The journey back to Magnolia was uneventful, but the silence between Erza and Ren wasn't.
Ren walked beside the carriage instead of riding it, arms folded, head down. The sky above was overcast, matching the weight pressing on his chest.
Erza hadn't said a word to him since the attack the night before.
She hadn't scolded him.
She hadn't praised him.
She hadn't even looked at him.
And that silence stung more than any wound.
---
When they returned to the guild, the celebration was already underway—for someone else's mission. The hall was filled with the usual chaos: Natsu and Gray were wrestling on a table, Mirajane was serving drinks, and Levy and Jet were arguing over a new book she found in the ruins.
Ren stepped through the door, but Erza walked past him without a word, heading straight to the second floor.
Makarov, seated in his usual barrel-chair throne, noticed.
"Something happen?" he asked quietly.
Ren nodded once. "Yeah."
Makarov didn't press. "Come to my office later."
---
Half an hour passed. Ren hadn't moved from his stool.
Finally, he stood and walked upstairs.
He found Erza alone in the library room, sitting by the window. She was still in her traveling gear, one hand resting on her sword, the other gripping a cup of untouched tea.
"You're mad," he said flatly.
She turned her head, eyes cold.
"I should be."
Ren flinched. "Because I lost control?"
"No," she said, her voice sharper than steel. "Because you didn't trust me."
Ren blinked. "What?"
"You let yourself be consumed—again. And then you tried to fix it alone."
Her tone grew tighter, laced with an edge she rarely showed.
"You were on a mission. With me. But when things went wrong, you acted like it was still just your fight."
Ren opened his mouth but couldn't argue. She was right.
"I've fought beside teammates who went off on their own," Erza continued. "They all thought they were protecting the others. Most of them didn't survive."
She stood up now, towering over him.
"I'm not just your mentor, Ren. I'm your comrade. And if you don't trust me to stand beside you in the worst moments, you don't belong on the battlefield."
Her words hit like a hammer.
"I wasn't trying to shut you out," Ren said, voice low. "I just—when it starts—my magic, it drowns out everything. The pain, the instinct to shut down... I'm scared I'll hurt someone. I'm scared I'll hurt you."
For a moment, Erza's expression softened. But only a moment.
"That fear is good," she said. "It means you care. But if you let it control you, it becomes a chain. And that chain will snap at the worst possible time."
Ren nodded slowly. "Then… teach me. Not just how to fight. But how to fight with someone."
Erza's glare faded into something else—resolve.
"I will. But you have to stop treating your magic like it's poison. It's a part of you. And like any blade—if you hate it, you'll always bleed when you wield it."
Ren managed a faint smile. "That's… incredibly poetic for someone who threw a table at Natsu last week."
Her eyes narrowed. "Would you like me to throw you next?"
"No ma'am."
---
Later that evening, Makarov summoned both of them to his office.
He listened patiently as Ren described the attacker—the masked figure, the warped magic, and the way his Anti-Magic responded like it recognized the threat.
"That confirms it," Makarov muttered. He turned to a drawer and pulled out an old leather-bound book. Dust flew as he opened it.
"I had my suspicions when Irene warned us," he said. "But now I'm sure."
He showed them a sketch: a figure in black robes, surrounded by chaotic script. Beneath it read the name: The Null Sect.
"An ancient sect of rogue mages who sought to erase the concept of magic itself," Makarov explained. "They believed that all magic was a sin against nature. They were wiped out during the early founding years of the guilds."
Erza frowned. "They're still active?"
"Some fragment of them, yes. They've gone underground, and now… they're hunting you, Ren."
Ren's blood chilled.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only known bearer of pure Anti-Dragon Magic," Makarov said. "To them, you're either a holy weapon… or a threat that must be destroyed."
Ren clenched his fists.
"So what do we do?"
Makarov leaned back.
"You train. You grow. And you rely on your guild."
His eyes flicked toward Erza.
"You especially."
She nodded once. "I'll make sure he survives."
---
Back in the training yard the next morning, Erza stood in front of Ren, sword in hand.
"No more holding back," she said. "Today, you fight like you mean it."
Ren hesitated. "But what if I—"
"What if nothing," she snapped. "You want control? Then use your power. Stop apologizing for it. Show me who you really are."
She charged.
Their blades met—not steel on steel, but steel on void. Ren's arm lit up, his magic pushing outward in waves. He felt the surge, the hunger of it—but he didn't recoil this time.
He pushed into it.
Erza's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
Ren's stance was tighter. His magic more focused.
She smiled.
Now he was starting to listen.