"I'm gonna win this thing!" Natsu screamed.
He jumped straight onto a wooden table, his fists bursting into bright orange flames. "I'm gonna crush every single one of you and become an S-Class wizard!"
"In your dreams, fire brat!" Gray yelled back. He kicked his bench away, his hands instantly freezing over with white frost. "I'm the one who's taking that title! Get out of my way!"
"Aye, sir! Natsu was totally faster!" Happy cheered, waving a half-eaten fish in the air.
BAM!
Master Makarov's hand comically grew to the size of a wagon wheel, slamming down from the ceiling and flattening both boys flat into the dirt floorboards. He pulled his arm back, sitting calmly on his barstool like nothing happened.
Natsu coughed, spitting out a piece of wood from the broken table. He rubbed a massive red lump on his head, his fire completely gone. Right next to him, Gray groaned in the dirt, looking around through the dust cloud for his shirt. Happy flitted above them, lazily dropping a fish bone right onto Natsu's pink hair while Lisanna giggled from the sidelines.
"You two idiots aren't even on the sheet," Makarov said flatly, taking a slow sip of his cider. "Get back in the dirt where you belong."
"What?!" Natsu scrambled up, crying childish tears. "Why?! That's totally unfair, Gramps! I can take any mission you throw at me! Let me fight!"
"Yeah, Master, what gives?!" Gray growled, rubbing his shoulder. "Why are we blocked?!"
Makarov didn't answer them. He stood up on his barstool, took a short leap, and landed cleanly onto the second-floor balcony right next to Merlin. His face went from comical annoyance to completely serious as he looked down at the guild.
The entire tavern went dead quiet.
"An S-Class wizard represents the absolute shield of Fairy Tail," Makarov's deep voice echoed through the room. "The requests you face at that level can decide the fate of entire regions. I, along with Merlin, have carefully selected only the six A-rank mages who have the maturity, the control, and the experience to handle what's coming."
He reached into his white coat, pulling out a piece of parchment and unrolling it over the railing.
"The candidates for this year's trial are: Erza Scarlet, Mirajane Strauss, Cana Alberona, Alzack Connell, Macao Conbolt, and Wakaba Mine!"
The room erupted into murmurs. Erza stayed perfectly still on her stool, her hand resting flat against her sword hilt. Across the aisle, Mirajane let out a low smirk, twirling a strand of her white hair around her finger.
"You have exactly one week to prepare your minds and pack your gear," Makarov announced. "Next Monday at dawn, the gates open. Don't waste a single second."
The announcement changed the whole mood of the guild. For the next seven days, nobody was slacking off.
On the first night, Cana Alberona walked away from the noisy bar and went straight to the back of the library. It was dark, with just a single candle lighting up her table. She shuffled her deck of cards over and over. Her fingers were shaking a little bit, the cards snapping softly in the quiet room.
I have to pass this year.
She bit her lip, staring down at the cards.
I have to become an S-Class mage. It's the only way I'll ever have the courage to walk up to Gildarts, look him straight in the eye, and finally tell him I'm his daughter.
By Wednesday morning, the sun was barely rising over the forest clearing. Erza stood alone in front of a row of huge, jagged stone boulders. She reached down and slowly drew her silver short sword. This weapon was a personal gift from Merlin three years ago. It was special—the steel never went dull, it never lost its sharp edge, and it absorbed her magic power perfectly without any pushback.
Erza took a slow breath and swung the blade downward.
SWISH!
The silver sword sliced a solid stone boulder clean in half like butter. The two halves slid into the dirt without making a single spark. Erza didn't smile or brag. She just reset her feet, moved to the next boulder, and swung again. She wanted her body to remember the exact weight of the weapon.
A few days later, a heavy rain was turning the back-alley woods into thick mud.
Mirajane stood in a smoking clearing, her white hair completely messy as she panted for breath. She stared at a tree trunk she had just shredded into pieces with her black demonic claw. Her Satan Soul transformation still felt a little erratic when she pushed it too hard, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.
"Hey! Don't let a stupid tree beat you, big sister!" ten-year-old Elfman shouted from a nearby log, slamming his fists together. "A real man never gives up! You're gonna beat that armor-girl next week!"
Lisanna stood right beside him, holding out a clean towel with a sweet smile. Mirajane looked at her younger brother and sister. The frustration left her face, and she forced a small nod, her claw melting back into a normal human hand.
By midnight on the very last evening, the guildhall was completely empty. Macao and Wakaba sat alone at the bar counter, sharing a final quiet mug of beer. Wakaba puffed a slow cloud of purple smoke from his pipe, looking out the dark window.
"Man, those kids are completely wound up tight," Wakaba chuckled, shaking his head. "Look at 'em. They look like they're marching to war."
"Let 'em stress," Macao said, setting his mug down. His face went serious. "They've got a lot of raw power, sure, but they don't have our experience. Romeo is watching me this time, Wakaba. I want to make my boy proud. It's time to show these snot-nosed prodigies what thirty-two-year-old veteran mages can actually do when the real pressure hits."
The next morning, the sky was a heavy, cold grey.
The six candidates were packed inside a large wooden carriage, the wheels crunching slowly over the rough mountain gravel. The usual noisy bickering was completely dead. Nobody was talking. The silence inside the wagon was totally awkward.
Alzack sat in the corner, quietly checking his dual pistols. Cana sat opposite him, clutching her card pouch tightly against her coat. Erza and Mirajane were seated directly across from each other, their eyes locked on the floorboards, neither one saying a single word as the carriage bumped along the jagged path.
Finally, the carriage stopped. Master Makarov led them out into a massive, empty clearing deep within a deserted rocky mountain range far outside town. The wind was howling through the canyons, blowing dust against their boots. The six mages stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes widening.
Carved straight into the towering face of the black mountain were six colossal, dark cave entrances sitting side-by-side. The openings were pitch black inside. Above each stone archway, a single, ancient geometric character Merlin had created was pulsing with a faint blue glow.
Makarov turned around to face the group, his white coat whipping wildly in the wind.
"This is the threshold," Makarov said loudly over the wind. "The very first stage of this dungeon is the Trial of Wit. Merlin built this place to read your magic containers the exact second you cross the line. The maze inside will automatically change itself to test your brain under stress."
The six candidates looked at the dark openings, their breathing turning shallow.
"Each of you must choose one cave entrance," Makarov warned. "The moment you step through that shadow, you are completely on your own. No helping each other. Your brain is the only weapon that can unlock the next door. If you use brute-force magic to try and cheat the path, the dungeon will violently drain your power until you collapse."
The time for talking was over.
Mirajane took a step forward, her tight black dress rustling against the rocks. She stopped right next to Erza, giving her a sharp, mocking smirk. "Don't go crying to Master Merlin when you get lost inside the dark, scrap-metal. I'll make sure to save a seat for you at the S-Class table."
Erza didn't flinch. Her brown eye narrowed into a cold stare. "Worry about your own head, goth demon. Try not to trip over your own dress."
Mirajane let out a sharp snort, turned on her heel, and strutted straight into the far left cave opening, disappearing into the heavy shadows.
Cana took a deep breath, clutching her card deck against her coat as she stepped into the center cave. Alzack checked his weapons one final time, gave a quick nod to the others, and slipped into his path.
"Well, after you, old pal," Wakaba muttered, knocking the ash out of his pipe.
"Don't break your knees on the first step, old man," Macao joked back. The two thirty-two-year-old veterans split up, walking into separate cave archways side-by-side.
Erza stood alone in front of her remaining entrance. She reached down, her fingers gripping the cold silver hilt of her sword to center her focus. She drew a slow breath of the freezing mountain air, her jaw tightening.
No shortcuts.
She stepped firmly through the threshold, the heavy shadows of the cave swallowing her whole as the entrance sealed behind her, leaving her completely in the dark.