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[FT: O King of the Fairies] Chapter 65
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 11:12:27 +0000 UTCOne year later.
X775
The guild was lively tonight. Laughter and drunken chatter echoed through Fairy Tail’s hall, tankards clashing together in celebration of another round of completed missions. Somewhere across the room, Macao and Wakaba were loudly arguing over who had the worst taste in women. Near the bar, Cana was working through her latest barrel of juice, while Laxus, sitting with his arms crossed, muttered under his breath about how obnoxious they all were.
Everything seemed normal. Peaceful, even.
But my eyes weren’t on them. They were on Ur.
She sat at one of the center tables, surrounded by a few guildmates. A grin tugged at her lips as she listened to Gildarts retelling one of his exaggerated adventure stories. Every now and then, she laughed along with the others, knocking back her drink like she didn’t have a single worry in the world.
But I saw it—the way her fingers would briefly tighten around her mug, the moments she grew quiet as if lost in thought. The way her eyes flickered with something distant, something she hadn’t voiced out loud.
I knew exactly what was on her mind.
She was thinking about her daughter.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed as I observed. She had been here for a while now, long enough to settle into the guild, to become part of the madness that was Fairy Tail. But some wounds didn’t heal just because time passed. Some remained like ghosts, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise again.
And tonight, I could tell—her ghost was closer than ever.
“You’re staring,” Alma’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned my head to see her sitting beside me, one brow raised.
I scoffed. “No, I’m not.”
Alma rolled her eyes. “Please. I know your ‘thinking face’ when I see it.” She took a sip from her drink, then nudged me lightly. “What’s got you so distracted?”
I could’ve lied. I could’ve brushed it off with some sarcastic remark, but it was Alma. She would see right through me.
I exhaled. “Ur.”
She followed my gaze, observing the woman in question. Ur was now laughing again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Alma frowned.
“She’s been like this a lot lately,” I murmured. “Even when she’s smiling, she’s somewhere else.”
Alma was quiet for a moment, as if considering her next words carefully. “She still blames herself, doesn’t she?”
I nodded.
“I can’t really blame her,” she admitted. “Even if it’s not her fault, guilt like that doesn’t just… go away.”
I glanced at her. “Yeah.”
Alma set her drink down, sighing. “You want to do something about it, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer right away.
She already knew the answer, anyway.
I never could leave things alone when I saw someone struggling—especially when I knew I could do something about it.
“I don’t think I should be the one to step in,” I admitted. “Not yet.”
Alma gave me a knowing look. “But you’re still watching over her.”
I shrugged. “Can’t help it.”
She smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You really are terrible at minding your own business.”
“Part of my charm,” I said with a smirk.
Before Alma could respond, a loud crash erupted from across the room.
“DAMN IT, JELLAL, YOU CHEATED!”
I turned just in time to see Gray, looking thoroughly pissed off, lunging at Jellal. A playing card fluttered onto the table between them—apparently, the arm-wrestling match they’d been having wasn’t the only competition they were involved in tonight.
Jellal, utterly unfazed, smirked. “It’s called strategy.”
Gray growled. “IT’S CALLED CHEATING!”
The guild instantly erupted into chaos.
Alma sighed, rubbing her temples. “Gods, they never stop.”
“Wouldn’t be Fairy Tail if they did,” I muttered.
I looked back toward Ur, expecting to see her rolling her eyes at the sudden fight—but instead, I saw her getting up. She set down her drink, muttering something to Gildarts before walking toward the back of the guild hall, away from the noise.
My brows furrowed.
This wasn’t just me imagining things anymore.
Something was on her mind.
Gildarts watched her go, his expression shifting ever so slightly—concern flickering in his eyes. He sighed, taking a sip of his drink before shaking his head.
“Damn,” he muttered. “She’s really not good at hiding when something’s eating at her, huh?”
I stepped closer. “She say something to you?”
Gildarts glanced up at me, then back at the direction Ur had gone. “Not really. Just said she needed some air.” He paused, swirling the drink in his tankard. “But I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.”
Alma, who had followed me, crossed her arms. “Do you think she’s okay?”
Gildarts sighed. “She’s strong. Stronger than most. But…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “Some things, even the strongest people don’t just shake off.”
I nodded slowly.
Ur had always carried herself like someone who could handle anything the world threw at her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own battles.
And right now, I had a feeling she was fighting one.
I turned to Alma. “I’m gonna go check on her.”
Alma didn’t look surprised. She just nodded. “Go.”
Gildarts smirked. “Look at you, playing the caring guildmate.”
I shot him a flat look. “Shut up.”
He chuckled, raising his drink. “Hey, no judgment. Just saying—you’re not as much of a lone wolf as you pretend to be.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away, heading toward the back of the guild hall where Ur had disappeared.
Whatever was on her mind, I had a feeling this wasn’t just something she could drink away.
—
I found Ur in the guild’s archive room, flipping through a stack of old reports.
The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of lacrima lamps casting long shadows over the shelves. It was quiet here—far removed from the rowdiness of the main hall. Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed only by the slow movements of Ur’s fingers as she sifted through parchment after parchment.
She barely glanced up when I stepped inside.
“Figured you’d follow me,” she murmured.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorway. “You’re acting weird.”
She snorted. “And you’re nosy.”
“Part of my charm,” I shot back.
Ur exhaled through her nose, shaking her head as she continued scanning the documents in front of her. I stepped further into the room, noting the way her shoulders tensed slightly—like she wasn’t sure she wanted company but wasn’t about to push me away either.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
Ur didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she slid a parchment across the table toward me. I picked it up, scanning the contents. It was an old report—one of Fairy Tail’s many records of past missions. The details were typical at first. A raid on a dark guild. Rescued captives. But then, one section caught my attention.
Rescue operation. Survivors retrieved from the Bureau of Magical Development's destruction after an attack. This includes many young girls and boys, possessing immense magic power, taken as an experiment. The Bureau faces backlash.
I stilled.
Ur finally looked up at me, her expression unreadable. Her fingers curled into fists.
“This was the place,” she said, voice tight. “The place where I left her.”
I didn’t need to ask who she meant.
Ultear.
“They told me she died there.” Ur’s hands clenched tighter, the parchment beneath her fingers crumpling slightly. “They told me it was too late. That there was nothing to be done.” She shook her head, her jaw tightening. “And now I find this?”
She gestured sharply to the report, frustration evident in the tension of her frame. I could see it—the war in her mind. The part of her that wanted to believe it. The part of her that was terrified to.
“Ur…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “If there’s even a chance—”
“I spent years convincing myself she was gone.” Her voice was low, almost too quiet to hear. “That I had to accept it. That holding onto hope would just hurt more.” She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head.
Silence stretched between us. I stayed still, letting her process. Then, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall outside the archive room. A moment later, Gildarts appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed.
“Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “this is an odd little gathering.”
Ur groaned. “What do you want, Gildarts?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said, stepping inside. “You disappeared from the party, and now I find you both here, looking way too serious for a normal night.” He glanced at the table, then at the parchment in my hands. His smirk faded slightly. “Something going on?”
Ur didn’t speak right away. She just stood there, gripping the parchment like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her breathing was shallow, controlled—but the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers clenched, the way she refused to look at either of us—it all told me exactly what was happening.
She was breaking.
Gildarts must’ve noticed too because his usual easygoing demeanor faded. He crossed his arms, watching her carefully. “Alright. What’s going on?”
Ur exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “You remember when I told you I had a daughter?”
I stilled.
Gildarts’ expression shifted. “…Yeah. I remember.”
Ur finally looked at us. “Her name was Ultear.”
Was.
The way she said it—past tense, final—made my chest tighten.
Ur pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, resting her elbows on the table. “When she was born, she was sick. She had immense magic power, but her body couldn’t handle it. I thought…” She trailed off, then let out a bitter chuckle. “I thought I was doing the right thing. The doctors told me there was a place that could help. The Bureau of Magical Development. They specialized in magic-related illnesses. I was desperate, so I took her there.”
I already knew this story. But I didn’t say anything.
Gildarts stayed quiet too, listening.
Ur’s fingers curled against the wooden table. “They told me she died. That she didn’t make it.” Her voice was cold, detached—like she had told herself this story a thousand times just to make it bearable.
Gildarts sighed. “Ur…”
“I believed them.” She let out a shaky breath. “I grieved. I tried to move on.”
Silence settled between us.
“When I took down the Tower of Heaven… when I was rescuing the kids there…” I hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “I felt a magic—one that was identical to yours.”
It was a lie. But a necessary one to help Ur.
Gildarts frowned. “What?”
“I didn’t think much of it at the time,” I said. “But there was a presence—someone powerful, watching from the shadows. And the magic I felt from them… it was eerily similar to yours, Ur.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.
“And now we find this?” I gestured to the report. “The Bureau was destroyed. Survivors were rescued. Kids with immense magic power.” I met her gaze. “If Ultear was taken… if she survived… then it’s possible she was one of them.”
Ur’s fingers dug into the table. “If she’s alive,” she murmured, “then that means they lied.”
Her jaw tightened. “That means she was stolen from me.”
Gildarts let out a slow breath. “What do you want to do?”
Ur exhaled, steadying herself.
Then she opened her eyes.
And for the first time in this entire conversation, she didn’t look lost. She didn’t look uncertain.
She looked determined.
“Find her.”
Ur leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her fingers curled tightly against the wood, knuckles white. She exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady herself, then finally spoke.
“I need your help.”
Her voice was firm, but I could hear everything beneath it—the hesitation, the vulnerability, the weight of what she was asking. Ur wasn’t the type to lean on others. She was the one people relied on, the one who carried burdens without complaint.
For her to say this out loud meant she was already at her limit.
Gildarts didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
Ur blinked, like she hadn’t expected him to answer so easily.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “What, you thought you had to convince me?” His voice softened just slightly. “You’re not alone in this, Ur. You never were.”
She swallowed, looking away. “...Thanks.”
I leaned back against the table, crossing my arms. “You already know my answer.”
Ur huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”
There was a beat of silence. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to.
For the first time since I’d walked into this room, some of the tension in her shoulders loosened.
—
Far from Fairy Tail, in the depths of an unknown stronghold, a lone figure sat in the darkness.
The room was silent, save for the occasional drip of water echoing through the stone halls. The air was cold, stale, and thick with the remnants of dark magic—magic that clung to the walls like a disease.
Ultear Milkovich sat curled in the corner of her chamber, her arms wrapped around her knees. The dim glow of an enchanted torch cast flickering shadows across her face, making her look even smaller than she already was.
She was only eleven.
And yet, she had long stopped feeling like a child.
Her dark eyes, sharp beyond her years, stayed locked on the torch, but her mind was far from here. It drifted back—always back—to the same place. The same question.
Why did you leave me?
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeves.
You told me you loved me. You told me I was your daughter. But when I cried for you, you never came.
They told her Ur abandoned her. That she moved on.
At first, Ultear refused to believe it. She clung to the idea that her mother would come for her. That this was just a mistake. A misunderstanding.
But years passed.
And Ur never came.
Instead, she found new children. New apprentices.
Ultear clenched her fists.
Lyon. Gray.
She had seen them.
Ur had taken them in, trained them, cared for them. She smiled at them the way she used to smile at Ultear.
She didn’t even look for her.
Ultear’s nails dug into her palm, the sting grounding her rage.
So that’s how it is, huh?
She had been thrown away. Replaced. Forgotten.
A twisted smile tugged at her lips.
Fine.
She didn’t need a mother.
She didn’t need anyone.
The heavy clang of an iron lock jolted her from her thoughts.
The chamber door groaned open, and a tall figure stepped inside.
Hades.
His piercing red eyes studied her from across the room. “You’re thinking about her again.”
Ultear said nothing.
Hades stepped forward, his presence suffocating, his voice smooth and controlled. “Hate fuels strength, Ultear. But hesitation? Regret?” He shook his head. “Those are chains that will keep you weak.”
Ultear forced herself to breathe evenly. She knew what he wanted to hear.
“I don’t regret anything.”
Hades smiled faintly. “Good.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, just as he turned to leave—
“You have no use for the past, Ultear. Your future belongs to us now. And if you nurture your power, one day…” He paused, glancing back at her. “You’ll have the strength to destroy everything that betrayed you.”
The door slammed shut.
Ultear remained still.
Her heartbeat was steady. Her mind was clear.
Destroy everything that betrayed me…
Her lips parted slightly, a breathless whisper escaping into the cold air.
“Even her.”
The torchlight flickered.
