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[FT: O King of the Fairies] Chapter 58
🕑 Added 2025-04-01 13:40:31 +0000 UTCI stood amid the ruins, the weight of what had happened settling in my chest. My fingers twitched, instincts screaming that the fight wasn’t over, but the truth was worse.
The real damage had already been done.
And then I saw them.
The missing Fairy Tail members.
Their bodies lay in the rubble, motionless. Expressions frozen in terror, as if their souls had been ripped away mid-scream.
They shouldn’t have died.
Not like this. Not here. Not now.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at their bodies. It wasn’t just grief weighing on my chest—it was something worse.
Guilt.
They weren’t supposed to be dead. If I had been there—if I had moved faster, if I had made a different choice—this wouldn’t have happened.
But it wasn’t just that.
This world… It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The Fairy Tail I remembered—the one from the anime, the one from the manga—was filled with hardship, yeah. But it wasn’t a world where nameless guildmates died like this. Where people I knew, people I trained with, fought beside, drank with, laughed with, ended up as corpses on a stone floor.
This… this wasn’t supposed to happen.
And yet, it did. Because I was here.
The eldritch creature. The battle. The way it spoke. Oberon, Master of the Celestial Inventory. A thief wearing a king’s crown…
It wasn’t just talking about my power. It was talking about something more.
Something before me.
The Inventory—it wasn’t mine to begin with.
I thought it was some overpowered cheat, some cosmic jackpot I lucked into. But that thing knew about it. It spoke like it had been watching. Like it had been waiting.
And now, I was wondering…
Was I the first?
If there was a previous master—someone before me, someone who held this power—what the hell happened to them?
Because if the Inventory could make someone omnipotent… then why wasn’t its last wielder still here?
I exhaled, slow and sharp.
That was a question for later.
Right now, I had to fix this.
I could feel Alma’s gaze on me. She didn’t know about the Inventory, but she knew me. She knew I was about to cross a line I could never uncross.
And still, I made my choice.
I reached into the Inventory—searching, pulling—until my fingers wrapped around something divine.
Something that could rewrite fate itself.
I pulled the artifact from the Celestial Inventory.
It hummed in my grip—cold, weightless, yet thrumming with an overwhelming presence. Reality bent around it, space rippling as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
The Hand of Divine Reversal.
An artifact beyond magic, beyond logic. A relic that could defy death itself.
I stared at it, my fingers tightening around its smooth, gilded surface.
This was it.
The line I swore I’d never cross.
I could hear my own thoughts screaming at me. This isn’t how things are supposed to be. This world has rules. Death has meaning.
But my grip didn’t loosen.
Because the truth was, I didn’t care.
Rules didn’t matter. Meaning didn’t matter. Not when they were dead because of me.
I knelt, placing the artifact between them. The moment it touched the ground, golden circuits flared across the surface, tracing intricate patterns into the stone. The air grew thick, humming with something ancient—something absolute.
This wasn’t magic.
This was a command.
The universe had no choice but to obey.
I exhaled slowly. "Bring them back."
The Hand of Divine Reversal activated.
Light erupted, blinding and pure, swallowing the chamber whole. A force unlike anything I’d ever felt surged outward, pressing against my skin, warping the very fabric of existence.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then—
A gasp.
Choking, ragged breaths filled the air as bodies lurched, lungs dragging in air that had been denied to them. Eyes fluttered open, wide with confusion and horror.
They were alive.
I did it.
But as the golden light dimmed, a single thought lodged itself deep in my mind.
If I wasn’t the first Master of the Inventory…
Then maybe I wasn’t the first to do this either.
I watched as they gasped for air, eyes wide with confusion, bodies trembling as life surged back into them. Relief should have washed over me.
It didn’t.
Because I knew what I had just done.
The Celestial Inventory had no limits. I did.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t bring back the dead. I could. I could do it as many times as I wanted. I could reach into the fabric of reality and tear them back from the abyss as if death was nothing but an inconvenience.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew there were consequences.
Not some cosmic punishment. Not some divine backlash.
The world had rules, and I had always tried to respect them. Death was a part of life. If I treated it like an inconvenience—if I started reversing it like it was nothing—I’d be tearing apart the natural order piece by piece until there was nothing left of it.
That was why I never did this.
That was why I always held back.
But this was different.
They shouldn’t have died. They weren’t supposed to. Their deaths weren’t fate’s mistake or some tragic accident. They were killed because of me—because of my presence, because of the horrors that followed me into this world.
I had tried. Despite the ripples my existence caused, I had done everything I could to save as many as possible. I wasn’t a saint, I knew that. I couldn’t afford to revive everyone I met.
But this wasn’t just anyone. This was family.
These were Fairy Tail mages—the people who had stood beside me, fought beside me. The people who had bled for me. If I had to break something to bring them back, if I had to shatter some unseen balance—then so be it.
I thought back to the battle against the Fallen. It had been chaotic, and yet, because I was there, because I had interfered—because of the Senzu Beans—not a single one of my guildmates had died. I had ensured it.
I had gotten lucky that time.
Now, standing here, looking at their lifeless bodies, I realized luck had run out.
And if the universe demanded a price for what I was about to do?
Let it come.
Because I was selfish like that.
The Hand of Divine Reversal dimmed, its golden glow fading as it retreated back into the Celestial Inventory. The air still crackled with residual energy, the aftershock of a command that the universe had no choice but to obey.
Behind me, I heard Alma’s hesitant footsteps approaching.
I didn’t turn.
Because for the first time, I had crossed a line I swore I never would.
And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to go back.
Alma stopped a few steps behind me. I could feel her gaze on my back, heavy with unspoken questions.
She had seen what I’d done. She knew.
But she didn’t know how.
The others were still coming to their senses, coughing, trembling, eyes darting around like they couldn’t believe they were still here. Alive. Breathing.
I forced out a breath, my fingers tightening at my sides. The weight of what I’d done wasn’t leaving. If anything, it was settling deeper, pressing against my ribs.
Because the moment I started deciding who lived and who died, the moment I started playing with the threads of fate like they were mine to weave…
I wouldn’t stop.
I knew myself too well.
And yet, tonight, I had broken my own rule.
Alma finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "...Aiden?"
I exhaled slowly. "They're safe now."
She hesitated. "What did you do?"
I turned to face her, meeting her gaze. There was no fear in her eyes. No judgment. Just a quiet demand for the truth.
I could have lied. Made up some excuse, some half-truth.
But after what I had just done, after the lines I had just crossed—
Lying to her felt like the one line I couldn’t cross.
So I just said, "I fixed my mistake."
A flicker of something passed through her eyes. She didn’t press further. Not yet.
But I knew she would.
And I had no idea what I was going to tell her.
Suddenly.
The world stopped.
The wind halted mid-gust. Leaves hung in the air, unmoving. The distant voices of the revived Fairy Tail members fell silent, as if time itself had held its breath.
And then, they appeared.
Two figures materialized before me, their presence suffocating—not in power, but in concept.
One was an old man draped in silver robes, his long, white beard seeming to flow like sand through an hourglass. Just standing near him made me feel like ages were passing in an instant.
Chronos. The God of Time.
The other was a shrouded figure, his face hidden beneath a deep hood, his very form shifting between existence and nonexistence. The air around him was thick with the essence of decay and inevitability.
Ankhseram. The God of Life and Death.
I narrowed my eyes. Well… this is new.
They shouldn’t be here.
Gods didn’t just appear for mortals—not unless something had gone horribly wrong.
Chronos was the first to speak, his voice like a ticking clock given form.
“You have done something… troublesome, Aiden Leonhart.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah? You’ll have to be more specific.”
Chronos’s eyes glowed like shifting sands. “You have rewound time. That is my domain.”
Ankhseram’s voice was a whisper that echoed as if spoken by a thousand lost souls. “And you have revived the dead. That is mine.”
I exhaled through my nose. “So what? You’re here to punish me?”
Chronos shook his head. “No.”
Ankhseram tilted his head. “We are here to warn you.”
That… made me pause.
They weren’t hostile. They weren’t throwing around divine authority or making threats.
Which meant… they were being careful.
They know.
They knew exactly what kind of monster they were talking to.
Chronos stepped forward. “We know what you are, Aiden. What you are capable of.”
Ankhseram’s hollow voice followed. “You are no ordinary mortal. You wield a power that surpasses even us.”
That caught me off guard. That much?
For gods to outright admit their inferiority…
They weren’t here to warn me about breaking their rules.
They were here to ask me not to.
I resisted the smirk threatening to pull at my lips. “So, what’s the issue?”
Chronos’s expression remained unreadable. “You must not interfere with the natural order.”
Ankhseram’s presence darkened. “Life and death must remain balanced. Time must flow as it should. If you continue to reverse what is absolute, the fabric of the world may unravel.”
I tilted my head. “You say that, but I’ve been pretty damn careful.”
Chronos’s gaze sharpened. “And yet, you have already drawn our attention.”
I clicked my tongue. Right. That part.
I sighed. “Look… I get it. Really, I do. I don’t like using revival or time manipulation either. But this?” I gestured to the battlefield, to the revived mages in the distance.
“This was an exception.”
Ankhseram’s aura pulsed. “Explain.”
I met his unseen gaze without flinching. “An eldritch horror broke into Earthland.”
Both gods stilled.
Chronos frowned. “That… is troubling.”
Ankhseram’s voice was quieter. “A being from beyond our realm…”
I nodded. “I fought it. Killed it. But it wasn’t supposed to be here. And the only reason it came?” My expression darkened.
“It was drawn to me.”
Chronos closed his eyes, processing the revelation.
Ankhseram exhaled, his voice a whisper of realization. “Then these mortals… perished as collateral.”
I clenched my fists. “Yeah. And that’s why I broke the rules. I’m the reason they died. If I had done nothing, I’d be no better than that monster.”
The gods exchanged glances.
Chronos’s form shimmered, the weight of millennia of time swirling around him. “Your reasoning is sound. You are no fool who abuses power without thought.”
Ankhseram regarded me for a long moment. “This is… acceptable.”
I raised a brow. “So that’s it? No divine punishment? No curses?”
Chronos shook his head. “No. You have justified your actions. We do not interfere with those who do not recklessly defy us.”
Ankhseram’s form flickered. “But understand this, Aiden Leonhart. If you abandon your restraint… if you become one who revives on a whim or bends time freely…”
Chronos’s voice finished the thought.
“Then we will return.”
I smirked. “Fair enough.”
I never intended to abuse those powers in the first place.
Just as Ankhseram’s form began to fade, I spoke.
“There’s one more thing.”
The god of life and death stopped. His presence flickered, like a candle caught in an unseen wind.
I met the empty void beneath Ankhseram’s hood.
“Zeref.”
Silence. The weight of the name itself seemed to still the air. Even Chronos, who had been prepared to leave, turned slightly, listening.
“I know about your curse,” I continued. “About what you did to him.” My expression hardened.
“And I’m telling you now—I plan to break it.”
Ankhseram didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his form rippled, as if struggling to decide something. For a god, emotions weren’t simple. They weren’t like a mortal’s fleeting thoughts. They were concepts.
And right now, I could feel the contradiction warring within Ankhseram.
A god shouldn’t care about a single mortal. Shouldn’t hesitate over a punishment they enacted long ago.
And yet.
“…That is not something easily done,” Ankhseram finally said, his voice quieter than before.
I smirked. “Good thing I don’t do ‘easy.’”
Another pause. The divine presence around us shifted. I wasn’t sure if it was sorrow, guilt, or something else.
Then Ankhseram spoke again.
“…It has been centuries.” His form seemed to lighten, just slightly. “His suffering has lasted long enough.”
My smirk faded, replaced by something more serious. “So you’re not stopping me?”
“No.”
I blinked. I had expected resistance, divine intervention—something. But Ankhseram simply regarded me with that unknowable gaze.
“Break the curse… if you will.”
And then, just like that—he was gone.
I stood there for a moment, exhaling slowly. Huh.
The god of life and death had just given me permission to defy him.
And all because he knew one simple truth—I could do it anytime I wanted.
Then—
Time lurched forward.
The flames flickered. The dust resumed its descent. Alma’s voice carried through the air as if nothing had happened.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as the world around me slowly resumed its natural flow. The moment the gods vanished, time snapped back into place like a rubber band. The weight of divine presence faded, leaving only the lingering sensation of something otherworldly having just stood in this space.
As if they had never been there at all.
But I knew better.
I knew this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
