Chapter 76 - The Opening Rift

Date: Late July X786

Location: Crocus Arena & Surroundings

The Grand Magic Games opened beneath an uneasy sun.

Grandstands surged with voices, flags snapping like restless birds above the sea of watchers. Magic-powered fireworks stood waiting in hidden launchers, eager to split the coming night sky — but the crowd was hunting something else first.

Fairy Tail's section, once electric and wild, felt oddly still. Banners drooped, lacking that chaotic spark that used to set every corner alight. Even strangers felt it — the hollow, the missing pulse where Fairy Tail's heart should have roared.

Teresa stepped through the VIP pavilion, flanked by foreign dignitaries swaddled in rich silks and ceremonial charms. She wore her formal Claymore armor, silver catching stray sunbeams, Fairy Tail's crest stitched faint and almost secret at her cloak's edge.

Some gasped. Others leaned forward in silent awe. Whispers folded around her like fog.

"The Silver-Eyed Valkyrie," they called her. She felt less like a woman than a mirage — a blade given form, untouchable and unclaimed.

On the main stage, Councilor Mana's voice rose, brittle but clear.

"Welcome, all guilds and citizens! The Grand Magic Games stand as a testament to unity, strength… and spirit."

She paused, eyes drifting toward Teresa in the shadows.

"We acknowledge the absence of certain guilds, including Fairy Tail. But let no one mistake patience for weakness. They arrive on time."

Polite applause trembled through the arena, thin and uncertain. A few forced cheers rang out; others frowned sharply.

Above, from a high balcony, Ethne watched, flanked by Warrod and Org. She tracked Teresa's path as it vanished beneath arches, sliding through the crowd like a silent ripple.

Backstage, Fairy Tail's few gathered — Macao, Kinana, Romeo, and newer recruits — huddled in a narrow, quiet room.

Teresa slipped in, eyes locking with Macao's first.

"It's okay," she murmured. "Stay back for now."

Macao's brow furrowed, but he simply nodded. "Just… come back whole."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. "Always."

She turned and moved out, cloak brushing the walls, aura hidden so deeply that even the sharpest senses would miss her.

Meanwhile, in the arena, the first event thundered to life — a chaotic obstacle race of collapsing platforms and shifting traps, designed to test not just strength but heart.

Screens overhead flashed rosters: five-person teams, each member limited to three events. Teresa's name blinked twice only — "Special Exhibition Duel" and "Magical Strategy Relay."

Blue Pegasus glided through, seamless and luminous. Sabertooth stumbled, too heavy on raw power. Raven Tail crept cunningly but risked disqualification at every turn. Crime Sorcière faltered and fell early, out before the final platform.

Fairy Tail's board remained blank, a quiet defiance that rattled even rival fans.

From above, Teresa watched, expression unreadable. Her focus wasn't on leaping forms but on the strategists behind them, the ones shaping these moves in shadows.

In the stands, noise built in fractal waves — some rose chanting her name, some cursed her as a ghost haunting the Games.

On broadcasts, opinions sparked and spat.

"Fairy Tail is playing the long game!"

"They're cowards! Nothing left but an emblem!"

"They're about to shock everyone — watch."

Some fans rose, shirts reading: "One Sailor in the Void." Others scorned them loudly.

On a high balcony, Bran hissed at Ethne.

"She's hijacking the whole event — and you let her!"

Ethne's gaze didn't waver. "We gave her power because no one else could bear it."

Bran's hands curled tight. "She's becoming stronger than the Council itself."

Warrod cut in, voice almost kind. "Then we must learn to walk with her. Or fall behind forever."

As the second event neared, tension pressed the air flat.

The "Special Exhibition Duel" — a stage for chosen elites, no restraints, no shields, just raw truth.

Teresa entered first. Each step rang like a slow drumbeat. Across from her: Isla Tempest, Crime Sorcière's pride, known for illusions and fluid whip conjuring.

No runic traps. No gimmicks. Just two souls standing beneath the world's gaze.

Isla struck, water whips arcing like silver dragons. Teresa's feet barely whispered as she evaded, her hand flickering, Yoki's aura controlled but hungry.

Void Sever cleaved two whips to steam. Isla shifted — illusions cloaked the ground in phantom storms and glowing caverns.

Teresa's eyes narrowed to cold pinpoints.

"Phantom Step."

In a breath, she ghosted behind Isla. Her blade tapped the floor once, vibration echoing like a distant bell.

Isla flinched. The illusions collapsed, brittle as frost underfoot.

One final flick — Isla's staff clattered away. Her aura stilled.

"Victory: Teresa of Fairy Tail!" thundered the announcer.

The crowd cracked open, a roar rushing upward. Even rivals stood — some clapped out of respect, others in haunted awe.

Backstage, a Dragon Slayer whispered, "She didn't smell like blood. But she felt… wrong."

A God Slayer frowned. "Not divine. Not abyssal. Just… absolute."

A Devil Slayer looked away, voice shaking. "I felt my soul curl in on itself. Like she could see every part I've hidden."

Rumors curled through side halls like smoke.

"She's different."

"She's beyond the Council now."

"Not a fighter — a verdict."

Teresa paused alone, a hand against cold stone.

They're not testing my skill, she thought. They're testing my place.

She exhaled once, sharp as a blade leaving a sheath.

Above her, screens flashed teasers for nighttime relays and covert missions. Fairy Tail's board still read empty.

In Council chambers, monitors blinked with vault-site pulses and infiltration alarms. A note glowed: "Strike Team midnight ready."

Back on the arena's edge, Teresa studied the rune-worn event panel.

A duty, yes. But also a choice.

And tonight, every eye, every hush, every tremor knew.

She had chosen.