Inspired by season 3 episode 3

You had seen Fairy Tail loud before. Laughter, shouting, broken furniture chaos wrapped in familiarity. It was the kind of noise that made a place feel alive. But today, something was different. The clearing was quiet. Too quiet for a gathering of mages. The air itself felt tense, as if it were waiting for permission to move. You stood off to the side, half-hidden among the trees, far enough away to stay out of danger close enough to feel everything.

You sensed him before you saw him. It began as a pressure in your chest. Subtle at first, then heavier, like the world had gained weight. Your fingers tingled, your breath slowed, and instinctively, you straightened. This wasn’t just magic in the air. It was presence.

Then Gildarts Clive stepped forward. He looked almost relaxed, the massive sword resting against his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. His movements were easy, unforced the posture of someone who had survived too much to be careless anymore. His gaze swept across the clearing, sharp and calm, taking in every detail.

You had heard the stories. Everyone in Fairy Tail had. But stories never prepared you for reality. Gildarts didn’t demand attention. He pulled it toward him without effort. The space around him seemed to adjust, bending ever so slightly to accommodate him.

When Natsu stepped forward, fire flaring around him, your stomach tightened. His magic was familiar wild, passionate, loud. You had seen this kind of strength before. Beside Gildarts, it felt unfinished.

The first clash happened in a heartbeat. Magic slammed into magic, the ground splitting beneath their feet. Trees cracked, debris scattered, and you staggered back despite knowing you were outside the blast radius. Your heart pounded as your eyes struggled to keep up.

And yet, again and again, your focus returned to Gildarts. He moved without haste. Without hesitation. Every strike carried certainty. When his magic activated, the air warped, space itself breaking apart as if the world had simply accepted that resistance was pointless. Your knees weakened not from fear, but from awe. This was not power that needed to prove itself. This was power that already knew its place.

Another impact sent a violent tremor through the clearing. You braced a hand against a tree, the bark rough beneath your palm as dust and splinters filled the air. Even through the chaos, his aura remained steady. Immovable. You felt it in your pulse. In your breathing. In the quiet trembling of your fingertips.