She drifted off, the last thing she heard being Erza's faint chuckle and the quiet scrape of the soup bowl being carried away.
For a while, Erza remained seated in the small wooden chair beside Kaia's bed, her own posture immaculate even in the privacy of a sunlit dorm room. She listened to the gentle sounds of Kaia's breathing erratic at first, then deepening, settling into the peace of exhaustion and healing.
It was strange, Erza thought, how quickly the presence of another person could alter the feeling of a room. For years she'd taken pride in solitude, in the neatness of clean lines and sharpened blades, in the rigid order of a life built on discipline. She knew how to clean wounds, patch armor, and, when necessary, cook stew thick enough to ward off most known poisons.
She did not, as a rule, linger by sleeping teammates. Yet here she was, staring at the gentle rise and fall of Kaia's shoulders, arms folded, gaze oddly soft.
The truth was, she'd never had a pupil before. Not really. Even as a child among orphans and misfits, Erza had been the one to protect, not to teach. When she did try to instruct, her students usually cried, ran away, or (in one notable case) attempted to move to a rival guild for "health and safety reasons."
Kaia, however, was infuriatingly persistent. She flailed, she argued, she bled, she broke things she wasn't supposed to break and yet she always stood up. Even when Erza thought she might not.
What a disaster, Erza thought, and found herself smiling.
She cleared away the tray, careful not to trip over the uneven rug that Kaia had installed ("for atmosphere," she'd said, as if atmosphere ever saved someone from a lightning bolt). As Erza rinsed the bowl in the dorm's little kitchen, she tried to remember the first time she'd felt responsible for someone. Natsu? Gray? Jellal? No, those were different—friends, rivals, a boy who haunted her dreams.
Kaia was something else. Younger, and yet not a child. Bright, though not always wise. Brave in the stupidest possible way.
She caught her reflection in the kitchen window. The red hair, always a mess, the faint line of a healing cut on her cheek. A familiar face to the people of Magnolia, to Fairy Tail a face that inspired obedience, awe, sometimes fear.
But to Kaia, she seemed to be something different. Mentor, tormentor, reluctant nurse, and occasionally a target for outrageously bad jokes.
Erza pressed a palm against the cool glass. Maybe, she thought, this was what Mirajane meant by "softening." Maybe teaching someone was not so different from learning yourself one bruised ego at a time.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
She turned instinct, always.
But it was just the night, settling.
She returned to Kaia's room out of habit rather than necessity, finding the girl tangled in sheets, one arm thrown over her head, snoring with the undignified abandon of the truly dead to the world. Kaia's boot, which had earlier attempted to resign, was now lying on its side beneath the bed, as if ashamed.
Erza considered leaving.
Instead, she crossed to the desk, where Kaia's battered notebook sat open.
Erza's Training Notes (also maybe my will)
She rolled her eyes but found herself curious. She flipped to a random page and read:
"Day 4: If Erza ever says 'again' one more time, I will learn necromancy just to haunt her after my inevitable demise.
Erza Advice: 'Pain builds character.'Kaia Response: 'Does character pay for hospital visits?'
Erza Sword Tip #7: 'Don't hesitate.'Erza Sword Tip #8: 'Don't bleed so much, it's inefficient.'
Erza Soup Review: 'It's edible, with suspicion. May sprout legs.'"
Erza tried not to smile, and failed.
She glanced at Kaia, who muttered something about "chronomancy" in her sleep, then snored again.
Erza had faced demons, the darkness in her own heart. None of that had prepared her for the absurdity of mentoring a girl whose survival instinct was outmatched only by her ability to collect bruises and make the guild hall laugh.
She left the notebook where she'd found it, crossing to the window. Outside, the night was calm. Magnolia's lights twinkled. In the distance, the river caught the moonlight and threw it back with the arrogance of a sword.
For a while, Erza just stood there, watching.
She did not know when, precisely, it happened when Kaia went from being "the new recruit" to being someone whose victories made her proud, whose defeats stung in a way she could not quite admit.
It was not romantic, not yet. Erza was barely fifteen, with a heart full of scars and a mind armored against sentiment. She barely understood her own emotions, let alone the dizzy, infuriating ones that appeared when Kaia smiled triumphantly, or through gritted teeth, or even in defeat.
Perhaps, Erza thought, the feelings would fade. Perhaps not.
She was not afraid of pain, or loss, or even the prospect of being needed. What frightened her, just a little, was how quickly she was growing used to Kaia's presence her noise, her jokes, her tendency to trip over invisible obstacles and make every simple day feel like a page in some larger story.
Erza shook her head, brushing the thought away. There was no use in sentiment. There was only training. Tomorrow, she would be stern. She would be unyielding. She would make sure Kaia survived, even if it meant dragging her through every trial Magnolia could offer.
And if Kaia happened to make her laugh along the way… well. That would be their secret.
Downstairs, Erza brewed tea her way, strong enough to strip paint and returned with a steaming mug, just in case Kaia awoke thirsty. She placed it gently on the bedside table.
"Rest well," she said softly.
Kaia snored in response.
Erza rolled her eyes. "Of course."
She almost left again, but paused. For no reason she'd ever admit to, she pulled the blanket a little higher over Kaia's shoulder, careful not to wake her.
She straightened, gathering her armor and dignity, and strode for the door.
As she did, Kaia's voice floated up, slurred by sleep:
"Thanks, Erza… Don't let the swords bite…"
Erza paused, lips quirking.
"I'll try," she murmured, and slipped into the corridor, the weight of responsibility oddly lighter than before.