a sudden epiphany, as I finished my last, delicious piece of fish with a sigh of satisfaction. I adopted a thoughtful expression, as if consulting some arcane knowledge or a detailed mental map. "From the smell of the sea breeze, the way the seaweed was piled on the beach, and the type of bird I saw flying earlier, I'd say there ought to be a fishing village not too far from here, probably following the coastline in that direction." I pointed vaguely north-west.
[Birds? Seaweed? Seriously, Azra'il? Your ability to improvise elaborate explanations for information I provide you with is truly remarkable. Almost worthy of a drama award.] Eos commented in my mind, with her usual tone of appreciative sarcasm. I ignored her with my customary mastery.
"We can start there. Try to get some more precise information about the way to Magnolia, perhaps trade these 'chic shipwreck survivor' clothes of ours for something a little less conspicuous and that doesn't reek of mould, despair, and dead fish. And, if the gods of luck, cartographical common sense, and sobriety are even minimally on our side today, we might even find a map that wasn't drawn by a drunkard with a terrible sense of direction, a love for crooked lines, and possible colour blindness."
After the surprisingly satisfying meal, we gathered our few, insignificant possessions – which basically consisted of the clothes on our backs, my growing collection of shiny pebbles Sho had given us as a good luck charm, and a stubborn determination to survive – and set off towards the unknown, following my 'instructions' based on seabirds and seaweed accumulation. The day was clear, the sky a vibrant, limpid blue, and a soft, cool breeze blew through the trees, carrying the scent of the forest and the promise of new adventures. Our long, arduous, probably dangerous journey to the legendary, noisy, chaotic Fairy Tail guild was only just beginning. And, to be completely, painfully honest with myself, a small, tiny, irritatingly persistent part of me was almost… almost dangerously… looking forward to it.
We walked for several hours through the dense but surprisingly welcoming forest, following a narrow, winding path that, gradually and to our relief, became more defined, wider, and showed clear signs of recent human traffic. The sun was already high in the sky, shining relentlessly on our heads, when finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking and Erza asking "are we there yet?" every five minutes, we spotted the first, welcome buildings of the village.
It was a small, picturesque, medium-sized settlement, nestled in a verdant valley, with simple but well-kept houses built of dark wood and thatched roofs, many of them adorned with colourful flowers in small window boxes. From the tranquil movement in the streets and the modest number of buildings, I mentally calculated it should house about five hundred souls, give or take. The main streets were of packed earth, wide and clean, with small local businesses, such as a bakery exuding a delicious smell of fresh bread, a smithy where the rhythmic sound of hammer on anvil could be heard, and a few charming residences scattered in an organised, harmonious way. It was… surprisingly normal. And, after everything we had been through, normal was incredibly welcome.
As soon as we entered the village proper, following the main street that snaked between the houses, I immediately noticed the curious, somewhat suspicious glances of the villagers in our direction. And, frankly, it was hardly surprising. Two unknown children, one a lupine Beastman with snow-white hair and strangely blue eyes, the other with vibrant scarlet hair and an improvised eyepatch barely concealing a nasty wound, both wearing tattered, dirty, torn clothes, and with the general appearance of having just fled a particularly brutal nightmare, would certainly attract attention in any minimally civilised place. We were quite a sight.
"Oi, stubborn little redhead," I whispered to Erza, who walked beside me with a nervous stiffness, clearly uncomfortable with the curious stares. "I reckon, to avoid being mistaken for escapees from some horror circus or, worse still, spies from some neighbouring kingdom with terrible disguises, it'd be best to look for a local tavern or inn. They are, traditionally, the best, noisiest places to get useful information, a hot meal, and, if we're lucky, a bath that doesn't involve seawater and improvised seaweed soap."
She nodded in agreement, her brown eyes still scanning the surroundings with understandable caution. And so, we began to explore the narrow, charming streets of the village until we found a welcoming, reasonably clean-looking tavern, with a hand-painted wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze, announcing "The Drunken Squid – Cold Ale and Dodgy Tales". Seemed promising.
When we pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered, the noisy, warm atmosphere immediately enveloped us. The tavern was bustling, full of local peasants, sun-weathered fishermen, and a few tired-looking travellers, all drinking ale from large earthenware tankards and chatting animatedly about harvests, fishing, the weather, and, probably, local gossip. The strong, characteristic smell of home-cooked food, fermented drink, and pipe smoke filled the air, mixed with the constant, cheerful hubbub of conversations and laughter. It was an organised, surprisingly welcoming chaos.
Behind the long, polished dark wooden counter, a stout, robust woman with arms as strong as a lumberjack's served foaming tankards of ale with impressive efficiency, whilst wiping the counter with a damp cloth and exchanging banter with the regulars. Despite her imposing size and initially serious expression, her face had soft features, kind eyes, and an easy, welcoming smile that formed on her lips as she chatted with the patrons. She seemed the sort who wouldn't stand for any nonsense, but had a heart of gold.
"Let's try our luck with her," I suggested to Erza in a low voice, indicating the woman at the counter with a slight, discreet nod. "She looks like the landlady. And, usually, tavern landladies know everything that goes on in the town and surrounding areas. They're like oracles fuelled by ale and gossip."
We approached the counter with calculated hesitation, attracting a few curious, speculative glances along the way. The woman, whom I presumed from the whispers at the bar was called Hilda, noticed us immediately, her keen brown eyes widening slightly at our deplorable state and our clothes that screamed 'disaster survivors'. Her smile faltered for an instant, replaced by an expression of genuine concern.
"Excuse me, landlady," I began in the most polite, innocent, helpless voice I could muster, which, to be honest, wasn't very difficult considering my current appearance. "Could you, perchance, help us with some information? We're a bit… lost and confused." I batted my eyelashes pathetically for added effect.
"Of course, my dears. Sit down, sit down," Hilda replied promptly, her voice surprisingly soft and gentle for someone of her stature, her motherly gaze already assessing our condition with a concern that seemed genuine. She gestured to two empty stools near the counter. "How can I be of service to two such… dusty young travellers?"
"Well, to begin with, madam," I started, adopting a trembling, vulnerable tone, "we'd very much like to know where exactly we are in this vast, confusing world. And, if it's not too much to ask, what would be the best, safest, quickest way to the city of Magnolia?"
"Why, my little ones, you're in the quiet, welcoming village of Lovewood, a peaceful, honest place, about three days' walk, if the weather's fair and the forest wolves aren't too hungry, from the grand city of Magnolia," she explained with a smile, but her expression grew increasingly worried, her eyes fixed on our dirty faces, our torn clothes, and especially on the still visible, poorly healed wound over Erza's eye. "But… my dears, if I may be so bold as to ask… where are your parents? Your guardians? What, in heaven's name, happened to you two to be in such a sorry state?" Her voice was laden with a motherly concern that was almost palpable. Showtime.
Crocodile tears, or rather, tears from an ancient actress with millennia of practice in emotional manipulation, began to well in my eyes as I held Erza's small, trembling hand, who looked at me with an expression of growing confusion and slight suspicion.
"We… we're orphans, madam," I began, my voice trembling just right, full of feigned vulnerability and rehearsed suffering. "We were… we were kidnapped a long time ago by very bad, cruel, heartless people. They… they forced us to work day and night in a horrible, illegal power lacrima factory, hidden somewhere on the coast. The conditions there were… were indescribably awful, madam. They barely fed us, beat us for any reason… it was a nightmare." I put on my best abandoned-puppy-in-the-rain look. It worked in nine out of ten worlds.
I paused dramatically, sniffing lightly and wiping a non-existent tear with the back of my dirty hand. Acting was an art, and I was a master.
"We… we bravely managed to escape a few days ago, after much struggle and danger. We're trying to reach the city of Magnolia, because we heard, in whispers of hope, that there's a very famous, kind mages' guild there, called Fairy Tail, that helps people like us, needy people with no one in the world…" I let my voice die away in a pathetic sob.
Out of the corner of my eye, which wasn't dramatically covered by fake tears, I noticed Erza watching me with a hilarious mixture of genuine surprise, incredulous shock, and reluctant admiration for my shameless ability to concoct such an elaborate, detailed, convincing story in seconds. She still had much to learn about the art of survival and subtle manipulation.
Hilda, the good, gullible landlady, clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror and compassion. "Oh, you poor dears! My dear children! So young, so small, and already enduring such unspeakable suffering…" Her motherly eyes, previously just kind, now filled with genuine tears of pure, crystalline empathy. Bingo. "And you, my dear," she addressed Erza with a voice choked with emotion, her gaze fixed on the wound on her eye, "your poor little eye… what did those monsters do to you?"
"It was a… a terrible accident at the factory, madam," I replied quickly, before Erza could say anything to spoil my award-winning performance, squeezing her hand tighter as a signal for her to get into character. "An explosion… she barely survived." More drama. More tears. Perfect.
"I cannot, I simply cannot leave you two like this, alone and helpless in this cruel world!" Hilda declared with fierce conviction, her fists clenched on the counter, as determined as a lioness protecting her cubs. "My tavern also serves as a small, humble inn, and I, by happy coincidence or perhaps divine providence, have a vacant, clean room upstairs. You can stay here as long as you need, my dears. Consider this your home."
"But… but we can't afford to pay, madam…" I began, with perfectly rehearsed hesitation and a look of sadness and shame, but Hilda immediately cut me off with a quick, impatient wave of her hand.
"Don't even think about it for a second! Money is the least of my worries right now!" she replied with a firmness that brooked no argument. "You two urgently need a safe place to rest, clean up, and recover from all this horror. And food! I'll prepare something hot and hearty for you to eat immediately, you're both so thin and pale you look like two little ghosts!" Her gaze swept over our thin bodies with palpable concern.
"Are you… are you sure, madam? We don't want to be a bother…" I asked, my voice choked with an emotion that, to my surprise, wasn't entirely false. Genuine kindness could still surprise me, even after all this time.
"Absolutely, positively sure, my dear!" Hilda replied with a broad, radiant smile, already coming out from behind the counter with surprising agility for her size. "Now come with me, my little ones. I'll show you to your room. And then, a good hot bath and a decent meal!"
As we followed Hilda's imposing, motherly figure up the stairs towards our temporary refuge, Erza leaned in discreetly and whispered in my ear, a glint of admiration and disbelief in her one good eye: "You are really, frighteningly good at this, Azra'il. I almost believed your story."
I gave her a discreet wink and a smug smile over my shoulder. Sometimes, my dear little redhead, a small, harmless, elaborately convincing lie, told with the talent of an experienced actress, could open important doors, generous hearts, and, who knows, even get you a free room with meals included. It was just another of the many, varied survival skills I had accumulated over the ages. And this one, in particular, was surprisingly useful.
Hilda guided us up a slightly worn but solid wooden staircase that creaked softly under our feet with each step. In the narrow, quiet upstairs corridor, she stopped in front of a simple but clean wooden door and opened it with a welcoming gesture, inviting us into our new, unexpected sanctuary.
"It's not much, my dears, and forgive the simplicity, but it's clean, tidy, and, most importantly, comfortable and safe," she said with a gentle smile, as she lit a small oil lamp on a bedside table, bathing the room in a warm, flickering light.
The room was, indeed, simple, but it exuded a surprisingly cosy, welcoming atmosphere. A single bed, covered with impeccably clean white cotton sheets and a woollen blanket folded at the foot, took up most of the space – it was, to our immense joy, large enough for both of us to sleep comfortably, even if a little snugly. There was a small, rustic wooden table with a simple chair by the room's only window, which overlooked a small garden at the back of the tavern, and a sturdy, slightly old-fashioned wooden wardrobe against the opposite wall. Simple, but a veritable paradise compared to our last accommodation.
"There's a small private lavatory in there, with everything you need," Hilda pointed to a narrow door in the corner of the room. "There's hot water in the pipes, if the boiler's working properly today, and clean towels. You can have a good bath and get properly cleaned up. I'm sure you'll feel much better afterwards."
I watched Erza look around the small room with wide, wondrous, almost reverent eyes. After the filth, darkness, and despair of the Tower of Heaven, and our improvised night in a damp cave, that simple, clean room with a real bed must have seemed like a true, luxurious palace to her. Her shoulders, previously tense and hunched, seemed to visibly relax.
"I'll go downstairs now and prepare something very hearty and delicious for you both to eat," Hilda continued, her kind face lighting up at the prospect of feeding us. She clearly loved looking after others. "And, as I said, I have some clothes put away from my youngest daughter, from when she was about your age. They're in good condition, clean and fresh-smelling. I'll bring them up for you after you've finished your meal and bath. I think they should fit you both well enough, at least for now."
"You… you are very, very kind to us, madam," Erza said quietly, her voice still a little hoarse and shy, but full of sincere, touching gratitude. Her eyes were fixed on Hilda with an expression of pure admiration.
"Not at all, my dear child. Just doing what any decent person would," Hilda smiled, and her brown eyes softened even more with a motherly tenderness. "Now, please, rest a bit and make yourselves at home. I'll be back later with some warm food and some clean clothes for you."
She walked to the door with her surprisingly light, quiet steps for someone of her stature. Before leaving, she cast us one last motherly, almost protective glance, as if to make sure we were truly well and safe, and then gently closed the door behind her, leaving us alone in the comforting silence of the room.
We remained silent for a long moment, just absorbing the surreal reality of finally having a safe, clean place with a real bed to sleep in. It was almost unbelievable.
"I… I can't believe we've got a real bed, Azra'il," Erza murmured finally, her voice full of childlike amazement, still looking around the small room as if expecting to wake up at any moment from that good, improbable dream.
With a sigh of pure relief, I sat on the edge of the soft bed, feeling my aching muscles thank me for contact with something other than cold stone or damp sand. I watched Erza, who now timidly explored the small room, touching the wood of the table, looking out the window, her movements as hesitant as those of a wild animal unaccustomed to safety and comfort.
"You know, little redhead, we were dashed lucky to end up in this particular village," I commented, with a small smile. "The people here, or at least our landlady, seem genuinely good and big-hearted. But if we'd turned up like this, ragged and with a dodgy story, in Raven's End…" I shook my head, laughing just imagining the scene.
"Oh no, that would have been a complete and utter disaster!" Erza laughed along, her eyes shining with the memory of my previous stories. She was already quite familiar with the peculiar human fauna of my hometown. "I still remember that hilarious story you told about that elderly lady who spent all day chasing her own shopping bag, shouting that the bag was bewitched and trying to run away from her with her savings!"
"The folk of Raven's End are just like that, my dear. Suspicious of their own shadows and seeing conspiracies in every corner!" I confirmed, laughing heartily. "But that's nothing. Something even more absurd and utterly unbelievable once happened. There was a time when a dog and a cat, yes, a dog and a cat, robbed the most famous bakery in town, 'Delicious Breads & Goblins'! And the most bizarre thing is that the two of them were riding a small, flying magic motorbike!"
"The bakery with the magic goblin dust?" Erza asked, her eyes widening in disbelief, but already beginning to laugh at the mental image of the scene. "The same bakery you said uses a secret ingredient that makes people delirious for hours and speak only in perfect, embarrassing rhymes?"
"The very same! That's the one!" I confirmed with a wink. "The dog, a particularly clever mongrel with a look of having seen it all, was riding the magic motorbike with surprising skill, while the cat, a grumpy Siamese with a bandana on its head, held a water pistol and shouted at the poor baker: 'Hand over all the rye bread and chocolate croissants or there won't be any goblins left to tell the tale of this cursed bakery! Meow!'"
"How do you always know all these crazy, utterly unbelievable things that happen there in Raven's End, Azra'il?" Erza asked between fits of laughter, her shoulders shaking. It was good to see her laugh like that, so carefree.
"Raven's End, my little friend, is like a giant, rusty magnet for all sorts of madness, bizarreness, and insanity in the universe," I shrugged, with an amused, nostalgic smile. "The city simply attracts the absurd like honey attracts flies. Remember that secret syndicate of men who dressed up as pigeons and met on rooftops to plan world domination through the control of breadcrumbs? Well, now they're on strike, demanding gourmet, organic, gluten-free crumbs in public squares."
"And did the famous cat mayor approve the new crumb law?" Erza teased, already well acquainted with the story of the surprisingly competent feline who ruled Raven's End with an iron paw and a love for tinned tuna.
"Not yet. There was an impasse in the negotiations. He gave a fiery speech in perfect meows on the subject last night, during the council session, but the town hall's official translator, a polyglot parrot with hearing problems, said the mayor was actually speaking passionately about the importance of planting high-quality catnip in public gardens to improve the morale of the feline population. The mayor was so indignant at the misinterpretation that he dropped his gold monocle into his saucer of milk and refused to continue the session!"
Erza burst out laughing, a loud, crystal-clear, genuinely happy laugh, and I, inevitably, joined in. It was incredibly comforting, and a little surprising, to see how those crazy stories, which I used to tell in the Tower of Heaven just to try and distract her from her pain, her fears, and the constant hopelessness, still had the power to make her laugh like that, with such lightness and joy, even after everything we had been through.
"You really can turn any place, no matter how strange, into a completely absurd, hilarious story, Azra'il," she commented, wiping away a few stubborn tears of laughter that trickled from her one good eye.
"Ah, but Raven's End, my dear Erza, needs no help from me to be intrinsically, gloriously absurd," I replied with a satisfied smile. "The city does that all by itself, with admirable talent and dedication, thank you very much!"
Our contagious laughter and the unexpected lightheartedness were suddenly interrupted by three soft, discreet knocks on the room door – three gentle, almost hesitant taps that echoed through the small room. The polished brass doorknob turned slowly, with a small creak, and Hilda's imposing, motherly figure entered the room with the surprising grace of someone perfectly accustomed to juggling multiple tasks and dealing with the unexpected. On her right arm, she expertly balanced a large, polished dark wooden tray that exuded absolutely tempting, divine aromas, making my stomach rumble audibly in anticipation. Whilst on her left arm, she carried a small pile of colourful, clean, carefully folded clothes, the soft, cheerful colours of the fabrics creating a pleasant, welcoming contrast with her pristine white apron.
"So, my dear, hungry adventurers, are you feeling a bit more comfortable and at home now?" she asked with that warm, genuinely motherly smile of hers that seemed to have the power to light up her whole face and banish any shadow of sadness. Small, friendly expression lines formed around her kind brown eyes, full of a kindness that seemed almost unreal.
I watched intently as Erza, who was sitting beside me on the edge of the bed, became completely, absolutely still, almost petrified, her eye widening visibly as she followed Hilda's every graceful movement with an almost hypnotic intensity. The older woman, oblivious to our silent admiration, approached the small, rustic oak table near the window and, with almost reverent care, placed the heavy tray on its smooth, slightly dusty surface.
The aroma of the food, now free from the confines of the tray, intensified almost overwhelmingly, filling every corner of the small room with a promise of delight and satisfaction – it was a true, glorious symphony of homey, comforting smells that made my stomach rumble even louder in almost painful anticipation. There were two enormous, generously filled sandwiches, made with thick, soft slices of still-warm homemade bread, and stuffed with succulent layers of roasted meat that still released a delicious, aromatic steam. Beside the sandwiches, a simple white porcelain tureen steamed invitingly, full of a rich, thick golden broth, in which perfect pieces of carrots, potatoes, onions, and other vegetables I couldn't identify, but which looked incredibly appetising, floated cheerfully. Two large, sturdy mugs of fresh, warm milk completed the princely meal, the white, creamy drink still forming a thin, inviting layer of foam on top. It was a feast. A true, unexpected feast.
Erza remained in an almost reverent silence, her bright brown eye fixed on the food with an intensity and devotion usually reserved for a precious, long-lost treasure, or a divine vision. I knew that expression well – it was exactly the same one I saw etched on the hungry, hopeless faces of the other children in the Tower of Heaven when they, in their rare moments of rest, daydreamed of decent meals, of real food, of something more than that watery, inedible gruel they served us day after day. But for Erza, I realised with a pang in my heart, even before the nightmare of slavery in the Tower of Heaven, such a hearty, well-prepared meal offered with such kindness would be something absolutely extraordinary, almost miraculous. An orphan from a very young age, growing up on the streets and then in a miserable orphanage, she had probably never in her short, difficult life had regular access to meals so generous, so tasty, and, above all, so full of affection.
"And here are some clean, warm clothes for you both, my little ones," Hilda announced with an even broader smile, moving with soft, silent steps to our improvised bed. She placed the carefully folded items of clothing on the soft mattress with the same care and tenderness a devoted mother arranges her beloved children's clothes. "There are some simple but pretty dresses, some comfortable trousers, and some soft cotton blouses… I've also set aside some new undergarments and a few pairs of warm socks. You can choose what you like and put them on after you've finished eating and had a good, relaxing hot bath. I'm sure they should fit you both well enough, at least until we can get something more appropriate."
The clothes were simple, without great luxuries or embellishments, but they were visibly well-maintained, made of soft, durable fabrics in cheerful, gentle shades of sky blue, leaf green, and yellowish beige. There were even some colourful hair ribbons, a small but incredibly thoughtful detail that didn't go unnoticed and made my eyes sting a little with an unexpected emotion. Human kindness, when genuine, still had the power to disarm me.
"Thank you very, very much, Madam Hilda. For everything," I thanked her, my voice surprisingly choked, feeling a wave of genuine gratitude and an unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest at the almost unbelievable kindness of this strange woman.
"It's… it's very kind of you, madam… We don't know how to thank you…" Erza finally managed to say, her voice low, hoarse, and visibly emotional, her eyes shining with tears that weren't of sadness, but of a deep, touching gratitude.
"Why, there's absolutely nothing to thank me for, my dear, brave children," Hilda replied with a broad smile and a dismissive wave of her hand, as if what she was doing was the most natural, common thing in the world. She adjusted her white apron with a few automatic, efficient gestures. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work downstairs – there's always so much to do in a busy hostelry like this! But please, if you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate for a second to call me. I'll be nearby and ready to help with whatever's needed."
She walked with firm, decisive steps to the room door, her footfalls surprisingly silent on the old wooden floorboards. Before leaving, she cast us one last motherly, warm, genuinely concerned glance, as if to make sure, once more, that we were truly well, safe, and comfortable, and then gently closed the door behind her, leaving us alone again in the welcoming silence of the room.
Silence reigned once more in the small room, broken only by the distant, cheerful clinking of cutlery and conversations coming from the tavern downstairs, and by the soft whisper of the wind at the ajar window. Erza remained motionless, sitting on the edge of the bed, her brown eye still fixed on the sumptuous meal before us, as if she feared that, if she blinked or moved, all of it, all that kindness, all that hope, was just a good, cruel dream from which she would soon awaken to the usual harsh, cold reality.
With a small sigh that was a mixture of relief and an exhaustion that now seemed insurmountable, I got up from the bed, feeling every muscle in my body protest with a sharp pain. "Well, Erza, my hungry adventuring companion," I said, trying to keep my tone light and carefree, though my own stomach was rumbling like a wild animal. "The delicious, probably lovingly made food isn't going to eat itself. And, honestly, if you don't attack that sandwich first, I certainly will. And I don't promise to share."
She needed no further invitation. As if my words had broken some sort of spell, Erza moved with an almost animalistic speed and anxiety, grabbing one of the enormous sandwiches with her small, still slightly trembling hands, holding the soft, filled bread as if it were the most precious, rare treasure in the universe. When she took the first hesitant bite, her eyes, previously filled with disbelief and caution, widened in pure, absolute surprise, and then began to shine with an intensity and joy that were almost painful to behold. Shortly thereafter, she was devouring the sandwich with impressive, almost wild speed and enthusiasm, small crumbs of bread and tiny pieces of meat occasionally escaping from the corners of her mouth and falling onto her lap.
"Oi, oi, slow down there, you little, hungry world-devourer," I teased with an amused, genuinely happy smile, as I also took my own sandwich. "The food isn't going to run away, I promise. At least, not this food. If you keep eating at this frantic pace, you'll end up choking, and then I'll have to perform some embarrassing first-aid manoeuvre on you. And neither of us wants that, do we?"
Erza slowed her chewing pace a little, casting me a look that was a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude, but her brown eyes didn't lose that glint of pure, crystalline satisfaction as she savoured every bite of that simple but incredibly tasty meal. We then delved into the hot, steaming soup, the rich, vegetable-filled broth going down comfortingly, warming our tired, hungry throats, and finished the princely meal with large, satisfying gulps of fresh, warm milk, which left funny white moustaches on our food-smudged lips.
After the most satisfying meal I'd had in a very, very long time, I leaned back lazily on the soft bed, watching Erza, who remained seated in the chair near the table, looking completely, absolutely content, almost radiant. Her scarlet hair, now a little less tangled and with a healthier sheen, framed a face that was now flushed, relaxed, and with an expression of pure contentment so different from the tense, frightened, suffering mask she used to wear in the Tower of Heaven. She looked… happy. Genuinely happy. And that, somehow, made me feel happy too. What a strange, unsettling feeling.
"You know, little redhead," I commented softly, my voice a little hoarse, observing her with an interest that went beyond mere curiosity, "you look really, surprisingly cute when you're eating with such enthusiasm. It's almost… captivating." The words slipped out before I could stop them. Damn it.
Erza's face, already flushed with satisfaction, instantly turned the same intense, vibrant colour as her hair, and she quickly looked down, her small shoulders hunching slightly, clearly embarrassed and caught off guard by the unexpected compliment and, coming from me, totally out of character. She began to fiddle nervously with the crumbs on the table, avoiding my gaze. Adorable. Absolutely adorable.
(Oi, Eos,) I commented mentally to my ever-present, frequently irritating intelligent system, as I continued to observe Erza's adorably embarrassed reaction. (I think, when and if we finally settle in that noisy city of Magnolia and join that chaotic guild, I think I'll start cooking for her more often. Just to see those reactions of hers while she eats. They're so… genuine and precious. It's as if every meal is a small but significant adventure of flavours and happiness for her.)
[Ohh, but what an exciting, utterly unexpected development in our cynical, millennial protagonist! The fearsome Azra'il, Celestial Reaper of Worlds, Collector of Unsuspecting Souls, Ancient Entity with a history of mass destruction and an impeccably dark wardrobe, all soft and sentimental over a little human girl eating a sandwich with enthusiasm! How sweet! Next thing you know, you'll be making elaborate heart-shaped bentos, with smiling nori faces, and putting little notes with motivational messages like 'have a good day at school and don't destroy any planets today' along with her lunch.] Eos's voice in my mind was a masterpiece of affectionate sarcasm and pure, crystalline teasing.
(Shut your bloody gob, you overdeveloped tin can with too much free time to analyse my non-existent emotional life,) I retorted mentally, feeling my own cheeks warm in a totally unnecessary, deeply irritating way. I wasn't 'soft'. I was just… observing. With scientific interest. That's all.
[Oh, but how sweet and adorable! She even blushed! Who'd have thought the great, impenetrable Azra'il, terror of the seven hells and nightmare of cosmic bureaucrats, has such a surprisingly maternal, tender side hidden in there? Going to start making homemade biscuits as well? Perhaps those with chocolate chips and nuts? Or who knows, those with funny, smiling faces drawn with coloured icing? I can even help you with the recipes, I have some great ones in my files.] The amusement in Eos's voice was almost palpable, and I was sure that, if she had a physical body, she'd be doubled over laughing at my expense.
(You are absolutely, completely impossible today, Eos. And your recipe files are probably dreadful,) I replied, struggling hard to contain an amused smile threatening to escape my lips. It was difficult to maintain a facade of coolness when your own personal AI seemed determined to turn you into a caricature of a margarine commercial mum.
[Admit it, Azra'il. You're already secretly planning a whole special, nutritionally balanced menu for the coming weeks, just to have the pleasure of seeing her eyes shine with happiness at every new meal. And maybe even a surprise birthday cake, with candles and everything.] Her teasing was relentless. And, to my horror, frighteningly accurate on some points.
I watched Erza, who, oblivious to my small, embarrassing mental conversation and Eos's malicious teasing, now discreetly wiped the last, stubborn traces of crumbs from her face and clothes with a newfound dignity. There was a serenity in her countenance now, a calmness I hadn't seen since I'd met her. And, deep down, way deep down in my ancient, calloused being, perhaps, just perhaps, Eos wasn't entirely, completely wrong about the biscuits with smiling faces… But I would never admit that aloud. Never.