The main corridor stretched between the guild hall and the Phantom Lord Library—a heavy, subterranean passage lined with dark stone, exposed iron supports, and low-burning lamps.
Partway down the hall, a narrower side passage branched off. It was simple and unadorned, framed in thick iron brackets with a plain stone floor. As the distance from the main chamber grew, the muffled echoes of the guild hall faded into complete silence.
Two children moved down the quiet hall. One was carrying the other.
Albion let out a low, weary breath, his head resting against Juvia's shoulder. His arms hung loosely around her neck, his shorter frame trailing slightly as she held him securely by his ankles.
"Thanks for the ride, Juvia," Albion said softly, his voice rough with fatigue. "I owe you."
"In that case," Juvia replied, her tone even and calm, "you can start by explaining what happened back there."
Albion stared blankly at the stone wall passing beside them. His thoughts moved sluggishly. The mental strain of the day was finally catching up to him, leaving a heavy, persistent numbness in his chest. He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to answer.
"My body repairs itself," Albion said plainly. "It uses magic power to fix physical damage. I knew that before, but I didn't realize how much it would hurt. Forcing skin and tissue back together... it's not pleasant." He paused, his breath catching slightly. "I only noticed the process because of Magic Perception."
Juvia kept walking, though her gaze shifted back to him.
"You're strange, Albion."
"Am I?"
"You don't talk like other people," Juvia said quietly. "You don't act your age. You understand magic faster than anyone I've seen, your past is complicated, and now your body heals itself." She paused, her eyes searching his face. "Sometimes... it feels like you're not even human. It's confusing. Who are you, Albion?"
Albion didn't answer right away. The only sound in the narrow passage was the steady tap-tap of Juvia's shoes against the stone.
"Who am I?" he repeated softly. He looked down at the ground. "I don't really know. I keep changing. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to want anymore."
He thought about the long-term goals that usually occupied his mind—understanding his origin, growing stronger, surviving. But under all the analytical layerings, something simpler sat beneath. He thought of his fight with Gajeel, the crushing weight of isolation, and the raw desire to reach out to someone without causing harm.
"I think..." Albion's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "I just want to make friends. I think that's all it ever was."
Juvia stopped walking for a second. Her expression remained composed, but her eyes softened. She turned back around and resumed her pace, her grip on his legs steady.
"Can you talk for a bit?" Albion asked, his eyelids growing heavy. "Your voice is quiet. It helps."
He felt a slight tremor of hesitation at the thought of sleeping, but beside Juvia, the lingering edge of anxiety eased.
"All right," Juvia said softly. Then, after a moment: "Why didn't you ask me to help you test it earlier? I could have hurt you with my magic instead of you doing it to yourself."
Albion remained silent for a long moment.
"I didn't want you to have to do that," he said.
He didn't fully understand the impulse himself. Logically, Juvia was capable and controlled. But he knew she didn't enjoy causing pain. He rationalized his choices endlessly, but the root was simple: he cared about her, even if he didn't have the words to define it properly yet.
Juvia didn't press him. Instead, she began to speak in a low, measured rhythm, sharing something she rarely explained to anyone.
"My Water Body isn't an illusion," Juvia said quietly. "And I'm not just covering myself in water. I change what I am."
Albion listened, his breathing slowing.
"When a Mage refines their magic enough, their physical body assimilates into their element," she continued. "My flesh, my blood... it all becomes liquid. My life force flows through it to keep my mind whole. That's why physical strikes pass right through me."
She adjusted her grip slightly, taking care not to jostle him.
"It requires concentration. If my focus breaks, the water loses its shape. It's harder than it looks."
She glanced back. Albion's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even, his arms resting limply over her shoulders.
"He's asleep," Juvia murmured to herself. "He collapsed the moment he let his guard down."
She remembered how erratic he had seemed when they first met—the subtle tension in his posture, the sharp, desperate edge to his magic.
«I'm not supposed to have these bonds,» he had said back then.
And now: «I think I just want to make friends.»
A faint, quiet smile touched Juvia's lips. "You're already doing it."
With a subtle flick of her magic, the ambient moisture in the dry air condensed into a thin, translucent hand of water. It hovered gently above Albion, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from his forehead.
'He acts like a nervous rabbit,' Juvia thought, a dry, silent warmth filling her chest. 'Always watching, always curious... just like you, Lilia.'
As she walked, the dark hallway seemed to shift around her memory.
In her mind's eye, three ghostly figures stood along the passage wall—a man with a warm smile, a woman with a gentle, tender gaze like Sheila's, and a small toddler laughing silently.
Juvia's smile faded into something quiet and distant.
"I miss you," she whispered to the empty air. "All of you."
She kept walking past the shadows of her home, past the faint, remembered faces of Baywater Village, carrying Albion toward the end of the passage.
Ahead stood a heavy wooden door reinforced with thick iron bands and a dark steel handle. It was built far sturdier than the rest of the guild's interior—the entrance to Sheila's clinic.
Juvia reached out, turned the iron latch, and stepped inside.