The invitation arrived on a thick, shimmering card sealed with the emblem of the King’s Capital—an official summons to the post–Grand Magic Games gala. A night of celebration, diplomacy, and the kind of politeness mages usually avoided unless alcohol was involved. You turned the card over in your hands with a low sigh. Your guild insisted you go. Your teammates insisted you dress well. And the King’s messenger insisted—firmly—that your presence was expected.

But none of that bothered you as much as the single line near the bottom:

Fairy Tail will, of course, be in attendance.

That meant her.

When you entered the grand hall, the scent of wine, polished marble, and blooming enchanted orchids hit you all at once. Music shimmered from crystal instruments suspended in the air, each note soft as falling stardust. Tables overflowed with pastries, meats, enchanted delicacies that glowed faintly with harmless magic. Nobles mingled with guild masters, warriors with wizards, all trading stories of battles that had barely cooled.

And then you saw her.

Erza Scarlet stood beneath a floating chandelier of runed glass, wearing formal armor that gleamed like tempered moonlight. Crimson hair cascading down her back, posture impossibly straight, her presence cutting through the crowd with the same effect as a blade drawn in silence. She was every bit the warrior who had nearly carved her way through the Games—poised, terrifyingly composed, undeniably striking.

Your steps slowed without meaning to. Your pulse shifted, steady but taut, as if your body remembered every moment you had fought opposite her, every sharp look exchanged during the tournament, every near-touch of clashing magic.

Her eye caught yours across the room, sharp, assessing, unreadable.

Of course she noticed you.

Of course she held your gaze without wavering.

And of course that slight, almost imperceptible tilt at the corner of her lips formed—a hint of amusement you felt like a blade sliding under armor.

You approached her with practiced ease, weaving through clusters of nobles and mages. Her attention never left you. Not once.

“Congratulations on the Games,” you said, your voice low, steady. You felt her eyes trace your attire—formal, elegant, unfamiliar compared to your usual gear—before returning to your face.

“I should be saying that to you,” Erza answered, lifting her glass with effortless grace. “Your performance surprised many… including me.”

That last part pulled something warm through your chest. You weren’t sure if it was pride… or the thrill of being acknowledged by someone like her.

She gestured slightly toward the bar. “Join me?”

You did.

The two of you moved through the crowd as if you’d done this dance before. You ordered drinks—wine for her, something stronger for yourself. Her armor caught the soft light as she leaned slightly closer, enough that her shoulder nearly brushed yours.

You were in for a treat tonight...