Fairy Tail: The Faint Smile in Earthland

Date: Year X785 — August — Days After the Council's Gamble

Location: Outskirts of Magnolia

The Grand Magic Games ended not with triumph, but with quiet orchestration.

The Council's secret assessment beneath Crocus had concluded—successfully, in their eyes. Teresa's controlled dismantling of Raven Fang's proxies was spun into a thrilling spectacle, her precision painted as power. The title Silver-Eyed Valkyrie spread like wildfire across Fiore, whispered in taverns, guild halls, and behind political curtains. But in the shadows where true power moved, warier eyes studied her in silence.

The tournament closed days later. No scandal broke the surface. The proxies were quietly detained. Their masters—untouched. Minor guilds celebrated placements. Crocus resumed its usual posturing.

Teresa departed without ceremony.

She returned to Magnolia as silently as she had entered Earthland months before—unceremonious, efficient, forgotten by the applause she never heard.

The air outside Magnolia was thick with summer weight, a heat that pressed gently on the skin, slow and humid. Morning mist curled around the low fields. Teresa walked alone, silver armor catching the sun in soft gleams, her white cloak brushing the earth with each step.

This silence—uninterrupted, unexamined—was familiar.

It was the kind she understood.

But peace was always temporary.

The Council's trap had changed things. Factions had stirred. Probes had tested her reach. And the whispers grew louder.

Yet Magnolia, removed from Crocus' thrones and shadows, remained untouched—for now. A fragile illusion.

Ahead, the path forked—one side curling back toward the city's trade road, the other trailing off into low woodlands, toward a shrine almost forgotten.

Teresa paused, listening—not with ears, but with that internal quiet honed through wars long buried. No flare of Yoki Magic, no overt scan. Just awareness.

Birds whispered in the trees. Something small rustled through the grass.

No threats. No eyes. Just breath.

She turned toward the shrine.

A low willow tree shaded the small stone altar. Moss and creeping vines obscured the carvings—symbols of harvest, protection, and life cycles. Offerings of wildflowers and fresh fruit sat at its base, left by unseen hands.

She studied it in silence.

Primitive. Ineffectual.

But tender.

Her fingers brushed one worn edge of the stone. She did not disturb the offerings.

They weren't power.

They were hope.

"Superstitions are surprisingly persistent."

The voice came softly behind her.

She turned without alarm.

Macao Conbolt stood several paces back, arms crossed, expression weary but warm. Romeo skipped beside him, a small bundle of herbs cradled in his arms.

"You followed," Teresa said.

Macao scratched his head. "More like stumbled onto you. This trail heads to one of our fishing spots." He nodded toward the stream beyond the trees.

Romeo beamed. "I told Dad we might find you out here!"

Teresa nodded once. "Your prediction was correct."

Macao's gaze shifted to the altar. "You visit places like this often?"

"They are... instructive," Teresa said. "Symbols of how people defend against fear."

"Fear of what?" Romeo asked.

"The unknown," she replied. "The dangerous. That which they cannot defeat with sword or spell."

Macao frowned slightly. "You see these rituals as weakness?"

"No," Teresa said. "As adaptation. When survival demands hope, even illusions serve a purpose."

She stepped back, letting the willow's branches fall between them.

"The Council's little test in Crocus—it went well, I hear," Macao said.

"The trap functioned as intended," Teresa replied. "The proxies were skilled but predictable. Raven Fang now knows only what I chose to show them."

Macao raised an eyebrow. "And what do you choose to show us?"

Her faint smile flickered. "Sufficient data."

He chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "The Council's drawing lines again. Testing influence. Using you to see who still plays."

"Yes."

"And Raven Fang's just the start."

Teresa glanced up. High above, something shimmered faintly against the blue—a lacrimal drone, too distant for most eyes to see.

"Let them watch," she said. "The more they observe, the more they reveal their patterns."

"You've played this game before," Macao muttered.

"In another world," Teresa answered quietly. "Its rules were crueler."

Romeo tugged at her cloak. "Even if they're watching, you're safe in Magnolia, right?"

"Safety is a story people tell themselves," Teresa said gently. "But this guild... mitigates risk."

Macao gave a tired smile. "We do what we can."

She faced him fully now. "The underworld is stirring. Raven Fang is bold—but others will follow. Smaller factions, testing confidence. They will not strike now. But they will measure."

Macao's jaw tightened. "You expect attacks here?"

"Eventually."

He nodded. "I'll increase patrols. Quietly. Keep the juniors inside city limits."

"Good."

The silence returned—thicker now, but not empty.

Then Romeo's voice cut cleanly through it. "You should come fishing with us sometime!"

Macao raised an eyebrow, half expecting a flat refusal.

But Teresa tilted her head, just slightly.

"Perhaps," she said. "I will observe."

Romeo lit up. "It's fun! You don't have to talk. Just watch the water."

Teresa considered this. "Watching is one of my stronger skills."

Macao laughed. "We'll hold you to that."

They turned back toward town, the willow swaying gently behind them.

The illusion of peace lingered.

But beneath it, the threads of war had already begun to tighten.