Chapter 57 - Under Quiet Skies

Date: Year X786 — Late February

Location: Magnolia — Fairy Tail Guild Hall

Winter's grip began to ease its claws, retreating one inch at a time. Snow thinned across rooftops, revealing dark, weathered tiles beneath. Water trickled along the edges of cobblestone streets, whispering quiet promises of spring to anyone willing to listen. Magnolia felt like a town waking from a long, deep dream, stretching quietly rather than bursting alive.

Inside Fairy Tail's guild hall, warmth pooled like honey. It wasn't the rowdy heat of tavern laughter or spilled ale, but a softer glow — slow, steady, almost shy.

Romeo darted between tables, a blue-and-white scarf trailing behind him like a clumsy flag. The stitches were uneven, stray loops wobbled, but his grin was radiant.

"Think Bisca will like it?" he asked, eyes wide with raw hope.

Kinana leaned forward, touching the scarf as though it were made of spun light.

"She'll love it," she said, voice rich and warm.

Nearby, Reedus captured it all in ink — Romeo mid-spin, scarf fluttering like a bird in first flight.

"You're practicing already," he teased gently, pen moving in small, sure strokes. "Big brother energy."

Romeo's chest puffed with pride.

"I wanna give her something before the baby comes," he insisted, as though any moment might slip away.

Macao reached over to ruffle his hair, the movement soft in its affection.

"You'll have time," he said, a faint, tired joy in his voice. "Plenty of chances to spoil that little one rotten."

Wakaba snorted from his seat, pipe dangling.

"Kid's got more patience than we ever did," he muttered, but his eyes glimmered with something gentle beneath the gruffness.

Laughter rose slowly, a warm tide rising and falling. No roars. No smashing tankards. Just the quiet chorus of a family waiting for something tender.

Southern Outskirts — Teresa's Estate

Beyond the softened line of Magnolia, Teresa stood still among thinning drifts. The snow melted in quiet sighs around her boots, revealing the first shy greens pressing up toward the light.

She extended her senses — not in aggression, but as a slow, patient breath. The landscape yielded nothing: no rogue footprints, no tremors of hostile magic.

Stillness is not safety, she reminded herself. Stillness can be a blade waiting behind a curtain.

Voldane had not vanished. His tendrils coiled farther south, slipping between trade veins, curling into Council blind spots. Watching. Calculating.

So did she.

Yet even as she mapped the emptiness, her focus shifted northward, to Magnolia. To that single, small pulse she checked each day, as though confirming the sunrise.

The child.

Still forming. Still months from breath. But present — a thread of quiet certainty woven into the city's energy.

In her old life, there were no children. No soft futures. Only steel and blood and hollow victory.

But here...

A heartbeat existed without fear. A tiny promise she almost didn't dare to believe in.

Crocus — Council Tower

In the cold, echoing chambers of the Council, Org stared at the latest map spread beneath his fingers. His thumb traced the southern lines, the ink smudged from restless handling.

"She remains in Magnolia," a Rune Knight confirmed softly. "Winter rotation holds."

Org's brow tightened.

"And Voldane?"

"Active. No formal infractions."

Warrod watched quietly, arms folded like an old tree's branches.

"A lull can serve them both," he said.

"Temporary," Org snapped. His voice had the brittle edge of a glass about to fracture. "Nothing truly pauses."

"And when they clash again?" Warrod pressed.

Org didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the ink, as though the lines might offer absolution.

Magnolia — Bisca's Cottage

In a small, warm room, Bisca shifted carefully in her chair, the weight of her growing belly obvious in every breath. Alzack hovered nearby, moving in circles so awkward and sweet it almost felt choreographed.

"You're fussing," she teased, her laugh soft and low.

"I can't help it," he admitted, cheeks reddening.

"You've cleaned the kitchen twice today," she teased, eyes sparkling.

Alzack ducked his head. "I don't know how to wait quietly."

She reached for his hand, their fingers twining like a secret.

"Me either," she whispered.

He knelt, forehead resting gently against her hand.

"It feels like everything already changed," he said, voice hushed, trembling.

She squeezed his fingers.

"It has," she answered. "And it's beautiful."

Outside, the wind brushed past the shutters like a lullaby.

"I still like the name Asuka," she said, so soft it might have been a dream.

Alzack's smile was small and true.

"Then maybe that's it."

Neither noticed the faint shimmer at the window edge — Teresa's awareness folding around them like a silent blessing.

Later That Night — Teresa's Estate

Night stretched across the hills in slow, heavy sheets. The moon sailed above, a pale ship adrift on a black sea.

Teresa stood alone on her porch, her white cloak tugged gently by the wind.

Tonight, there was no map in her mind. No tactical flow. Just the hush.

She thought of Bisca's laughter. Of Alzack's trembling voice. Of a name whispered into a warm, lamplit room.

'Asuka.'

She lowered her gaze to the lacquered box beside her. The wooden bird waited inside, small wings outstretched, forever caught in that first hopeful leap.

She traced its edge with a tenderness she once believed belonged only to others.

"I used to think moments like this were for softer souls," she murmured to the wind. "Not... monsters."

Her eyes rose to the moon.

Maybe even monsters deserve a moment to believe.

Far South — Voldane's Encampment

Deep beneath the southern cliffs, Voldane studied the reports, his fingers drumming the table like a quiet threat.

"Magnolia holds," an aide said, voice strained. "She stays with them. The Council is still."

Voldane inclined his head.

"Let them dream," he said softly. "Let them wrap themselves tighter around her."

Another operative shifted. "And afterward?"

"After?" Voldane repeated, almost wistful. "After, they will learn what it costs to build a fortress from trust."

His fingers traced a thin, winding path across the southern lines.

"Love is strong," he murmured. "But it makes the heart fragile."

A faint smile flickered across his lips — gone as quickly as it appeared.

Magnolia — Quiet Before Spring

February gave way to March like an old friend stepping aside at the door. Snow receded from rooftops, leaving bright puddles that caught the early morning sun. Wagons returned along thawed roads, farmers dug cautious fingers into damp earth, testing the world's forgiveness.

Inside the guild hall, Kinana sorted small packages of herbs and birthing cloths, fingers moving with quiet reverence. Reedus painted at the far wall, each brushstroke a whispered blessing. Romeo twisted yarn into new shapes, brow furrowed with earnest concentration.

Macao stood at the high windows, hands behind his back, watching dawn bloom slowly over the town.

Wakaba joined him, pipe smoke drifting between them like old ghosts.

"Strange, isn't it?" Wakaba murmured.

Macao nodded.

"Like the storm paused," he said softly.

"For now."

Neither said more. They didn't need to.

Southern Outskirts — Teresa's Watch

Morning came slow and golden, slipping across the hills like a hesitant confession.

Teresa stood at the overlook, her breath clouding and curling into the cold.

No threats rose. No rogue magic coiled.

Her fingers rested on the wooden box at her side.

A gift—not forged in duty or fear.

For once... not a weapon. Not a shield.

Something human.

The ties binding her to Magnolia felt thicker, like new roots pushing into the earth.

War will return. It always does.

But this time, she carried more than a blade.

She carried a heartbeat.

For now, she allowed herself one rare, silent promise:

Peace. Just for today.