Chapter 2: Gajeel Lionheart
Phantom Lord.
It was one of the many guilds scattered across the Kingdom of Fiore, yet it was one of the select few whose name alone carried absolute weight.
People whispered that Phantom Lord possessed magic of overwhelming density—not merely in raw power, but in sheer quantity. It was an empire of mages, resources, knowledge, and influence.
It was an organization whose foundations were built not on the warm ideals of unity, but on cold, unyielding dominance.
The guild hall loomed like a massive beast at rest.
The interior resembled a rough, subterranean pub—a lawless haven where discipline was entirely optional and strength spoke much louder than manners. Heavy wooden tables were scattered across the hall, paired with long, worn benches scarred by years of violent brawls. Above them, massive wooden beams crossed the ceiling like exposed ribs.
Lanterns hung from the iron rafters, their dim, flickering glow stretching long shadows across the hall—shadows that clung to the stone walls and pooled darkly beneath the tables.
At the entrance stood a single, nameless boy.
'So this… is my new home,' Albion thought quietly, observing the room. 'It resembles chaos.'
Still, his expression did not change.
The boy possessed medium-length black hair, smooth and untouched by any attempt at style. It framed his face naturally, rendering him entirely unremarkable—until one looked directly into his eyes.
Fuchsia.
They were a vivid, reddish-pink hue, ringed and unnaturally sharp against his otherwise gentle, fragile appearance. They carried a heavy, ancient weight far beyond his five years of life.
He wore a deep purple hoodie, loose and soft, its sleeves extending well past his wrists, paired with simple black trousers. He wore no shoes. His bare feet were pressed flat against the cold wooden floor.
'Guilds function as businesses,' he recalled. 'They accept requests. They earn jewels. In essence… it is a profession.'
A sudden, earth-shattering roar fractured his train of thought. Near one of the reinforced stone pillars, a massive crowd had formed. A loose ring of rowdy mages were shouting, betting, and laughing raucously as coins slammed onto the tables.
"What—seriously? That's it?" a boy's voice jeered from the center. "That's all you grown-ups got?"
Around the speaker, grown men lay sprawled across the floor—unconscious, bleeding, and brutally beaten.
'They are all adults,' Albion noted, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The figure in the center was a kid with long, thick, jaggedly spiked hair falling down to his upper back. His eyes were a piercing red. Not a human red, but something sharp, slitted, and dangerous.
Iron studs lined his face and body. Three sat above each eye, forming artificial metallic brows.
"Even at nine years old, Lionheart stands," someone in the crowd muttered in awe.
The wild boy inhaled deeply through his nose, catching a scent in the air. His expression shifted.
"…Huh," Gajeel muttered, his brow furrowing. "That's weird." He turned his head slowly, scanning the rowdy hall. His red eyes locked squarely onto the boy with the fuchsia gaze.
"Yo." He jerked his chin forward, stepping over a groaning adult. "You."
Albion stepped through the parting crowd calmly, arriving at the center of the ring.
'He… isn't much older than I am.'
Gajeel pointed a thumb at his own chest.
"Name's Gajeel Lionheart." Then, he pointed his finger directly at Albion. "So," he said casually, his slitted eyes sharpening. "Who—or what—the hell are you?"
A storm of rowdy voices instantly erupted from the surrounding mages.
"Fight! Fight!"
"Ten Jewels says the new brat bleeds first!"
Albion ignored the noise. He lowered his head slightly, answering with a measured, polite calm.
"My name is Albion Ebonveil. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. As for my classification… I am an average five-year-old child."
His tone was flawless. His internal thoughts, however, were not.
'These people take genuine joy in hurting others. They are hollow.'
"That's not what I'm asking!" Gajeel snapped, leaning forward with an aggressive posture. "Your scent is off. Way off. It doesn't match anyone else in this place." He paused, sniffing the air once more. "…Are you even human?"
Albion maintained his neutral expression, raising a single eyebrow. "Are you saying that I am an animal?"
Gajeel shrugged carelessly. "Honestly? No damn idea." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, guess that makes you the only other kid in this dump besides me, huh?"
"I suppose so," Albion replied mildly. "I only joined this guild recently." His gaze drifted downward, taking in the bruised adults littering the floor. "…Did you cause all of this?"
Gajeel nodded proudly. "Yeah. So what?" He scoffed. "They were chumps. Weak as hell. You can't seriously call those guys fighters, right?"
"I wouldn't know," Albion answered honestly. "I have never engaged in a fight before. Tell me, Gajeel… why is it that you fight?"
A wide, wild grin split Gajeel's face. "Why? Because I like it. Straight up, I fight for the pure love of the game." He flicked his wrist. "Oh—and don't worry. I didn't even use my magic on 'em. They'll wake up eventually."
'He defeated grown men with nothing but his bare fists,' Albion realized, his chest tightening.
"Magic?" Albion turned his head slightly.
Gajeel blinked in utter disbelief. "Wait—seriously? You don't know what magic is?"
"I am afraid I have only heard the term used for the first time today. Tell me, does this place possess a library? If so, I would appreciate being shown its location."
Gajeel chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, we got one. But I can't just give away handouts. In this guild, your place is earned. Strength talks. You feel me?"
Albion exhaled a slow, heavy breath. "I was hoping you would not say that." His voice remained incredibly polite, almost regretful. "I am not fond of violence. Should I fight, I would only do so reluctantly, as I do not wish to inflict harm." He paused, looking at the surrounding crowd. "…However, it seems I do not currently possess a choice."
The wild grin crept right back onto Gajeel's face. "Didn't you just say you don't wanna fight? Sounds kinda hypocritical, doesn't it?"
"I said I would prefer not to," Albion corrected calmly. "Not that I am incapable. You and I, Gajeel. Let's throw hands."
Gajeel's grin widened, absolutely delighted by the nerve of the smaller boy. "Heh. Oh, you're messed up. That's crazy. I like that. I really, really like that."
The fight exploded in an instant.
Albion kicked off the floor, his bare feet skimming the wood as he circled Gajeel in a wide, rapid arc.
"Oh?" Gajeel tilted his head, his eyes tracking the movement. "Didn't expect that speed."
Albion pivoted hard on his heel and shot forward like an arrow. He threw a clean, textbook straight jab. Gajeel slipped it by a hair. Another jab followed. Then another. Albion pressed the offensive, his fists snapping forward in rapid, disciplined succession while keeping his footwork tight.
Gajeel weaved through the barrage, his feral grin stretching wider with every miss.
"Damn," Gajeel laughed, thoroughly entertained. "You ain't scared to get in close, are you?"
"I do not care what you like," Albion replied flatly. He shifted his weight, his hips twisting fluidly as he whipped out a sharp roundhouse kick.
This time, Gajeel didn't dodge. His hand clamped down around Albion's leg like an iron vice.
"A textbook roundhouse," Gajeel evaluated casually, holding the boy aloft. "But you gotta commit to the kill."
The back of Gajeel's knuckles slammed brutally into Albion's jaw. The sheer impact lifted Albion completely off the ground. Before gravity could pull him back down, Gajeel bent his knees and launched himself upward, twisting midair with the speed of a striking viper. His body snapped like a heavy whip.
A devastating spinning kick sent Albion hurtling across the hall. He hit the floor hard, rolling violently across the wood as splinters jumped loose from the floorboards.
Albion coughed violently, clutching his ribs as his breath came in ragged, agonizing pulls.
'His physical strength is abnormal. Two strikes… and I have taken this much damage.'
Pain exploded in his side, blinding and hot.
"Oi!" a rowdy guild member barked, stepping forward and kicking Albion hard in the stomach. "I didn't bet my jewels to watch a toddler get folded in five seconds!" The man reeled back, delivering another cruel kick. "Get up, brat!"
Before the man's third kick could connect, a massive iron club smashed directly into his chest, launching him completely across the grand hall. The man crashed into a heavy wooden table, shattering it to splinters upon impact before going still.
The hall fell into a dead silence.
The iron weapon retracted seamlessly, flowing back into Gajeel's arm as the metal peeled away like liquid steel, exposing his skin.
"This ain't your fight," Gajeel said coldly, glaring at the remaining mages. "So back the hell off."
The hall instantly erupted back into cheers and laughter. Meanwhile, Albion pushed himself up from the floor, his limbs trembling.
"So… this is the magic you mentioned earlier?"
"Bingo!"
In the blink of an eye, Gajeel vanished from his field of vision. Albion instinctively raised his guard. 'He's going to overpower me from the front again—'
No.
Gajeel was already standing directly behind him. Before Albion could turn, a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around his waist in a brutal body lock.
"You got good instincts," Gajeel muttered right against his ear. "But that's all you got."
'When did he—'
"Your body is way too weak."
Gajeel lifted him cleanly into the air and drove him straight down into the floorboards.
The wood beneath them shattered under the force of the slam. Albion's head struck the impact point hard, blood spilling freely across the splintered surface.
Before he could even register the concussion, Gajeel was already airborne, leaping up for a crushing follow-up.
Albion rolled backward out of pure survival instinct. Gajeel's heavy descent cracked the floorboards where Albion's head had been a fraction of a second prior.
But there was no time to rest; Gajeel was already on him again. Punches. Elbows. Knees. Albion blocked frantically, but his small arms were failing him.
With a savage grin, Gajeel forced his way clean through Albion's collapsing defense. One hand seized Albion by the hair, lifting him effortlessly before slamming his face back down into the stone-cold wood.
The last thing Albion saw was Gajeel's heavy fist descending toward his vision.
Then, darkness. And a buried memory surfaced.
A cramped, suffocating bedroom.
The air was stagnant, heavy with the foul scent of sweat and rusted metal. A woman with fair skin and shaggy, unkempt dark hair stood in the center of the small space, pacing in tight, frantic circles. Her fingers were shoved violently between her teeth, biting down until fresh blood welled at the edges of her fingernails.
"He said he loved me…" she muttered frantically. "Loved me… loved me… loved me…" Her voice rose, fraying into madness with every repetition. "Love—! Love—!" She bit down harder, drawing more blood. "HE SAID HE LOVED ME!" she shrieked at the empty walls. "So WHY DID HE ONLY USE ME?!"
Her hand shot toward the wooden dresser. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a small kitchen knife.
"It isn't my fault…" she whispered to herself, dragging the sharp blade lightly across the skin of her forearm. Crimson blood ran slowly down her pale arms. "He assaulted me. He used me. Then he threw me away like garbage."
Soft, hesitant footsteps echoed from the doorway.
A small child stood half-hidden behind the drywall, his tiny fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his oversized shirt. It was a younger Albion.
The woman spun around, her eyes bloodshot. Her manic gaze locked instantly onto the boy's unique, reddish-pink eyes. Something deep inside her completely snapped.
She rose slowly, a wild, manic gleam twisting her features into a horrific mask as she stepped toward him, the knife still dripping in her hand.
"It's your fault," she said quietly, her voice deadly soft. "You're the exact reason he left me. Those fuchsia eyes… they're the exact same as his."
The young boy's breath hitched in his throat.
"He forced me to have you," she said, looming over him like a monster. "So now… now it's your turn to feel the pain."
His tiny body shook violently. And then, pain exploded through both of his small arms—sharp, burning, and absolute. Back then, all he had ever wanted was his mother's love. To an extent, he had forced himself to believe she truly did love him. But deep down, in the dark corners of his mind, he knew the truth.
She utterly loathed him.
The violent clash finally came to an end.
Gajeel exhaled a light breath, standing over Albion's motionless, battered body. "You know… you weren't half bad," he admitted to the quiet room. "But without magic, you'll never be able to take down a real wizard."
Blood pooled beneath Albion's head. Turning his back on the fallen child, Gajeel began to walk away toward the counter. "Well, guess that's that. I wonder what I'll grab for lunch today."
Step. Step.
He stopped.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Slowly, Gajeel turned his head around to look—and froze completely in his tracks.
Albion was standing.
He was wobbling violently, covered in dark bruises, bleeding from multiple wounds, but he was upright.
"…Hey, hey, hey," Gajeel said, his disbelief instantly giving way to a massive, roaring grin. "You're still on your feet after all that? Man, you've got some serious toughness."
Albion's small body was completely battered, yet he stubbornly refused to let his knees buckle.
"You're just like me, ain't ya?" Gajeel asked, his eyes flashing. "Someone born with a natural knack for fighting. The only difference between us is that I was actually trained."
"My head…" Albion murmured, his voice incredibly low, raspy, and unsteady. "It is… bleeding. How long was my consciousness absent?"
"That's the spirit!" Gajeel's right arm hardened instantly, transforming back into a heavy iron club. "I knew you had that dog in you! Let's go!"
The iron beam extended in a straight, blinding line, rocketing directly toward Albion's face.
"Your eyes," Albion said quietly.
The heavy iron club stopped dead in its tracks, resting barely inches away from Albion's forehead. The wind from the sheer speed ruffled the boy's black hair.
"…What did you just say?" Gajeel asked, his voice lowering as his grin vanished.
"Your eyes match mine," Albion said, limping forward, entirely unfazed by the weapon in his face. "They are the eyes of an isolated person. When the person who was supposed to protect you is gone, an empty space remains."
Gajeel didn't move an inch. His breath hitched.
"I have studied this feeling," Albion continued softly, a single tear cutting through the dust on his cheek. "My mother did not provide love. I simply misunderstood her intent. I am lonely. I do not wish to be an isolated person anymore."
He took another agonizing step forward.
"I want to be needed. I want to know if my existence is okay. But I was afraid to leave my past location. I simply sat there and waited. Hoping someone would find me."
"What the hell are you doing, Lionheart?!" a betting mage in the crowd shouted, breaking the heavy atmosphere. "Finish the brat off!"
Gajeel didn't hear a single word they said.
His iron arm went entirely slack, the living metal slowly melting and retracting back into ordinary flesh. 'This kid… how the hell does he know?'
How could a boy he had met mere minutes ago dig so effortlessly into the deepest scars of his soul?
Albion finally reached him.
"Hands are for causing damage," the five-year-old whispered, his voice cracking slightly as his strength entirely failed. "But I think… they can also be used to hold onto something."
With the last of his shaking strength, Albion reached out and gripped Gajeel's sleeve.
"Can we… Try that here?"
Suddenly, an echo of an ancient voice resonated deep within Gajeel's mind.
"
When Gajeel finally snapped out of the memory, Albion was already on his knees before him, his small body completely out of energy, his fingers still locked into Gajeel's clothes.
"…Did he pass out while standing?" Gajeel muttered.
Slowly, Gajeel crouched down. He carefully pried Albion's small, bruised fingers loose, easing them gently back to the boy's sides.
"Tch… congratulations, kid," Gajeel muttered under his breath, a faint, genuine smirk returning to his face. "You've got my respect. And my curiosity."
Straightening back up to his feet, he effortlessly hoisted the unconscious Albion over his right shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He glanced down the dark, narrow hallway of the guild base.
"Me and you are taking a little walk. Time to visit the library."