Erza rode across hills and mountains, following the path marked on the map. Under normal circumstances, she might have enjoyed a journey like this—the steady rhythm of the horse, the open air, the quiet solitude. But now, all she felt was a tight knot of fear and unease. At any moment, she was certain someone would see through her. True she had bound her hair and concealed her breasts, but what about her face. Her face was too soft, too feminine, or so Laxus had once told her. And her voice... she could try to lower it, force it into something more convincing, but would it hold under pressure?

"How am I going to do this?" she thought, her grip tightening on the reins. "They'll know. The moment I speak, the moment they look too closely... they'll know."

Her thoughts spiraled.

"They'll throw me into a dungeon before I can explain. Or worse..."

She didn't let herself finish that thought.

Eventually, her horse slowed beneath her, its steps growing heavier. Erza noticed the signs at once—fatigue, thirst. She guided it toward a nearby river and dismounted, letting the animal drink while she rested beneath the shade of a tree.

For a brief moment, there was quiet.

A lieutenant. That was the role she had to play. She had to convince strangers—soldiers, leaders, entire nations—to listen to her. To trust her. But how? What words could possibly be strong enough to stop a war? She exhaled slowly, watching the ripples in the water, searching for clarity that wouldn't come.

"What do I even say?"

A sharp crack split the silence. Erza was on her feet in an instant. All doubt vanished, replaced by instinct. Someone was there. She moved quickly, pressing herself against the rough bark of the tree, every sense sharpened. Her bow was in her hands before she consciously reached for it, an arrow nocked and drawn back smoothly. Another step. Closer. Too close.

Erza steadied her breathing, eyes locked on the direction of the sound. Whoever it was, friend or foe, she couldn't afford to hesitate. The underbrush shifted. And she waited—arrow drawn, gaze unyielding—for whoever was coming to reveal themselves.

But the sound hadn't come from ahead. It came from behind. Erza barely had time to register the shift before a spear came hurtling through the air. It struck her bow with precision, knocking it clean from her grasp. The force jolted through her arms—and in the next instant, her footing vanished. A leg swept out beneath her. She hit the ground hard, breath leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp. Before she could recover, she was pinned—held fast by a pair of arms far stronger than she had anticipated.

"Who are you?" a man's voice hissed close to her ear. "What do you want? Were you sent by that scum Faust?"

Erza's heart pounded, but her mind moved quickly. She forced her voice lower, steadier.

"Stay calm," she said, masking herself as best she could. "I mean you no harm. And I don't know any Faust. My name is Erz—" She caught herself. "Ezra. I'm from the Tiānkōng Empire. A lieutenant in the emperor's army."

The man didn't release her immediately. She could feel his scrutiny—measuring her, weighing every word. His gaze flicked over her armor, her clothing—foreign to him, unfamiliar. It gave her story just enough truth to stand on.

"If you're from the Tiānkōng Empire," he said slowly, "then what are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to reach the Magnolia Nation," Erza replied. "My country is preparing for another war. And if it happens..." Her jaw tightened. "We may not survive it this time. I intend to speak with the other nations—convince them to seek peace before it's too late."

There was a pause.

"Why Magnolia?" he pressed.

"I was told someone there could help negotiate between the realms," she said. "That they might be able to arrange a reconciliation." She held still beneath him. "That's all I'm trying to do. I swear it."

Silence stretched between them. Then, at last, the weight lifted. The man stepped back, allowing her to rise. Erza pushed herself up and turned to face him—and for a brief moment, she forgot how to speak. He was striking. Broad-shouldered, well-built, his chest marked with war paint and tribal symbols that stood out against his skin. And his eyes, green. Sharp. Focused. Unyielding. They sent an unexpected chill down her spine.

Jellal, meanwhile, studied her just as carefully.
The soldier before him seemed off. Too slender for a man of his supposed rank. His face lacked the hardened lines of experience. And something about his frame—something subtle but undeniable—felt different from any man he had known.

"If you're telling the truth," he said at last, "then I owe you an apology." He inclined his head slightly. "I am Jellal. A warrior of the Kiwanja Tribe."

"What..." Erza began, then caught herself, forcing her voice steady again. "What brings you out here?"

Jellal's expression shifted, something heavier settling behind his eyes.

"I'm searching for sanctuary," he said. "For my brother—and his friend. My people have been betrayed. Threatened by a dangerous enemy." His jaw tightened. "I couldn't fight back. Not with the odds as they were. So I took the children and fled. Once they are safe..." His gaze hardened. "I will return. And I will stand with my father and our allies."

Erza blinked. "Children? You have children with you?"

"Yes." Jellal glanced toward the trees. "I told them to hide when I saw you. I didn't know if you meant them harm."

He turned his head slightly, voice softening just a fraction.

"Romeo. Wendy. It's alright now. You can come out."

When the two children finally emerged from the bushes, Erza nearly melted on the spot. They were small—far smaller than she had expected. Frightened, clinging to one another, their eyes wide and uncertain. The boy tried to stand tall despite it, while the girl hid close at his side, her fingers gripping his sleeve.

They were adorable. Erza felt the instinctive urge to kneel, to soften her voice, to reassure them—but she caught herself just in time. She couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when she was still pretending to be someone she wasn't. So instead, she straightened, forcing composure.

"Where are their parents?" she asked.

"Our mother died long ago and our father stayed behind. So we could escape."

Erza's chest tightened.

"And the girl?" she asked gently.

"An orphan," Jellal said. "She lost both her parents."

"How terrible..."

"Yeah," Romeo added quietly. "Right now... my big brother is all we've got left."

Wendy said nothing. She only clutched Romeo's hand tighter, hiding her face against his shoulder. Erza noticed and something in her heart ached.

"Where are you taking them?" she asked.

Jellal shook his head. "I don't know. Every nation sees my people as enemies. No one would offer us shelter."

"The Magnolia Nation would. They're still on peaceful terms with the other realms. They take in anyone who needs refuge."

Jellal looked at her, searching for doubt.

"Truly?"

"I swear it." There was a brief pause before she added, "If you'd like... you can travel with me."

Jellal glanced at the horse, then back at her. "It's a kind offer. But there are four of us and only one horse. I'd rather not overwork such a fine animal."

"We'll take turns," Erza replied. "One rides with the children, the other walks. We switch every two hours."

Jellal considered her a moment longer—then nodded.

"Very well."

And so they set off together. The rest of the day passed in near silence. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of footsteps, the quiet rustle of wind through the trees, and the occasional shift of the horse beneath its riders. Every now and then, Erza would glance back and offer the children a small, reassuring smile. Romeo returned it, tentative but genuine. Wendy did not. She kept her gaze lowered, her grip on Romeo never loosening. It wasn't rudeness—it was fear. The kind that lingered long after danger had passed. Whatever had happened to her had left its mark, and trust did not come easily anymore. Erza understood that more than she cared to admit.

By the time the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in fading gold, the silence had grown heavy. At last, about an hour before sundown, Jellal spoke.

"Ezra, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Are you sure you're a lieutenant?"

Erza's head snapped toward him.

"Why do you ask?" she replied, keeping her voice low and masculine.

"Because anyone with real military training would've sensed that attack. And even if they didn't, they'd know how to counter it." His gaze sharpened. "I took you down easily. Too easily."

For a split second, panic flared. He knows.
Erza forced it down, straightening slightly, grasping for something—anything—that would sound believable.

"I'm... a different kind of lieutenant," she said. "My country hasn't seen war in years. Our military has shifted toward politics. Diplomacy. Strategy." She folded her arms. "I'm trained in negotiation and history—not combat."

Jellal studied her in silence. Then he shook his head.

"If that's true, then we can't continue together."

Erza blinked. "What?"

"With all due respect," he said, voice firm, "my priority is protecting those children. I can't afford distractions. Or liabilities."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Jellal replied evenly, "if you travel with us, you need to know how to defend yourself. I won't be responsible for keeping you safe, too."

"I can handle myself just fine."

"You won't last a day alone," he shot back. "Our first meeting proved that."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough," he said. "Anyone with half a mind for violence could knock you down and end you in seconds. You're not prepared."

The words hit harder than they should have. Something in his tone—calm, certain, dismissive—struck a nerve deep within her. It reminded her too much of others. Of the looks. The way people had always underestimated her and her mother as if their strength had to come from somewhere improper. As if they couldn't have earned it.

Her jaw tightened.

"There is a solution," Jellal continued. "I was one of the strongest warriors in my tribe. I've defeated countless challengers." He crossed his arms. "I can teach you."

"Not interested."

"I'd reconsider that."

"I said I can handle myself."

Jellal arched a brow. "Really? Then prove it."

He stepped back, giving her space.

"Try to pin me."

Erza stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Take me down. If you can beat me, then you can defend yourself." His voice was steady, unwavering. "If not, you have two choices—learn from me, or go your own way."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're serious?"

"Completely." A faint challenge crept into his tone. "Or are you afraid?"

Afraid? Of him? Absolutely not. Erza dismounted in one sharp motion, planting her feet firmly as she faced him. Pride flared in her chest as she squared her shoulders, meeting his stance head-on. Without another word, she lunged.

Too slow. Jellal sidestepped effortlessly. Before she could recover, his leg swept beneath hers again. The ground rushed up—and then she was pinned, her arms trapped, his weight pressing her down like iron. She struggled immediately, twisting, kicking, trying to break free—but his grip didn't budge.

"So," he murmured, a hint of a smirk in his voice, "you can handle yourself?"

Her frustration burned hot. That look on his face made her want to hit him. Hard. Hard enough to wipe that expression clean off. But even as anger surged it cooled just as quickly because he wasn't wrong. She didn't know how to fight and no matter how much she believed in peace, the world didn't always allow it. Sometimes, strength wasn't optional—it was necessary.

"Get off me," she snapped.

"As you wish."

He released her at once and stepped back. Erza pushed herself up, brushing the dirt from her clothes, her pride stinging more than anything else.

"Alright," she muttered. "You win. I'll learn."

Jellal gave a small nod. "Wise decision. We'll begin at dawn."

He glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to dip.

"But for now, we make camp. No one learns well on an empty stomach or a tired mind."

Erza exhaled sharply, folding her arms. Dealing with him, she decided, might prove more difficult than stopping a war.