Makarov's Guidance

When Eleven opened his eyes again, he saw a white plaster ceiling.

"Where am I... cough, cough, cough!" Eleven had just tried to speak, but his dry throat sent him into a violent coughing fit.

"Ah! You're awake! Don't move, I'll get you some water."

A pleasant, familiar voice sounded beside him. Eleven turned to look, and it was Cana!

"Cana? Why are you here? Where is this?"

Holding a glass of water, Cana fed it to Eleven a little clumsily as she put on an angry face. "It's all because of you! The master heard from the Magic Council that Deliora might appear here, so he rushed over to save you. I just came along! But by the time we arrived, Deliora had already been beaten by who knows who, and we just happened to find you after that little black-haired boy dragged you back."

"The old man came himself?" Eleven was astonished. Over the past year, the old man had hardly left the guild except to get scolded by the Magic Council. Besides, the master had always maintained that a qualified mage should be able to look after himself, yet this time he had come to the rescue in person.

"Yeah, the master came himself. You and Laxus aren't really brothers, are you?" Cana grinned mischievously beside him.

"Huh? Really?" To her surprise, Eleven seemed a little excited.

"I was kidding, idiot!" Cana was a little speechless.

Just then, Makarov and Gray walked in together.

"Oh, you're finally awake." Makarov was the same as ever. Striding in on his short little legs without a care for anyone, he jumped onto Eleven's hospital bed as soon as he entered and stood beside him without ceremony. Gray, meanwhile, looked somewhat dejected. Eleven didn't know what they had just been talking about.

"Old man, sorry to have worried you... pfft!!"

Eleven looked at Makarov beside him, his nose tingling as he was overcome with emotion. He had wanted to say something heartfelt, but before he could finish, Makarov's arm stretched out, and he brought the edge of his hand down on Eleven's head—the only part of him that wasn't injured.

"You big idiot! Still, I'm so glad you're alive." Makarov had wanted to keep a stern face, but when he thought of how Eleven had escaped death, he broke into a heartfelt smile.

"Old man..." Eleven was so moved that tears and snot streamed down his face. Cana, who had also been a little touched, backed away two steps in disgust. Eleven was about to get up and throw his arms around his beloved master for a good cry when a giant finger pressed against his forehead and pinned him to the bed. Helpless, he could only lie on his back and cry like a fountain, a thoroughly embarrassing sight.

Gray was somewhat speechless. What kind of creature had this guild raised?

Eleven lay in bed for nearly seven days before the doctor allowed him to get out of bed and fly... Normally, someone in Eleven's condition couldn't hope to get out of bed and move around without resting for months, but Eleven demonstrated his flying technique, which let him keep his body still. Besides, they were mages, and the doctor didn't particularly want to argue with them, so he gave Eleven permission to get out of bed and fly.

It gave quite a few fellow patients a terrible fright when they came out to use the bathroom at night, but it cured the prostate problems that had plagued them for years!

In the glow of the setting sun, Eleven floated quietly before Deliora's ice sculpture. The Magic Council had placed it under protection by then and wasn't letting anyone near it, but Eleven wasn't close enough to bother them. Beneath Eleven was a patch of ice that gave off the same aura as the ice covering Deliora. Gray had said it was where Ur had stood.

"What an incredible mage! What a pity." Makarov had appeared at Eleven's side at some point. He too was looking at Deliora's ice sculpture, though Eleven didn't know what he was thinking.

"Old man," Eleven called softly.

"Hmm?" Makarov answered calmly.

"When I ran into Deliora, there was an army with it." Eleven recounted it calmly, without much change in emotion. "But I turned around and ran. I didn't think about anything. I didn't try to save anyone; I just wanted to make it back alive."

"You were only following my instructions as your master."

Makarov kept his eyes on Deliora and didn't look at Eleven. His tone was even.

"Old man."

"Hmm?"

"Seven days ago, when I woke up, I found that I could see... well, what should be the souls of the dead." Eleven continued recounting his experience in his usual tone. "Those souls floated just like I do, but they had no thoughts, no emotions, and they didn't move, just like air." Eleven turned to look at Makarov, his emotions finally growing a little unsettled. "But today, old man, those souls suddenly vanished one by one without a sound, like wisps of smoke blown away by the wind. Old man, when people die, do they just become a meaningless mass of Spiritual Power? And then disappear without a sound? If they're going to disappear, why wait seven days? Where did the weight of the soul you talked about go?"

Eleven was losing control of his emotions. It was the first time he had felt so unable to restrain them, and his Spiritual Power even sent his hair streaming upward. The corpses strewn everywhere and the solitary souls standing among them when he woke had given Eleven a tremendous shock and weighed heavily on him. He had kept it all buried in his heart, but when he saw those souls silently disperse today, he could no longer contain that painful emotion.

Makarov watched Eleven, who seemed consumed by an obsession. He knew the experiences of the past few days must have deeply affected the boy. Unlike the others in the guild, he was a sensitive child. This was a turning point in Eleven's growth, and without guidance, he might well fall into darkness.

"Eleven, I'm sorry. I can't see the souls you're talking about, and I don't know why they stayed for seven days. But if it were up to me, I'd say seven days was enough. Seven more days to savor the beauty of this world would be just right."

"You say they're weightless like smoke, insubstantial and powerless? You're wrong. They simply don't need to contend with the living over anything anymore. Every memory worth cherishing has long since been etched deep into their souls, so there's no need to leave any more memories behind."

"The weight of a soul has never been a measure of how important a person's death was, but of how splendidly they lived."

As Eleven listened to Makarov, his emotions gradually settled. Tears once again streamed uncontrollably down his face, as though a floodgate had opened, giving the negative emotions pent up in his heart an outlet.

"Old man, I really did want to save the people in the city."

Makarov clasped his hands behind his back, his usual grin returning. "That's hard. After all, protecting the people around us already takes everything we've got!"

Just then, Makarov's stomach suddenly rumbled. He laughed and turned to walk back. "Whatever you want to do, filling your stomach is the most important thing!"

Hearing that, Eleven suddenly felt a little hungry himself, so he floated after Makarov. Before leaving, he glanced once more at the place where Ur had stood. There was nothing there but a patch of ice. It had been that way since seven days ago.

"Young man, please look after Gray."

Just as Eleven was about to leave, a gentle whisper came from behind him. But when he turned around, he saw nothing but the magnificent ice sculpture.