Rogue Cheney x Reader

Chapter 44: The Things We've Discovered (FINALE)

{see end of chapter for author's notes ; this chapter is divided into parts because i had taken my liberties with this finale; enjoy :>}

previously, on: "Chapter 43: The Things We've Lost"

Strangely, you feel as if you lost something- as Natsu passes you by without a greeting, breathing far too heavily, leaving footsteps far too loud; as the building of Fairy Tail's guild, a true rarity of a being that stands unwavering amidst everything crashing in their executions, but even through it's golden elusiveness, it squeaks under the strain of one too many unhinged materials, of one too many blows, of damage far too severe for its newness to withstand.

You look at a pair of doors, and then the pair of past lovers that lay behind it.

xx

the things we've discovered, part i: how the trumpets of war, among other instruments, came to ishgar.

Clouds are shrouding us (in moments unforgettable),

Atop a hill, nearby an edifice now ground so closely to the land that its foundations kneel like torrent, you stood alone. The top of Magnolia was fierce, lonely, quiet except for the struggling of the wind and the fleeting breaths of the dying building.

The building was simple by the front that barely stood on its own bases, made of stone and brick and wood and everything else the elements could not defeat; the shadows to work hard to conquer in the invasion of nighttime solitude. It made a noise if you knocked on the material, though you did not dare to, not with a stray beam of wood overhead peering so intently at the back of your head like familiars, with sin for hide and emeralds for eyes, that guard the gates to the witch's cauldron.

There were no hunchbacked witches that lay forth, nor a cauldron powdered with dirt at the bottom and pouring malediction at the top. Only a ring of cherry blossom petals that pass you by with a giggle you feel you were not made to hear.

The sides of the building were straight-cut, meant to make you feel little and not as powerful, and it would have given that effect if it were not lying in shambles and bits you have to cross your legs to step over. The shingles curled up towards an undefined sun, some time between a dewy morning sticky with false hope and a restful evening completed with meals of rations and withdrawals of hands; inspired by a culture that belonged to the country, homage to a being that controlled more prominently than any deity small collections believed in.

A flag flies against rough wind, unseen from far away, too ruined to be admired up close. You haven't glanced at it often, but you don't have to. You know what it is already.

This was the home of Fairy Tail, an insignia dissimilar to the one you bear on your body, that begins to itch without a reason when you think too deeply about it. This was the home of Fairy Tail, and you, intruder from Sabertooth, did not belong.

It is here you hear the very first howl of a dragon.

It is a loathsome noise.

(The howl of a dragon, what they are identified by besides the pieces of scales that come and go with age, is a loathsome noise. A roar so booming, thunder could never best it, so mighty, warriors can never compare. You cover your ears with fitted hands, not because you wish for it to cease, but because you are fearful. 

These are great creatures, known only through text in historical prose, born of a time when humans were new and without knowledge except for what their eyes use to terrorize the dreamworld with. These were powerful creatures, kings of the land, before even monarchy had come to invention; kings now could only dream, only wish, with glasses of wine and hands too nobly rich to ever learn to properly fight, to be a sixteenth of a fraction as powerful as these creatures past with unchanging eyes and effortless exertion of power.)