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Southeast Ishgar.
Far from the mainland coast, past open water and surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs, a small island sat in quiet isolation.
The nation of Stella had endured on that island for over three hundred years. Its foundations were the Stellanium deposits beneath it, a mineral harder than diamond that absorbed starlight and shimmered with a beauty that set it apart from any other stone in the world, and the natural defenses of its geography, which made it nearly impossible to approach by force. Between those two advantages, Stella had built a comfortable and largely peaceful existence.
What no one outside its borders knew was that the nation's ruler was not human.
The throne of Stella was occupied by a Dragon.
The Crystal Dragon, Animus, had survived the Dragon King Festival four hundred years ago by using the Dragon Soul Technique to take up residence in a human body, and in that body he had ruled ever since. Most of his wounds from that era had healed in the time since. The desire to destroy humanity had returned to him as naturally as breath.
But he had kept himself restrained, and the reason was simple: Acnologia was still out there somewhere, still wandering the world. The Black Dragon had annihilated the Dragon race at the Dragon King Festival, and Animus had no interest in becoming the next example. So he waited. He watched the vast deposits of Stellanium beneath the island slowly drink in starlight, year after year, century after century. When that process reached its limit, the power he would command would put him beyond anything Acnologia or any other threat could challenge.
That plan had been proceeding without interruption until, a few days ago, three visitors arrived.
The first was Crawford, former Chairman of the Magic Council, a man whose appetite for power had always been larger than his judgment. The second was Abel, Pope of the Black Magic Cult, a true believer in the cause of plunging the world into ruin.
The third was Zash Caine, the Minister of State of the Kingdom of Stella and a practitioner of black magic, a man whose ambitions had long since outgrown any loyalty he might once have held.
Three ambitious men with three separate agendas, all arriving together to propose cooperation and to ask Animus to serve as their insurance.
Animus had no particular interest in them. Then Zash Caine named his price, and the offer changed things.
The payment was a staff called Dragon Cry.
It had started its existence as an ordinary magical tool, left behind by some human mage at the site of the Dragon King Festival in the dying days of the Human-Dragon War.
But the Dragon race had been slaughtered there, completely and all at once, and their resentment had nowhere to go. Over the centuries it had seeped into the staff, transforming it into something else entirely: a forbidden weapon carrying enough destructive force to erase a country.
Animus wanted it. And his arrogance did the rest. He agreed to the arrangement, aware that Zash Caine almost certainly had ulterior motives and indifferent to the fact.
When he heard the details of what they were calling the Great Purge, a plan to use Face to eliminate every mage in Ishgar and a sizeable portion of the rest of the human population along with them, Animus found himself experiencing something close to genuine surprise.
He had spent four hundred years regarding himself as a creature of exceptional cruelty. It turned out that humans, under the right circumstances, were far more ruthless toward their own kind than any Dragon he had known.
He did not mind. He was a Dragon. One who had always preferred to let his prey understand exactly how hopeless their situation was before he finished them.
Less than a week after joining the plan, however, something had gone wrong.
In the royal hall of Altair, Stella's capital, a slender young girl sat upon the throne in the dim light. The voice that came from her was not hers.
"Every last Face unit has gone offline."
The deep male voice that belonged to Animus carried a note of cold amusement beneath the question that followed. "Crawford. I suggest you provide a reasonable explanation."
Crawford stood below the throne and felt the sweat running freely down the back of his neck. His considerable frame trembled despite his efforts to hold it steady. Neither Zash Caine nor Abel moved to speak on his behalf. Both of them looked at him with the same flat, unamused expression.
Just the previous day, the Face units that formed the backbone of the Great Purge had stopped responding, one after another, until none of them were active. All of them. Simultaneously. And Crawford, as the man who held the activation key, was the one who had to explain it.
He had no explanation.
His years of comfortable authority had left his actual magical knowledge somewhere far behind him, and whatever technical understanding he might once have had of Face's inner workings was long gone. What he did have was the very clear awareness that failing to produce a plausible answer in the next few minutes was going to end badly for him.
Crawford's mind worked quickly under pressure, at least. He mopped his forehead and forced himself to think.
"There is no one alive who could disable over three thousand Face units in a single night," he said, keeping his voice steady by an effort of will. "No one, that is, except the person who originally built them. The Black Wizard. The inventor of Face himself."
"That is absurd," Abel said sharply, his pale face tightening. "Zeref is dead."
"I am not so sure."
Zash Caine's voice was unhurried. "Stopping one or two Face units quietly might be within a handful of people's ability. Stopping all three thousand of them, at the same time, with no warning and no trace? That is not a matter of power alone. That requires understanding the system from the inside. I cannot think of anyone other than the creator who could manage it."
Crawford nodded quickly. "Consider Warrod, one of Fairy Tail's founders. The man lived past one hundred and twenty. There is no obvious reason to assume Zeref could not have survived as well."
Abel said nothing further. His expression had gone sour. The Black Magic Cult operated under Zeref's name, but in truth Abel had always served the interests of the Black Abyss. If Zeref were actually alive and paying attention to what had been done with his work, the consequences for Abel personally would be severe. He kept that thought to himself. His role demanded that he play the devoted follower.
On the throne, the fingers of Sonya's body tapped lightly against the armrest. The sound carried in the quiet hall.
Animus was not particularly troubled by the loss of Face. Crawford and Zash Caine had laid their reasoning out neatly enough, and whether or not Zeref was behind it, the immediate question was whether any of this was still worth his time.
"Chasing the reason now achieves nothing," the deep voice said, carrying a thin edge of amusement. "What I want to know is whether the Great Purge can still move forward." Sonya's gaze, directed by Animus, settled on Zash Caine. "If not, our arrangement ends here. And the payment still comes to me."
Zash Caine's hand moved almost reflexively to the staff across his back. "You have not done anything yet, Lord Animus. Asking for payment under those circumstances is a stretch."
Sonya rose from the throne.
The change was immediate. That slight frame began radiating something that pressed down on the room like a physical weight, a Dragon's aura, ancient and suffocating and utterly indifferent to the three humans below. Crawford could barely keep his footing. Even Zash Caine and Abel, who had come prepared, felt it in their chests.
The smile that appeared on Sonya's face belonged entirely to Animus.
"That is not how I see it. You came to me. That alone is worth something, regardless of outcome."
Both Zash Caine and Abel had contingency plans. They would not have walked into a negotiation with a Dragon without them. The situation had not yet reached the point where those plans needed to be used, but it was moving in that direction.
Before it could get any further, a commotion erupted beyond the hall's doors. Guards came through at a run, abandoning every protocol, dropping to their knees in front of the throne before the words had even finished forming.
"Your Holiness! A massive airship has entered the airspace above the royal city! It does not appear to have peaceful intentions!"