Fairy Tail 1. Forgive Me, Man Whose Name I Didn't Know

His back hit the floor with a sickening crunch, but he could feel no pain. Facing up to the sky, all he could focus on were the stars that flickered and danced above him, steadily fading as his body grew unresponsive. Head topped with tar-black hair, a pale, sorrowful face swam in front of Zancrow as he felt his eyes slowly close of their own accord. He wasn't ready to die… This was too early, much, much before his time. He would never be able to talk to Meredy again… To apologise for the things that he had said… Instantly regretting what he had told her, he realised that he could never take it back. Anyone else he really couldn't care about… but…he regretted hurting her with everything that he had. Eyes shut now, his body numb and frigid, his last breath rattled out from between his cold lips, knowing that death would soon claim him as his own. He wondered what Hell would be like. Zancrow was too weak to manage a bitter smile now, and as he reluctantly slipped into the black, he heard that Goddamn demon's voice whisper: 'Forgive me… man whose name I did not know'.

Black wasn't so bad. Zancrow had no idea how long he had been there, or if he was really there at all. Really, he wasn't sure if he was alive or not; certainly he had no body. He was just sort of… existing. He didn't have eyes but he could see all. He didn't have ears but he could hear all. It was sort of peaceful. Zancrow had no idea who he was, where he was, or what he was. There were no memories at all, and anyway, having no memories wasn't a problem in any way.

Becoming oddly curious at this point, he decided to look around himself, forgetting that his body was absent. But yet somehow, he could feel eyes flickering under eyelids. That was strange. Five minutes he could have sworn he could not see or touch… Hang on. _Five minutes ago. _Time. He could feel time passing. That was different. He sighed, forgetting again that he seemed to have no body, yet he felt air whistle through lungs, the incredibly relief of oxygen rushing into a body. Shocked, he felt himself gasping and choking as his lungs seemed to be making up for lost time. Wait, what? He definitely had lungs now, and eyes, and a mouth, and fingertips that started to twitch now as he fought for the sweet relief of cold air that pierced his insides. More and more sensations bombarded Zancrow as he writhed, trying to escape those who fiercely tried to disturb his peace. The feeling of grass and mud under his fingernails that scraped the dirt, the sound of the birds singing, but to him, sounded like screaming on his eardrums, the cold, hard ground beneath his back, the warmth of the sun on his face, the metallic taste of the winter air, the feel of grass, rustling of trees, smell of earth, sound, smell, touch, taste… Zancrow's eyes snapped open as he could not stand the attack any more. The harsh winter sunlight stung his eyes, and he squinted as he tried to make out the world around him.

It suddenly struck him how green everything was. He attempted to sit up, but his body felt like lead. Lying down on his back, he took in as much as he could, hoping it would jumpstart his memory. For you see, he had forgotten everything about himself – he had no memories that he could instantly recall, no faces that he could remember straight away. He couldn't even remember his own _name_, let alone anyone else's.

After a moment of resting, he felt pretty strong, and able to explore his situation a little. He pulled his stiff body up, wincing a little. Had he been in a fight or something? He looked down at himself, at the ragged clothes, and decided that this must be the case. Perhaps some idiot had knocked him out in a duel and just left him here. To rot. Lovely. On an island though? An odd choice for a battlefield… At this point, he had merely assumed that he had temporary amnesia, and was not concerned, confident his memories would return with time. Zancrow wondered if he could talk. Worth a shot. His tongue curled slightly awkwardly around the words, but he managed to force out a good curse. Grinning at his success, he angrily let out a good string of curses that anyone would be proud of. His grin stretched wider, and he looked down, pinched, pulled out and examined his tatty clothing. 'Must have been a nasty fight, huh?' He questioned to nobody in particular. His smile grew malevolent at the thought – he could remember, at least, that he had always loved a good brawl. Catching sight of the black, heart-shaped mark on the right-hand side of his chest, he frowned. He could never remember getting a tattoo. Then again, he couldn't remember anything, so he wasn't one to talk. Suddenly, he felt a sharp shock inside of himself, and memories poured into his mind, barely a pause between them.

He saw a tall man looming above him, saying words that Zancrow could not hear, and a face he could not see. Feeling small, he wondered whether this was a childhood memory. Looking around, he could see other people in the memory, and his mind focused intently on each one briefly. They were all definitely older than he was in the memory – they all towered above him… Except one. The memory concentrated on them the hardest, ignoring the tall man, but, he thought it was a girl; _her _face remained tantalisingly a mystery. For the life of him, Zancrow could not work out who this little one was. Without any kind of warning, the thought flickered and died, and a new one promptly started.

The air to this one was different, more macabre, and the tall man once again leered over him. He, however, felt taller and stronger this time, and certainly more confident. The man offered him a goblet, presumably with liquid inside. Hand oddly shaking, he reached out and grasped the smooth metal in his hot hand and his mind seemed to dwell on the fact that it was so unnaturally, morbidly cold. He raised it to his lips without question, and drank it in a few gulps. It was foul, thick and 'wrong-tasting', but he daren't show his weakness to the man. ('Who the hell is this guy anyway?' Zancrow thought impatiently) This memory too, faded away, and Zancrow was left standing, confused, and more than a little concerned, staring at the mark on his chest. All that he remembered of the man was these small memories, and the fact he felt deep respect for him, and yet terrible hatred at the same time. That was certainly and odd mix of emotions, and as Zancrow's stomach growled, he wondered what on Earthland had been in that cup, and why he couldn't remember. He knew that he could use magic; that he was a wizard living in Fiore, but beyond that, he really knew very little. Other people were really a mystery, and worse than that, he himself was a mystery.

Zancrow was really starting to get painful hunger pangs now, and he knew he had to eat now or suffer the consequences. The hunger grew steadily worse as he was searching hopelessly for food and he was dully aware of how dry his mouth was. His lips felt cracked, sore and dry, tongue lolling around in his mouth like an old piece of sandpaper, scratching uncomfortably against his parched mouth. He must have been lying there for days – the fight had obviously been fierce, and he had amnesia or something freaky like that. He was a little worried about his situation, but not overly concerned. After all, how bad could it be? He knew how to use magic, that's all he needed to survive, really. Oh thank God. There was clear stream up ahead. Zancrow pulled his aching, tired, semi-dead-already body up towards the source of water, stooped down, and scooped relief into his mouth. He didn't care that he was scooping so fast and messily that he was dripping water all down his front, he only cared about the fact that he was so damn thirsty_, _and the water was cool and fresh, quenching that desire.

Rocking backwards and sitting heavily down when he was finished, he wiped his mouth with an over-exaggerated motion and glanced into the river absent-mindedly. A slim face with sharp teeth and vermillion eyes that seemed to pierce right through him stared back. Zancrow sat stunned, then brought his face closer to the water to get a better look. 'What the hell?' he whispered softly, as he could not believe the sight in front of him. 'That's… me?' He drew even closer to the smooth surface, smiling widely, emphasising his sharp canines. 'Well I'm a handsome devil, I'll give myself that,' he boasted. Zancrow was not the type to ever take something truly seriously, and this situation was no exception. Letting out a horrible laugh that sounded more cruel than any real expression of mirth, he dipped a long, pale finger into the clear pool, causing it to ripple and distort the image that was his face. Something, most likely the horrible voice of reason that lurked in the back of his mind, told him that he certainly wasn't 'normal'. After all, 'normal' humans didn't have sharp fangs, and they certainly did _not _have bright red eyes with rings in them. Zancrow then began to ponder about whether he was actually human all, and in the state he was in at the moment, he really could not work it out at all. He felt his anger and frustration spike, and as it reached a crescendo, he struck out with his fist at the first thing he could reach. This happened to be a tree, an old gnarled thing with small sprigs of new growth erupted all over its pock-marked and rough surface. When times got tough, all he could do was lash out, and as he let his fist crush into the ancient trunk, scorch marks circling the site of impact, he knew that he was just being stupid. Hitting out like this would solve nothing. He would have to approach this differently, without letting his temper get the better of him. If only he knew how much he had changed! Before all of this, he would have struck out in temper without sparing a single thought for the consequences of his actions. Maiming and injuring others was easily excusable, and burning people's belongings, world, and livelihoods away was completely acceptable in the eyes of Zancrow the God Slayer. He would even enjoy the chaos, standing in the centre of it all like a demon of fire, a god of destruction, screaming his evil laughter to the sky whilst the pathetic mortals scrambled around him, trying desperately to get away. Perhaps this experience had changed his attitude… just a little. Of course he knew none of this; he was still a mystery to even himself. Breathing deeply, massaging the fist that had slammed into the tree, the god of destruction sighed heavily.

Casting his gaze around the forest to distract himself, a flower caught his eye. He wasn't sure what about it grabbed and held his attention so fiercely (And he was not exactly the sensitive kind to notice how pretty a flower was), but there must have been something about the rosy pink blush of the petals, something in the contours of it on the whole – It had an aggressive, spiky aura, reminding Zancrow a little of himself, but enraged him beyond belief. An image of a face brushed at the corners of his memory, so clear, distinct… yet somehow clouded… Try as he might, Zancrow could not fully make out the facial features, but he could remember the hair. A cherry-blossom-pink shock of it that seemed to annoy him every time the image jumped in front of his eyes. But no name leapt into his mind, no spark of recognition, not sudden burst of understanding. However, it was obvious to Zancrow that he loathed this human beyond belief. Awful, terrible, blinding, white-hot hatred coursed through his veins, and he hoped with every fibre of his being that he would meet Pinky again. He wanted to beat him down. With everything that he had. He could not work out why he wanted this so much – It just seemed like the right thing to do, the emotion strong enough to contradict his earlier thoughts of peace. There must be a reason why, and the rage he felt clouded his sense of reasoning. This person, this mage (he had now realised), would fall by his hand. Zancrow swore that he would. He had to get his revenge… Revenge… Yes… That was it… Ugh… His hands clenched his temples as he desperately tried to remember, memories flickering around his mind, just out of reach… He wanted revenge. Not for himself, but for who? A word echoed in his head, deafeningly loud, making him sway with dizziness. 'Master'. He wanted vengeance for his 'master'. Master of what? ...Pinky… threatened to… take down his… Master? Was that it?

Confusion was the only answer that he seemed to arrive at time and time again, at every turn there was a dead end. But the conclusion he had half-toyed with, seemed to be the right one. At any rate, it made sense. If someone had threatened one he felt, well, loyalty to (He shuddered involuntarily at the thought, imagining himself as a puppy, forever at the heel of its master), he would most likely feel a certain degree of rage towards them. And he had been in a fight… Wait! He hadn't _lost_ had he? To Pinky? Not a chance. But it made sense, unfortunately. That's why his clothes were tatty, and why he was confused (He didn't have a sore head though, but he must have had a hefty blow to that area at some point, that made sense). And now, he wanted… revenge? Did Pinky badmouth his master? That would be a sensible course of events.

This 'Pinky' guy and himself were about to fight, or were fighting.

Pinky badmouthed his master.

He did not take this lightly and swore revenge if he hurt his master.

He lost (Shudder).

He woke up, without the majority of his memories, in his current situation.

Satisfied with his reasoning, a smug smile crept over Zancrow's thin face, and his glee was sharply and rudely interrupted by the howling groans that his stomach was making. Grimly, he placed a hand on his warm belly and felt it snarling underneath his touch. The water had quenched his thirst, but done little to fill his stomach with some actual sustenance. He knew how his magic worked, how to fight with it, how to use it, and in order for Zancrow to recover a lot of magical energy, and to feel full, he would have to consume some fire. But finding it was the problem. Where did you find fire in the middle of a remote island? Looking up through the dense tree crowns, Zancrow could see that dusk was fast approaching now, though it was almost impossible to detect in the dank foliage of the island. As the forest truly started to become grasped in the inky claws of the night, faintly and occasionally punctuated with the odd glimmer of a faraway star, Zancrow had finally located a source of food. He'd learnt a long time ago that if he used the remaining dregs of his magic power to raise his own body temperature through the roof, things that he touched would burst into flame, and he would be able to consume the fire to replenish his own magic. Thankfully, he had retained that knowledge – He still remembered everything about his own magic perfectly. He had managed, also, to luck into finding some fruit he believed was edible. It _looked_ okay… Shrugging, he took a huge bite, expecting his mouth to fill with all sorts of repulsive tastes and textures. Surprisingly enough, the fruit was sweet and juicy, making Zancrow's stomach moan loudly. 'Oh, shut up,' he mumbled, only half to himself as he hastily tucked into the rest of the oddly wonderful fruit.

Refraining from eating the flames he had made straightaway, he had decided to leave them to hopefully spread a little further, and to make some more food to consume. Also, he liked his food roasted. Really roasted. As in, 'burnt to cinders' roasted. Grasping the core of the what-looked-to-be-a-sort-of-apple, Zancrow firmly thrust his hand into the fire that was steadily creeping along the tree that he had decided to burn. The apple almost burnt away to nothing right away – the fire was suffocatingly hot – but Zancrow merely stayed still, not recoiling or flinching at the extreme heat, not finding that his fingers were turning black, charred by the fire that licked at his palm. No, he was very comfortable and content letting the fire snake up his arm that was still in the heart of the greedy beast that was the flame, swallowing anything in its path.

The tree smouldered gently as the flames consumed it rapidly; the crown was flickering with an eerie warm glow, scaring any creatures or spirits away with its terrible power. But the Flame God refused to be eaten by the monstrosity. No matter how much the orange flickered at his wrist, his arm, his shoulder, his face; the God of Fire would only smile at the warmth tickling his body. When the beast tried to burn his flesh, he only revelled in the heat the monster had granted him. The beast would be tamed, and the Flame God its master. The God plunged both hands into the beast now, and the tendrils of red curled around his arms in an almost friendly way. The fire was a slave to the Fire God, and would do his bidding. With an odd sound, an inhuman, unearthly sound like a firestorm sweeping over a hapless forest, the Flame God drew in the fire, and the beast went willingly, eager to serve his master. Full now, his deed done, Zancrow patted his stomach in a satisfied manner. He felt triumphant in the fact that he had actually managed to feed himself successfully, and not raze the whole island to the ground in the process.

Despite all of the fire he had consumed, he knew that his magic levels were still very low. He needed somewhere safe to sleep, and as quickly as possible, so he could recover as much energy as he could. Zancrow glanced behind him at the path of destruction he had left in his wake. Two trees were completely burnt, and the crisp grass was no longer crisp nor green, more an ugly shade of torched black… Perhaps he should get as far away from here as possible. The island might be remote, but someone was bound to find this at some point, and he wanted to be long gone by then. He looked up. The stars were bright tonight. Quite nice really. Pretty. 'A shooting star', he said with a touch of irony to his voice, 'Would be really cliché right now. After a couple more seconds staring at the heavens, Zancrow decided that he really needed to get some sleep. He had found a good, strong, sturdy tree to support his weight in minutes, and this one was an evergreen, so it would keep him hidden (He knew he was quite memorable, so it would make sense to keep a low profile. Also, the thought of someone finding him whilst he slept was not a pleasant one).

As he curled up slightly in the heights of the pine, he wondered what he would do next. Get off the island and find Pinky sounded sort of sensible, but he wasn't really sure. Turning over, and turning over his thoughts, he speculated, for about the hundredth time today, who he was. Was he 'good' or 'bad'? Did he have a family, or friends he couldn't even remember? Maybe he was a loner. Probably not, he hated being lonely (Though he would never admit to that), and he quite liked being around others (Again, not that he'd admit to it). His thoughts turned to dreams as his eyelids drooped, his arms went slack and hung at his sides, and he slipped into the world of sleep he craved so much.

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><p><em><strong>I really hoped that you enjoyed reading my first chapter of my first fan fiction! I've always had my suspicions about Zancrow, and I thought that maybe I should write something about that. I've got a few more ideas that I'd like to put in, so more chapters on the way. Thank you very much for reading!<strong>_


	2. Unexpected Visitors

**_So here it is! Chapter 2! A rude awakening turns into some uninvited guests..._**

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><p>High up in a tall pine on the island of Tenrou, slept a young man. A young man with long thick blonde hair, ragged clothes… With bright red eyes and a dangerous addiction for fire. Along with the case of amnesia, you end up with Zancrow, who was slowly awaking to the sound of birds, and the sun hanging low and orange in the rosy-pink dawn sky. He had really woken far too early, and his heavy limbs confirmed that fact. The horrible shrill sound of those damn birds was really starting to drive Zancrow insane, he hated nature, and he was grumpy at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. Rubbing his eyes moodily, scraping away at the grit that had built up there from the few hours of sleep that he had had, he yelled at the top of his lungs: 'SHUT UP!'<p>

The twittering immediately ceased, and Zancrow, now satisfied with the level of noise, squirmed slightly to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. He supposed nature hated him too. Heh. Good. The world around him was far too quiet, even if everything _did _hate him. Surely by now, something desperate would have approached him for food, or accidentally come across him whilst he was drinking at the river. He liked it this way – he loathed nature, nature loathed him. Smiling a little, he realised that was completely different to that girl in the old story he remembered reading (Little by little, useless memories such as this were starting to appear in his mind, which pleased Zancrow to no ends), the one where all the creatures of the wood loved her and helped her with work. Maybe he should start singing as well, to attract all the animals of the forest. Zancrow snorted with laughter and relaxed deeper into the crook he was resting in.

Not five minutes later, he heard a twig snap. This wouldn't have been a concern of any kind, there were creatures on Tenrou Island, even if they did give him a wide berth – except for there were voices emanating from the direction from which Zancrow knew the 'snap' had come from. The voices were too far away to make out clearly, just some indistinct muttering. Despite his sharp hearing (It wasn't quite on Dragon Slayer level, but it was still damn good hearing), he could not locate _exactly_ where they were coming from, as they were still a long way away. However, he could tell that there were two of them, one large and the other average sized from the sounds of their voices.

Zancrow was perched as close as he dared to the end of the bough he had slept on. He didn't know how much of his weight it would support, and he didn't care to find out. The last thing he needed now was to be discovered, and these people (there was a slim chance but even so…), might actually know him. In a crouch, leaning forwards, with his head in the air like a dog that had caught whiff of an interesting scent, Zancrow listened as hard as he could to the conversation. It was difficult because the dense trees all around completely absorbed the sound, and even though he was slightly above the crown of most of the trees, he could really hear nothing but muttering. They'd stopped talking now… How irritating. The two were close enough to him now that their footsteps were audible to him. There! His head snapped in their direction. They were in his line of sight now as they walked in stony silence. As he watched, he realised that something about them was oddly familiar. One was huge and pale, with jet-black hair, and from what Zancrow could detect from earlier, a heavy speech impediment. The other was smaller, though perhaps a little taller than himself, with slick grey hair assembled into a sort of quiff, with glasses and a pair of leather gloves. They were so familiar… Yet they were complete strangers… Wait. They had paused now, directly underneath him, and they hadn't even spied him! Zancrow looked down with glee. Idiots. Were they blind or something? It was an evergreen tree that he was hiding in to be fair to them, but even so, he was fairly prominent. Zancrow wondered whether they were messing with him, and was seriously debating with himself on whether he should screech at them to go away or not, when the smaller began to speak:

'We couldn't find him. Not anywhere. We searched all over this land, encapsulated by the ocean, and nowhere did we find the empty shell of our fallen comrade…'

Zancrow leaned forward interestedly. "Fallen comrade?" This guy was difficult to understand (What's with all the flowery language, huh?), but the topic was certainly interesting. Rolling his eyes, the grey-hair had launched into another overly-descriptive speech, he hastened to hear more:

'Though we could not find his shell, his spirit will certainly live on… May your ever rest in peace, Zancrow, my friend…'

'U-uh-uh-uh yeah…' his huge companion replied, clearly even more lost than Zancrow was. Not listening, the gloved poet lamented further about his lost friend, and Zancrow tried desperately to interpret his complex vocabulary. His friend's 'shell_'? _That meant 'body', he guessed. And all this talk about his spirit 'living on'… What was his name again? Zancrow, wasn't it? These two were looking for the body of their fallen friend, Zancrow. Or maybe not. Grey-hair was horribly difficult to understand, and he was getting sick of him yammering away under the tree he was trying to sleep in. His curiosity had been satisfied now, and he had no need to let them stay here any longer – they had worn out their welcome.

Taking the two by surprise, Zancrow leapt from the bough of the tree, falling straight down and landing directly in front of them. If he was being honest, he hadn't really thought this through, as he often made decisions on a whim, but he just wanted them to leave. He was exhausted, and he desperately needed some more sleep.

As he landed smoothly in front of them, bending his knees to absorb the impact of the fall, the two's eyes widened – whether in shock or in horror, it was hard to tell. Zancrow, taking no notice of this, advanced, holding up flaming fists.

'D'ya mind leaving?'

Receiving no answer except the flummoxed looks of surprise on their faces, he decided to speak again:

'I said: D'ya mind leaving? I happen to be sleeping nearby, and your incessant blabbering is keeping me awake.'

Blank looks.

'You're really startin' to get on my nerves now. Say summat, would ya?'

When he did not even manage to rouse one word from them, Zancrow sighed theatrically and lowered his hands that were bunched into fists, ready to strike. He knew that he shouldn't let his guard down, but he was really too drained to care. He had turned around and was starting to scale his tree when the grey-haired man spoke:

'Y-you're… Alive?!'

Zancrow was at a loss for words, not sure what was going on. Unhinging his jaw that he had clenched shut in a scowl, he attempted to word a reply:

'Huh? Yeah I'm alive… Look at me.'

He gestured widely to himself.

'Do I look dead to you?'

Suddenly, horror dawning on him, he hastily tried to speak again.

'Do I… Kn-'

But he was sharply cut off by Grey-hair.

'How did you manage to survive, Zancrow?!'

Zancrow stood stunned, numb with shock, his worst fears confirmed. Oh crap. He did know them. _He _was Zancrow. The guy who had supposedly died. _He was Zancrow. _How did he survive? He wished that he knew… Perhaps the gods had taken mercy upon him? Did he just have amnesia? Or could he rise from the dead? Was he not human?! Why could he not remember anything? He clearly had a life before he woke up… No wonder these two seemed so familiar. Thoughts swirled like a torrent in Zancrow's head as he realised that he had to make a convincing conversation or these two would soon discover that he could barely remember anything… An unpleasant fluttering in his stomach told him to be wary – he had a feeling that he could be manipulated and fed lies… The discomfort inside of him somehow knew what these two men could be like… Zancrow felt vulnerable, a prickle at the back of his neck that sent cold sweat running down his back, and a shiver down his spine. It was a terrible feeling – like he was naked and raw, exposed to the elements. He had paused for a while now… Better say something…

'Survive? What do you mean? I never died in the first place.'

Trying to make himself look calm and confident, he grinned, knowing full well that he probably just looked sheepish. His unexpected visitors exchanged a look that Zancrow could not decipher, and taking Zancrow by surprise, Grey-hair stepped forwards, reached out and placed a gloved hand on Zancrow's shoulder. Promptly, he flinched back out of reach, and Grey-hair's eyes gleamed. He'd worked it out. If he'd have done something like put hand on Zancrow's shoulder, the egotistical Flame God Slayer would have smacked his arm away in fury and demanded to know what the hell he was doing. Zancrow was being oddly cautious – usually he was just outright aggressive. Something had happened, and he, Rustyrose, was determined to get to the root of it. Rustyrose glanced sideways at his companion, Kain, who was thankfully staying quiet, and decided to probe Zancrow's thoughts:

'So, do you not remember the friends that you have fought with, through thick and thin, who you have laughed and made merry with throughout your days?'

Standing frozen, his mind running on overdrive, Zancrow tried desperately to grasp his own thoughts, but they just appeared in tiny flashes. Like trying to pick up water with hands, the memories trickled through the gaps of his mind like fluid.

'Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I remember my own friends?' He flashed them a nonchalant smile.

Rustyrose narrowed his eyes. Far too friendly. He couldn't remember them. Maybe they should just show him anyway, he'd leave Grimoire Heart once he found out, whatever state he was in. Sighing, Rustyrose motioned for him to follow him and Kain, and Zancrow, knowing that he'd been found out, decided to follow, interested in what this might culminate in.

They had walked for a while now, the only sound audible was their footsteps on the hard earth of the island, when Zancrow saw that they were approaching the shore – the densely packed, dark soil gave way to warm yellow sand. Woah. Sand wasn't the only thing on the shore. Sprawled on the flat ground, like a gargantuan metal monster, was a sleek, black ship designed for flight, a crimson, heart-shaped mark emblazoned on the front. The mark was instantly recognisable, and Zancrow didn't have to think for very long to work out where he'd seen it before. On his chest. He had this symbol tattooed on his chest. What was it doing there? Maybe it was an organisation. A criminal organisation?! Does the mark prove that you're a member of a secret society? More importantly, why was it on him? What kind of cult did he belong to?

Before his mind could get any more mixed up, Rustyrose had jabbed him in the small of his back, causing him to jump slightly, and throw a dirty look at the offender. Zancrow had been so absorbed by his personal mystery that he had stopped walking, and Rustyrose had taken it upon himself to remind him to keep moving. Rubbing his now-sore back, Zancrow lurched forwards, and continued to make his way to the giant ship. It almost glared at him with its smooth, shining contours. When they had reached the side, Grey-hair shoving ahead of him, Zancrow was really starting to wonder whether he should go through with this or not – was going into a huge black ship with an ominous mark slapped across it with two complete strangers who apparently seemed to know him _really_ such a good idea? However, it was too late now. Placing his palm on the ship, Rustyrose revealed a door that seamlessly blended in with the rest of the metal. Zancrow blinked in surprise; the door was undetectable. Turning to face him, Rustyrose announced:

'Only a member of Grimoire Heart could have done that.'

'Grimoire Heart? What are you talkin' about? What is that? A secret organisation or somethin'?

Zancrow knew that he had been discovered, there was no point hiding it anymore. He'd decided that he'd even prefer lies than being kept continuously kept in the dark.

'Grimoire Heart is a guild, a guild for wizards. You are part of the elite, like us. The Seven Kin of Purgatory.' Rustyrose explained.

Zancrow's jaw just about dropped. Wizard guild? Elite?! He wanted to know more…

'What kind of jobs do we do then? Where are the other, um… (Mental arithmetic is quite difficult when you're undergoing a life changing event.) Four?'

'That can wait until we've shown you a little more…' was Rustyrose's only response.

'Well, can I at least have your names, you know mine, that's unfair!'

Grinning a little at his petulant behaviour, Rustyrose revealed his name, and his companion, Kain's, who was being incredibly subdued. Hoping that this information would be enough to tempt Zancrow to come with them, Rustyrose and Kain strode inside, leaving the curious blonde to follow.

Walking through the halls that seemed to stretch for miles – the thing was even more massive on the inside – Zancrow realised that Grimoire Heart was definitely not the kind of guild that did _good. _It was quite obviously, from the ominous mottos scattered around the place, and the tapestries that hung on the walls, the kind of guild that had very strong ideas about who was 'scum' and who were 'gods'. The thickly woven tapestries depicted wizards striking down the non-magical folk, and of demons destroying the dragons in all their glory, and perhaps most disturbingly of all, a raven-haired mage summoning grotesque demons of all shapes and sizes. For some reason, this image interested Zancrow the most; it seemed to provide an insight into something, something he knew, deep inside of himself. The pitch-black haired wizard was the most intriguing by far. Glaring at the picture in front of him, Zancrow heard words dancing around in his head, echoing slightly, and faint, as if he hadn't heard them properly:

'Forgive me… Man whose name I did not know…' the voice said mournfully.

My name…? It's Zancrow, isn't it...? Where have I heard this voice before? I feel a little… Scared, I guess, when I hear it. Glancing once more at the tapestry, trying to organise his thoughts, he could hear someone breathing sharply over his shoulder. Mustering the blackest look he could, a very pissed Zancrow turned slowly and attempted to lock eyes with the perpetrator. Surprisingly enough, it was Kain. Leaning forwards, he poked a fat finger at the image of the mage, and muttered in a great hurry:

'Th-ld-ref!'

Zancrow stared at him with wide eyes, and exclaimed angrily:

'The hell was that?!'

Kain looked down at the floor until help arrived in the shape of a gloved poet.

'Allow me to translate. What Kain here means is that wizard there, who has given birth to countless demons, who has plunged the world into chaos in eras before our own; the one who will deliver us into a new age where wizards will live in an Ultimate Magical World, where non-magic users will either die or live Hell on Earth; who will allow us to use our magic, unburdened by laws; that mage, is our Lord Zeref!'

Oh, that confirmed it. They were a madcap cult. How did he get into this mess, surely he wasn't so gullible?

'Right, that's it.'

Rustyrose's speech about a glorious new world was cut short by Zancrow's blunt outburst.

'That is what?'

'I've had enough of your creepy, oh, 'everyone can die apart from us' cult, it's freaking me out.'

'This, is no cult Zancrow. Grimoire Heart is a real organisation. It was – _is –_the strongest dark guild in all of Fiore, one of the Balam alliance.'

Zancrow didn't know what a Balam Alliance was, but he did understand the 'strongest dark guild' part. Was he really a part of all this? Did he really get sucked into this, and worse, actually believed all this rubblish?

'Well I don't like it. And I'm leaving. See ya.'

Rustyrose made one last effort to recapture his attention. They might as well show Zancrow what they had found. Anyway, Rustyrose wanted to know himself. He'd better show him the book…

'Well, don't you want to know who you are?'

Zancrow froze, turning back around to face Rustyrose, eyes ablaze with hidden curiosity. Jackpot. Now to make him a little more desperate…

'Because I know of a notebook that our master left behind, and I happen to have knowledge of it being about you.'

Rustyrose paused here and shrugged in an overly-dramatic way.

'No matter how much we begged and pleaded with Master Hades, he would never show us the contents of that book, and kept it under magical lock and key. Now, however, the enchantments seem to have broken, and you are free to read the entries at your leisure.'

Utterly surprised, Zancrow felt a tugging sensation as he realised that he wanted to read that book so badly that it was almost causing him physical pain. What on Earthland could be so secret about his own life (which he could still not remember), that it was sealed away with spells to keep even the most intrigued out? He had to know now… But he couldn't show them how deeply he desired that information…. Then he'd be easily wrapped around their fingers, easily to manipulate, to blackmail. It would be easy enough for them to say, 'Do what we want, in exchange for snippets of information' to quench his thirst for knowledge.

'Well don't I have right to read this, if it's all about me? And even so, why haven't you touched it? Didn't you want to know?'

This threw Rustyrose for a second. In reality, he hadn't read the book because he had hoped Zancrow would have explained it to him, but since he so obviously lacked his memories, the best course of action would probably be to lie.

'I have touched it. I didn't read it because the book will not respond to me or Kain. It won't respond to anybody except from you, since I have reason to believe that the book is about you, and you alone.'

That seemed like a convincing lie, after all, magic can achieve amazing feats of wonder that we can only begin to fathom… That concept wouldn't work however. Master Hades is dead, all the enchantments binding the book will have dissipated. But Zancrow is missing his memories, so there's no reason why he shouldn't believe it. To his relief, Zancrow seemed satisfied with his response, and letting out a breath that he had been silently holding, Rustyrose and Kain led Zancrow to their master's office.

Ha! How stupid did they think he was? That was an outright lie, even magic can't do that! Once an owner leaves, every enchantment is lifted, you can't just pick and choose which ones stay and which go! Well, he was assuming that this Master Hades was far enough from them that the enchantments have disappeared, it was the only explanation… They probably wanted him to explain the notes or something, things that only he would know. Well, they were going to be disappointed. His memories were clearly absent, so no divulged secrets for them! …Or for him too, really. But there were probably some juicy morsels of information in that book, so he didn't mind at all. Truth be told, he was a little worried about reading the notes. He didn't like the character he was discovering he was, and the book may just dash his hopes and make him feel even worse about himself. Well he'd rather the truth. But ignorance is bliss, so they say… They walked together – well, more like Rustyrose and Kain together, and Zancrow staying well away – to Hades' office, where the mysterious notebook lurked.

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><p><em><strong>I hope that you enjoyed Chapter 2! I can't wait to get the next chapter on here, it's certainly interesting to write. I hope to add quite a few more chapters, and make it into a good adventure. And again, thank you for reading!<strong>_


	3. An Unpleasant Recollection

**_I'm so sorry that I haven't put another chapter on for ages! I promise I'm not going to give up on this! I've got the plan for the next chapter written already. So... This chapter will have a little more action in it than what's taken place before. I hope that you enjoy!_**

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><p>'This ship is frigging huge,' thought Zancrow. The three of them had been hiking up the corridors for about fifteen minutes now, with many twists and turns along the way. If the ship looked massive from the outside, it was nothing compared to what it was on the inside; the size of a small town! A clever enchantment, and Zancrow quickly got distracted, trying to work out in his head how you would go about doing something like that.<em> How do you make something occupy more space than it really does? Are we all just really small then, when we're inside? Or is this an enchantment to distort our sense of space?<em> After he realised he'd completely lost track of where he was supposed to be going, he shook his head, clearing it of these thoughts – he needed to focus on the mystery at hand.

'It's just up ahead.'

The sound of Rustyrose's voice jolted Zancrow from his musings of space distortion, and he took another good look around him. The corridor was eerily silent, as if uninhabited. Were they the only ones here? Surely the ship could hold thousands of people? He looked to his left, and a gleaming, obviously regularly polished door instantly caught his attention. It looked like any other door in the vessel, apart from the fact that it had letters, each at least six inches high, scorched into the front of it, forming the word in pitch-black letters:

'ZANCROW'.

Noticing that he had found the door, Rustyrose said amusedly,

'Yes, that's your room. Go in if you want to.'

All of a sudden, curiosity gripped Zancrow, and he hastily shoved the door open. He wasn't really sure what he expected, but the room was quite pleasant. The walls were painted in a warm, off-white colour, and thin, burgundy curtains hung above the window. However, the way he had chosen to decorate elsewhere was definitely questionable. The white chest-of-drawers had almost tribal-looking patterns seared all over it, twisting around the handles, down the sides, and swirling on the top. Heaped on top of it were many pictures, presumably of his fellow guild members, and tons of seemingly random items, each with a small note beside it. One was a little red stone, with a message next to it, proclaiming:

'Found this on Galuna Island. Got told it was infused with demon energies, so I kept it.'

Another was a scrap of cloth with a note pinned to it which read:

'Used this to track down our target. They didn't need it after we found him, so I asked to keep it.'

Zancrow winced slightly at this entry, feeling more than a little sorry for the one that they had hunted down, and turned to the pictures. One was an old group photo of what he guessed to be the Seven Kin of Purgatory (there were seven of them, of course). Casting his eyes over the scene, he found himself right away, his spiky blonde hair giving him away. It was just past shoulder length in this photo, and he looked to be perhaps eleven-ish. He was grinning very widely – obviously he was a very confident person, even as a child… His personality was a complete mystery, but he didn't seem to be too pleasant, even quite egotistical… The young girl – younger than him – who was standing next to him looked very shy, looking down, but when this picture was taken, he was clearly ignoring her, more focused on smiling. A fairly young-looking Rustyrose and Kain were recognisable, but the other three faces were an uncertainty. A rather dark-skinned man with a shock of thick brown hair, a young, beautiful woman with long black hair like silk, and a goat…man…thing. Another picture flashed and glimmered in the light overheard and caught Zancrow's sharp scarlet eyes. Eagerly replacing the photo of the Seven Kin, he picked up this new gleaming treasure – his new insight into his past.

This picture was of him and the tiny girl, but they both seemed to be older, he looked about thirteen, maybe fourteen. His arm was around the pink-haired kid and the insane grin was still plastered across his face. She however, only smiled gently, still apparently nervous. Zancrow realised now that this must be his friend, but try as he might, he could not remember her. In his first stream of recalled memories when he had first woken up on the island, he had seen a younger Seven Kin, he knew that now. Her face had been an utter mystery, but here it was, clear as day, and still nothing. Zancrow sat heavily down on the bed, almost glaring at the picture, trying to make himself remember, when a sudden sound of someone clearing their throat made him look up. It was Rustyrose, and he had his arms crossed, looking interestedly around Zancrow's room.

'We were never allowed in here, you know. You'd lose your temper every time we tried. It was like a holy land that no one was allowed to breach apart from yourself.'

When he received no answer from Zancrow, who was utterly absorbed with this picture, with a kind of strained expression on his face, Rustyrose decided to tell him more about Grimoire Heart.

'That's Meredy.'

'Hm?' Was the only reply he received.

'That's Meredy. Your closest friend. You were with her the majority of the time, and when you weren't with her, you were by yourself.'

'My friend…' Zancrow muttered, then sighed. Nothing. He might as well give up. The mystery of the book tempted him now. But when he got up from the bed (the headboard of which was tastefully decorated with more elegant tribal patterns), leaning forwards to replace the photo, he heard a voice echo in his mind. A young girl's voice that weakly yelled in surprise and horror.

'Zancrow?!'

He felt his own lips move then, knowing that what he said now was what he had said with such malevolence back then:

'You are no longer a member of Grimoire Heart.'

'Pardon?'

Rustyrose had picked up on his quiet memory immediately, desperately hoping that Zancrow's memories had returned.

'Nothing…' he retorted quickly, replacing the picture and striding out of the room before he could get flashes of any more unpleasant memories.

'Now, where's this office, huh?' he inquired in what he hoped was a cheerful manor, trying to promptly recover his old demeanour before anyone noticed that he was distinctly miserable. He _knew _that he had done something cruel back then. To his own friend. What could have driven him to do something like that? To gleefully shun his own _nakama_ from the guild they both had a livelihood in? Mind you, he didn't exactly seem like an overly sweet person from all accounts… _Focus on the office, the book, that's what you want,_ he mentally chided to himself. Turning to Rustyrose and Kain, he pointed towards a gleaming cherry wood door and inquired,

'This is it, ain't it?'

The question hung and echoed in the frigid, dusty air of the corridors, but finally Rustyrose and Kain both nodded, signalling to him that he should go inside. Letting a moment pass in silence, Zancrow cautiously pushed the weighty door open and inched through it, suddenly apprehensive. It was a seemingly normal office inside, complete with an enormous, and expensive-looking, oak desk. There were shelves upon shelves of tomes behind, stretching towards the inexplicably high ceiling, the thick wooden shelves almost seeming to converge at the top. Zancrow felt distinctly dizzy and nauseous as he craned his head up, trying in vain to see the top. Crap! He leapt as he was punched in the back, hard, making him rock forwards. This time the criminal was Kain, who seemed to not know his own strength, and was standing back, face red in embarrassment. Zancrow glared at him for a long while, hoping to make him uncomfortable – this was twice in one day – then turned and made his way to the massive wooden slab that was Hades' workspace. A slim black book, ragged and innocent looking, with a cover of leather, sat limp and out of place on it. Very wary, Zancrow picked it up by the corner, and held it at a distance, taking note of every nook, cranny and pock-mark of the book before finally opening it to a random page, and began to read:

_Zancrow_ (it said on the yellowing paper), _has consumed the blood for the first time at 8 years old. I had my suspicions that his body would be too weak and frail at this age, but it was crucial for the change to begin as soon as possible. Thankfully, his body has managed to survive, but his temper has now become extremely hot, and his aggressive behaviour has drastically increased. His physical and magical strength however, have phenomenally increased, making me think that this experiment is not a failure after all._

As Zancrow flicked thorough more of the pages, his heart sinking to somewhere around his stomach, he read passage upon passage about his violent and explosive attitude, how much of the blood he had ingested, increased 'dosages', when he got sick, how fast he got better, and then he knew… He was just an experiment. Nothing more. Not a real human being, capable of complex thoughts and emotions. Just an experiment. He was being fed _blood_ and notes were being taken to see how much he had changed. Why would someone _do _something like that?! That's disgusting! That's… That's repulsive! And that memory… With the tall man and the goblet….filled with that foul liquid. That was blood. Zancrow gagged then, dropping the book and clutching the desk with both hands, leaning over it and retching. He really thought that he was going to be sick, and he didn't give a damn about Rustyrose and Kain, who he knew would be staring at him. Thankfully, they weren't saying anything, and Zancrow tried desperately to pull himself together, acting like nothing had happened. He chanced a quick looked over his shoulder at them, and could see questions burning in their eyes. Ignoring this, he once again picked up the little notebook that was brimming with all things ghastly, and flicked to an earlier page. Scrawled across the page in crimson ink, the letters spelt out:

'Source of Demon Blood: Chiroptera.'

Demon blood? So it gets worse. And to think that he's actually woken up this morning thinking that today may be a little better. Slightly stunned, but oddly none too surprised at the turn of events, he wondered what demon blood would do to a human being. It would explain why he looked so different for a start… And why his behaviour was so unpredictable, according to the notes… He felt dirty and contaminated, like he was controlled by something inside of him that was bursting to get free from its prison inside his soul. Rage was not rage, it was the ugly creature inside rearing and bearing its fangs, razing all before it to the ground. Zancrow was just its puppet, its tool in its quest to purge and destroy. His heart and soul and mind were corrupted, merely controlled by this beast spawned from hellfire. He felt like a slave to his emotions, a slave to the devil who possessed him. Emotions did not feel like just emotions anymore – they were giving in. Zancrow could not bear to read anymore. Sharply snapping the book shut with one hand, his back to his audience, he suddenly noticed with horror that his face felt hot and wet. No way was he crying. He hoped to God that they hadn't noticed. Surreptitiously wiping his eyes, he refused to let his emotions get a hold of him, and said in as strong a voice as he could muster:

'Where is he?

Rustyrose's voice rang strangely in the chamber.

'Who do you mean?'

'Don't play dumb with me. You know what I mean. Who was the master? Where is he now?'

He had spun around now, meeting Rustyrose's level gaze with his own furious one. What would he do with their Master once he found him though? Hurt him? Question him? Force him to tell the truth? Zancrow wasn't sure, all he knew was that he needed to see him. Now.

'Master Hades is dead.'

The words hung in the room, the echoes making them sound empty and hollow, and Rustyrose spoke with no emotion, no feeling, no sorrow.

Disappointment mixed with a strange emotion Zancrow could not identify cascaded down upon him, and the overwhelming surge made him slam the evil black notebook down on the table, and exclaim in a voice that shook with barely contained anger and upset,

'I've had enough of all this goddamn freaky crap.'

Rustyrose and Kain daren't speak, for fear of triggering a real rage-fuelled outburst they knew he was capable of. What was perhaps more frightening was the fact that, as he did not have any memories, Zancrow could not remember his blindingly hot temper, and as a result, did now know how to keep it under control. Though, he seemed to be calming down… That was something that they had never seen before. Him actually trying to keep his anger in, trying to stop it from taking over. Usually he was just a beast on a rampage until Master Hades told him enough was enough. When it came to his temper, he ignored even Meredy at times. Perhaps his experiences had given him a new outlook. Rustyrose looked to him, seeing that he was about to speak.

'And this time, I'm really leaving. No more games.'

Rustyrose so dearly wanted to know about the contents of the book, and he knew that he would never be allowed to set eyes upon it – after seeing the way Zancrow reacted to it, there must be something repulsive and macabre in there. He had to know. Knowing Kain felt the same way from his hungry expression, Rustyrose decided that he would wrestle that notebook from the blonde's cold dead hands. He had hoped that Zancrow would have stayed, memories intact, and explained all he knew. It was a shame that it had to be this way. Building up magical power in his body, preparing to use it, feeling Kain at his side do the same, he advanced on his once-ally, who did not even flinch, back away or even looked surprised, just merely raised hot fists, black fire beginning to bloom on them.

So it was a fight to the death, huh? Zancrow knew that they wanted the book, but he didn't know they wanted it _that_ desperately. Quick as a flash, he put the notebook into the pocket of his baggy red trousers, and swiftly covered it with the cloth that went over them. The book would be safe in there, there was no chance of it being plucked out of the pocket in the midst of the fight he knew was fast approaching. Being a wizard himself – and a skilled one at that – he could sense the magic power building in the two – both felt like… Forbidden magic? Magic that should never be used… Probing deeper into the magic he could feel, he knew that Rustyrose was building up his power slowly – using weaker attacks first, then using stronger and stronger spells to get an insight into Zancrow's fighting style and ability. The Flame God lazily flicked his eyes over to Kain, and sensed that the massive mage was prepared to go all out from the first second. Their tactic was blindingly obvious and simple – Kain would charge straight for him, using a hell of a lot of power, grabbing Zancrow's attention right away and making him fight with all focus on his charge. Rustyrose, however, from the side lines, would make the odd strong jab at him, wearing the God Slayer down, and when Kain and Zancrow got tired, would deliver the finishing blow. Zancrow rolled those huge red orbs, and in the space of a few more seconds, worked out his own tactic. It was two against one, so he had to be clever, and use as much trickery as he could. He had to start off slow, take a few hits and get a feel for their own ability and style. Once his magic power was high, and Kain was losing his touch somewhat, he would strike Rustyrose as quickly as he could with a fairly powerful burst of magic, he didn't want to wear himself out. Afterwards, he would deal with Kain. He knew that they were on fairly equal footing, the fight could easily go either way, so it was all about being cautious. Keeping his guard up for Kain trying to help his partner seemed like a smart choice. Rustyrose then laughed, a cruel, condescending laugh.

'Do you really think you can defeat us in battle? We, who have seven more years of experience than yourself?'

Zancrow was understandably confused.

''Seven more years of experience'? What are you on about?'

'I mean, that when you remained on the island of Tenroujima, not only did you seemingly die, and rise from the dead, you were also caught up in the Fairy's Spell, the Fairy Sphere, which caused you to fall into a comatose state for seven years, never aging, whilst the rest of the world; unaware and unaffected, has gone on. You have had, in a sense, seven empty years.'

Having had so many different surprising and unforeseen turns of events in one day, Zancrow couldn't honestly feel much shock. He had thought that the photographs had looked a little fishy, but had decided to dismiss his concern in favour of the mystery of the book. He now realised that in the photo where he had looked about eleven, Kain and Rustyrose appeared to be about thirteen, at a guess. Being around eighteen himself (Of course, he could not remember, and was not _completely _certain), it would make sense for Kain and Rustyrose to be around twenty years old now. But they weren't. They were older. Quite a lot older, on closer inspection. Doing the maths in his head, he calculated that Kain and Rustyrose must both be around twenty-seven now, and instead of him being around twenty-five, he had missed seven years of his life, staying young at eighteen. Well, he would be more flexible and supple in a fight, he had that advantage. He was intently focused on getting away right now, not fussed about panicking and worrying about the time that he had lost.

Perhaps… A speech? As a distraction? Would that work? For a minute, all attention would be on him, but maybe, just maybe, their guard would be down… But Zancrow wasn't good with his words. With his fists, certainly, and usually, they did the talking. But speaking to his two ex-comrades may just allow him to strike the first blow, and escape without much battling taking place… It seemed a good tactic, and it was time to put it to use…

'I don't_ care_ how much of my life is missing.'

His fists burst into flames.

'I don't _care _that you seem to think that you're better than me, because of this.'

He advanced on them, his broad shoulders taught with anticipation.

I don't _care_ that our Master is dead.'

Closer.

'I don't even care that I couldn't remember my own name.'

Close enough to see his flaming, blood-red eyes.

'And do you know what I care about the least?'

Head held low, he looked up at the two, a wicked, malevolent smirk stretched across his face.

'I don't care…'

He had bent his knees, hands at his right side, forming a swirling ball of black fire.

'That I'm half-'

The flames grew ever larger, casting an ominous black shadow over the room.

'Goddamn-'

He sprang forwards, fire now blazing in each hand and Rustyrose leapt upwards to meet him at his height.

'DEMON!' Zancrow shrieked, smashing a burning fist downwards on Rustyrose's head, other hand thrown upwards, madly clenched as if he had claws. One eye was shut, his tongue lolling horribly out of his mouth. Rustyrose's limp body crashed to the floor, as Zancrow landed lightly on his feet, facing Kain. Holding his arms out wide, he challenged Kain with a peal of ringing laughter. It was a truly insane laugh, and Zancrow, arms still spread wide, leant over to one side, his psychotic leer dominating his face.

Intimidated, but still determined to get vengeance for his comrade, Kain rushed at Zancrow, fist raised.

'Uhahahaha! I don't care! I_ really_ don't care!' Zancrow yelled as he dodged the punch, and rapidly replied with a strong flame-fuelled strike of his own, knocking the huge mage backwards, smashing him – with a sickening crunch – into the wall of the ship. Promptly pulling himself back up, Kain launched his massive form at Zancrow who had now stopped laughing in favour of concentrating on the fight. They met in the air, Kain's aggressive kick parried by the somewhat smaller, but no less powerful fire mage. He looked ready to kill, his knife-like teeth bared, eyes fixed fiercely on his foe.

Jumping back, they both knew that the time had come to strike their finishing blows. As Kain fumbled about with 'Mr Cursey', Zancrow summoned his seal with a vast sweep of his arm, a black-as-night seal that burnt with an eerie dark light.

'_Enjin no_…'

He readied one of his most powerful attacks at full force, with as much magical strength as he could muster. Kain had started to pluck out one of his hairs when Zancrow released his magic, such a massive wave of it, that Zancrow felt a primitive prickle of excitement deep inside of him.

'_DOGOU_!'

The Flame God's Bellow easily blasted a clean, round hole in the wall of the ship, carrying Kain with it, and at the moment the pulse hit him, Zancrow stood fiercely triumphant inside the vessel, his devilish smile in place.

'If you mess with divine flames, you'll sure as hell end up getting divine punishment!'

The last thing that Kain heard as he was catapulted into the sky was the sound of maniacal laughter, cackling in victory.

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><p><em><strong>I hoped that you liked this chapter, and I really will have the next one up soon! Any reviews would be gratefully accepted, as this is my first fanfiction. See you next chapter!<strong>_


	4. Escape!

_**Hello! I'm back again, with a new chapter! I think I got this chapter out a little earlier this time... This time around, Zancrow's going to find himself in a whole new place, with a few new faces...**_

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><p>He knew that he had won now – it was all over – he had the book, they had nothing. His magical energy was frightfully low, and as he lurched forwards to inspect the damage that he had caused, he fell flat on his face, panting. Closing his eyes gently, and resting his chin on the back of his hand, he wondered how the hell he was going to get off the island now. He was weak, he had gone all out in his fight, using his very strongest techniques. Exhausted, Zancrow knew that his magic power was utterly drained – he didn't think that he could move, at least not for a while. How could he have released all his magic power in a couple of bursts? Even the most powerful and difficult to work spells wouldn't do that. Actually, that was a point. Wasn't it a bit <em>too<em> easy? Rustyrose and Kain had gone down from a hit each, and weren't they all supposed to be elites from the same guild? Yet they were defeated with ease… Though, he had used about half of his full power on each… Confused, and pushing himself up into a cross-legged position, he stared at his palms, almost expecting them to provide him with an answer.

They did.

His hands were ghostly white, almost like bone, and he could have sworn for just a second, before the normal pink blush rushed to his skin, that their structure was more skeletal, as if his skin and muscle had melted away… Was this some sort of effect of demon blood? Did it really only work if you were aware of it? Zancrow was musing about his blood though, when he had smashed down Rustyrose, he recalled with vindictive pleasure. Did that trigger an ability of some kind? Before he could mentally delve any deeper into the topic, he felt a sharp pain jolt up his right side. Wincing, he yanked his shirt up to take a look, but as soon as the pain had appeared, it had promptly vanished. There was no wound there, but pale white figures drew themselves onto his skin, and when the invisible brush had finished carving its mark, the symbol vanished, sinking into his body. The mark? A burst of remembrance ensued, recalling his younger days, stuck in the vast library of the ship, forced to study book after book on subjects that seemed miles away from his ability. The unmistakable sigil he knew that he had seen many times on the covers of the many volumes of tomes he had pored over in the library of Grimoire Heart. The mark of the demons. A oddly terrifying mix of strong lines and elegant curves, combining to make the symbol that was ultimately feared in the magical world that he belonged to. What was their symbol, often a warning of impending doom, doing on his body? Shaking, he rearranged his shirt and pulled his quaking body to its feet. There was something evil at work here, why else would he have a hellish mark emblazoned across his side? Did a demon, beast, or perhaps even the devil himself help him to fight? Zancrow had never been truly religious, he considered himself a god without any shred of modesty, after all. But what about the devil? Had he subconsciously performed a ritual that had somehow bound him to the underworld, or sold his soul? Well, if he had one. Zancrow chuckled softly, despite his bleak situation. He raked his eyes over his palms again, secretly hoping that nothing else strange had transpired during his brief moment of thought. Thankfully, the effects seemed to have worn off now, his hands and side looked as normal as he remembered. But the blonde god could not shake off his concern, after all, the demon's mark could only mean bad news.

Knowing that he had to get off the island now before Kain made his way back up, or Rustyrose awoke, Zancrow approached the now-slightly-mangled wall. Pressing his hot nose up against the refreshingly cool window, he saw a surprising sight. Towns were rushing by underneath, lakes and rivers flying past. The flight had been so smooth, and he had been so absorbed in his fighting, he hadn't even noticed that they were moving. With a flash of panic, Zancrow wondered who was guiding the ship through the night. No one, that's who, from the looks of it. Rustyrose and Kain had appeared to be working alone, without the vast numbers that Grimoire Heart usually possessed, judging by the size of the ship. It would most likely be the best course of action to merely jump out of the vessel and leave it to travel wherever it desired, he had no idea how to control the monstrosity, and he wasn't going to start learning now. The sky was just turning to night, the purple that had streaked the heavens like soft, inky brush strokes had faded away, leaving the world above a deep black that seemed to stretch for ever and a day. At this time, Zancrow didn't know why, he felt that he was just a little closer to the land above the clouds. Perhaps it was the darkness that calmed his mind and set his focus, or perhaps it was the flickering, but ever present light of the stars that filled him with a sense of the beyond, a world that humans could maybe never reach, but in the dead of night, perceive better than any other time. He liked night far more than any other time of day, and maybe that was the reason. In the middle of the night - the sky stretched out like a vast painting above - one felt that all their dreams could come into creation, all their endeavours would succeed, simply, or maybe not so simply, because of the bitter wind and the sharp light of the celestial bodies that seemed to stiffen one's resolve, and the sky above, like eternity set out before them, making it seem like anything was possible, as if forever was right on their doorstep. Zancrow could achieve anything, if forever was this close.

The night had progressed far enough now that it was as dark as the vessel he was inside. Not one person would see the airship, or see him leap out, especially if he chose to do so right at the outskirts of a settlement. He needed to land near a town at the least, or he would have nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep. One such place was fast approaching over the so-far, bleak horizon, and Zancrow knew he had but a few minutes to pack some clothes, food and other bare necessities before he made his escape. He bolted to his room, just about remembering the way, and dove under the bed to see if he could find something to pack things in. He was in luck – there was a black backpack under there. In a hurry, Zancrow threw that onto the bed and started tugging clothes out of the drawers. In there, he found a second pair of his red trousers, a pair of knee length, laced boots, a black t-shirt with the collar and short sleeves fringed with yellow, and a rather nice coat that almost reached his ankles. It was black on the torso, long sleeved, with a high collar and hidden hook and eye fastenings down the front. Below the waist however, the coat billowed out, and had the same colours and patterns as the cloth he wore around his middle. The patterns upon the fabric looked like huge paintbrush strokes from the waist of the coat, it was very well done. Folding this treasure up most carefully of all, and placing it gently into his bag, Zancrow had finished packing clothes and blankets, and so wondered if he had enough time to search for food. Hmm, the pale orange lighting of the town still looked far away… He had enough time. Dashing through the doorway, hastily pulling his backpack on, he attempted to locate some sort of kitchen or food storage, oblivious to the lives of the people who lived in the town ahead.

* * *

><p>It's simple!' yelled Natsu Dragneel, the feisty fire Dragon Slayer of Fairy Tail, slamming his palm into the table. 'We grind 'em into a pulp and smash 'em into the ground!'<p>

'I don't think that it works like that, Natsu…' reasoned Lucy Heartfilia, raising her dainty two hands with a somewhat nervous expression on her face, imagining all that could go wrong with that sort of tactic.

'Listen to Lucy, flame brain, that sort of stupid plan ain't gonna work,' an exhausted Gray Fullbuster added. He was more than a little sick of Natsu's overaggressive plans, he never took the quieter jobs seriously, insisting on entering some sort of fray, or making a fight where one wasn't needed. As Erza Scarlet finally decided to argue with the hot head, Gray sighed, and decided that he needed some air. His group barely noticed that he had left, too busy bickering amongst themselves. The ice wizard headed for the exit of the Fairy Tail guild's building, Gajeel Redfox eyeing him suspiciously as he left. Gray didn't show it in his expression, but inwardly, he squirmed a little under the iron Dragon Slayer's gaze – Gajeel's sideways glances always made you feel like you'd done something wrong. The night was crisp and cool, making Gray's breath condense in the light winter breeze. He loved this time of year more than any other time. Being an ice wizard, he flourished in the cold, and tonight was just perfect. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, consciously reminding himself not to strip, he thought he'd take a good walk, and forget all about the pink-haired menace he'd left behind. Turning to look behind him, he realised the others still hadn't noticed that he was not present. Smiling a little bitterly, he took a slow walk into the night, letting it swallow him up and engulf him.

* * *

><p>Bag now packed with some tinned food – he didn't know how long it would before he would be able to find anymore – Zancrow stood at the edge of the ship, waiting for a good opportunity to jump. He wasn't scared or even a little nervous of leaping out of a airship perhaps over a hundred feet above the ground, it seemed to Zancrow one of those things you just <em>did, <em>like climbing a tree, or swimming. Many pieces of primitive knowledge were a still part of Zancrow's memories, but he still could not remember much about people, or even his guild. It saddened him slightly, but he did not dwell on it. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself – now was the time to focus on timing and landing positions. A row of perfectly tall houses were fast approaching, and Zancrow, knowing that these would be excellent to land on, sprang out of the ship, arms and legs spread out wide, and began his descent. As he neared the roofs, he slid his legs underneath himself and crouched to hopefully to absorb some of the shock. He had landed flawlessly, not even feeling a quake up his calves as he dropped onto the grey, slated roof. Brushing himself down, he proclaimed, perhaps a little too smugly. 'I give myself ten out of ten for that landing.'

With a wonderfully executed front flip - just to show off a little, even if he was alone - he launched himself off of the roof, and with minimal noise, landed smoothly in an alleyway. He was quite impressed that he hadn't slipped and lost his balance, it had begun to rain quite heavily all of five minutes ago, and the roof had been slick with rainwater. Knowing that his guild mark was on show, and knew now that it was not the best mark to be sporting, he backed further into a slightly sheltered part of the alley, and began to change into his warm, dry clothes that he had packed in his bag. He fervently hoped that no one would come across him as he was changing. He went a little red at the thought, and pulled on his new clothes as quickly as he could. Successfully changed, mark hidden, Zancrow looked cautiously left and right, then started to stride down the dark, wet alleyway, trying to find a dry place to rest.

* * *

><p>Gray was starting to find that he was walking in the backstreets, the dangerous ones at the edge of Magnolia that everyone knew not to walk down. He however, wasn't really that fussed – he was a powerful wizard, and was well known in the area. No one would want to mess with him, or incur the wrath of Fairy Tail, who would attack the offenders without mercy. Gray smiled despite his current thoughts, he really was lucky to be a member of Fairy Tail, after all. Even so, he couldn't help but be a little worried, it was really dark out now, and there was a real risk that he could be jumped. Better hurry back. Gray quickened his pace, and as his boot scuffed the floor, he heard a faint, echoing tap, like someone else's shoes upon the stone, a few feet ahead, down another alleyway that branched off to the left. Was there someone up there, getting ready to attack? The moment he had stopped walking, Gray heard no more noise, making him instantly suspicious. There was a magical presence, but only faint. There were a lot of wizards in Magnolia, thanks to Fairy Tail, so it wasn't out of sight that another wizard had been down here today… It was probably just his mind making things up. Despite his reasoning, he trudged carefully down the alley, making as little noise as possible, readying his magic in case of an attack.<p>

* * *

><p>Another wizard? At this time of night? The moment Zancrow had heard footsteps, he had crept down the path in hopes of sneaking a glance at them, perhaps they'd help him remember, or being a fellow mage themselves, make a recommendation on where he could sleep. He didn't fancy sleeping in a tree again, he truly desired a real bed, and well, some human company. But since this wizard was being so cautious, something told Zancrow that he should be on guard as well. From the quick glimpse he got before he had been detected, he saw that the mage was male, had short black hair, was around his height and age, and wore a longish white coat. He wondered how on Earthland he didn't catch sight of his own bright, blonde mop. It was raining, mind you, making his hair sopping wet and hang lank and dark against his pale skin, but still… Zancrow had pressed himself flat against the freezing stone wall, hoping almost feverishly that the mage would go straight ahead and not turn left where he was concealing himself. It was also a dead end, so no escape. It would look terribly suspicious if he was found by this wizard, so Zancrow decided that the best course of action would be to step out and reveal his presence – even if he passed straight by, this guy would be bound to see him. He had no mark on show, and one of the few advantages of lacking many of his memories meant that he was a pretty good liar. Hopefully.<p>

* * *

><p>Gray was nearing the path on the left now, the dank gaping maw of the entrance and the unnerving grey stone made the alley seem as if it contained some great threat, as if there was something ready to pounce from within. The closer that he got the more apprehensive he grew, when suddenly, taking him by complete surprise, a man swiftly stepped out. He was overwhelmingly tall, definitely over six feet, with flaming-orange hair and a puckered scar down his burly left arm. Gray, fearing the worst, prepared to use magic, and the man requipped a long, cruelly sharp knife.<p>

* * *

><p>Oh no way. Not another one. Two wizards in one night, and the black-hair looked like he being threatened. So his left turning wasn't the first left turning. There was a left path before his, and then his path a little further on. This explained why he hadn't noticed fire-hair, and Zancrow berated himself on not concentrating and not sensing his magic. Well, he supposed that a severe arse-kicking was in order. Black-hair could most likely look after himself, but he had the element of surprise on his side. He quickly raised his magical power and waited for the perfect opening to appear.<p>

* * *

><p>Gray leapt back from a strong knife swing when he refused to hand his belongings over. This guy wasn't particularly powerful or fast, and was perhaps just a sour Twilight Ogre member. Dodging another blow, Gray crouched and placed his fist into his flat palm, his chilling ice magic's aura swirling around, even audible.<p>

'Ice make…'

'_Enjin no Kagutsuchi!_'

A burst of black fire caused chaos in the midst of the two preparing their attacks. The wave of magic tore the alleyway apart, sending rubble flying, and Gray's assailant was thrown over his head. He scrambled to his feet looking fearfully and frantically at the attacker behind him. Gray followed suit, looking towards this odd source of aid, barely able to make them out in the thick dust that had been kicked up by the rubble, and the streetlights were dim. The first thing that he saw was bright burgundy eyes, glowing ominously through the screen of dust, and as it cleared a little more, he could see the outline of a young man, around his height and age, with a shock of huge, waist-length blonde hair. His position was still, knees bent, holding one arm backwards and one forwards, palms up as if to halt one's progress. His expression was strange and hard to make out. It was fearsome, but disturbingly cruel, and almost as if he was enjoying the scene before him, shivering slightly in anticipation of the carnage he hoped to cause. Gray had never seen someone make an expression like that before, and a strange squirm inside of him told him that he never wanted to see it again. Eventually, the shadowed stranger spoke.

'Leave.'

There was a horribly pregnant pause, and a cold smile curled the lips of the stranger. Gray was starting to wish that he was back fighting the mugger.

'Leave now, or risk angering the gods more than you have done, you insolent _rat.'_

The stranger spat the last word. The orange-haired mugger wasted no time scuttling away as fast as his legs could carry him, the fastest Gray had seen him move. To be honest, he could have handled him by himself, but he appreciated the help, no matter where it came from. But this man… Gray's intuition was telling him something very bizarre. Something, bubbling just beneath the surface, heavily repressed, was very wrong about his saviour. But why, if he was so… _unusual_, would this man help him out? He had to be good right? Obviously this wizard was strong, and he was helping those in trouble, nothing dark about that. Still, Gray felt his heart sink to somewhere around his stomach… Undeniably, he had done a good job, he had gone overboard, utterly wrecking the alley, and subtly reminding him of a certain someone…

* * *

><p>Zancrow felt amazing. Not your normal, 'I'm so excited, I had such a wonderful day' sort of amazing. The sort of amazing that you get when you've rent your enemy in two, listened to their cries of pain, and gloated in their anguish. Again, not your normal kind of amazing. But the rush that he was getting was incredible. He knew that he shouldn't feel that way, but he couldn't help it. It was just a natural, healthy part of his personality, everyone likes a bit of vengeance. See, he had helped someone in trouble, that was good. But was he enjoying it a little too much? The part that was lapping up the chaos quashed that little voice instantly. No. Healthy. Everyone's a bit like that, but it's seen as socially undesirable, so people squash that feeling down. That's what it was. He needed to stop worrying. Looking around aimlessly for a distraction, he spotted the tuft of black hair beneath. He dropped his attacking position immediately at the sight of the wizard's slightly shocked, slightly surprised look. Oops. Shouldn't lord it over him. He dropped off the roof and turned to leave, suddenly a little embarrassed and abashed. He didn't really want to talk with anyone at all, needing time to sort his confused feelings out. Zancrow started to clamber over the mess he'd made, when black-hair shouted:<p>

'Hello? Are you just going to leave?'

Pause.

'Who are you? I'd like to thank you for your help. I've never seen you around here before, I'd like to have a look at your face.'

Silence fell around their ears, and Zancrow did not turn back around.

'If that's okay with you?'

Zancrow sighed. He wasn't going to let it go. What harm could it do if he lied? And he'd just saved the guy, he wouldn't exactly betray him, let's hope.

'Zag, that's my name.' he lied, a little apprehensive. Ha ha, _wow. _I wonder what his name could be? What a completely different name, that no one could guess where it came from. This is why he should have left when he had the chance, not stuck around and got himself into this mess.

'Well mine's Gray. Get over here, I wanna have a look at ya.'

You're kidding. He actually swallowed that obvious lie? Maybe he was faking it. Maybe he was going to be arrested. Or maybe this guy actually didn't know about him. Or he was just stupid. Zancrow hesitated, considering the wizard's offer, then obediently turned to face him and went to meet this new face.

* * *

><p>Woah. He was quite scary-looking up close. Those ringed scarlet eyes pierced right through him, the long, sharp-toothed smile and the spiky yellow hair making his appearance seem exceedingly… evil. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to put on a bravado and meet this man. He would say thank you and leave. As soon as possible. Come on Gray, be polite, just say thanks.<p>

'Thanks for your help back there, I wasn't really expecting that.'

'Oh, uh, no problem.' Zancrow made an attempt to smile in what he thought was a modest way. This was awkward for the both of them.

'So, Zag? I've never seen you in Magnolia. You a part of a guild nearby?'

'Nah, I'm not a member of a guild. Free spirit and all that. Though I was once.'

No! Why did he say that?! He'd let anything slip in a conversation, he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, silver tongued. This 'Gray' could be anybody! A dark guilder from an enemy guild! An informant for the magical government!

'Once? Why did you leave, if you don't mind me asking?'

Zancrow clamped his lips shut, making sure he wouldn't say anything else stupid. Yes, thank you, he did bloody mind him asking. Gray observed him closely and warily for a couple of seconds, then said, perhaps trying to make his voice sound soft:

'Would you ever consider joining another? There are plenty of guilds out there who need strong wizards.'

Zancrow decided to word his answer very carefully. _You're not buttering me up. I'm not letting anything else slip. Just watch me, _he thought determinedly. He needed to give as little personal information as possible, yet craftily imply that he needed somewhere to go. Zancrow hoped that Gray would point him in the right direction, and he would be on his way. He supposed that if the worst came to the worst, he would simply sleep on the street, but where would he get money, and more food and clothing? At this point, that tree on the island was starting to look pretty damn comfy…

'Maybe. After all, I need some income. And a place to live.'

'Why, what happened? Is this all because you left or something?'

Time to tread carefully. Now, what to answer? _Perhaps I should inject a little truth into it…_ Zancrow reasoned to himself.

'There was just bad blood between me and another member. Nothing really. Just decided to leave, so I've been wandering around looking for a job. Wasn't sure if I wanted to join a guild,' here he shrugged, 'but I might as well put my magic to good use.'

Well the bad blood bit was true, at least. He was full of the demon's blood, almost feeling it pump around his veins like an evil taint. However, adding the fact that he still wanted to use his magic may perhaps make Gray guide him towards a possible job. Then he could earn some money, and find somewhere to live for a while. He was quite uncomfortable now, hoping Gray wouldn't press him for anymore answers as he doubted that he was a convincing liar – lying to Rustyrose and Kain had gone terribly wrong, after all.

Gray himself was feeling very odd. This 'Zag' was quite charming in his own strange way, but he couldn't shake out of his mind that terrible look he had plastered all over his face minutes ago. But he looked and sounded perfectly friendly now. Part of Gray wanted to invite Zag to be friendly, and to perhaps get a little closer to him, but another part said to invite him so he could be watched by the most powerful wizards in the country. He'd made his decision.

'I'm sure that you've heard of Fairy Tail?'

Fairy… Tail? Nope, doesn't ring a bell. But Zancrow supposed that it must be famous around here, he'd probably heard of it, but of course could not remember now. Play dumb, maybe he's get an explanation. But be polite. Oh yes, ever so polite. He wouldn't be giving away any information now. No, he'd be getting it.

'Ah, Fairy Tail? I must confess, I really haven't heard of it. I'm sorry.'

_I suppose wandering the way he has means that he has heard very little…_ Gray mused to himself. _Zag must know nothing about the Grand Magic Games. Perhaps I should tell him a little more?_

'Fairy Tail's a great place, you know, when you get used to how rambunctious it is.' Gray began out loud.

He's a member?! Zancrow did not see that coming.

'We're recognised as the strongest guild in Fiore as well. If you're looking for somewhere to stay, I could give you a recommendation to the master, I'll tell him what you did.'

He kind of… destroyed the whole alleyway… But a personal recommendation! Here it was – a chance to start a new life. Couldn't turn this down. He wouldn't even be there that often anyway, the funds would be used to travel and find Chiroptera, his father demon. That's what he had decided to do with his life. He would search for this Chiroptera, and would get all the answers. 'Why?'. 'How?'. And what he considered most important, 'Why me?'. But back to this Fairy Tail... If this guild is strong, then it must have a lot of members. Even better, someone might be able to help him discover what he is, or perhaps where he could find more of his kind! But a new life… The name Zancrow has to go of course… And he'd have to find a way of getting rid of his Grimoire mark... Zancrow desperately wanted to know more about his past life, but he would have to give that up now. Time to start afresh. Anyway, he could always research himself in private, he supposed…

'So…? What about it?'

With an edge of anxiety to his voice, Gray pulled Zancrow out of his fate deciding thoughts, and the blonde god felt more than a little pissed that he was being rushed to make such a quick decision.

'Alright. Sounds like a plan.'

Grinning a sharp-toothed smile, Zancrow folded his slender, yet muscular arms.

'I'd love to join this Fairy Tail, and I'm not going to turn my nose up at your offer.'

Gray mirrored him and crossed his arms in reply, then murmured:

'Let's go then. To Fairy Tail.'

Zancrow made a gesture for Gray to lead on, and as he did, Zancrow fell into step at his side. He found that he quite liked this ice wizard, and felt a twinge of guilt that he was using him a little. He was only joining Fairy Tail to use it as a refuge, really, he had no interest in joining a guild. But he didn't let it get to him too much. He shrugged off the turmoil easily, and carried on walking with a spring in his step. At his side however, another, stronger, surge of guilt passed through Gray Fullbuster, when he solemnly reminded himself that he'd invited Zag to Fairy Tail so that he could be watched. There was something odd about him, and Gray wanted to know what... But still, he quite liked Zag, he seemed quite friendly, but perhaps a little reserved and blunt. Gray told himself firmly that he had done a good thing – now Zag would have food, money and somewhere to live. It wasn't just to make himself feel better at all. But a feeling of slight gloom and betrayal had settled around him, and try as he might, he could not keep it at bay. He tried to keep his head up though, and stay as cheerful as he could. Zag looked content. That was all that mattered really.

Zancrow himself was slightly irritated by the fact that he had been pushed to join this guild, but no matter. Where he was going had to be better than what he had left behind. Or so he hoped. He would leave his past behind him now, and reach for the future, this Fairy Tail being the first step. The two wizards lapsed into melancholic silence as the threads of fate twisted and coiled, intertwining them all.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I've been ever so busy at the minute, but the workload has really dropped off as of late, which means... More chapters! As always, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and give it a review if you'd like!<em>**


	5. A Demon in Amongst the Fairies

_**I'm back again! Hopefully I'm getting a little more regular with my chapters... Just a little somethin' that was mentioned to me, I really like to use single inverted commas when I use dialogue (I'm sorry, it's just the way that I like to write!), and I use italics when a character is thinking (I think that one's quite common... I think)! This time, Zancrow will find out just a little more about who he really is... Hope you all enjoy it!**_

* * *

><p>The two walked in solemn silence through the pitch-black and (Zancrow noted) unguarded streets. The only sounds that broke the seal of quiet were the soft pattering of the dismal rain that was beginning to ease off and the sharp 'clack' of Zancrow's and Gray's footsteps on the slick stones beneath their boots. They had continued in this fashion for some time and their feet were beginning to ache when all of a sudden Gray stopped so abruptly that Zancrow almost walked into him. Following where the ice wizard was looking, he realised why he had ground to a halt. This must be the guild. Fairy Tail. The light emanating through the front doors was warm and inviting, at odds with the dreary and grey houses that lined the streets. And it was so <em>loud. <em>Even from half way down the street the sounds of people making merry could be heard – laughter, the clank of glasses, and a lot of animated shouting. At his side, Gray sighed and looked down somewhat despondently.

'They must have taken it too far again… Like usual I suppose.'

Too far? They must be as lively as he says, sounds like a good rumble going on in there. Zancrow liked it. A good, mindless fight was a source of great enjoyment. When wizards fight together, it's so much more than a test of strength, a battle can convey complex emotions that words alone simply cannot express. Pride… guilt… anger… desperation, and even friendship. Fighting, odd though it may seem, brings others close, allowing them to understand each other's feelings better than they could before. A little part of Zancrow – perhaps the more childish, innocent side of himself – could hardly wait to get inside. _But_, he sternly reminded himself, _I'm not here to play. I'm here to have a roof over my head, to find some work, and to make some 'friends' that might come in handy. Nothing more. As soon as I've got enough earnings, I'll be outta here like a bat outta hell._

'Well, we might as well go in. Come on, Zag, I'll show you around.'

Gray gestured for Zancrow to enter the bright building, and Zancrow himself, without a moment's thought, followed eager to see inside the guild.

The shouting, thankfully, had died down now with gentle chatter taking over. However, there was some harsh bickering going on at one of the tables, but most ignored it in favour of talking or drinking. Gray began to lead his new ally towards the arguing group when the rowdiest of them all, the pink-headed Natsu Dragneel fell immediately silent, staring at the new arrival. Zancrow felt his eyes pierce into him – cold, sharp eyes filled with a fiery hatred, filled with a primitive and ancient power somehow unalike any human's. As if controlled by some strange instinct, Zancrow felt himself sinking into an awkward crouch, beginning to fell a scowl forming on his face, almost a baring of teeth. It just seemed like an automatic reaction, and he found that the sharp-eyed stranger was behaving in a similar manner, crouching on the table, pulling his lips back over sharp white fangs. Zancrow noted, with a sensation not unlike unease, that this stranger looked similar to himself but with bizarre differences. Their face shape was eerily alike, their builds both muscular and slim, and their height was almost the same… The group that was once rife with noise and vigour was now intently watching their comrade, intrigued by what had transpired. Gray didn't speak, but looked somewhat shocked, an expression of horror slowly dawning on his face. The whole guild was deathly quiet and still now, observing the two in their silent face-off.

'You…'

The aggressor finally spoke in a voice that seethed with barely contained fury and loathing. Realising that it would be best to keep his mouth shut and let this all blow over, Zancrow did not respond. He had met this one before, and obviously their relationship was not a positive one. Looking his potential opponent up and down for weaknesses, Zancrow noticed with a pang of something a little like alarm, that he had never seen a person look so angry before. His pink-hair quivered with indignation and rancour, his body shaking from head to foot, fists clenched, teeth clenched, every muscle tensed for battle. And his eyes. His eyes. They were giving him the kind of look that could turn you to stone, that could freeze your heart mid-beat and make it stutter. The savage ferocity and intensity they held were only matched by Zancrow's own red orbs, which were glaring, unfazed, straight back. His own glower was starting to attract the attention of many of the guild members, and the whole guild was utterly focused on the scene before them.

'Nats-?' a blonde began.

'YOU!' the spiky-haired menace screeched, a yell so loud it must have torn at his throat. Zancrow held his defensive posture without flinching, staring directly into his eyes, reluctant to drop his gaze. "You"? What had he done? It couldn't be possible that he knew these people too… right? And what had he done to warrant such unfriendly treatment? This was a stupid idea. He should have gone into hiding and found out who he really was before doing something so bold as joining a guild! He was a criminal for God's sake! He used to be a part of a dark guild! One of the strongest dark guilds in their country, supposedly. He shouldn't be here. Looks like he was going to be found out and arrested anyway… With a heavy heart, he pulled himself back to the present – Evil-eyes had cranked up again:

'What the hell are _you_ doing here?!'

Zancrow couldn't help it, he was angry, tired, and more than a little anxious over what he might have done. Sounding far too defensive, he worded his reply with gritted teeth:

'I don't understand what you're on about!' he howled. 'I ain't done nothing! I ain't even seen you before!'

His confrontational tone riled up the Fire Dragon Slayer, who retorted with, 'You liar… Don't you dare try and lie! We all know who you are! We all know what you've done! You tried to tear our guild apart, just admit it!' was his accusatory retort, his voice burning with hatred.

Though Zancrow was starting to doubt himself and the response he was preparing, he decided to speak anyway and dearly hoped that someone would come and break up this mess.

'I hurt _nobody_!'

As he shouted his reply to the wizard's furious declaration, a prickle of uncertainty clawed its way down his back, sending a cold, guilty shiver up his spine, and icy sweat rolling down his skin. He must have done something really evil; nobody reacts with such anger without a good reason. Almost sighing, he grimly observed that this was yet another person that he had hurt, not even going into what he had done with Grimoire. Did he really feel bad about it though? Was it guilt, or just fear that he might be caught? He was certainly apprehensive about when this would all come out, and the magical government would start hunting him down; but did he regret committing crimes for himself and his own freedom, or did he regret carrying them out because it was ruining other's lives? Despite that, the worst of it all was the inability to remember. He couldn't remember anything about those he had treated with unkindness, having these secrets of the past revealed to him in confrontations such as these. Every time he met someone's eyes now, it seemed to be with animosity that they looked at him, and as he listlessly glanced around the room, every pair of eyes looked suspicious and wary, some members edging closer to their friends for safety, other slowly stepping back. There was no kindness or warmth there, and the loneliness and isolation he was beginning to feel culminated in a loud, cruel, humourless cackle. He couldn't stop. Ringing laughter exploded from his mouth, and he threw his head back and let the laughter take its course. It didn't matter what anyone thought. Who cared? He was alone anyway. The guild was starting to become noisy, people muttering concernedly amongst themselves about the blonde creep Gray had brought in from the streets. Who was he? Natsu clearly knew him, but none of them had ever seen him before. They all came to the conclusion that they knew his name, but not his face. The blonde just stood there, head to the sky, eyes closed, a relentless stream of laughter pouring out of his throat. Gradually, the paroxysms of laughter subsided into weak giggling, and the Fairy Tail guild – now even more suspicious of this outsider – neared slightly. His sharp-eyed opponent grinned, a victorious, toothy smile and rumbled,

'That just settles it. You're Zancrow! The God Slayer of Grimy Warts!'

Whisper whisper.

'I mean, the God Slayer of Grimoire Heart!'

The building went deathly quiet, the only sounds that could be heard were the hammering of rain outside which had made a fresh resurgence, and the odd mighty crack of thunder. Zancrow's outburst had left him feeling weak and out of control, like the demon inside of him had won. Deep in one of the recesses of his mind, a part that was still sane registered what had transpired. _Oh no. Oh no-no-no. This is bad. They know who I am now. They know who I've been affiliated with. And they won't like it. Gray will realise that I've been lying to him. It looks terrible from their point of view: an elite of Grimoire Heart, hell bent on revenge, attempts to get close to one of their members, gain their trust, and destroy them from the inside._ He could perfectly understand why they would react like this, but what had he even done in the first place? Something about trying to tear their guild apart… _It's just like with Rustyrose and Kain! What were the odds that I'd know these people?! Well… they know me at least. But what I've done is obviously so appalling that they'll spurn me like this. If only I could remember! For God's sake it can't be _that_ bad! Why don't you just forgive and forget and let this whole thing blow over, I only came here to find some work, not to see a drama. What's Pinky's issue? Hold on. Pinky._

A flood of memories streamed into Zancrow's mind, sudden and unwelcome. _No, not now!_ Not when he needed to focus on the problem at hand. But the memories continued to invade his mind and swallow his conscious thoughts.

'…To your own _nakama_!' a furious Pinky exclaimed. In the memory, the pink-haired monstrosity stood at the foot of a tall cliff, and Zancrow stood proudly at the peak, glaring down condescendingly at the pest. He was on top of the cliff, on top of the world. An unstoppable force of nature; an unstoppable God. And when he spoke, a sneering, haughty and egotistical voice thundered out.

'_Nakama? _I don't wanna hear some two-bit, weak little guild lecture me!'

With a broad sweep of his arm, he released a wave of swirling black flames, engulfing the small figure beneath him. As the memory gradually faded away, the last thing that he heard was a high voice, screaming "don't" in terror. Another though flickered in Zancrow's subconscious, bringing forward a recollection of standing tall and strong, ready to strike his opponent down with a mighty bellow.

'This is the magic of Grimoire Heart! _Enjin no… DOGOU!_'

And the memories just kept on coming.

'The dragon hunter, gramps, or little old me! I wonder who's gonna kick the bucket first?!'

'You're all too damn weak! Seriously!'

'God flames love to devour mages…'

'I can handle this guy myself.'

'Jellal right? Master Zero right? You beat all those nobodies and you think you're such hot stuff.'

He gasped as he felt the air being squeezed out of him – the memory was so strong that he could feel physical pain as an invisible hand gripped him tightly and would not let go.

'No more…'

The voice of an old man, strong but softer in his older age demanded him to release Pinky from his magic.

'Just try hurting this boy anymore in front of me! I will crush you down to the bone!'

Zancrow felt the fist clench even tighter, and he choked and fought for breath, letting out a constricted yell which he hastily stifled. Quickly recovering and trying to sound confident and nonchalant, he simply replied with,

'You got enough strength left in ya?'

Eager to get this over with – he felt light-headed and his ribs were being crushed excruciatingly tightly – he attempted to make the man free him.

'Come on. Let go. 'Cause if you don't, it's gonna be your arm that's gone.'

Igniting himself with his black God's flames, he waited for the pressure to reduce. But it didn't. The old man only clenched tighter. Zancrow gave another hoarse choke and squirmed, trying to twist around and stared behind in shock and horror.

'Y-you're squeezing harder?!' he exclaimed shakily, trying not to gag.

'Never… underestimate… the bonds of family!'

The scene before him abruptly cut off at this point; Zancrow had to block sharply as an incoming flaming fist threw itself at him. Pinky was throwing wave after wave of relentless punches, and Zancrow struggled, but managed to block every one. So it was him. The very same Pinky that he had fought on the island. Who left him for dead. But even though his attacks were fierce and fuelled with hatred, Zancrow knew somehow that his sharp-eyed opponent would not kill him. Just really mess him up. So who did try to end his life? No time to think. Pinky tried to slam fist after fist into Zancrow, who managed again to block and dodge every hit. The dragon hunter fought with little skill, rage dictating his movements, head clouded with thoughts of revenge. Zancrow had no desire to retaliate, he didn't want to make his situation look worse. Despite the welcome he had received, he still wanted to make as good a first impression as he could on other members. He refused to let one idiot beat him, he needed somewhere to stay and somewhere to work, and it was going to take every sly bone in his body to get it. Just as he was planning his speech to the head honcho, a voice that was hoarse with age, but still filled with a wise authority bellowed:

'Enough! Natsu! That is enough! Do not provoke that man anymore!'

Immediately, but reluctantly, Natsu's attacks ceased, but he shot Zancrow a filthy look that said quite clearly "I'm not finished with you", and sloped off. If looks could kill… _But that voice_, Zancrow wondered, _is it really the one from my thoughts…? It's not possible. Not a chance._ The details of the memory were already fading away, like a bad dream that was impossible to remember in the morning. Already, Zancrow had forgotten the majority of what had happened, and the voice was only faintly recognisable. He looked up in the direction of the speaker, who turned out to be rather short old man, standing at the top of a staircase that connected the first and second floor of the building. He seemed to radiate an ancient power, different to the wizards that surrounded him. Despite his diminutive stature, Zancrow knew that this man was incredibly powerful, able to wield magic that other mages could only dream of. The aging wizard sought Zancrow gaze and held it sharply, stepping slowly down the stairs towards him. The guild held its breath as one entity, concerned by the fact that their master had decided to take an interest in this affair. He had finally reached Zancrow, who was frozen and speechless, not wanting to give this man any reason to become angry at him as well. If he stayed still and silent, unresponsive and unreactive, then no one would have any reason to become angry at him or harm him. He wasn't scared, but cautious. The old man spoke.

'Leave.'

Zancrow refused to speak or offer any kind of acknowledgment, hoping that their master would elaborate before he began to make an explanation of his own. If he chose his words correctly, perhaps he could change their minds. He couldn't even remember what he'd done in the first place, so he should probably admit to that to start with. As he finally opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, the master of Fairy Tail had already begun to speak again.

'You need to leave this place. You have hurt us far too much to ever be trusted here.'

Silence. Zancrow decided now wasn't the time.

'Go back to Grimoire Heart. Go back to Hades.'

The sixth master of Fairy Tail's face tightened as he thought bitterly, _Go back to Purehito. _Slack-faced, praying that no emotion showed on his face, Zancrow replied as tonelessly as he could,

'Master Hades is dead.'

A long pause met this statement, no one dared to break the taboo, but Zancrow did not care.

'I've left Grimoire Heart now.'

Makarov felt an odd mix of emotions, a sort of wonderful relief and awful sadness. Hades was dead and yet he did not care about that. But, Purehito was gone. No. Purehito left a long time ago. So had one of his puppets finally decided to start afresh? Or was this simply a ruse? He hated Zancrow dearly for the way he treated human life – like it was disposable, and worth nothing. He hated him for the way he had hurt his children. He was exactly like Hades wanted him to be. With a pang of unwanted sympathy that was quickly buried, Makarov realised that Zancrow had really been a tool all this time. The problem was though, was he still wrapped around Hades' finger, or was he his own man and sincere, coming here in search of a new life?

'Why did you leave the guild that you were so intensely loyal to, and come here?'

He received an answer that was not completely devoid of emotion, but perhaps a little sad and frustrated.

'I can't remember.'

'You can't remember why you left?'

The time was now to tell them. This wasn't even a lie, it was the complete truth! There were all sorts of ways they could manipulate this information – tell him lies about his past, who he was, who he was affiliated with – but it seemed important to communicate his confusion to the master. _Maybe,_ a sly voice whispered in Zancrow's ear, _not only would you get more information about your guild this way, the master would go easy on you as well, if you told him of your memory loss… _It was a perfect plan, and Zancrow answered Makarov with a shadow of a smile.

'No. I can't remember anything.'

The guild daren't chatter for fear of missing any of the action, but it was apparent from the looks on their faces that each and every one of them was distinctly surprised. Enjoying the attention for a second, Zancrow basked in the limelight and waited for an opportunity to continue.

'Nothing. Not even my name. I only found out today who I was and what guild I belonged to. I didn't like Grimoire anymore, so I came here instead.'

He glanced around, savouring the looks of shock. He fancied that there was something a little sympathetic in some of their looks, and decided that now would the perfect time for a forlorn apology. He didn't exactly relish being pitied, but it could be exactly the thing that could get him in this guild. Zancrow didn't really know why he was trying so hard to win these wizards over and join their guild. It would be simple enough to find another place out in the sticks that had never heard of him, or to join another dark guild. Maybe there was just a little something about Fairy Tail that he quite liked… Or maybe it was just because he had come this far, and it was still more convenient to push onwards. Whatever the reason, he really had to swallow his pride now, and make a convincing expression of regret. Again, he glimpsed at each wizard briefly, and began to speak.

'I have no idea what I did to make you all resent me so much but,'

Here he focused hard on Natsu and attempted to forget his ego.

'I'm sorry.' There. He'd said it. 'I must have been awful. I'll go now, and I swear that I'll never go near you again, if that's what you want.'

He turned to leave, drooping his head and his shoulders theatrically. When he was right in the doorframe, about to get drenched by the rain, a voice sounded behind him.

'What makes you think that I should believe you?'

It was Master Makarov. Zancrow felt a glimmer of hope inside of him; the master had not just let him leave. Everything was going to plan. He grinned massively in delight, his face hidden from the rest of the wizards. Master Makarov continued.

'You lied to Gray. You tried to hurt our guild, and that I cannot forgive.'

Zancrow almost sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. Obviously his apology had not completely convinced them.

'If I could remember who I really was, and how I used to be,' he said slowly, wondering where he was going with this, 'I would loathe Fairy Tail. I'd see it as a waste of space and human life. But I don't. I don't think like Grimoire Heart does anymore. I lied to one of your members because I wanted to start again, I didn't lie for any nefarious reason. I cannot remember any of you, and because of this, I have no qualms with any of your members, and I have no intention of betraying you in any way. I won't get down on my knees and beg for you to believe me – that's not my style, and you believe what you want. But if you can't trust me here, I'll find another guild. I'm not going to be part of a dark guild again, however. Maybe I should try being a goodie two-shoes and see how that works out.'

Zancrow felt satisfied with what he had announced to the gathered wizards. He had tried to sound as mature and as sensible as he could, as he knew now that his old persona was childish, egotistical, and was reluctant to accept responsibility, by all accounts. Hopefully, he had sounded suitably different enough that he might get a second chance. On tenterhooks, his back to his audience, Zancrow waited with bated breath.

Makarov mulled over what the God Slayer had proclaimed. He sounded nothing like he remembered. The Zancrow he knew would have strutted in, made a sneering comment, implying strongly that he wanted to be a part of their guild and would have spoken with all the subtleties of a chainsaw. When he didn't get his way with them, he would have simply burned the guild to the ground and left in a filthy temper. Makarov wouldn't put it past him – Purehito had raised a demon. He was still unsure… But Zancrow seemed to be telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe he deserved a second chance. Look at what happened with Gajeel. Gajeel was a core member of Fairy Tail, an honest and trustworthy member, even trusted enough to spy on Raven Tail…

'Come with me.'

Makarov turned and headed towards a door to a room that was rarely used – a perfect place for a conversation in private. Confused but intrigued, Zancrow followed, feeling a prickling sensation at the back of his neck as he imagined all of the pairs of eyes that must be watching him go, some filled with anger, some hatred, some interest, and perhaps just a few filled with pity.

'G-gramps,' Pinky stuttered, apparently appalled by the fact that his guild master would even consider trusting a known enemy. 'Do you want someone to come with you? Just in case…' He trailed off, glancing suspiciously at the Flame God Slayer.

'Erza. Mira. Perhaps you should come with us.'

Natsu looked distinctly upset and betrayed as two women – one ferocious in appearance, one sweet – approached their guild master. Zancrow knew it was the right decision though; Pinky was bound to start a fight.

The four entered the room, which was pleasantly furnished, but slightly bare. Letting the rest of them walk on, the scarlet-haired woman firmly slammed the door shut, and her eyes shot daggers at Zancrow. The only real pieces of furniture in the room were a sofa and an armchair, with a coffee table separating them. Heading for the armchair, the guild master sat himself down, the thick cushioning almost swallowing him up (had the mood been lighter, Zancrow would have chuckled under his breath), and 'Erza and Mira' (he had no idea which was which) stood either side of the sofa with crossed arms. That would be his seat then. He tried to look unperturbed as he sat lightly down, ignoring the two fearsome mages at his sides. Unsure of what was happening, and why the guild master would want to speak with him, a slightly nervous Zancrow picked at a stray thread on the sofa. Makarov leaned forwards as best as he could in the massive chair and addressed him.

'Can you remember what happened on Tenroujima?'

The God Slayer shook his head and responded with,

'No, not a thing. I have no idea what happened there, but I know that I did something to try and harm Fairy Tail. I kinda remember fighting the dragon hunter though…'

'Indeed you did. Grimoire Heart invaded our island during our S-Class Wizard exam to find the black mage Zeref.'

Zeref! He'd heard that name before_! Kain… Kain showed me. The tapestry, the one on the ship. So Zeref was on the island all along. That's why we – no – Grimoire Heart showed up._

As Makarov wove him a tale of all that had occurred on the island, Zancrow listened in horror, taken aback at what he and his guild had done, and how different and dark his past was.

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><p><em><strong>So we leave Zancrow now learning about what really happened on the island! Maybe he'll make up his mind about how he really feels about Grimoire Heart, Fairy Tail, and more importantly, himself! See you soon, next chapter!<strong>_


	6. The God of Manipulation

**_I'm back again! The reason that this chapter has come out a bit later is because I've written a short story fan fiction (It's about Gajeel's first day in Fairy Tail)! So I decided to make this chapter a bit longer as a thanks for waiting. I really appreciate all you guys reading this, I've had followers and lovely reviews and stuff I just never expected! So thank you everyone! Here's to a long adventure!_**

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><p>When the truth had finally been revealed to him, Zancrow didn't know what to feel. Ashamed? Guilty? Angry? It was one thing hearing it from someone who was in favour of his actions and another thing entirely hearing it from someone who sounded so mournful, as if he never wanted to speak of the incident again. So he had even tried to harm the guild master too… Zancrow wondered why he thought that his actions were justifiable back then. Put like this, they seemed so obviously wrong! Yet why did he feel that his actions were wrong now? He was another person completely. Thoughts cut short by the master clearing his throat, Zancrow looked up attentively and listened.<p>

'Do you have any idea why you cannot remember these events?'

Maybe… It was true… It sounded odd in his head, but perhaps it really did happen.

'I think that, well, I died…' he said somewhat matter-of-factly, but apprehensively, not wanting to sound like a fool.

The expression on the old wizard's face was one of mingled surprise and confusion.

'Died?' he said incredulously. 'Are you suggesting that you can rise from the dead?'

Makarov Dreyar's suspicions were beginning to become true. If Zeref had got to him first...

'-Well yeah, but then those two told me that I had seven empty years, and they told me about Grimoire Heart and Zeref,' Zancrow had continued.

'And you did not want to stay with them?' replied Makarov, a little lost by Zancrow's hurried explanation, which he had missed half of.

'No, I despise Grimoire's way of thinking. I left.'

It was surprising to hear him talk about his ex-guild like that. By all accounts, Zancrow loved that guild more than life itself.

'I see,' began Makarov. 'And you decided that you would join an official guild and start again? Or is there another reason why you came here?'

Zancrow looked the guild master in the eye and finally gave a response.

'I didn't want to be a part of Grimoire anymore. Their thinking just isn't right. So I found myself thinking that maybe I didn't want to be part of a dark guild no more. So I leave Grimoire and I start travelling; wondering what I was going to do with myself, where I was going to stay, how I was going to get my money and where I was going to go. I mean, I was looking for, well,' he cut off hastily, knowing he'd said too much, 'So as soon as I find myself thinking about all my problems, your Gray turns up and starts offering a mage in need a place to stay. So I told him I liked the sound of this Fairy Tail, and I follow him right here. But, I swear to you, I'm not here for revenge; I just came here because it was offered to me, honest.'

A little more at ease now that he was practically alone with the guild master, Zancrow had relaxed into his more offhand way of speaking. However, Makarov hadn't missed his little slip-up.

'You say that you were looking for something. May I ask what that something is?'

Looking extremely uncomfortable, Zancrow searched for the right words to explain what he wanted to say:

'I suppose that… one perk of being in Fairy Tail is that there are lots of wizards. And… lots of wizards means lots of different people to ask. Ask about what I am, I mean.'

It wasn't very subtle answer, but Zancrow wasn't exactly the most subtle person on the planet. Makarov was perplexed but even more wary. What was he talking about? Zancrow seemed to have an inkling about what he was, as did Makarov.

'What you are? Are you referring to the fact that you are a God Slayer?'

Zancrow reached into his pocket and pulled out the innocent looking black notebook that he had fought tooth and nail for in reply. It looked quite unimpressive considering what he had to go through to get it, but it was his only – and valuable – clue to his past.

'This book'll explain everything. I can't make full sense of it and I haven't looked all the way through it, but it provides some answers and some questions that I want answering.'

The Flame God reached over and put the book into the master's small palm. Makarov turned it over in his hands, then opened it to the first page, which read:

'SOURCE OF DEMON BLOOD: CHIROPTERA.'

"Source of demon blood?" Did that really mean what he thought it did? Flicking forwards to a later entry, he read about Zancrow's violent moods, the blood that he had consumed and he realised with a stab of pity and anger, that Hades had really decided to do something so evil. Here before him was a Cruel One, the name given to half-men, half-demons. Supposedly, they were a failed experiment, the way in which they were created often caused them to go insane, losing all sense of reason and rampaging until slain – often by their own allies. They were all meant to have died out four hundred years ago and besides, no human alive today has any knowledge of how to make one, how could Zancrow possibly exist? Apparently, Hades had dabbled in some very dark magic… By human standards Zancrow was rather unstable, but he seemed to be remarkably sane for one of his kind. Makarov didn't want to upset that very fine balance – one little thing could easily send him over the edge. It would be best to withhold this information for now – the pain of leaving Grimoire Heart, the anxiety of not remembering who he is, losing his master… One more blow could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. It would be best for him to find out on his own. Makarov sighed and finally elicited a response.

'This makes no sense. Demon blood?'

'I was wondering myself what that would do to a person. Master Hades must have made me his personal experiment,' Zancrow replied, a touch of frosty betrayal in his voice.

'I am afraid that I cannot tell you anything about this. It seems that Hades was trying to see what the effects were of demon blood on a human – to what ends, I don't know – and recording his findings in a notebook.'

Disappointed, the half-man, half-demon made one last attempt for information:

'So… You really don't know anything about this book? Nothing about me? At all?'

Makarov knew that it would be best to keep Zancrow under surveillance - there was no knowing what he might do, his kin were by all accounts unpredictable – despite the fact that he had claimed that he would not go back to a dark guild, he could change his mind at any minute. And of course, he could still be a liar, sent by Grimoire Heart to spy on Fairy Tail. Watching him seemed to be the best choice.

'I am afraid that I know nothing of this demonic business. I am sorry that Hades would do something like this to you, but I can't help you with your past at all.'

Zancrow was confused. He was so sure that the guild master would have some answers – he looked so knowledgeable and wise! Zancrow supposed that looks weren't everything... But he desperately needed somewhere to stay – and this Fairy Tail seemed like his only option. It was so very late now; yesterday when he was sleeping on the island, the stars had only just come out when he had lain his head down to sleep. It must be past midnight by now – this was his last stop, it would either be sleeping here or sleeping on the streets. He needed to ask to stay at least, despite the fact that the master had told him he could never be trusted here.

'If you can't help me with my past, do you think that I could ask about something else…?' he questioned uncertainly, looking up.

'About something else? If it's about your guild I am afraid to say that I knew precious lit-'

'Can I stay here tonight?'

Zancrow had blurted out the question before Makarov had even finished his sentence. A little embarrassed of his outburst, he looked up quickly to see Makarov's reaction and then lowered his head, pretending to be fully absorbed by the loose thread on the sofa. Stupid! He shouldn't have sounded so desperate!

Makarov looked carefully at the curtain of hair that had been surreptitiously shifted by Zancrow to hide his face. There had been pleading and desperation flickering for just a second in his eyes, and Makarov knew it to be genuine. The sixth guild master of Fairy Tail was surprised by his attitude – a key member of Grimoire Heart that had seemed so cruel and merciless could also be so childish and lost on the road of life. It was heartening to see a side of Zancrow that was more human than what he was used to. As these thoughts raced through his head, the Flame God Slayer himself jerkily twitched his head up to look at his expression again. Seeing that it looked rather calculating, he added:

'I mean – if I just stayed here for a night, I could be gone by tomorrow morning. I've had such a long day that I couldn't do anything during the night even I wanted to-'

It was true. He had bags under his eyes and looked rather pale and exhausted, in need of some rest.

'-which I wouldn't anyway. I may be a criminal, but I'm not low enough to start taking advantage of people's hospitality, I swear it.'

Zancrow looked determinedly at Makarov, a steely glint in his eye. This, again, was true. There were rules, even in Grimoire Heart, and something in Zancrow's own subconscious seemed to retain that knowledge. If someone had taken you into their own house and cared for you if you were sick or in need of help, you would thank them greatly and honestly, leaving them in peace once you were well again. It was pure evil – even amongst dark guilds – to harm anyone who had provided you with care when it was needed most and it was expected that you would pay that person back if ever possible. Dark guilds may do dark things, but they can't fully resist human nature.

Makarov looked as if he was considering Zancrow's offer but he knew what decision he had to come to. At Fairy Tail he could be watched and he could have food, shelter and income. If – in the unlikely situation – he ended up being a liar, information could easily be hidden from him (they didn't have to tell him everything that happened in the guild), so no risk to them.

'You may stay. Not just for tonight, but for as long as you wish.'

Zancrow looked up so quickly he cricked his neck, hardly daring to believe it.

'However,' Makarov continued, injecting a more severe tone into his voice, 'I am only allowing you to stay because it is convenient for the both of us – you have somewhere to stay and some income whilst we may keep an eye on you in case you are not what you claim to be.'

Here Makarov fixed him with a stern glare and Zancrow, used to Hades despite the fact he could not remember him, didn't even quail under it. Not sure whether to take this as evidence for his innocence or guilt, the master of Fairy Tail elaborated on the terms and rules he expected Zancrow to conform to and follow.

'You may take once supervised mission a week, and only with an S-Class mage in your midst. S-Class missions, of course, are out of the question. It doesn't matter how big your group is, you must have at least one S-Class mage, understand?'

Zancrow nodded slowly, thinking hard. One mission a week? And no S-Class? Even he knew that was barely enough to keep him alive! Zancrow would have to get used to working hard. In Grimoire, they took money from lesser dark guilds in order to fund their cost of living, so they could afford to live rather luxuriously and deal with whatever they felt like dealing with. He knew nothing of this still, but the way he had lived still remained a part of him. The truth was, he had never had to lift a finger, only work hard when he was told to. He had certainly never had to bust a gut trying to get together earnings in order to feed himself and he had certainly never stressed about what missions to take. Zancrow merely finished his nod and chanced a fleeting glance at Erza and Mirajane. They looked slightly emotionless, determined not to give anything away to him in their expressions.

'You may also stay in the Fairy Tail boy's dormitory, but you must still pay the rent of one hundred thousand Jewels a month. If you ever get into serious financial crisis, you may have some help provided depending on your situation.'

One hundred thousand Jewels?! How the hell could he get that together and still pay for food?! And by situation, he expected that the guild master must mean no spending money on 'unnecessary' things. So no booze. Not that he'd ever had any, but still – no booze.

'For tonight,' Zancrow looked up, wondering what other bad news the master would tell him this time, 'You will have food provided for you as you do not seem to have your own, but you will be expected to come here to start work at eight o'clock sharp every day, excluding Sundays.'

'Right,' replied Zancrow, perhaps a little curtly. In all honesty, he was just puzzled. How was he meant to work out money and rent and food and Sundays and food and rent and Sundays and money and food, what about food?! He supposed that he would get into a routine and work it out eventually, but for now… well, who knows.

'In about five minutes, Mirajane,' Makarov gestured to the beautiful white-blonde girl who smiled and waved at him, 'Will be at the bar. She will provide you with food for the night and directions of how to get to the dormitory.'

There was a finality in the master's tone that told Zancrow that it was time to leave. Without anyone telling him he could do so, he stood up quickly and turned towards the door, heading straight for it. He flung it open, scratching the back of his head with the other hand, walking with a confident spring in his step. Stopping suddenly in the doorway, he looked over his shoulder and said,

'Oh, and Master Makarov,' his face cracked into a malevolent but somewhat cheeky grin, as if he had gotten exactly what he wanted, 'Thanks.' He turned and left, leaving a stunned silence in his wake, punctuated by his cheerful, but still unnerving, cackle.

He wandered through the guild, calm as you please, looking for somewhere to sit to wait for Mirajane. The meeting with the guild master had put him completely at ease. He had convinced them that he was trustworthy and now he finally had somewhere to stay on a more permanent basis. Mission accomplished. He had no worries. Except for the issue of the guild members hating his guts. But Zancrow wasn't particularly fussed. He only needed them to cooperate with him; as long as they did that, he wasn't bothered. Casting his gaze around the guild in a very carefree manner, he spotted an unoccupied table near the middle of the guild. He'd be the centre of attention but at least it was a table to himself. He'd be the centre of attention no matter where he sat, so it didn't matter, at least the table had no one else at it. _They must be talking in there_, he thought, staring at the door with an unfocused, glassy look and sitting at the table. Zancrow was exhausted, truly reaching his limit now. He'd been fighting, walked all the way here and had to talk himself out of a sticky situation. _This day's been really draining on my energy… not to mention my pride,_ he mused, thinking of the begging and apologising he had done. He leant on his elbow now, letting the heavy weight of his head be supported by his arm instead of his aching neck. He was slowly falling asleep, his eyelids drooping closed periodically, his chin slipping off his palm, until he woke with a start as his arm gave way completely and his face almost slammed into the table. He therefore vowed to keep his wits about him from now on, especially with all these potential enemies around him, berating himself on letting a mere thing such as sleep get the better of him.

Looking around – keeping a constant vigil in case someone decided to take advantage of his momentary weakness and attack him – he noticed that everyone was giving him a wide berth, shooting him suspicious and accusatory stares, concerned by his change in behaviour. And then suddenly he felt something very strange. He had locked eyes with a pure white cat when he had been keeping a look-out, and something in her glare bored into him, deeply into him, making him feel as if something outside of his conscious was fighting to get inside his head. Was it a memory? It didn't feel like one, but at the same time, it very much did. Carla herself gasped, one of her predictions she had seen so long ago coming back to her. A hand, limp and white in death lying on the ground. She had seen this ominous sight just before the S-Class exam, but never did she dream that she would see the owner of the hand alive and well before her. It was him, she knew it. Carla could still see the premonition as clear as day.

'Carla?'

She jumped, looking towards the speaker. It was Wendy Marvell, looking concernedly in Carla's direction.

'What's wrong?' Wendy asked.

Carla decided that it was probably not best to tell anyone that this man seemed to be able to rise from the dead, and she should especially not tell Wendy. She didn't need to be troubled by disturbing mysteries such as this.

'Nothing – nothing at all Wendy.' Carla crossed her arms and looked away as if she had found the question mildly offensive.

'Oh…' whispered Wendy, going back to watching Zancrow, her face failing slightly. She knew Carla far too well to know that there was certainly not 'nothing' going on. From the shocked but faraway look Carla had been giving him, Wendy could tell that this Zancrow had sparked one of her predictions. She knew that Carla would never tell her, but obviously this man's destiny was closely linked with theirs, or else Carla wouldn't have seen anything…_ Didn't Natsu-san say something about trying to rip our guild apart? _she remembered. There was something strange about Zancrow though. He smelt funny. Like the cool air in the middle of the night tinged with the faint smell of wood smoke, with something thicker and muskier underneath that made Wendy want to lean forwards and breathe it in but at the same time gag and put her hands over her mouth. Spotting Gajeel in the corner of the room with his eyes half closed and his fingers pinching his nose, she knew that he could smell it too. Natsu looked too angry to take even the slightest notice of what he smelt like. Oddly enough, he was sitting in a dark corner of the guild, away from the action – but his eyes flickered furiously over the scene in the middle of the room, his fists taut and his teeth bared, shaking slightly. But Zancrow couldn't have been acting more differently. He seemed to be lapping up all the attention, grinning slyly whilst sarcastically picking at his nails, occasionally lifting his head to glance at a guild member or to look at the request board, eyeing up a mission. He was getting quite impatient, beginning to glare at the door he had come out of, willing Mirajane to come out now and give him food. He had been promised food and he was going to get it. A couple of minutes passed in this way, Zancrow beginning to feel drowsy again, but keeping himself vaguely alert just in case. The guild was just starting become quieter (as the initial shock of Zancrow walking in was wearing off) when suddenly, a flaming fist slammed onto the table, jerking Zancrow fully awake. It was Natsu, and he could stand it no more. Hatred and fury etched in every line on his face, he demanded,

'What the hell are you still doing here?!'

Zancrow – becoming gradually more annoyed, but strangely cool and calm at the minute – merely replied with,

'Waiting.'

'Waiting for what?! What do you think you're doing, sitting here in our guild?!'

It was horrible how he said the word 'our', as if Zancrow was an outsider who was pushing his luck. Well, to Natsu, that's all he was. Worse than an outsider: an enemy.

'I'm _waiting_.' Zancrow replied more defiantly, loathing smothering the calm tones he had tried to create. He stood up slowly, locking eyes with Natsu all the while and glaring at him with intense animosity, a snarl curling his lips. Natsu leant in, a scowl twisting his features and his lips pulling back over his teeth. They were face-to-face, growling at each other, squaring each other up. Neither one was prepared to back down this time – they would see this through until someone got badly hurt. But Zancrow wasn't thinking straight. He forgot that Makarov was giving him another chance. He forgot that he needed to make a good impression. He forgot that this could get serious and that buildings could be destroyed. He forgot that no one would bother to tend to his wounds. And most importantly of all, he forgot that he would draw attention to himself from the council if he fought right here and right now. All Zancrow was focused on right now was how much he wanted to slam his fist as hard as he could into that smug, pink-haired face leering in front of him. He just wanted to let rip and give Natsu a fight to remember. Zancrow didn't even feel guilty when it came to what happened on Tenroujima with Natsu. As far as he was concerned, Natsu got exactly what he deserved. He'd wanted a battle, he'd got a battle. Not to mention the fact that he cheated! Zancrow would show him the true power of a Flame God Slayer, right here and right now. The Flame God felt flames licking at his fists in his rage. Feeling their anger peak, the two fire wizards slammed their palms onto the table at the same time and yelled at each other in unison,

'What the hell is your problem?!'

Surprised, they relaxed their expressions for a moment, then promptly began to snarl at each other again, glaring deeply into each other's eyes, refusing to drop their offensive gazes. When they were nearly nose-to-nose, about to raise fists to sink into the other's face, Mirjane walked through the door closing it politely behind her and went to stand at the bar, waiting for Zancrow with a small smile. Briefly glancing at her over Natsu's shoulder – eager to not break eye contact for too long – Zancrow knew that their confrontation was at an end, the master would be coming out of that door at any minute. Scowling at Natsu one more time, he leant in even closer so that no one else would hear and hissed,

'You got lucky, asshole,'

then shoved him out of the way and strode towards the bar, breathing heavily. The whole guild collectively sighed in relief. If those two had chosen to fight right now, the guild building wouldn't have stood a chance of standing up to their attacks and they'd only just gotten the place back. Natsu was watching him go with an expression so full of malice and antagonism that it was almost comical how much his face could contort with the weight of the emotion he was feeling. Zancrow himself shook his head sharply to clear it of the anger and to cool himself down, finally reaching the bar and Mirajane, who was thankfully _not_ glowering at him as if the only thing she desired in life was to see him drop dead where he stood. She merely smiled at him sweetly and serenely, then reached under the counter and brought up a small plastic bag, presumably full of food, and placed it on top of the counter. Zancrow looked warily at the food, not sure if it was meant for him or if she was getting it out for someone else, or maybe even teasing him with it. She smiled again and said,

'It's all yours Zancrow!'

Startled at being spoken to so nicely for the first time in days, Zancrow slowly reached for the bag and then snatched it – grunting his thanks – stuffing it into his small backpack which he slung over his back, ready to leave.

'Now as for the dormitory…'

Over the course of the next couple of minutes, Mirajane described to him exactly how to get to the boy's dormitory and what to do once he got there. Apparently, he had to look for the hill to the east of Magnolia, opposite the hill on the west which was where the girl's dormitory was. Once he was near the outskirts, it would be easy to see them both. When he got there, he didn't have to make his presence known, he could go straight up to his room and rest. His room was the last door on the right upstairs. He would be woken by a gong that was rung every morning at seven o'clock and was expected to be at the guild for around eight o'clock (Mirajane had told him that despite what the master said, he didn't have to be there for eight sharp, he could turn up whenever he wanted and no one would make a fuss). The rent was collected on the last Sunday of every month and was to be given to the man called Sabnock without fail on this day or else there would be… consequences… As he turned to leave when she had finished, hoping to get to his dorm before the sun starting rising, Mirajane exclaimed,

'Oh hang on! I forgot to give you something!'

_Oh? What kind of something?_ Zancrow looked back over his shoulder to see Mira holding a simple black hooded cloak out to him. He hastily took it so she didn't have to hold it out for too long and slung it over his shoulder without putting it on.

'You need to wear this everywhere you go in Magnolia and in places that are crowded in case you're recognised.'

She cocked her head and looked at him shrewdly for a second, evaluating his appearance.

'I think that you might want to consider cutting your hair or dying it and maybe think about wearing contacts as well,' she said, cocking her head to the other side and Zancrow found himself mimicking her and tipping his head to one side too, trying to work out her expression. 'I mean, you're quite memorable, but people don't know that much about Grimoire Heart, do they…'

Zancrow shook his head which was still to one side. He didn't really want to cut his hair or dye it at all and he hated contacts (things on your eyes? No way!), so he supposed that he would just have to be very careful with his cloak. He looked down at it. It was plain black, quite thin, with a thicker hood that wouldn't blow back in the wind. It was very long, so it would cover his body completely. Putting down his backpack, he tugged it on and pushed the hood back. Anyone else would be boiling hot with a shirt, trousers, long boots, a long coat and a cloak on, but Zancrow barely even took notice of the heavy clothing. Picking up his backpack and putting it on underneath the cloak with some difficulty, he once again began to make his way towards the exit of the guild, everyone openly staring at him as he did so.

Once he was outside, he flicked his head this way and that, trying to locate the hills. They weren't in sight, and Zancrow remembered what Mira had told him about having to go all the way to the outskirts of town to be able to see them. He groaned and shrugged his backpack higher up onto his back, knowing that he wouldn't be seeing a warm bed for a while yet. Having no compass, he simply made his way to what he thought were the edges of Magnolia, keeping his eyes peeled for a sign of anything that looked remotely like a hill. After perhaps half an hour of walking, the birds beginning to sing, he finally, _finally_ caught sight of two hills opposite each other. He had to make a guess about which one was which, and he thought he'd try the one he saw on his right, considering Mira had told him the hill was to the east, plus it just looked more manly ('How can a hill look manly?', I hear you cry). It was random guess, but he had a 50-50 chance of getting it right. It took a further half an hour to reach it and by now, all the birds were beginning to awaken and make a racket, whilst the horizon was tinged with peachy orange. The stars were fading and it wouldn't be too long before the sun would rise. Zancrow supposed that it must be near five o'clock and sped up, hoping to catch a couple of hours sleep at least. He found that when he reached the foot of the hill, looking up at what seemed like an old manor house, it wasn't quite so steep as it first appeared. It was quite a steady climb, but when he reached the top he was absolutely exhausted. He looked up, panting slightly, catching sight of a sign out of the corner of his eye.

'FAIRY HILLS',

it read, with a small male symbol next to it. Oh thank God, he'd found the correct one. Almost laughing in relief, he made his way towards the front door, shouldering it open without knocking and peering inside. It was quite gloomy, but rather homely. The walls were made of stone and dark wood, the doors that lined the hallway before him a shining ebony. His footsteps echoed on the red-carpeted floor and he lightened his steps, hoping not to wake anyone. They all seemed to be in the guild anyway, perhaps they liked to sleep in their guild sometimes instead of this lonely dorm. The wide hallway led to a thin but strong wrought iron staircase which twisted and spiralled upwards to a second floor which was again, a long hallway lined with those gleaming ebony doors. He'd spotted a door to his left that was ajar downstairs, that was just before the staircase, and peering inside, he'd noticed that it was some kind of kitchen but he'd moved on up the staircase, in no mood to explore. Upstairs, he dragged his feet towards the last door on the right, seeing that there was a small piece of paper taped to it. Ripping it off, he looked down at the note.

'This is your room, Zancrow  
>- Mirajane'<p>

_These Fairy Tail wizards are efficient, _thought Zancrow, crumpling up the note and cramming it into his pocket. Looking it up and down, he pushed the weighty door open, wondering what he would find inside. The doors were spaced rather widely apart, so he hoped that the room would be big, but he daren't get his hopes up. Once he was inside, he found that the room was certainly not what he had been expecting. It was rather dark, just like the rest of the house, dark wood and a little stone making up the walls, no wallpaper. The floor was made up of wood planks that looked like oak, and it was beginning to warp and sink with age. Despite the room's obvious age, it was still spotless. The room was much wider than it was long, a kitchen area with an small oven and sink in the nearest left-hand corner and a stone counter in front of that where he could prepare food. In the middle of the furthest right-hand wall, there was a very old looking, black chest of drawers where he could put his clothes. Right in front of him, in the middle of the longest wall, he saw a large square window with a very small, dark wood windowsill. It was again, rather an old style of window, the large square pane split into four smaller squares. Under it and to the right was a large bed with white sheets and pillows, the only modern looking piece of furniture in the place, a bedside table and a lamp to the right of it. Zancrow thought privately that he liked it even more than his room on the Grimoire Heart airship, it felt more inviting and warm.

Heading left towards the counter, he plopped his rucksack on it and pulled out the bag of food. It smelt amazing, the slightest movement made the smell of spice waft across the room. Ignoring it for just a second (with some difficulty - he was ravenous), he pulled off his cloak and coat and dropped them on the bed, stretching and scratching himself as he went back to the food. He ripped the bag open with his teeth (well no one was watching) and sniffed what he'd been given. It was a tub full of chicken pasta, with all sorts of hot spices in. He could even see a couple of chillies in there. About to put the bag in a bin, he noticed that there was something else in there. Pulling out a lighter and a small can of lighter fluid, Zancrow was suddenly confused. What was he supposed to do with these? Was there a fire he could light in his room or something? Looking around, searching for a fireplace, he realised what he was supposed to do. It was to make fire for himself! Once he'd heated up his food, he'd put lighter fluid on it and light it with the lighter. Of course, that would be fire that he could consume as it was not his own flames. With a flash of annoyance, he realised that Mira must only know how to make this because of Natsu. He didn't want anything that Natsu thought was good. But too hungry to resist, he sighed, popping off the lid of the tub and inhaling deeply. It smelt so spicy and rich. Picking the container up, he gently heated up the dish with just his hands. He would never need to use that cooker, he thought with a sense of pride in his abilities. Once it was warm, he dripped a few drops of lighter fluid on top and lit it with the lighter. It roared as it ignited at once, the flames licking the sides of the container. Not even bothering to go and look for cutlery, Zancrow ate right out of the tub, not even using his hands. He wasn't that messy, but he ate strangely like a dog. The fire tasted good, if a little artificial, but the pasta was marvellous. It was spicy as could be and he relished the chillies most of all, taking the most time over them. In a very short amount of time, the tub was licked spotlessly clean, Zancrow wiping his mouth happily. He had been starving, not eating properly for ages. Wishing now that he'd saved some, as he wanted to make it again, he wandered over to the window and opened it slightly to let in some night air, then trudged over to his bed and collapsed backwards onto it, warmer and sleepier than ever. What a hectic past couple of days he'd had, but finally he had some kind of rest. Not for long though - he would be going on a mission in less than a few hours. Putting his hands behind his head, he congratulated himself on winning over Fairy Tail. He knew that he could do it. Grinning, he looked up at the ceiling, then realised that he had very little time in which to sleep. It was time to get some rest. Still fully dressed, he wriggled under the covers and pulled them up, trying to get comfortable. The bed was very soft and he fell asleep almost immediately. As he started to drift off, he heard the gently howling lamentations of the wind swirling just outside, making the window rattle hollowly and a soft throbbing sound, almost like the sound of a pair of wings beating against the breeze. Too tired to take any notice, he feel asleep in a heartbeat, the nightmares about to begin.

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><p><em><strong>Poor Zancrow, he's not getting much sleep at the moment is he? As always, thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it!<strong>_


	7. Echoes of the Past - Part 1

_**Hello again, everyone! It's been a little while since I've put another chapter up, so I thought I'd get writing! This chapter ended up being so long that I've had to split it into two parts! So enjoy part one of Zancrow's past story! And once again, thank you each and every one of you!**_

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><p>The world around him was green, and somehow, Zancrow knew that he was dreaming. He was lying on refreshingly cool grass in some shade, grass so green he couldn't ever remember seeing something so vibrant in his life. He sat up, bolt upright, wondering if this was one of those 'lucid dreams' he'd heard about. He glared at his hands, looked away, then looked back at them. They still looked as normal as ever. Zancrow blinked and flexed his fingers cautiously. It seemed so terrifyingly real here. Like a perfect utopia. Every now and then a small light like a firefly would drift lazily by him, and he followed their progress with wide eyes. But despite the beauty here he was beginning to get quite worried, looking around at the lush trees with fear and beginning to catastrophize. What if he never woke up? Ever? He could be trapped inside his own mind for the rest of his life! Is this all a dream?! Or was this really real?! Gripping the sides of head – trying to squeeze the horrible thoughts out of his mind – he leant forwards, trying to reason to himself. This place was heavenly. There was nothing wrong here. This was only a dream and people dream all the time. People would get sick if they didn't. He would wake up very soon, he just had to wait.<p>

Vaguely reassured, he tapped his foot on the ground impatiently, deciding that he would explore until his brain told him it was time to rise and shine. This was _his_ dream, wasn't it? Pulling himself to his feet, he began a slow amble around his dream world. Taking in the thick, healthy grass beneath his bare feet, the huge girth of the trees around him, the rich diversity of plant life and the abundance of colourful insects, Zancrow thought that really, his imagination had done quite a good job with the scenery at least. But apart from the fact that everything seemed so perfect and bright, his dream was disappointingly normal. There were no mythical beasts in the sky or strange plants or extraordinary creatures unknown to man to discover. There were no wars raging between ancient clans or damsels in distress or even any monsters to slay. Basically, there was nothing here that Zancrow would actually like to dream about, and so he was wondering why on earth land his mind would make up a world so elaborate without going to some kind of lengths to put in something that he would enjoy.

As he was silently chiding his own mind on not creating something a little more action-packed, quickening his pace without quite knowing why, the trees thinned to reveal a shining ocean to his left. The sunlight above played on its rhythmic waves, making reflections bounce in every direction and causing the whole body of water to glitter like a huge, rippling gemstone. Zancrow barely paid it any attention, but enjoyed the calming sound that only lapping waves could bring. He broke into a jog now, not exactly knowing what he was running from, until he glanced behind him. With horror, he saw that he was being followed by someone. From here he could see that a mop of jet-black hair topped the stranger's head and his clothes were an odd mix of a knee length black tunic and black boots, with a swath of white cloth wrapped around his front and trailing behind him. A large pendant glittered at his throat – Zancrow could see it glimmering in the sunlight. Ordinarily, he would consider confronting such a stranger, but this was a dream, and Zancrow was not thinking clearly. Looking over his shoulder with fearful eyes, he snapped his head forward again and broke into a sprint. He daren't look around just in case the stranger too, had started to run, deciding to pursue him further. Unable to stand anymore suspense, Zancrow chanced another glimpse just to put himself at ease. The creep was right behind him! His glowing red eyes stared furiously into Zancrow's, his orbs glittering ominously in his head, then suddenly, there was nothing.

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><p>Zancrow awoke very slowly, feeling groggier and weaker than one should after a decent night's sleep. Sitting up slowly, he remembered that he had been dreaming before he had woken up. Shaking his head, he tried to remember what it was about. It had been quite disturbing, but that was all he could recall. Mind oddly blank, he looked around his room warily, as if he half-expected his nightmare to pounce on him then and there. The bed he was lying in was small, just about big enough for him, and was covered in all sorts of odd, mismatched blankets, all of which were ragged and filthy, as if they had been gathered from the streets. Quickly throwing these off and standing up, now fully awake and alert, he cast his eye around the walls, noting the fact that there was a severe lack of any personality in here. The walls were completely bare, only covered in a coat of dark red paint, now stained with age, and they looked as if they had never been cleaned. The only piece of furniture in this room was the rickety, old bed and the cream carpet beneath his feet was no longer cream, covered in a multitude of stains and littered with all sort of rubbish. The ragged curtains were drawn firmly shut, casting a dingy shadow over the squalor before him. Whoever lived here was decidedly filthy and most likely poor – this place didn't look like it had been cleaned in a decade. Wading through the trash, he made his way towards the bedroom door, reaching for the doorknob (which seemed quite high up…) and walked out onto the landing. Here, the mess was no better – if anything, it was even more grungy. The landing was short but wide, covered in a shabby brown carpet that led to a set of cream, wooden stairs.<p>

The house had the air of a rather expensive home that had been sorely neglected. The carpets were plush and thick but were an eyesore because of the little attention that had been paid to them; the room he had woken up in was graciously large, if dirty; and the doors were of a solid, good quality wood that was sadly no longer shining as they would have been when they were new. Looking around, Zancrow saw that a simple but huge mirror dominated the wall to the left of the door he had just exited. Stepping out cautiously into the middle of the landing (he heard a huge creak when his did so and feared that the floor would collapse), he positioned himself in front of the cracked mirror. The first thing he noticed was the state of his clothes – they were very plain and in serious need of a wash; a thin beige tunic hung precariously on his thin shoulders, held up by an old black belt and a pair of baggy white trousers. His hands and bare feet were distinctly grubby and his hair was shoulder length and tangled. Leaning in closer, pressing his hands onto the surface of the mirror, he examined his eyes. They were still bright red, but lacked those distinct rings. Standing back and taking in this image, he then noticed something that was arguably the most important factor of all. He was tiny. A child. He couldn't have been older than about eight. But this was a dream, and of course Zancrow just took this in his stride without question. He stood on his toes and used the edge of his shirt to wipe away the marks his hands had made, and as he did so, his stomach gave a hearty gurgle, reminding him of the fact that he had not yet eaten. Perhaps there would be something tasty lurking around here somewhere… though it was unlikely. Flinging open cupboards in the bedroom and scrabbling energetically under the bed, Zancrow searched in every nook and cranny for even the tiniest morsel of food, but there was none to be found. Despite his initial disappoint, Zancrow refused to give up for a while yet; he bent down on his knees and sifted through the trash on the floor, looking fruitlessly for something that may have been forgotten. After an intense ten minute search, Zancrow was defeated. There was really nothing here. Finally exhausted from his frantic efforts, he sank down onto the moth-eaten carpet and pondered what to do next. He supposed that he'd have to go outside and find something since there seemed to be nothing whatsoever in here.

Stepping out onto the landing once again, hearing it creak worryingly loudly underneath, Zancrow leant forwards and narrowed his eyes, squinting down the flight of stairs. It was pitch-black, despite it being early morning. Zancrow decided that he wouldn't take any chances – a stairway as dark as that certainly did not bode well; who knew what kind of horrors lurked down there? Shaking his head and retreating back into the bedroom, Zancrow turned to the window and swept back the curtains. Weak sunlight streamed through the grungy windows, illuminating the whole room, causing dazzling sparkles to dance across the walls as the light hit the various packets and wrappers. Blinking against the sudden burst of light, Zancrow shielded his face with a small hand and peered down curiously at the world beneath him. A pleasantly cobbled street sprawled out below, worn smooth and shiny from years of use, with other small houses lining the street opposite. They were all made of random, mismatched stone and looked quite old and crooked, but well looked after. Zancrow supposed that this must be the sort of town where they took the phrase 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' to an extreme. Peeling his eyes away from this sight, he saw that his house faced directly onto a small turning off this main street – a dingy footpath that rapidly receded into darkness the further he tried to look down it. Zancrow shivered. That would be one place he wouldn't be exploring. Flicking his eyes back over to the road, he saw that people were beginning to gather; in the space of a few minutes the street had gone from being empty to somewhat noisy. Children darted around the legs of disapproving adults – laughing and brandishing sticks to play-fight with. Adults swarmed around the small stalls further along the road, hastily throwing fresh fruit and fish into their baskets before the thicket of people could grow any larger. An old man led his equally aged horse through the middle of the path, the old mare pulling a wooden cart laboriously. Some of the naughtier and more daring children nudged each other, grinning, taking turns to try and leap into the cart and take a quick ride before they were yelled at and chased off by the owner. Zancrow leant on the palm of his hand happily, enjoying the scenes before him, watching the adults rushing hither and thither like ants, trying to finish their business; the children chortling as they saw the faces of their friends as they were pursued all the way down the street; the gratified mare shaking her head as she was fed a fat carrot…

Suddenly there was a loud shout. Zancrow head snapped to the right in the direction of the yell. Two men were stood in highly aggressive poses, taking turns to snarl insults at each other, their faces contorted in anger. From what he could hear, all they were arguing about was who would get the last piece of haddock. What was perhaps most disturbing was the fact that no one was even bothering to break up this pointless fight, simply weaving around the scene, focused entirely on buying fish or apples or whatever they needed, and wading through the crowds. Zancrow wondered why someone wasn't trying to stop this argument – they'd start throwing punches any second now if someone didn't do anything about it! But all he could do was just sit there, watching the verbal abuse escalate until, finally, one man struck the other. Had he been in his normal body, Zancrow could have torn them apart in an instant, getting involved himself and wiping the floor with them before they knew what had hit them. But he wasn't in his strong, wizard body; he was just an eight year old kid and there was nothing he could do about it. Resigned to simply waiting to see how this would all end, Zancrow sighed. He liked fighting – he really did – but not when it was simply because of petty anger. It just seemed a waste of energy to work yourself up for no reason – that energy would be better put to use doing something that really counted, like getting stronger, or even taking revenge. Eventually the fight dissipated (very quickly Zancrow noted – as if this happened quite regularly), and the men went foolishly back to their business, each sporting minor injuries. Zancrow shook his head disbelievingly. _If you're going to fight_, he thought amusedly, _at least do it properly._

Looking back at the rest of the street with the incident fresh in his mind, he began to notice that the town wasn't quite as perfect as he had first assumed. The boys that Zancrow had seen playing with their sticks were now trying to hit the old horse, causing her to rear up and tip the cart full of produce everywhere. They laughed and dashed off to leave its sorry owner to comfort his mare and lament the fact that he would probably not eat well for the rest of the month. Across the street, a mother tugged at her son's ear, screaming into it furiously, telling him off for ruining the poor old man's only hope of earning any money. The boy burst into tears, but that only made his mother pull harder. Tearing his eyes away from this unpleasant scene, Zancrow looked to the right again at the market stalls. They were as crowded as ever, multiple fights breaking out between young and old, men and women. Zancrow couldn't really believe what he was seeing. Surely a town couldn't function if this sort of violence broke out constantly? Maybe he was just in a rough area… Perhaps it would be nicer elsewhere. At any rate, judging by the size of those crowds, he wouldn't be able to buy his food at the market stalls any time soon. Perhaps he should go past them and head down to what looked like the high street.

Reluctant to exit the house through the front door (he was not going down those creepy stairs in a thousand years), he shunted open the window with a small grunt and gently eased himself out onto the windowsill. A couple of scrambles later, he was on top of the roof which was made of rough slate, affording him quite a lot of grip. He looked down. No one had even noticed that he was up here, but that was hardly surprising – the crowds below had more important things to concentrate on. Stepping over the crest of the roof, he sat down and shimmied down the steep side, stopping once he reached the edge. Now he was on the leeward side of the roof which faced away from the street he had been watching. On this side there were more houses, packed together in a random sort of way, one house facing him diagonally on, another with its short end towards him. There seemed to be no sort of designated pattern – the houses must have all been built at different times as the town got bigger. Nearby each house stood an old, wrought-iron street light, which would glow with an eerie orange quality when night came. Here, it was utterly devoid of people. _All of the townspeople must be out at this time buying food and supplies, _Zancrow guessed. _Well, more like wrestling it from each other's hands. _He had no wish to get caught up in the mess behind him, so Zancrow decided to try and find his way to the high street through these backstreets. Still on the edge of the roof, he thought that might be able to jump from one corner to the corner of the next house if he put some power into it. Backing up slowly, he carefully calculated where and when he should jump – and with a burst of courage – dashed towards the edge of the roof. When he had reached the very end of the corner, he leapt with every bit of his strength, arms stretched out to hopefully grab the edge…

_Whumpf. _None too delicately, Zancrow had reached the next house. One hand hung on for dear life onto the very edge of the roof, the other was clamped tightly around the drainpipe, leaving him dangling somewhat awkwardly, his feet trying to find some sort of foothold. All in all, he was quite stuck. Zancrow sighed. He should have thought about this first. With a fair bit of trepidation, he let go of the drainpipe and quickly joined his other hand in hanging on to the roof edge. Swinging to his left, he clasped his legs around the slick pipe and heaved himself onto the roof with some difficulty. Finally: he was one house closer to the high street. Pulling himself to his feet, he revelled in his success for a while until he realised something fairly important that, in hindsight, he should have considered. _How was he going to get down once he reached the high street? _Zancrow felt the triumphant smile slide off his face. He couldn't jump down from this height, he'd break his legs! Nor could he clamber down any of the drainpipes – they were simply too slippery! He tried sliding down backwards onto a windowsill and seeing if he could jump down that way, but it was just too narrow and still too high. For the second time in about five minutes, he was left with very few options. Should he wait for someone to come and get him down or should he just jump? He was definitely not going to let one of these horrible townspeople see him trapped like this – no doubt they'd just make a mockery of him. No, he'd gotten himself into this situation and he'd get himself out of it.

Doing a quick scan of the area to see if there was something helpful nearby, Zancrow saw that some of the buildings had little extensions attached to them that had much lower roofs than the main houses. This was his chance! There was a house with one of these extensions just two leaps away, and Zancrow knew this was possibly the only way down, so he thought he'd take the risk. The next two jumps were not nearly as challenging as the first, and so he cleared them with relative ease. A quick hop later and he was on top of the of the small extension. Then it was just one more bound and he was on the floor, a slight quake travelling up his legs as he landed. Zancrow didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to have his own two feet planted firmly on the ground, and he gave a shaky laugh as he thought that that adventure may not have been his best idea.

Still in the backstreets, he stuck close to the houses, hiding in the shadows that they made in the sunlight. This seemed to be the right way – he could hear the shouts from the market stalls on his left, the houses in the way muffling the sound slightly. If he had this worked out correctly, if the street he had been watching was on his left, then the high street would be straight ahead. He wouldn't be able to miss it because he was sure that it cut right across the path he was following at the present moment. He sped up, suddenly hungry at the thought of all the food that would be there, just for the taking. He hadn't any money, but he was too starving to care. Surely they wouldn't miss the odd little morsel?

As he jogged along, Zancrow noticed that the houses on either side of him appeared to get older and older the closer he got to the high street. But that, of course, would make sense – the high street of the village would likely be the oldest part, the other houses would have been built around it as the population got larger. Look! There was even a thatched cottage over there. Very prone to being easily distracted, Zancrow began to inspect all of the homes around him, knocking on stone walls and walking on gardens. With a complete disregard for manners, he even peeped through a few of the windows – one of them had unfortunately been left wide open, and Zancrow stuck his head right inside to have a good neb at someone else's house.

He had just begun to bend down and scrutinise the flowers of the next house's garden, when it suddenly came to his attention that he remembered quite a few of its features. Here on his right were those pink peonies; and here! Here was that old stone path with the crack in it that always made you jump about a foot in the air if you forgot it was there. Standing back to look at the house as a whole for the first time, he realised that he _knew_ this old, stone home. He knew all of its contours, all of its rooms, all of its, well, _everything. _This was his and his mum's home! Of course! His mum would help him out in a heart-beat, why hadn't he come here first? Stepping over those peonies that he had always hated so much, he approached the front door cheerfully, wondering why he had woken up in that musty old house in the first place when he could be here.

Without knocking, he shouldered open the heavy door, turning and closing it gently behind him. Turning back around, he found himself in a small, relatively empty hallway, which was painted in a tasteful mixture of white and red. Zancrow looked down. There was a small carpet here for people to wipe their feet on. He hastily did so, the sharp bristles digging painfully into his soles. When he had wiped all the muck and grime away, he stepped forwards and pushed open the pristine, stark white hallway door and stepped into the lounge. The inside of his home matched the outside perfectly. It was warm and cosy looking in here, a dark red rug was spread out over a shiny, walnut wood floor with a matching wine red sofa sitting near the window on his right. A bookcase stood to the left of the sofa, stacked with all kinds of books, ranging from novels to books detailing all kinds of sciences. A large, open, brick fireplace dominated the opposite end of the room, and it held the sooty embers that were the remains of a fire that had been crackling merrily only a few hours ago. Zancrow went right ahead and flumped down onto the sofa, shouting as he did so,

'I'm home!'

There was no answer. Zancrow wasn't worried, after all, everyone was out at the minute at the market buying whatever they needed. He was then forcibly reminded of the huge crowds that had been swarming around the stalls and the fights that had broken out there. He shuddered. He hoped his mum wasn't hurt. Twisting nervously in his seat, he decided to go to the kitchen to get something to eat to take his mind off these troubling thoughts. He knew where the kitchen was, of course; just through the door next to the fireplace. Exhaustedly pulling himself to his feet (why, oh why had he not eaten sooner?), he made his way slowly towards the kitchen door, pushing it open.

He perked up as soon as he got in there – the sumptuous smells of perhaps a hundred different delicious foods hit his nostrils as soon as he walked in. Or so it felt that way. In reality, the kitchen was fairly well stocked, there was a bread bin on the counter giving off some nice scents and jar of some brightly coloured marmalade near to it, and Zancrow could spy some biscuits nearby that looked rather tasty. He supposed that there must be a pantry or some kind of food storage nearby, but it was the bread that had taken his fancy – he loved bread. Opening the bread bin, he quickly snatched out a promising looking roll and crammed it in, the whole lot. It was rather difficult to chew and was awfully dry, but he enjoyed it all the same. Still munching, he filled a glass full of water from the tap and poured it into his mouth to make it a little easier to get down. It helped a little, and just as he reached out to turn on the tap again to fill up his glass again, he heard a high-pitched yell from behind him. Zancrow started and almost choked on his mouthful, swinging around to look at the source of noise. It was his mother, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a shocked and horrified look on her face. She was tall and slim, with thin, almond-shaped, azure eyes and shining black hair that hung in loose curls around her face. The long black dress she wore complimented her figure very well and a basket full of food was hanging from her arm. At one point, she could have been considered extremely beautiful, with her voluptuous figure and bright eyes, but now she looked dishevelled and unsightly; her hair was straggly and knotted, her eyes had a wild quality to them, and wrinkles were beginning to form around her once full face.

Zancrow smiled – oblivious for just a second to his mother's anguish in the delight of seeing her – and swallowed, opening his mouth to greet her.

'Get out!' she shrieked.

'_Get out of my house!_'

Zancrow froze. This was not the response he had been expecting. What was going on? He looked around himself fearfully, looking for a way to step back from the situation but found none. He was backed right into a corner of the kitchen, completely trapped. He didn't know what to do, all he _could _do was wait for his mother to make a move. Unflinchingly, she picked up the jar of marmalade and moved towards him cautiously, obviously as scared of Zancrow as he was of her. As any cornered animal would, Zancrow blindly attacked. All he intended to do was knock the jar out of her hand and run, but she jerked it far out of reach before he could even get close. But it had created the opening that he needed. Zancrow charged past her and into the lounge, where he heard the jar sail over his head and smash into the opposite wall. The sight of the gunk oozing sickeningly down the wall and shards of glass strewn everywhere made the mess look like some kind of battleground. But Zancrow dashed past that, heart thumping loudly in his chest, a nauseous feeling building in his throat that had nothing to do with fear…

'_Lucifer!_' his mother screeched, as his blonde head whipped around the doorway. '_Lucifer!_'

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><p>It was a full five minutes before Zancrow finally stopped running. Bent double, panting, he came to a stop in the middle of an alleyway where he knew he'd be safe. Letting out a huge sigh, he slumped against the wall and slid onto the floor. That's right. He wasn't allowed back. His mother had hated him from the moment he had been born. And all because of his red eyes. She believed him to be the spawn of some kind of devil – there was no way that any child of <em>hers<em> could have eyes like a demon's. And he supposed it wasn't just his eyes either – it was his fire that had finally caused his mother to drive him out of the house. Glumly, Zancrow put out his palm and summoned a small flame that crackled right in the centre. It felt warm in his hand and made flickering light dance on the dank stone walls of the alley. He let it shudder and sway for a little while, watching it – slightly mesmerised – and thinking deeply. This town was one of the last, tucked away settlements in Fiore that still loathed magic. In a sense, it was rather backward – they still tried to get along without magic unlike the rest of the country, refusing to use the 'foul, black curse' to make their lives easier. And this hatred was all because of one wizard, the Black Mage Zeref. They simply couldn't forget what he had done all those years ago. Using his dark magic, he had created thousands of demons and plunged their world into chaos. Supposedly, this old tale was the reason that magic was still hated here, even today, but it seemed ridiculous. If they just opened their eyes they could see how helpful magic truly was; Zancrow had heard stories of wizards who could make any plant grow, could summon rain whenever they wanted and could do hard labour in ten minutes that would take four horses a whole day! But what could his fire magic do? All it could do was burn things, what use was that? He thought miserably that this was all Zeref's fault. If he hadn't given wizards such a bad name then maybe he could have been happy here, whatever his magic was. Zancrow supposed that he was probably dead now – the tales were all about an ancient time hundreds of years ago. It didn't stop him from hating Zeref though; it felt good to focus all his anger on one person. It was all Zeref's fault. It was his fault that he was sitting here in an alleyway. It was his fault he had horrible clothes, and it was his fault he was hungry. It was all – his – _fault_.

After a little while of sulking in the alleyway about Zeref and his horrible town, Zancrow knew that he couldn't stay here forever, it was quite cold and he couldn't use his Flame Magic for much longer as he could feel that familiar air pressure that meant rain was coming. Still grumbling, he hugged his arms around himself for some kind of warmth and trudged back to the house he had woken up in. He could remember the way quite well, but in his panic he had run to an unfamiliar part of town. He paused and looked left and right. He had looped around the high street and ended up at the house he had woken up in, having come from the opposite direction he had left. Perfect. Now, to get inside… Still in the backstreet, he attempted to jump up the drainpipe (but it was too slippery), he tried jumping up from the ground floor windowsill to the top floor's (but it was too high) and he tried pushing open the back door (but it was locked tight). At a complete loss as to how to get back inside, Zancrow thought that he could always try and climb back the way that he had come – by climbing back up that extension and jumping from house to house. But he was reluctant to go through all that again. There had to be another way up, surely he'd dealt with this problem hundreds of times before?

Hands on his hips, his scarlet eyes roved over every part of the building, searching for something, _anything,_ that might help him climb back up. Perhaps there was a window open somewhere? Aha! Right there, up on the top floor, there was one such window open just a crack and Zancrow could see that a small length of rope was dangling out, bobbing slightly in the breeze. Unfortunately, he must have forgotten to let down the rope so that he could get back inside. But how was he going to get the rope down so that he could reach it? Kneeling down on the floor, he scooped up a load of pebbles and odd bits of stone. If this didn't work, nothing would. Standing back up, he hurled all the rocks one by one at the rope in the hopes of knocking it down. After perhaps five or six throws, one stone finally succeeded in catching the rope on its edge, causing it to unfurl and drop down far enough that Zancrow could reach it if he stretched his arms. He did so hastily, eager to get back inside where it was warm and safe.

It was rather a difficult climb, but it was far easier than if he had chosen go by the other route. When he reached the top, he clutched the rope with one hand and pulled the window open wider with the other. He clambered inside, finding himself in the bathroom of this house. It was a little less grungy than the rest of the house, surprisingly. The white walls still looked fairly bright, the bath was not spotless, but rather clean and the shower curtains looked freshly washed. It even smelt okay in here. Well, hygiene was important. Wrapping the rope around his arms to make a neat bundle, Zancrow saw that the other end of the cord had been tied tightly around the base of the cream toilet with tight knots. Placing the bundle on the window for next time he wanted to go out, Zancrow checked the knots to make sure that they were nice and sturdy so that there would be no accidents. A few adjustments here and there and he was sure that nothing would happen the next time he climbed down. Before he left the bathroom, he slammed the window firmly shut for good measure, then opened the door and walked out onto the landing.

Lost for just a second, he realised that the bathroom was thankfully right next to the bedroom. Already feeling at home here, he pushed open the bedroom door, stomped through the rubbish and collapsed on his bed. Strangely, he didn't feel very sad or sorry for himself at all. He'd accepted a long time ago that he wasn't wanted here and there was no point worrying about that which you cannot change, right? The thing he was most upset and angry about, in all honesty, was the fact that he had barely eaten anything today, and that he would have to try even harder to get some food tomorrow. Even though he had to live like this, he was very lucky really; he could have no house at all, which would be even harder. When the previous owner of this house had moved away a few months ago, Zancrow had been fortunate enough to find a way into the top floor just as the man left, desperate for at least one night of shelter. Like his mother, the rest of the town knew him to be a wizard and believed him to be a devil too, and constantly tried to drive him out. After he had decided to live there, of course the house could not be sold – no one would dare live in the house in which the demon of their town supposedly haunted. He was no demon (he told himself often) but there was no denying that he was a wizard. He must be the only one here, surely the rest of the wizarding community kept well away, aware of this town's magic hating ways. However, he knew why he alone had ended up here in the first place. It was his father's fault. Zancrow had never met him in his life, and he was damn sure why. Zancrow knew for a fact that magic ran in families, and his mother was no more a wizard than that scruffy little stray dog down the road. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened. His father had obviously been a wizard and had tried to settle down in this town, unaware of how unwelcome he was. As soon as he'd found out how much his kind were hated here he must have gotten cold feet and left his mother as quickly as possible, leaving her with a magical baby to raise by herself. It made Zancrow angry. He was angry at his father for leaving him here, he was angry at his mother for not looking after him, he was angry at his town for hating him, and most of all, he was angry at Zeref for the life he'd made this wizard lead.

One day,_ one day_, he'd leave this wretched place and go to somewhere where he'd actually get some respect for being a wizard. No one would stare at him and his red eyes, they'd all be in awe of his magic. Zancrow wanted to see the rest of his country, the places that loved magic and used it every day. That sounded like the kind of world he wanted to live in. But for now, even he knew that he was far too young to manage such a long journey – this town was in the middle of nowhere! He wondered what wizards did as jobs. Obviously there would be wizards that helped people with ordinary things like ploughing crops and building things, but surely there would be much more… exciting things for wizards to do like… like… slaying monsters! And dispelling ancient curses, and fighting other powerful mages, and beating bad guys! He was sure that a wizard's life was bound to be action-packed and full of adventure, and Zancrow could hardly wait to finally escape this town and go on a journey. Filled with these happy thoughts, he spent the rest of the day trying to read a book he'd found a while ago in the streets. He couldn't read very well, but knew enough to just about get the gist what was happening. The story kept him occupied for a good while until nightfall, when he climbed into his musty-smelling bed and fell asleep, dreaming of wizards and monsters and adventure.

* * *

><p>It was almost as if no time at all had passed from the moment he had lain down his head to the moment he had woken up again. The dream was different; it was a new morning in the town. Zancrow threw the blankets off his makeshift bed and carefully stepped towards the window that looked over the street, crouching down to hide the hide the bottom half of his face. Just like the other day the town was bustling, full of noise and laughter, still the occasional fight breaking out here and there. Knowing better this time, Zancrow drew back and headed for the bathroom. The rope was still there, and he threw it out of the window and into the backstreet, shimmying down it somewhat ungracefully. Jumping the last couple of feet onto the floor, he wondered how he was going to hide the rope. It would be too much for people's human curiosity to stand to not climb up and have a look inside his house. He had nothing of real worth to steal, but he certainly didn't want anyone looking around his belongings. He supposed that he could just throw it back up and leave a pile of rocks nearby so that he could knock it down again. Hastily, he constructed a small pile of debris under the windowsill so that nobody could see it, then (with a great deal of effort) he lobbed the cord straight upwards, where it landed, quite nicely, inside the window.<p>

Satisfied with the fact that no one could possibly reach it, no matter how tall they were, Zancrow decided that today would be the day where he would go to the high street at last. He would be forced to steal this time to get food – he had no money, no food in his house and no one who would support him. Serves them right really, it's not like he doesn't exist. He had to eat. It was almost as if he was talking himself into stealing. He didn't like the thought of taking what wasn't his, but at the present moment, he was feeling too bitter to care. He had just passed his mother's house, and he glanced at it briefly with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The bright lights shining in the windows and the rich scents of food wafting from it stiffened his resolve. He carried on towards the high street, a vengeful glint in his eye. He would take what the town owed him.

It took perhaps a few seconds for the townsfolk to realise that the demon they feared was walking their high street. Maybe it was hungry? Not for food, certainly, surely it wanted to devour the human beings that it walked amongst! It was walking in such a purposeful way that all of the townspeople skirted out of its way, pulling their family and friends closer for safety. They couldn't anger the thing, or else it may curse their town more than it already had done, so they just had to let it go where it wanted and take what it wanted. Fearful and angry eyes followed Zancrow everywhere he went, and even though it was tragic, Zancrow couldn't help but stifle a laugh. He was an eight year old kid – what the hell was he going to do to them? But he couldn't deny that this fear surrounding him was useful, he could probably take whatever he wanted without worry. People wouldn't dare to come any closer than ten feet, obviously they believed all this demon rubbish. The bakery soon came into view; it was here Zancrow had chosen to plunder. Pushing the door open, anxious gazes watching him, he wandered in, ogling in wonder at all the different kinds of bread laid out all over the shop. Before he could reach any of them, the owner of the shop, the head baker, stomped out from the kitchen behind the counter. The moment he saw that Zancrow was inside his shop he froze, then promptly turned on his heel and trudged back inside the kitchen. Zancrow wasn't complaining; he stuffed his pockets full of all sorts of good food – twisted rolls, small granary loaves, bagels and lots of little crackers. Heavily laden with his prize, he scuttled out of the door and headed straight for a refuge – the alleyways that only he knew so well.

Faintly remembering the complex layout, he went in the direction of what he thought would be the deepest part, somewhere where he definitely wouldn't be disturbed. Here, he sat heavily down on the stone floor with a grunt, debating with himself about what he should do with the bread he had taken. It would do no good to put it on the ground, it would get filthy… Huh? In the wall of the alley, a brick had been removed and in its place, there was a large wad of some dark-blue fabric stuffed in there. Zancrow pulled at it roughly. It was a blanket, thick, soft and velvety, with tassels all along the edges. Had someone left this here for him? Had someone been watching him come here? Eagerly, he laid it on the cold, stone floor, placing his bread in little neat piles on top of it, then sat down on it. It was warm and comfortable, far better than resting on the bare path. Zancrow felt a rush of gratitude to whoever had left this here for him, he was sure that this wasn't an accident. He stood up and rummaged in the gap to see if there was anything else. There was! Carefully, he pulled out a flask, with something sloshing around inside of it. Zancrow opened it, finding fresh, clean water inside. He's never been so happy in his life. It wasn't the fact that he had water, or somewhere nice to rest, it was more the fact that someone had taken it upon themselves to help him; no one had ever done that before.

He leant forward and scooped up some wooden debris, setting light to it so that he would have some light and warmth to eat by. Cheerfully, he made a start on his bread, wondering which of the townspeople had decided to donate such a comfortable blanket. He had to stay here every time he stole food – the people would get angry and scared when he did so, and often attempted to drive him out of his house afterwards. It was safer to be in the alleyway, even if it was in the open. After all, he knew these winding paths better than anyone, so if he was chased, he could lose them easily. Refusing to think about this anymore, he continued eating, enjoying the heat of the flames and the comfort of the blanket. After he had gotten about half-way through his makeshift meal, he heard an odd noise. Zancrow cocked his head to one side, listening. It sounded like a light 'clack', like a single footstep. His heart suddenly starting beating very fast, whilst he sat stock still, on high alert. This hadn't been a trap, had it? They hadn't already found him, had they? If the whole town came after him now, he'd have no chance of escape. Another 'clack'. Another. Another. Another. He stood up slowly, flames starting to crackle around his fists. There was someone coming towards him, the footsteps were getting louder and louder. His heart was fit to burst, it was beating so quickly. As the footsteps got closer, he could feel a strange pressure in the air. It seemed to paint a picture of the mysterious figure heading towards him. It was a wizard who was coming towards him, and a powerful one at that. Zancrow relaxed ever so slightly. A wizard was far less likely to be a threat – perhaps it was his father! Still wary, Zancrow couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of happiness, lowering his guard drastically. Eventually, an old man came into view. His white beard was massively long, reaching all the way down to his waist, and his hair was not too far behind in length. He wore a black eye patch over his right eye and the eye that was uncovered was staring at him, with what Zancrow thought was a rather calculating look. Zancrow felt a little disappointed; this weird old man was far too old to be his father. But all the same, he was a wizard, what was he doing here?

The old man came even closer, until he stood right over Zancrow. He was incredibly tall, and Zancrow quailed slightly under his gaze, but he was determined to sound confident. Looking up and into this man's eye, he asked of him,

'Who are you?'

His voice shook slightly, and the man stayed silent for what seemed to be an eternity. Eventually, he seemed to make up his mind to answer. He stepped back, breaking their eye contact for just a moment, then spoke.

'My name,' he said softly, 'is Hades.'

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><p><em><strong>Thank you for reading, hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I've had this tale in my head for a quite a long time now, and it feels really great to have it all written down. Part two to come soon!<strong>_


	8. Echoes of the Past - Part 2

_**Hello again! Here's part two of Zancrow's past story!**_

_**Just in case anyone was wondering when this story is set, it takes place AFTER the Grand Magic Games and BEFORE the Tartarus arc!**_

_**I hope that you enjoy it!**_

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><p>There was a horribly pregnant pause in which Zancrow simply gawped at Hades, unsure of what to say. The name 'Hades' meant absolutely nothing to him, but it wasn't that. It was more the problem of what he would say when Hades asked for <em>his <em>name. For you see, he had no name, his mother never bothering to give him one. He was simply known as 'the devil' or 'the demon', or something along those lines. The man known as Hades looked indifferent and unconcerned by what Zancrow thought to be a very awkward silence. Eventually, Hades posed the question.

'And what,' he inquired, 'is your name?'

Zancrow glanced downwards for a second and swept his filthy, long hair out of his face to give himself thinking time. He remembered that when he had escaped from his mother's house, she had called him 'Lucifer'. He'd never heard that word before - never heard anyone else call it him before. Perhaps it was his name? Lucifer… It sounded like a name… Attempting once again to sound cool and collected, he replied with:

'Lucifer.'

Hades' eyebrows contracted slightly, but his expression still remained rather neutral. Maybe this trip hadn't been a waste after all. From all the blood-chilling tales he had heard about the demon that tormented this town, he had been expecting something rather more frightening. But instead, it seemed that this 'devil' was simply a normal, human wizard. An unusual one with an unusual name, granted, but still a human wizard. However, perhaps his ideas of forming the Kin of Purgatory would yet come to fruition…

'Lucifer?' he questioned interestedly. 'As in Satan himself?'

The way Hades spoke of this 'Satan' was as if he fully expected even the boy he had found roaming the streets to know of him. However, Zancrow was nonplussed. Who was Satan? It would do no good to pretend that he knew, and besides – here was a wizard from the outside world, probably full of wisdom and stories from beyond his magic-hating brethren's town, and Zancrow was planning to take full advantage of that. He was sick of not knowing anything about the world– not knowing what a plough was, what a bloodline was, what a soldier was and so forth. Lifting his head but not quite meeting Hades' eye out of slight embarrassment and due to the fact he was still rather intimidated, Zancrow enquired,

'Who's… Satan?'

'You do not know who Satan or Lucifer are?'

Zancrow had begun to shake his head but Hades had already continued.

'I would have thought you of all people would have known. Or perhaps the people here do not converse with you very much?'

Zancrow had no idea what the word 'converse' meant but from the context he supposed that it must have something to do with communicating with or staying around the townspeople, which of course, he did not. He shook his head in slow, short motions, slowly beginning to look towards the stone path again, which he could see looked rather damp and uncomfortable. He was suddenly very glad of his blanket and he tugged it around himself for warmth.

Hades took slow purposeful steps towards Zancrow now, like one might do if they wished to avoid frightening a small animal, then sat carefully down next to him on a corner of the blanket that was not currently wrapped around the small blonde boy. Zancrow leaned away, wondering what the hell the man was doing. But it wasn't anything to be worried about – he was only taking a seat next to him. However, the young wizard shuffled away slightly, still wary. Zancrow was understandably apprehensive. He knew that he was vulnerable, even though he knew some magic; and this wizard was obviously incredibly powerful to be able to make his way here, avoid the townspeople and locate him. But then that raised the important questions of 'why is Hades here?' and 'how did he manage to find the only wizard in this town?' More to the point, why him at all? Hades could seek out any young wizard at all, and yet he chose to visit the 'demon' that haunted this town. Why? Perhaps he wanted to befriend him, the monster, thinking he might come in useful. Maybe he wanted his 'demon powers' (not that he had any), or something like that. Maybe Hades was sent by the people of this town to destroy him! Zancrow edged away further, eager to put some more space between them. Peeking out from behind his curtain of blanket that separated perhaps the first two wizards to meet in this town in a very long time, Zancrow waited for Hades to finally explain why he had come here.

'Satan and Lucifer are supposedly the same being. Satan is the devil. Did you know that?'

Zancrow shifted uneasily. People had called him 'devil' a lot. He knew it meant something evil or bad from the way it had been screeched at him. And now even his own name meant something awful too? Unaware of or ignoring his actions, Hades explained further.

'Lucifer was an angel who was cast out of heaven for his pride, falling to hell below and becoming Satan, to be forever tortured in the lake of fire.'

A lot of the words in that sentence made little sense to Zancrow. He knew that 'heaven' was a beautiful place, a place of bliss, because he'd heard the people exclaim that pretty things or things that felt good were 'like heaven.' Hell was a bad place. According to them, he deserved a place in hell. His jaw tightened. An 'angel' was someone who showed kindness to people and were very selfless because Zancrow had heard people say that others 'were like angels' whenever they did good. As for the 'lake of fire', he had no clue. He supposed it spoke for itself, really. At least his name meant something a little pure, even if Lucifer _did _fall. In a sick sort of way he supposed it was kind of ironic. Lucifer was the angel who ended up in hell, and right here he was in his own little hell on earth. Lucifer snorted and looked up. Hades was still speaking.

'But that's what they call you, isn't it? Satan. Devil. Demon.'

Now how… did Hades know this? Unless he had been following him around all day, every day (which he supposed was still an option), then how did he know exactly what people had been calling him and how did he manage to find him in this remote, tucked-away place? He'd never seen Hades before in town, how had he managed to do it? He felt dark and strange…

'People call you devil and demon, but in reality you're just a wizard, aren't you? A normal human wizard.'

Zancrow nodded, far past working out how on earth land Hades knew all of this about him, and was instead feeling a little confused, not sure how to feel now he knew someone understood – he was no demon, after all.

'But I can make you more than that.'

More? What was Hades talking about? Was he finally getting to the reason why he would come all this way just to find him?

'I can make you so much more than a wizard or a devil.'

Zancrow was beginning to feel quite sceptical now, unsure of what Hades was trying to imply. More than a wizard? More than a devil, even?

'I can make you the most respected and revered wizard this world has ever seen. If you reach for the Ultimate Magic world with me, I can promise you that you will never have to hide from anyone ever again or have anyone spurn you; humans all over the world will bow before your almighty power, praising you as their god.'

Zancrow had no idea what the Ultimate Magic World was, but the thought of never having to hide again, better yet, having people revere him was the most wonderful way of life he could possibly think of. Forgetting in an instant his suspicion of Hades, he naively trusted him without question. The young wizard shuffled closer to the elder, eager to talk more with him, happy as can be.

Seeing the way his whole demeanour changed, Hades assumed that Zancrow was willing to join him in his task to reach the world which he so ardently desired. Perfect. The Kin of Purgatory had gained a new member. The name 'Lucifer' of course, had to go. It would not be wise to have one of the rulers of his new world to have such a damned name.

'In light of you now reaching towards the heavens, perhaps a new name would be in order?'

Zancrow leant forward and grinned, keen to get rid of his old name and more than a little excited to hear what Hades would suggest. Seeing his expression, Hades thought long and hard about the kind of name that would suit this young wizard. He was planning to teach this boy God Slaying Magic, a kind of magic that had died out hundreds of years ago. It was a 'Lost Magic'; lost to the ages. He intended that all of his Kin of Purgatory would learn this type of Ancient Spell. Not only would it mean a revival of magic long thought extinct – the users of these magics would be closer to the 'Essence of Magic', the source of all magic. The One Magic. It would no doubt make them almost invincible. And since this young wizard would be a God Slayer, he deserved a god name.

'What about Mars?'

Zancrow shook his head – there was something about the name he didn't like.

'Then what about Vulcan?'

Vulcan? Weren't they some sort of giant apes that caused trouble around here or something? Definitely not. He shook his head again.

'Moros?'

Sounded sad. Once more he moved his head from side to side. Hades was starting to run out of names.

'Erebus?'

A little grand for just a name. It wouldn't do.

'Thanatos?'

_Very_ grand.

'Then how about a name that I make for you? Like… Zanguard or Zancrow or something like that?'

At these names, Zancrow nodded vigorously.

'You like Zanguard?'

Zancrow shook his head crossly.

'Zancrow?'

The little wizard laughed and rocked backwards, landing heavily on his back, pretending to be exhausted and exasperated by the fact that it took Hades so long to work out what he wanted as a name.

'Then it is settled. Your name from now on will be Zancrow.'

The boy once known as Lucifer laughed again and raised his arms in the air in celebration whilst still on his back. After his name had been decided, the night passed happily. Hades had told Zancrow that he had brought something warm with him to drink, which had turned out to be water, which Hades boiled on Zancrow's fire, some milk (Zancrow had found out what it was by dipping a finger into the liquid and licking it when Hades had not been looking), and some rather insignificant looking, small fabric bags filled with what looked to be crunchy, black leaves. Apparently, this all made 'tea', with these horrible looking 'teabags' being the pivotal ingredient.

Zancrow wrapped himself up further in his blanket now, sitting up straight, interestedly watching Hades prepare this 'tea'. Firstly, he put a teabag into each mug and poured the hot water over it, making the water turn a strange reddish colour which rapidly grew darker, the dark stain seeping out from the teabag. Then Hades pulled out a spoon, stirring the two teabags around their mugs, apparently to make the tea taste stronger. Tapping the sides of the mugs with the spoon to shake the water off, Hades handed Zancrow one, telling him that it was hot. It was comfortingly warm, and Zancrow shoved his cheek against the side, enjoying the heat. According to Hades, milk should also be added to the mixture, but Zancrow wasn't sure how that would taste. However, he let Hades pour in a little, making the tea turn dark beige. Zancrow eyed it disbelievingly. Surely it couldn't taste any good? He sniffed the mug. It smelt faintly warm and milky, but that was about it. He had just raised it to his lips when Hades called,

'You'll probably want sugar in that.'

Zancrow obediently lowered his mug and grabbed what looked like the bag of sugar. Not knowing that he was supposed to use a spoon to transfer some from the bag to the mug, Zancrow picked up the whole thing and began to dump liberal amounts of sugar into his tea, making it more sugar than anything else. Hades, however, merely let him get on with it, making his own tea.

Once he was satisfied with the severely sweetened concoction, Zancrow returned to the safety of his blanket, using it to cover his head and pulling it around him. Hades also joined him, raising his tea to his lips which prompted Zancrow to try some. Oddly enough, once he got over the first mouthful (which tasted a bit strange), it was rather a nice drink. He tipped his head back and began to drain his whole mug, even though it was piping hot. Hades cleared his throat to make him stop, but Zancrow didn't know what that meant and continued to slurp the whole lot in one. A sudden firm hand jerking the mug downwards caused him to finally get the message.

'Tea is not meant to be drunk like that. Sip it.'

Zancrow huffed irritably but followed instruction, only bringing the mug up to take small gulps. Over the course of the night, Hades slowly attempted to try and coax Zancrow to talk. He had realised that the boy was extremely reluctant to speak, most likely because he had a deep-seated mistrust of people, and also because of the fact that it was likely no one had ever tried to have a conversation with him before. He was probably not used to it. He began by telling Zancrow that it had been him that had left him the blanket, to give him a chance to say 'thank you' but all he did was look shy and glanced downwards, which Hades took to mean that he was grateful. He tried lots of tricks like this to try to make Zancrow elicit more than a couple of words each time he spoke, but nothing worked. Eventually, Hades decided to try a topic of conversation he was sure Zancrow could not ignore.

'But about your eyes. I think I know why they are the way that they are.'

This caught Zancrow's attention utterly. His red eyes were boring right into his one exposed one. He was sat, leaning forwards, not moving a muscle. Hades made him wait like this for a while, trying to make him impatient enough to ask but Zancrow still did not speak. He was probably very accustomed to waiting for long periods to get what he wanted. Hades expanded.

'I think it's likely that you're a kind of _albino_.'

It was highly unlikely that Zancrow had ever heard the word 'albino', and it was much less likely that he knew what it meant. Hades waited again. It paid off – Zancrow finally spoke.

'…What's an albino? Tell me.'

Pleased that Zancrow had finally said more than two words, Hades explained.

'An individual affected by albinism produces little or none of the chemical called melanin. Melanin makes the colours you see in people's hair, skin and eyes.'

The boy nodded slowly, clearly confused. Hades decided to explain it more simplistically.

'So if you do not have any melanin, you end up being very pale because you don't have any colouring. People with the type of albinism that affects the hair, skin and eyes will have white hair, extremely pale skin and reddish eyes.'

Hades paused here, hoping that Zancrow would point out that he didn't have exceptionally pale skin or white hair, but he unfortunately did not.

'I believe that you have the kind of albinism that affects just the eyes, called 'ocular albinism'. You don't create any melanin at all in your eyes, which means that they end up looking red, because of all the blood vessels there. Am I right in thinking that you get dazzled by bright light?'

Zancrow nodded, and unexpectedly spoke up.

'…So, I'm not a demon?'

'You are no more a demon than I am.'

The boy sighed in relief.

'Thank god.'

Suddenly dizzy from relief and exhaustion, Zancrow looked down, swaying slightly as one does when they're about to fall asleep. He slumped in his seat, slowly nearing unconsciousness. The day had been so wearing on one so young, but at last – he was going to finally be free of this town. Hades had promised to take Zancrow with him, and so he would begin his new life, his new adventure. He fell asleep, unconcerned, as he felt himself being lifted gently in someone's arms.

* * *

><p>The now-adult Zancrow's eyes snapped open. The first thing he noticed was that his back was on the wooden floor (because it felt cold), and that his legs were in the air, still on top of the bed. He must have fallen off the bed in the night, but it was still a strange position to wake up in. The second thing he noticed was that he was completely tangled in his blanket and sheets. He tried to untangle himself, but he ended up making it worse. Next he tried standing up, but he fell right onto his face. Cursing viciously, he finally managed to rip the blankets off, freeing himself. Replacing them on the bed and brushing himself down, he looked up at the clock and saw that it was ten o'clock. Oh yeah, he needed to be down at the guild for his first mission, right? What time was he supposed to turn up again? Eight o'clock? Wait. Eight o'clock. Zancrow snapped his head up to look at the clock again. He was late! He should have been there two hours ago! Bounding to the other end of the room, now very alert, he looked in the mirror, deciding straight away that he was definitely not suitable to go on his first mission like this. He had gone to sleep in his clothes, without bothering to get changed, still with his boots on. Thankfully, he had removed his coat, but his shirt and trousers were creased and beginning to smell. His hair was incredibly knotty and was fast approaching 'afro' status. Running a hand through the bird's nest to hopefully try and tame it slightly, Zancrow knew that even though he really didn't have any time, he needed to get washed and changed. However, there didn't seem to be any kind of room at all joint onto his bedroom, and he was sure that the guild would not have neglected to put in something as important as a bathroom.<p>

Poking his head out of the bedroom door, looking left and right, he found that the doors in the corridor alternated between doors with locks on and doors without. This, he supposed, meant that each of those locked doors was most likely a bathroom intended for each guild member that rented a room here. So, the door to his left with the lock on must be his. There was just one, tiny, little problem. Where was the key?! Mirajane must have forgotten to tell him…

Returning back inside his bedroom, he flung open every draw and cupboard he could find, looking desperately for this little key. At last, in the bottom draw in his chest of drawers, right at the back, he found it. It was thin and made of a gleaming silver metal. It looked like a perfect fit for the lock next door.

Sure enough, when he inserted the key into the matching lock, it turned smoothly and the door swung open, revealing a neat little bathroom complete with a toilet, sink and bathtub. Zancrow gave a small sigh and went to grab a new change of clothes.

Within ten minutes his hair no longer looked like a prime nesting spot for an albatross, his clothes were no longer creased nor smelt, and he was finally ready to go to the Fairy Tail guild, despite being over two hours late. Snatching a tin of… something from his backpack and stowing it in his trouser pocket, then pulling on his cloak and raising the hood, he exited his room and sprinted down the stairs. The dorm was absolutely derelict – there was no one here, everyone must already be at the guild taking jobs. Zancrow sped up, hoping he wouldn't be reprimanded too sharply. As he wrenched open the heavy door that was the exit to the dormitory with one hand, he tore the top off his tin of "something" with the other. It tasted slightly meaty, but Zancrow was in far too much of a rush to even take notice of what he was eating, or to even take a look at the side of the can.

Out in the streets now, his cloaked head looking downwards as he strode along, Zancrow reflected on what Mirajane had told him last night. Apparently, no one made that much of a fuss if you were a bit late. But he was a whole two hours late. It didn't make for a very good first impression, and Zancrow needed this money…

He was utterly lost in his thoughts, head down, still eating his breakfast, when suddenly he walked straight into someone. Hard. Stumbling back, he murmured a quick 'sorry' and carried on, bending forwards slightly and making sure his hood was pulled down far enough so that whoever he had bumped into would not be able to see his face. When he was a few steps away, curiosity gripped him and he quickly turned to have a look at the receding stranger. Oddly enough, they were also cloaked, trying to hide their own face. Zancrow had gotten a very brief glimpse when he had unfortunately walked into them, and he saw that it had been a man, with a shock of blue hair, but they were the only details he had spotted. It seemed very bizarre to Zancrow that there was someone walking around this town (that was well known for being friendly) doing their best to make sure that their face would not be seen. But then he supposed that he couldn't talk. Though, what were the chances that there was someone else in Magnolia in _exactly_ the same situation as him? It smelt fishy to Zancrow. He would keep an eye out for this stranger and assumed that they would do the same.

* * *

><p>That brief lock of blonde hair Jellal had seen before it had been sharply whisked away under his hood and the gruff 'sorry' told him right away who was lurking underneath that cloak. Ultear and Meredy had told him about him often enough. It seemed impossible, but here he was. Zancrow was alive, and not only that, he was living in Magnolia. He knew full well that this town was where Fairy Tail was situated, and as far as Zancrow was concerned, Fairy Tail was Grimoire Heart's enemy. What was he doing here?<p>

Perhaps he was living nearby in order to take revenge, but according to Ultear that wasn't Zancrow's normal behaviour. Despite being an incredibly powerful wizard and a rather impulsive one, Zancrow rarely worked alone, and it was rarer still that he'd organise and carry out something himself. Perhaps there was a whole group of Grimoire Heart wizards living here, though that was unlikely. They wouldn't be ignorant enough to gather here, right under the nose of the most powerful guild in Fiore, especially since they'd just gotten all their core members back. That must mean that here at least, Zancrow was alone, so why was he here? It would do no good to puzzle the mystery here – he would have to get out of Magnolia before he was spotted. Perhaps he and Meredy would be able to work something out. Jellal knew however, that had Ultear been here, she would have been reluctant to involve Meredy. Zancrow had hurt Meredy terribly the very last time they had met, revealing to her the terrible secrets of her past that everyone in the Seven Kin of Purgatory had promised not to speak of: that Ultear along with a few other members had destroyed her very own village. He may have felt betrayed himself at the time, but it was this last act of unkindness that had caused Ultear to nurture a strong distaste for Zancrow throughout these last seven years. Apparently, she'd never particularly liked him, even when he was young. For a while when Hades was still gathering members for the Seven Kin, it had just been those two. Ultear had been the first member, and the eldest, whilst Zancrow had been the second. Jellal still remembered the time when Ultear had told him about the first time that they had met.

* * *

><p>'He's scared of people.'<p>

A young blonde boy peered out tentatively from behind Hades. He was rather small and scrawny, the very top of his head barely reaching Hades' waist. Judging by his size, he had to be a couple of years younger than Ultear, perhaps about eight years old. Ultear noticed that even though he was trying as best as he could to hide as much of his body as possible behind Hades, he was fixing her with the most intense stare she had ever seen, as if he'd never seen a girl before. So, this was the famous 'demon' that Master Hades had been looking for? He didn't look like much, but he must have had a lot of potential for Hades to bring him back with him.

Breaking his eye contact to look up at Hades, the boy spoke in a slightly cross voice, but it was still rather quiet.

'I'm not _scared_.'

Then he crossed his arms petulantly and stepped out from behind the old wizard to prove that he really, _really _wasn't scared in any way at all.

Ultear was reluctant to make the first move, but it looked like this boy wasn't going to any time soon, no matter what he said. Fixing him with a calculating glare of her own, she asked,

'So what's your name?'

Surreptitiously beginning to sneak behind Hades again, he replied,

'Zancrow-sama.'

Ultear blinked at his blatant vanity and took an instant dislike to him, not saying anything in return. Turning her back to him slightly, she heard a noise that sounded like a quiet slap and a small squeak.

'Other people call you Zancrow-sama. You refer to yourself as Zancrow. Otherwise you will sound conceited.'

Ultear turned around. Hades had reprimanded him with a small hit to the back of the head. She could tell Hades had barely hurt him at all but Zancrow had his arms flung over his head and his teeth gritted as if he expected Hades to do him some real damage. In this position he muttered very quickly,

'I'm-very-sorry-Master-Hades-it-won't-happen-again.'

He then chanced to open his eyes when he found that no one was walloping him, then straightened up. Ultear withheld a chuckle with difficulty. If he wasn't scared of people, then pigs could fly.

Noticing her expression and looking slightly offended, Zancrow puffed his chest up slightly and crossed his arms again.

'Well, what's your name?'

'Ultear Milkovich, an Arc of Time mage.'

'I'm going to be a God Slayer. I got told we both use Lost Magic.'

'All of us will.'

'All of us?' Zancrow looked up to Master Hades for guidance. Seeing that Zancrow didn't understand yet, Hades explained.

'Our aim is to create a team of elite wizards, each of them knowing a type of Lost Magic. In this way, each of them will be closer to the Essence of Magic. The One Magic. In this way, we should find it easier to create our Ultimate Magic World.'

Zancrow looked confused but eager at the same time.

'How many of us are there going to be, Master Hades? We have three already, right?'

He held his arms out, gesturing to everyone in the room. Hades elaborated further.

'Only the two of you will be in the elite team. You will be my guard. I believe we will amass around seven or eight members in total.'

'We have a name too.' Ultear added.

Zancrow whipped his head around to stare at her again, interested.

'We'll be called the 'Kin of Purgatory'. It will either be the Seven Kin of Purgatory or the Eight Kin of Purgatory depending on how many members we gain.'

She saw him mouth 'Kin of Purgatory', looking impressed.

Placing a hand on Zancrow's back to guide him out of the room, Hades had decided that this meeting was at an end. Waving as he left the room, the blonde wizard looked back over his shoulder and gave Ultear a small smile.

* * *

><p>It was odd to think that skinny little boy from all those years ago was the man Jellal saw before him today. Over the years he must have really grown, in body and in ego. It disturbed him to think what he might be planning, and resolved to hurry back to Meredy as soon as possible. He had just been to speak with Fairy Tail about the matter of the guilds in the Balam Alliance, which was why he had been in Magnolia. It had been a recent worry that Tartarus might begin an attack. Grimoire Heart had barely come up in the meeting at all. Obviously Fairy Tail was not aware that one of its key members was living so close. Should he warn them? He looked back but could not see Zancrow anymore. Who knew where he might be going? Perhaps he should warn Fairy Tail… No. For now it would be best to get out of Magnolia, to get to somewhere safe where he could think about how best to handle this issue.<p>

Jellal swept his own cloak more tightly around him and lengthened his strides, hoping to reach the rest of Crime Sorcière before Zancrow could cause any damage.

* * *

><p>Recovering quickly from his brief surprise, Zancrow had finally located the guild hall. He had been incredibly tired last night, but he still vaguely remembered the way. Pausing outside of the guild, out of sight, he pulled himself up to his full (and not so impressive) height, and strode inside as if he wasn't late at all.<p>

Thankfully, the guild was still rife with noise when he entered – Mirajane was right, no one appeared to care if you were late. Lowering his hood and casting his eye around the hall, he noticed right away that the members were once again keeping a considerable distance away from him, remembering his behaviour from yesterday. Some of their looks were considerably incredulous, as if they could not believe that he was still here. Ignoring this, Zancrow headed straight for the bar as Mirajane was standing there, filling mugs with ale. Hopefully she'd tell him what to do as he realised at this point he had no idea. He was only allowed to take one mission a week yet he was supposed to turn up every day excluding Sunday. What else did this guild have planned for him?

Smiling sweetly as he made his way over, Mira wished him a good morning, which Zancrow returned, stammering, slightly surprised.

'Today,' she began, 'will be when you take your weekly mission. If you remember what the Master said yesterday, then you'll remember that he told you that you're only allowed to take a request under the surveillance of an S-Class mage, no matter how big your team is.'

Zancrow nodded slowly. He knew what an S-Class wizard was. Seeing this, Mira continued.

'There are currently four S-Class mages in Fairy Tail.' She held up four fingers.

'But one is on an extended mission.' She lowered one finger.

'One has already left with his own team.' She put down another finger.

'And one is standing right in front of you!'

Zancrow's jaw dropped. She's an S-Class mage?! She's an elite, probably the same strength as himself, maybe even stronger!

Mirajane smiled softly at his expression. It took Zancrow a moment or two to realise due to the revelation that had just taken place, but there was one more S-Class wizard.

'So… What about the last wizard?'

'Oh! That's Erza!'

Erza? Her name rang a bell. Ah, she was the red-haired woman from yesterday, wasn't she? The other wizard the Master had called in when they had been talking? He remembered her formidable personality and thought to himself that it was going to be a lonely mission if he was with a mage who probably wouldn't even talk to him. Well, at least Natsu wouldn't be there, he had that going for him.

Pointing over to the left hand corner, Mirajane told Zancrow that Erza and her team would be waiting there for him. Erza's team would be coming with them also and they had already picked a mission for them to go on. Zancrow followed to where Mira was pointing and spied Erza right away, her scarlet hair gleaming in the morning light. He could see that she was sitting with a group of other people who Zancrow assumed to be her team mates. Wondering who he would be working with, the God Slayer looked over to his soon-to-be acquaintances, then his eyes roved over to… Natsu._ Oh god, please don't tell me I'm going with him, too_, Zancrow thought frantically, but he was already resigned to the truth. Natsu himself had caught sight of him, and was looking at him as if he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and smash his face on the table. And then possibly smash Zancrow's face on the table too. Fortunately, there were two other members who would be going with them too. Zancrow saw with a spark of something like relief that Gray was also part of the team, but he looked a little conflicted when he saw that Zancrow would be coming too. Of course, Gray must still be thinking of his behaviour yesterday… He lost control for one minute and people were going to hold it over him for the rest of his life? There was another girl, a blonde, sitting at the table next to Natsu, deep in conversation, but the moment she spotted Zancrow, she stopped mid-sentence to give him a brief horrified stare. Realising that he'd seen her, she hurriedly went back to her conversation, her body language giving her away as extremely nervous. Zancrow's face was starting to look quite dark and stormy. He hadn't even said 'hello' yet. But by the way her and Natsu were sitting so closely to each other, they looked to Zancrow to be a thing. Natsu would probably murder Zancrow for even looking in her direction. Zancrow restrained himself from groaning, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow and sinking onto the floor in a puddle of despair. So, here he was in a team where to each one of them he was either a psychopath, a creep, a murderer or… he didn't even know what. Mira seemed completely oblivious to their anguish.

With the eyes of a desperate man, Zancrow clutched the edge of the bar tightly and leaned over the counter, making a frantically whispered request.

'D'ya think I could go with you instead? I mean, you're an S-Class, right?'

Mrajane's response was to be expected, but it didn't exactly help to alleviate any of his struggle.

'Of course I can't! Who else would look after the bar?'

Reluctantly, accepting his fate, Zancrow stumped over to the team (who looked equally resigned), to tell Erza that he was ready to go if they were. He looked childishly sulky, and Erza regarded him haughtily for a second before telling him that they were in fact ready to go and thrusting a piece of parchment into his hands. Zancrow looked down at what she'd presented him with. It was their job request. According to this, their mission was to flush out a dark guild that went by the name 'Steel Wits', just to the west of here. Apparently their crimes had begun to influence the village nearby, and the locals couldn't stand it any longer. The name seemed slightly familiar to Zancrow, and obviously he had been staring at the job request for too long because Erza snatched it out of his hands and stowed it back inside her pocket without a word.

Not really that offended, beginning already to get used to Erza'a brisk ways, Zancrow thought that perhaps going to clear out a dark guild was perhaps not the best idea, considering that he himself had once been a member of a guild in the 'Balam Alliance'. He didn't know entirely what that meant, but from the way Rustyrose had said it, it sounded like Grimoire Heart was extremely influential. Surely someone in Steel Wits was bound to know of him?

Seeing his expression, Erza sharply jabbed her finger at his cloak, almost taking his eye out.

'If you're careful enough with that cloak, no one will recognise you.'

And that was that. Zancrow shrugged and pulled his hood up, the rest of the team standing up as he did so. Zancrow waited for them to walk a little way ahead then trailed behind, head low under his cloak hood. When they finally left the guild hall, Zancrow hung back and looked inside. It was still raucously loud despite the fact that by now, everyone should be on some sort of mission or another. One thing that bothered him ever so slightly was the fact that no one had mentioned anything about having his guild mark removed. He could see that everyone in Fairy Tail had that mark one way or another, and yet he still had his Grimoire Heart mark. It felt to Zancrow that even though the master said that he could stay 'as long as he wanted to', this would come to an end all too soon. Reprimanding himself on dwelling on little details – he was here for money after all – Zancrow stopping brooding and turned towards his new team, making sure that he didn't lose sight of them. His cloak trailed out behind him as he drew it closer to himself and marched purposefully after them, making sure his face was well hidden from the populace.

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><p><strong><em>I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter we'll find out how Zancrow's first mission with Fairy Tail goes!<em>**

**_Oh yes, and all of the names Hades suggested at first really were god names! They were intentionally meant to be a little grand, I just had a feeling that Hades would behave that way. Well, see you next chapter!_**


	9. Dialectic Chaos

_**Goodness. It's been a long-old while. But here it is, Chapter 9! This past year has been a bit wild... exams, new school... all that sort of thing. Sorry I haven't been active! Hopefully now I'll have more time to write! Thanks so much everyone!**_

_**Cookies to anyone who gets the reference to the chapter title. That's all I'll say!**_

_**And without further ado...**_

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><p>As Zancrow and his group made their way through the town of Magnolia (Zancrow had learnt the name this morning when two old guys in the guild argued over who was 'the best wizard in Magnolia'), he couldn't help but think that his time in Fairy Tail would be all too temporary. After all, there was no talk of having his guild mark removed, no mention of having him registered on the list of members (even though it wouldn't be official), no conversation over what team he should permanently join… Nothing. Perhaps he was simply being too naïve and trusting. Even though the memories still eluded him, Zancrow knew for a definite that he must have committed many horrific crimes under the leadership of Grimoire Heart, and that Fairy Tail – being an official guild – could easily be contacting the authorities right now to report him to the magical law enforcement groups!<p>

Growing paranoid at this point, Zancrow looked up (as he had been staring at the pavement for the last five minutes) and strained his ears to try and listen in on what his team were saying. Unfortunately, due to the noise and hubbub that was all around him, picking up any of the conversation at all was practically impossible. He shook his head and lengthened his strides slightly; if he couldn't hear anything at all from the distance he was at, he surely must be distancing himself from the team a little too much. Contrary to what Zancrow thought was sensible, the team had been advised to travel to their destination by taking a short-cut through the centre of Magnolia. Apparently, this made sure that they ended up at the south side of the town, which was where they needed to catch their carriage from. Ridiculously, in Zancrow's opinion, this meant that he would have to venture right into the heart of Magnolia, which was packed with mages, shoppers and all manner of people, and the more people that Zancrow was around, the higher the chance was that he could be recognised and his cover blown. Though, perhaps that was exactly the reason this route was suggested to them in the whole place…

Zancrow looked up again, now slightly closer to the team he had been shadowing since their departure from the guildhall. From here, he could hear the peals of carefree laughter coming from the blonde-haired girl and he could see the bright grins that adorned the faces of each and every one of the team. Natsu looked back at this point, staring at Zancrow for a second, the smile sliding off of his face to be replaced with a slight scowl. However, his stormy look vanished in the blink of an eye and a smile even wider and cheekier than the one preceding it soon appeared on his face. He turned back around to face his teammates and started gesticulating wildly with his hands and laughing even more raucously, if that was even possible. Zancrow blinked. What was all that about? Was there something funny about him following them? Or was it something to do with the way he looked?

Becoming conscious of his own body for the first time since he'd stepped out of the guildhall, Zancrow noticed that his shoulders were very tense and bunched up, his hands were stuffed in his pockets and his jaw was set in such a way that his teeth were clenched together, causing him to sport a horrid grimace. In short, the whole of Zancrow's upper body felt like it was made of unyielding iron. With a great sigh, he attempted to drop his shoulder blades and relaxed his jaw, giving him a sense of having the weight of a small elephant lifted off his shoulders. He had no idea how tense he had been, and it was obviously his grim expression which had sparked a feeling of amusement within Natsu.

It wasn't exactly surprising, however – anyone would be stressed after the amount he'd had to deal with. What with trying to gain the members' trust and trying to contend with the cold shoulder he'd been given by them for the past couple of days, it was a wonder that he hadn't completely lost his mind! Zancrow felt the scowl sneaking back across his face at the thought of all the bitter guild members who were probably itching to lay into him in a fit of revenge and the long task he had ahead of him of trying to win them over.

Natsu glanced around again then – seemingly just to check on what he was up to – and a smug smirk curled his lips upwards once again at the sight of Zancrow's new gloomy look. Turning back around once more, Natsu proceeded to pull his other team members closer, laughing in a low and throaty way at their looks of surprise.

That was the last straw. His eyebrow twitching in fury, his fists clenched, Zancrow finally began to understand what was going on. Natsu may have found his expression humorous, but that wasn't entirely the reason he kept looking back with that irritating, self-satisfied grin of his. No; Natsu was trying to make him _jealous. _Jealous of the fact that Natsu had friends and he didn't, the fact that Natsu had a steady income and he didn't, the fact that Natsu didn't have any stress on his mind at all and he did… Not to mention that Natsu probably had an all-round easy life to boot. And to be completely honest, Zancrow had to say that the pink monster's tactic was working pretty damn well. Resisting the childish urge to stick his tongue out, Zancrow huffily turned his nose up and looked away, trying not to let the anger show on his face. At least this was only a once-a-week affair. He didn't think he could stand any more than that.

Feeling distinctly sulky now and wishing nothing but pain on Natsu, Zancrow decided that he wasn't going to be left out, even if the little dragon hunter wanted him to be excluded. Still determinedly not looking at Natsu, he managed to catch up to the group and positioned himself on the edge next to Gray, whom he thought was the least likely to turn him away. As it was, from all that had occurred in the guildhall Gray mustn't be feeling too amiable towards him.

He was right. Gray's expression was a sort of terrible mix between appalled and confused, as if he was clueless as to how to react to Zancrow's actions without upsetting anyone. Zancrow just decided to let him get on with it – he'd get used to him being there after a while, right? He therefore settled into an uncomfortable silence, hoping that the team would start talking amongst themselves again.

Fifteen minutes later, now out of the busy town centre and walking down the quiet little back roads, the situation had improved little. Natsu was still eyeing him with slight amusement and a hint of distaste and Zancrow didn't think he could stand the tension much longer. He'd have to say something.

'So, uh…'

Immediately, five pairs of eyes focused themselves onto Zancrow, each set clearly surprised that he'd even dare to speak up. Trying to prevent himself from becoming intimidated, Zancrow chose to aim his question at Gray alone, who looked more curious than mistrustful, despite his unease.

'So, what's this Steel Wits guild all about then?'

To be perfectly honest, it was more of a topic of conversation to break the ice more than anything else; if he had to listen to anymore silence, Zancrow thought his eardrums might implode.

Unfortunately, Gray didn't seem to want to reply and at his frosty reluctance to communicate, Zancrow felt his face fall slightly. He had been so sure that he would respond – out of all the guild members he had met so far, Gray had been by far the most hospitable. He had been the one that had invited him to join the Fairy Tail guild after all! If Gray wasn't going to give him a chance, he might as well give up on trying to win over any of the other members. Zancrow looked morosely back at the ground, aiming a sharp kick at a pebble that lay on the path.

'Steel Wits are a dark guild that border on cult status – they have a fanatical obsession with the Black Wizard Zeref.'

Zancrow looked up so quickly he cricked his neck, hardly believing his ears. Was Gray really talking to him, even after the episode in the guildhall and even with all of his other team members around him? Considering the situation, that kind of… well… took guts. Zancrow was hardly what you would call _popular_ with the rest of Fairy Tail at the present time… Perhaps Gray would be a useful ally in this battle.

'If they're just obsessed with him then…. Why are they so dangerous?'

Gray looked down, thinking how best to word his reply, whilst Zancrow nervously watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to let the worry show on his face. The conversation may be awkward and anxiety-inducing, but at least it was moving forwards and Zancrow felt a small rush of gratitude towards Gray for making an effort to make his transition into this guild somewhat less of a struggle. This gratefulness, however, was swiftly intermitted by sharp pangs of concern as Gray seemed to want to stay quiet rather than say anything else. Zancrow looked up and took a quick, snorting breath, swinging his head over to the left to pretend to look at a large and ancient looking conifer near the side of the road.

'Surely by now you would have realised that just one person who has such a deep obsession is dangerous? When you get a group of them together… you get a force to be reckoned with.'

Still feigning interest at the sight of the tree as they ambled slowly past it, Zancrow mulled over what Gray had just said. It was odd how he put the emphasis on the first 'you', as if he was trying to offend Zancrow in some way. Was it a stab about him being in Grimoire Heart? If it was, it was somewhat half-hearted Zancrow thought. Shrugging slightly, he chose to ignore it for the present time and looked down, noticing that the path now felt rougher than the smooth pavement of central Magnolia. Sure enough, they were approaching the edge of town, smart town houses in neat little rows replaced by thatched cottages, evenly cut grass replaced with wild and tall greenery, interspersed with bursts of colour – wildflowers. It was strange how there was such a clear divide here between nature and civilisation – there was an easily perceivable border just behind them a few feet back. Zancrow narrowed his eyes, watching it for a second. He wasn't especially fascinated by the divide, though it was mildly interesting, but it made a good distraction and a decent excuse to look away from the rest of his temporary team for a moment. The wind blew gently, making the floral border waver slightly in the breeze. Zancrow blinked, the wind making his eyes water, and turned back around reluctantly, noticing that they were now at the edge of an unmarked and un-cobbled road. In fact, the only way Zancrow could actually tell it was a road was by the fact that it was so worn down by years of hooves and feet trampling over it that it was completely smooth and a few inches lower than the rest of the land surrounding it.

Zancrow squinted, following the road around the sloping landscape with his eyes, seeing it stretched right into the distance over a tall, steep hill. Trying to see beyond the hill, Zancrow strained his eyes and as he did so he caught sight of a tiny, moving figure laboriously making its way over the steep incline and coming along the long path, seemingly towards them.

Quickly glancing at the rest of the team to see if they'd noticed what he had, Zancrow was promptly surprised by the fact that they were all looking in exactly the same direction he was, as if they were expecting whatever was in the distance. Zancrow narrowed his eyes at the figure again, trying to see what exactly was coming towards them and speculating on why it was here in the first place. Perhaps it was a vehicle? That would be the most sensible assumption to make. The dark guild would have to be very far away from any official guilds or else it most likely would have been eliminated many years ago.

He could see now that it definitely was a vehicle – a carriage led by two large and powerful looking horses. Judging by the size of the horses and the distance the carriage was coming from, Zancrow assumed that this journey was bound to be a lengthy one. He looked over his shoulder at the bag of food he had packed – pitifully small, considering how long the travelling would take. Zancrow's stomach almost moaned and his face sank into a most decidedly petulant scowl as the carriage rumbled steadily and steadily closer.

A couple of minutes later, the clattering of hooves became gradually audible and Zancrow looked up at the noise as he wondered how close the carriage was. He nearly jumped out of his skin at how near it was to them now. At this small distance of around a minute's ride away the vehicle looked gargantuan, the horses decidedly enormous and the man sitting astride the front of the carriage was built like a mountain bear. It was almost comical how large the whole arrangement was. Zancrow wondered if they might need to lift each other up to get inside successfully.

As the carriage drew up next to them, Zancrow's worst fears were confirmed. The bear of a carriage driver whipped the reigns powerfully to halt the horses (both of which were so large that Zancrow would have to stand on his toes to even touch the tops of their shoulders) and then jumped down, causing a palpable quake beneath Zancrow's feet. Grinning monstrously in what he probably thought was a friendly manner, the carriage driver swung open the door to the carriage, the bottom lip of which was above all of the team members' heads.

As if they were entirely used to this (which, Zancrow reflected, they probably were), Zancrow watched as the Fairy Tail guild wizards all worked as one to lift each other into the vehicle, leaving Zancrow looking rather stupid, standing outside. The carriage driver lifted a massive eyebrow at Zancrow, who immediately jerked into action at his look, trying and failing to quickly lift himself inside in one swift movement.

His legs dangling beneath him, Zancrow struggled to find a foothold to haul himself up with whilst attempting to ignore the other wizards whom he thought were no doubt finding his situation hilarious. Trying and failing to look beneath him to see where the nearest foothold may be, Zancrow suddenly felt a massive push under his feet and with a gasp of surprise, found himself fully inside the carriage, albeit a little shocked. Spinning around and glaring over the lip of the vehicle to scowl at whatever had given him that unwelcome helping hand, Zancrow saw the massive carriage driver looking rather sheepishly up at him, a little embarrassed and clearly unaware aware of his brute strength judging by the force at which he'd shoved Zancrow inside.

Quickly fashioning his scowl into a forced grin, Zancrow turned away from the driver and swiftly shut the door, eager to move on and put that mortifying memory out of his mind as quickly as possible. Sitting down heavily on the nearest seat (which happened to be another small climb to reach), Zancrow leant back and looked out of the window, hearing a snigger emanate from around Natsu's direction. Zancrow did what he thought was the mature thing to do and ignored it, but clearly the expression on his face revealed his true feelings as the snigger turned into a full blown laughing fit.

Feeling rage beginning to bubble in the pit of his stomach, Zancrow turned and fixed Natsu with a steely glare, in no mood to be laughed at any more. However, taking one look at Zancrow's new grouchy expression caused Natsu to point and continue to laugh even harder, his ridiculous manner making even Zancrow's lips curl upwards in a smile.

Wiping his eyes slightly and trying not to look too much at Zancrow, Natsu settled down between his amused teammates and attempted to not draw any more attention to himself. A grin still lingering on his face, Zancrow understood somewhat. Natsu wasn't trying to laugh _at_ him, he was trying to laugh _with_ him. But why would he make the effort to make a scene like that anyway? Why would he want to laugh with his enemy rather than at him? Perhaps… Natsu wanted to be friends after all. Zancrow shook his head vigorously at the thought. Ridiculous! Why on earth would he want to be friends? They were sworn enemies and it would do no good to let his guard down like this. It was probably a ploy by Natsu to weaken his willpower enough that he could eliminate him anyway. Zancrow resumed looking out the window just as he heard the crack of a whip. The sound of hooves and the movement of their carriage soon followed.

Immediately, as if struck by some great invisible force, Natsu slumped in his seat, a small groan escaping his lips, clearly weaker than a new-born child. Whipping his head around to find the source of the groan, Zancrow spotted Natsu in his moment of weakness and completely confused by this display gave Gray a quizzical look, who merely responded with a small smile and a shrug, not offering any sort of information on Natsu's sudden weakness.

Still puzzled but not really wanting to inquire any further, Zancrow simply made himself comfortable in his seat and watched Natsu amusedly, with almost vindictive (yet childish) pleasure. His flying blue cat (Zancrow couldn't really think of any other way to describe it) was now patting Natsu on the head saying 'Poor Natsu, can't travel anywhere…' amidst continuous groans from the pink monster himself.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene, Zancrow once again glanced out of the window, noting that they were now moving along the road at a decent pace. Knowing now that he must have spent many years of his life aboard an airship that was constantly travelling around the country (presumably to avoid detection and capture by the law), Zancrow realised that he was so used to being inside a moving vehicle that he barely even registered that the carriage was moving at all. It was almost inconceivable to him that anyone could have a weakness to travelling – it was such a rooted and ingrained part of himself that he couldn't imagine it being a burden to anyone else. Zancrow, slightly despondent, wondered if the fact that travelling was such an integral part of himself meant that Grimoire Heart really did have a large influence on his life after all. Zancrow eyed Natsu again, perhaps with less scrutiny than he had done previously, and perhaps with more sympathy.

Natsu however, completely distracted by his severe feelings of nausea, took no notice of the way Zancrow was looking at him. In fact, he wasn't taking notice of anything at all except how wretched he felt and how much he wished he had not eaten all that meat this morning. Zancrow felt a small spark of relief within himself. It was somewhat comforting for him to see Natsu in a state of weakness; it gave Natsu a human quality. Searching deep within his own thoughts and feelings as for why that would afford him any sense of relief, Zancrow slowly became aware of the fact that he was slightly frightened of Natsu, and as much as he would love to deny it, he knew it was true. Natsu had all but left Zancrow for dead in their previous fight as far as he was concerned and Zancrow, even though it was unconscious, had not forgotten this. To Zancrow, Natsu was a Dragon Slayer and nothing else – a killer. Seeing him have a chink in his armour like this made Zancrow realise that Natsu really was just like everyone else. Just human.

Placing his chin on this edge of the window-frame, Zancrow then began to question his own humanity. If Natsu was a Dragon Slayer but still just like everyone else, did it matter that he, Zancrow, had demon blood within him? Did it make him any less human or different? Trying to be realistic, Zancrow knew that if he was being honest with himself, yes, the demon blood _did _make him different. It affected his mood, his personality… It was all down there in that little black book. Almost instinctively, Zancrow's hand flew to his trouser pocket to make sure that the notebook was still there, to make sure that it hadn't been lost, stolen even. Feeling the leather cover beneath his trembling fingertips soothed his momentary panic and with a small sigh, Zancrow allowed his tense shoulders to relax. He had been so sure that it was missing.

Due to his brief period of panic, Zancrow had been paying little attention to the rest of his team. Growing curious and wondering if this was a good time to try and appear sociable, Zancrow lifted his chin up from the edge of the window and turned his head to peer at his teammates, vaguely interested in what they might be up to.

Taking in the scene before him, Zancrow saw that Erza and the blonde girl seemed to be trying to have a conversation around a very unwell-looking Natsu, with Gray simply watching the world go by through the window opposite to the one Zancrow had taken to gazing through. The only piece of real movement that made up the sight before him was the blue cat, who had miraculously sprouted a set of wings and was now whirling around their heads, giving a shrill little laugh on occasion. Clearly, Zancrow hadn't missed much.

About to turn back around to focus on the outside world once again, Zancrow, seemingly by chance, happened to catch the blonde girl's eye, and after a split second it became apparent that it was not a pleasant look with which she fixed him with. It was a fearful look and nothing more complex than that. There was no anger in her gaze– she seemed to be more preoccupied with her fright. Zancrow felt himself freeze at her stare, like a deer in front of headlights. The way she looked at him stirred up something within him – she looked at him as if she thought he was truly dangerous, an animal, as if he had no control over his instincts and might attack at any second. Feeling himself shrink back slightly, Zancrow internally questioned what her stare seemed to be accusing him of. Was he really so lacking in control? Was he really so monstrous, something that didn't belong? The more he thought about it, the less Zancrow felt a master of his own body, almost feeling the little control he owned slip away, fear rising in the form of a lump in his throat.

There Zancrow and the girl stayed, both exchanging uneasy looks – the girl fearful of Zancrow, Zancrow fearful of himself. Neither one of them seemed to want to look away, wrapped up in their anxieties, until the sharp sound of laughter jarred them out of their introspection.

In the midst of the suspenseful atmosphere that Zancrow and the girl had conjured up, Natsu had decided that he found the apprehension more amusing than concerning and had expressed his mirth with a loud and growling guffaw. Clearly, Natsu was unperturbed by what Zancrow thought was a rather disturbing exchange of stares.

Thankfully, Natsu's laugh had given Zancrow an excuse to break his eye contact with the blonde-haired girl and secretly, he felt somewhat relieved. Shaking his head slightly to clear it, Zancrow attempted to put wipe the stern look from his face and replaced it with a slight grin, trying to appear friendly and carefree, as if the incident between them had never occurred.

However, a hush had descended upon the wizards, helped none by the fact that the once-cheerful blue cat had now retracted his wings and had settled, almost solemnly, between his magic-using friends. Once again all was quiet and Zancrow did not like silence one bit. In light of the somewhat gloomy situation before him, Zancrow thought now would probably be the most opportune time to speak up and break the stony silence. Perhaps they would all start talking again if he raised a sufficiently interesting topic of conversation.

'I think I remember… something about Steel Wits.'

With an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu, Zancrow watched as all of the gathered wizards (and one cat) simultaneously turned their heads as if one entity to give him a curious, but ultimately mistrustful set of looks. Strangely undisturbed by this reoccurring phenomenon, Zancrow was beginning to recognise and understand the different kinds of responses he was getting to what he said and did. From Natsu, for example, he was getting a rather relaxed vibe but despite his apparent ease his eyes gave him away as defensive and wary – as if he was just waiting for Zancrow to make a move or gesture he found threatening. Despite Natsu's calm-yet-on-edge front, Gray was looking rather apprehensive, fidgeting occasionally, looking out of the window and then back inside the carriage again. Although when Zancrow caught his eye and gave him a small smile, the smile was returned rather warmly. Zancrow was reassured. If Gray had been seriously uncomfortable, he probably wouldn't have taken any notice of Zancrow's presence in his agitation.

The blonde-haired girl looked as uncomfortable as ever but strangely, when Zancrow caught her eye once again she gave him a slightly embarrassed and apologetic smile. It was only a slight curling of her lips, but Zancrow understood. She was sorry. He was sorry about the incident too and indicated this by giving her a minute upturning of his lips himself just before he quickly looked away, mildly abashed.

Remembering with a sudden jolt that everyone was waiting for him to say something, Zancrow realised with a terrible sense of drowning horror that he didn't actually remember anything about Steel Wits at all. In fact, to make matters worse, he'd even lied about knowing who they were – he'd never heard of them before! He'd merely spoken up to say the first thing on his mind in order to keep a conversation going and unfortunately, the first thing on his mind happened to be the mission that was at hand. Resigned to the fact that he was in quite a tight spot, Zancrow decided grimly that he'd gotten himself into this mess and therefore resolved that he was damn well going to get himself out of it.

'I'm very sure…'

He wasn't sure at all, to be perfectly honest, but with an iron fortitude he stoically carried on.

'That Steel Wits was under the command of Grimoire Heart.'

Zancrow had no idea if this was true or not, but it seemed like a reasonable conclusion to make. Grimoire Heart had seemed like a very influential dark guild at its peak of power and Steel Wits seemed less significant. It made sense to Zancrow at least. Silence hung in the air for a second, but then Natsu spoke up.

'Well, how do you know that? Grimoire been telling you all their little secrets?'

Natsu's mildly mocking response angered Zancrow somewhat, but he knew that it would best to keep his rage under wraps. If he lost his temper now, they would be sure to be even more suspicious.

'No, I just kind of…. Knew. It's in Grimoire's area, y'know.'

'I thought Grimoire Heart didn't have a base. They had an airship so that no one could find them.'

Damn it! Why hadn't he thought about that? He even knew that they had an airship! What was wrong with him today? He was usually so good at lying his way out of things…

'Yeah, but different top guilds controlled different lesser guilds in different areas. If you have an area where all the guilds are owned by different top guilds, you end up with an overlap and lot of fighting and arguments between the lessers. And you don't want that if you're trying to stay inconspicuous. So Grimoire would own one main bit of land and would own all the guilds within it and other top dark guilds would do the same. And then the aim would be to expand that land and engulf other guilds or maybe even take over whole top guilds to control their land.'

Zancrow gesticulated rather largely as he spoke, trying to get this complicated concept across to the other wizards. In reality, he had no idea if this was the case – he'd made the whole thing up in about thirty seconds and had even ad-libbed as he was going. It sounded plausible. If _he _was the head of a dark guild, that would certainly be the way he would go about things. But then, Zancrow realised with a heavy heart, he really _was_ a member of a dominant dark guild at one point in his life. Maybe he was so good at lying around this topic because his memories of his past life were leaking through, only hidden just beneath the surface of his conscious thoughts, ready to re-emerge. This thought saddened him slightly, but intrigued him somewhat. Perhaps if he kept talking without thinking, more memories would come to light. Even though Zancrow was fearful of his past life and what horrors it may have involved, his human curiosity could not resist the potential promise of knowledge. Just as he was beginning to open his mouth and attempt to give more details, a new voice raised an important question Zancrow had overlooked.

'If they all fight, then why is there an alliance?'

It was Erza, and she looked sceptical and harshly reserved.

'An… alliance…?'

Zancrow didn't really know what to say to that point. It was such a simple factor, but the finality in Erza's tone made it even harder to respond to. Zancrow wasn't actually aware that there even was an alliance, but even so, it actually made his explanation make even more sense in his opinion. Maybe he really could remember? This gave him a boost of confidence as he took Erza's next question as a challenge.

'Yes, an alliance. Surely an alliance equals tolerance?'

Before Erza had even finished her sentence, Zancrow knew what to say. A little spark of memory. A little flash of what Rustyrose had once told him.

'The Balam Alliance.'

Erza looked as if she was about to challenge his point, so Zancrow swiftly continued.

'What more is there to say than that? The Balam Alliance was… a non-aggression pact.'

Yes! That was it! A non-aggression pact. Which basically meant nothing. It was merely an agreement to not fight as it would bring the top dark guilds to the rest of world's attention. It was more beneficial to lay down an agreement to keep fighting to minimum. It just made all the guilds aware of the troubles a war may cause for their business. Zancrow tried to explain this to the official guild wizards.

'If dark guilds went to war with each other, then the government would take advantage of the opportunity and kill off all the head dark guilds. So the Balam Alliance just makes them aware of the fact that they need to co-exist with each other rather than openly fight. Doesn't stop them from trying to subtly one-up each other though.'

Erza looked unconvinced.

'How do you know all this? I thought your memories of that part of your life were missing.'

'I-it, well, they are…'

Zancrow stammered slightly as he spoke, completely taken by surprise. He'd actually forgotten that they knew about his memory loss. He supposed that allowed him an opportunity to tell the truth, however. At least he wouldn't have to keep lying to keep the conversation going – it was wearing him out trying to search through his memories so deeply.

'I can't necessarily… remember things entirely… But I keep getting little flcikers of memory. The more I speak, the more seems to come through.'

Erza crossed her arms and gave a wry smile.

'I don't believe you.'

Zancrow couldn't believe his ears.

'WHAT?! WHY?!'

Shouldn't it be obvious to them now that he was telling the truth?! After all this time and trying to make friends and…! Zancrow was incredulous and more than a little angry. He thought that the official guild wizards were just beginning to accept him and now Erza so openly tells him that she doesn't trust him?!

Erza's smile widened slightly at Zancrow's outburst.

'About the way a dark guild functions. I don't think you've got it quite right. If relationships between the guilds were really that tentative, surely dark guilds wouldn't last as long as they have done.'

Oh. She wasn't telling him that she didn't trust him. She was arguing against his theory. Zancrow immediately looked down, utterly embarrassed and ashamed at his overreaction. He was getting so carried away with trying to remember his previous life that he completely ignored the possibility that any of his arguments could be wrong in any way. Perhaps as well as his old memories coming through, his old, egotistical personality was seeping into his current mindset also. Zancrow, aware of this, attempted to beat down that old personality and tried to be himself. Whatever 'himself' was.

'Oh, well… I think the head dark guilds would reign by fear. That's how they kept everybody in check. No one would dare to go against them.'

Zancrow wasn't entirely sure about this either but the memory just seemed to be there, embedded deeply in his mind, already fully formed. But after his flare-up, Zancrow was hyper-aware of his attitude and added a more modest and honest 'I think' to the beginning of his point.

'I still don't think it's true. I think it's more likely that the Balam Alliance is a lot friendlier with each other than we initially thought.'

Still slightly heated from his outburst, Zancrow hurriedly stomped down his temper and considered her point. It still didn't make sense to him, no matter in what manner she worded it.

'I don't know… The Balam Alliance ruled by fear and aggression. I really don't believe that they could ever truly be friendly and yet be separate organisations.'

'Well, should we agree to disagree? And perhaps by arguing our separate perspectives we may become closer to the truth. And in the end, that's what we all want in order to fight back against these groups.'

Zancrow nodded slowly, wondering why she was holding this conversation with him at all. Maybe this was Erza's way of making friends? It was true what she claimed – Zancrow, too, wanted to fight against the dark guilds. They had caused so much pain and trouble it seemed the only reasonable thing to do. Perhaps by taking part in this argument he was doing some form of good for the world? That felt strange and different. He was supposed to be a dark wizard – a killing machine, hell-bent on megalomania and control. It seemed almost inconceivable that he could even consider doing anything positive for the world unless it directly benefitted him. He truly was a different man now.

Settling back into his seat, much more at ease now, Zancrow casually continued his argument with Erza as they rumbled along the unmarked path, leading them closer and closer to their next battle.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you all soon in the next one!<strong>_


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