Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Celestial Tears
The court of Mercurius Castle bustled with guests from around the kingdom. Lords and nobles, viscounts and barons, all adorned in their finest garments, attire befitting an audience with the Heartfilias, the current ruling family of the Kingdom of Fiore.
Tonight held special significance for them. Their lineage traced back to the ancient kingdom of Stella, the isle of stars, and they were hosting a regal banquet for the meteor shower that was to be gracing the night sky that year – ‘The Celestial Tears’, as it had come to be known.
Among the crowd of chattering nobles stood little eight-year-old Lucy, resplendent in her gold dress woven from stellarium thread that caught and held the moonlight. The steady stream of compliments she received for such an exquisite dress lifted her spirits, though the praise felt strangely hollow against the loneliness that had been her constant companion of late.
Her tutoring sessions had grown increasingly demanding, consuming every hour of daylight and leaving no room for play. Worse still, there was a distinct lack of children of suitable station to accompany her within the palace walls. She found herself adrift in a sea of adults, their conversations uninteresting and meaningless to her.
Her father had noticed her melancholy. As he stood on the great balcony, awaiting the meteors’ passage across the night sky while chatting with a small circle of lords he counted among his closest allies, he couldn’t help but observe his daughter from time to time. She lingered at the edge of the grand hall, her small hands clasped together, looking remarkably lost despite being surrounded by hundreds of guests.
“Say, Lord Dragneel,” he said, turning toward his companion with a slight tilt of his head.
“Come on, Jude, we’ve been friends for ages; call me by my first name already,” Lord Dragneel responded, raising his goblet of celebratory wine with casual indifference to etiquette before taking another generous swig. Lucy had never really spoken to him or any of the Lords that surrounded her father. She knew he was important, owned a lot of land, and he had a tendency to ruffle the feathers of many of the nobles.
“Alright, Igneel.” King Jude gestured toward Lucy, who had now settled into a chair, her gaze fixed downward at her folded hands. “See my daughter over there? You have a son here tonight, do you not? Perhaps ask him to entertain her for a while.”
Igneel chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. “Are you certain about that? He’s quite the wild one.”
“He’s the son of a dear friend and of noble blood, I can hardly imagine he’d pose any real problem,” King Jude said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Alright, if you insist.” Igneel set his goblet down on the stone balustrade and departed in search of his son.
Jude approached his daughter, his expression softening with paternal warmth as he hoped this introduction might lift her spirits on one of the year’s most beautiful nights.
“Lucy, sweetheart, come meet our guests.”
Lucy smoothed the folds of her dress with careful precision and straightened her posture as she rose, curiosity flickering across her features. She had already been introduced to every noble present this evening. Even at eight years old, she moved with the practised grace of someone who understood that every gesture was observed and evaluated by watchful eyes.
A moment later, Lord Dragneel returned with his son trailing beside him. The boy looked thoroughly annoyed at having been interrupted from whatever activity had previously occupied his attention. His clothes, which Lucy assumed had begun the evening neat and proper, now bore the telltale signs of adventure – buttons undone, hair tousled into wild disarray, and what appeared to be a drink stain spreading down one sleeve.
“Lucy, do you remember Lord Dragneel?” her father said warmly, his hand settling gently on her shoulder. “This is his son, Natsu. As you know, Lord Dragneel is one of our most trusted allies, and I thought you and young Natsu might enjoy each other’s company while we discuss business.”
Natsu regarded her with open curiosity, cocking his head to one side. “She’s kinda short for a princess.”
“Natsu,” his father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What? She is!” Natsu grinned with complete shamelessness, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. “I thought princesses were supposed to be tall and more sparkly.”
Lucy blinked rapidly, caught off guard by such directness. Her tutors had never prepared her for conversations quite like this. “I... well, I suppose I might grow taller eventually?”
King Jude chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Perhaps you could show young master Natsu the gardens, dear? I’m sure he’d enjoy exploring them while Lord Dragneel and I handle our boring political discussions.”
“If you think that would be appropriate, Father.” Lucy glanced uncertainly between the adults, seeking reassurance in their expressions.
“Go on,” Igneel encouraged with a gentle nudge to his son’s shoulder. “You could use some fresh air and space to run around.”
Lucy looked to her father once more, waiting for his subtle nod of approval, then turned to face Natsu. He was practically vibrating with barely contained energy, bouncing slightly on his toes as his eyes darted toward the large doors leading to the corridors.
She led him out of the banquet hall and down the marble stairs toward the palace gardens, their footsteps creating a rhythmic echo in the grand corridor that seemed to amplify in the vaulted space above them.
“How old are you?” Natsu asked casually, his voice carrying far more than it should in the hallway.
“Eight years, or one hundred and one moons,” Lucy answered with practised precision.
“Moons?” Natsu’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. “You measure your age in moons? That’s... actually kind of cool. Like you’re part of some ancient religion or something.”
Lucy felt a small flutter of pride warm her chest. “My whole family does. It’s an important part of our ancestry; we’re descended from the Star Shepherds of Stella.”
“Yeah, I know, and measuring in moons seems fun,” Natsu admitted with genuine interest, then immediately contradicted himself by adding, “but also pretty weird.”
“It’s not weird,” Lucy retorted, a slight edge creeping into her voice as her cheeks flushed with indignation.
“So how many moons am I then? I’m nine if it helps.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to calculate it.”
Lucy quickened her pace, choosing to focus on navigating the familiar corridors rather than continuing the conversation. She decided to skip the usual tour of the palace that most young nobles appreciated; somehow, she doubted Natsu would be interested in hearing about the historical significance of each tapestry and portrait that lined the walls.
Her instincts proved correct when she noticed him beginning to touch everything they passed. His fingers trailed along the carved bannisters, he poked experimentally at the suits of armour standing at attention, and he even attempted to slide down a particularly smooth section of railing before she caught his arm with quick reflexes.
“Please don’t,” she said hurriedly, her eyes darting around nervously to check for observing servants. “The servants will think I’m not supervising you properly.”
“Supervising?” Natsu looked incredulous, his face scrunching in disbelief. “You’re eight years old, not my babysitter.”
Lucy felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m the princess. I’m supposed to make sure our guests are... are properly entertained.”
“What do princesses do anyway?” Natsu asked, abandoning his exploration of a marble statue to fall into step beside her, matching her pace with surprising consideration. “I mean, besides wear fancy dresses and worry about entertaining people.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you just sit around in pretty clothes all day, or do you have to do other stuff too?”
“I have lessons,” Lucy said, working to keep the defensiveness from creeping into her voice. “They help me learn about caring for the kingdom when I’m older. History, languages, diplomacy, economics—”
“Boring stuff, then.”
Lucy stopped walking abruptly and whirled to face him, her dress swirling around her ankles. “It’s not boring! It’s important! Someday I’ll be responsible for thousands of people’s lives and—”
Natsu produced an exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand in mock politeness.
“You’re annoying!” Lucy shouted, her hands curling into small fists at her sides.
She braced herself for an argument or more teasing, her shoulders tensing in preparation.
Instead, Natsu’s teasing smirk melted into something more genuine, his expression softening with what might have been approval. “See, that’s better,” he said, as if he were suddenly satisfied.
“What is?” Lucy asked through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched in frustration.
“When you stop playing princess.”
Lucy shook her head vigorously, her carefully arranged hair beginning to loosen from its pins. “What is that supposed to even mean? I am the princess!”
But Natsu was already looking past her, his attention caught by something beyond her shoulder. “The gardens were that way, right?”
“Yes—” Lucy began, but Natsu had already taken off ahead of her, his feet moving with surprising speed across the polished stone floors.
His sudden departure left her bewildered, then appalled that the son of a lord would behave with such casual disregard for royal protocol. The breach of etiquette stirred something in her that rarely surfaced in her carefully controlled life; genuine annoyance mixed with an unfamiliar spark of excitement.
Fearing what mischief he might cause if left to his own devices, she gathered her dress and chased after him. He moved with the confidence of someone who had spent considerable time running, his legs carrying him much faster than her formal dress would allow. He also seemed to navigate toward the gardens without any further direction from her, as if he possessed some internal compass that drew him toward open spaces.
She eventually caught up when she reached the garden courtyard, finding him standing in its centre. His head was tilted back, studying the statue of what Lucy had always assumed was a mermaid, her stone arms gracefully pouring an endless stream of water that shimmered into the ancient celestial fountain below. It was the main feature in the gardens and was often boasted of to any visiting guests. Lucy had always found the sculpture above it comforting in a way she couldn’t quite articulate.
“Why did you run off like that?” Lucy asked as she approached Natsu, still slightly breathless from her pursuit.
“I wanted to get to the part where we have fun faster,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the dancing patterns the water made as it fell. “The water here looks amazing.”
Lucy felt a surge of pride swell in her chest. “It’s been in my family for generations – they transported it here from Stella, and the wizards worked hard to rebuild it. It’s said to have magical properties—”
“Can I touch the water?” Natsu was already moving toward the fountain’s edge, drawn by whatever had captured his interest.
“I... I suppose so. Just be careful not to—”
But Natsu had already plunged both hands into the crystal-clear water, his laughter bubbling up as the liquid sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. “It’s warm! And it tingles!”
“That’s the natural magic,” Lucy said, stepping closer to join him at the fountain’s rim. “Legend says it’s a gift from the stars themselves.”
“Really?” Natsu’s eyes lit up with unmistakable mischief, a gleam that should have served as a warning. “What would happen if someone fell in?”
“You’re not going to—” Lucy began, alarm creeping into her voice, but Natsu was already climbing onto the fountain’s edge. He balanced precariously on the narrow stone rim as he reached toward something that glittered in the depths below.
“There’s something shiny down here,” he called back over his shoulder, stretching further over the water. “Looks like a coin or a key or something.”
“That’s just a decoration! You’re not supposed to take it!” Lucy rushed closer, her voice rising in panic as she watched him lean dangerously far over the water. “And you’re going to fall in!”
“I’m not going to—” Natsu’s foot slipped on the wet stone, and he tumbled forwards into the fountain with a tremendous splash that sent water cascading in all directions.
Lucy stood frozen, droplets of water splattered across her face, hair, and dress, her mouth agape at Natsu’s audacious behaviour. The soaked boy sat waist-deep in the fountain, grinning as if falling into the blessed waters was the most natural thing in the world, his hair now plastered to his head, and his clothes were dripping wet.
“You—you—” Lucy sputtered, her carefully maintained composure finally cracking for the second time that evening. “You absolute fool! Do you have any idea how much trouble we’re going to be in? Father’s going to think I can’t even escort a guest around the gardens without them destroying priceless magical artefacts, and your father is going to—”
“Relax, Princess,” Natsu said, pushing himself to his feet and shaking water from his clothes like a dog emerging from a stream. “It’s just water. I’ll dry off quick.”
“It’s magically blessed water from the celestial fountain! If someone saw you now—”
“It’s just us here. All the grown-ups are doing boring stuff.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Yeah, it does. We can have fun. Just be ourselves without them watching.”
Lucy opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again as the words stuck in her throat. Somewhere, buried beneath layers of etiquette lessons and diplomatic training, a small voice whispered that he might actually have a point.
“When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?” Natsu asked, stepping closer, water still dripping steadily from his hair and creating small puddles at his feet. “Not because some grown-up said you had to, or because it was ‘appropriate’ or ‘important.’ Just because it sounded fun?”
Lucy looked right at him and actually studied him closely for the first time since they’d met. His clothes were soaked and clinging to his thin frame, his hair was a complete wet mess, and there was dirt from the garden grounds beginning to cake on his damp shoes. He looked like everything she’d been taught a proper noble child should never look like.
And yet, he also looked utterly free.
“I...” she whispered, then found her voice growing stronger, “I don’t know.”
“That’s messed up,” Natsu said, but his tone had gentled, losing its teasing edge.
Lucy felt something sharp and unwelcome in her chest – part anger, part recognition of an uncomfortable truth she’d never allowed herself to acknowledge. “It’s not! I have responsibilities, duties that are more important than just—”
“Than just what? Being happy?” Natsu shook his head, sending a spray of water droplets arcing through the moonlight. “That’s not fair.”
“Well, life isn’t fair,” Lucy snapped, the words emerging harsher than she’d intended, carrying years of suppressed frustration. “Some people have important things to do that matter more than having fun.”
“Says who?”
The simple question hit Lucy like a physical blow, stopping her protests cold. “Says... says everyone. My tutors, and Father, and all the Lords, and—”
“But what do YOU say?”
Lucy felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes and turned away quickly, not wanting him to see her weakness. “It doesn’t matter what I say.”
“Of course it does. You’re the only one who gets to be you.”
When Lucy looked back at him, Natsu was holding out his hand, still damp from the fountain water. Everything about him screamed improper, inappropriate, unacceptable by every standard she’d been taught to value as a princess.
“Come on,” he said simply, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to reach directly into her chest. “Let’s go do something stupid.”
Lucy stared at his outstretched hand, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” She looked at his hand, then back at his face—open, honest, completely unafraid of consequences or judgment. “Because what if someone sees us?”
“Then they see a couple of kids having fun. So what?”
Lucy felt herself wavering, caught between the stern voice in her head listing all the reasons this was a terrible idea and the strange, warm feeling blooming in her chest that whispered maybe, just this once, she could do what she wanted instead of what everyone expected.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and took his hand.
Natsu’s grin could have illuminated the entire garden, bright enough to rival the approaching meteors. “There she is.”
“’There who is? ‘”
“Lucy. Not Princess Lucy. Just... Lucy.”
His hand was warm and still slightly damp from the fountain water, his grip gentle but certain. Lucy felt a little thrill run through her; the intoxicating excitement of doing something forbidden, something that was just for her and no one else.
“So,” she whispered, glancing around nervously to ensure they remained unobserved, “what do we do now?”
Natsu tilted his head thoughtfully, bringing his free hand to his chin as he considered their options.
“First, we gotta sort out that fancy dress,” Natsu said, looking her up and down with practical assessment. “It doesn’t look like something you could play in.”
Lucy’s eyes went wide with shock. “But I can’t just take off my dress! What would I wear?”
“Not take it OFF, dummy. Just... make it less princess-y.” He removed some of the brooches and tugged at some of the ribbons, much to her horror, protesting at first when he discarded them on the floor. Then Natsu tugged gently on her hand, leading her toward a cluster of fruit trees at the garden’s edge, where shadows offered privacy. “Sit down.”
“On the ground? But it’s dirty—”
“It’s just dirt. It washes off.” Natsu plopped down on the grass without ceremony, patting the ground beside him. “See? I’m not dead.”
Lucy stared at the ground as if it might bite her. She’d never sat directly on grass before; there were always blankets or chairs or proper seating arrangements to maintain an appropriate distance from the earth.
“Come on,” Natsu said, his voice encouraging rather than mocking. “Trust me.”
Taking a deep breath that she hoped would steady her nerves, Lucy carefully lowered herself to sit beside him, trying to keep her skirt neat and arranged. The grass was softer than she’d expected, yielding beneath her weight, and surprisingly cool against her legs through the fabric. “Okay, now what?”
“Now we make you look less like a doll.” Before Lucy could protest, Natsu reached over and began pulling pins from her elaborately arranged hair.
“Hey! Stop that!” Lucy swatted at his hands, but he proved too quick for her defensive manoeuvres. “It took my maid an hour to do that!”
“And it looks like it took an hour. All stiff and weird.” Natsu dodged her attempts to reclaim the pins, his movements playful rather than malicious. “Hair’s supposed to move around.”
“It’s supposed to be neat and proper—” The complaint died in her throat as her blonde hair tumbled down around her shoulders in loose waves. She reached up to touch it experimentally, surprised by how light and free her head felt without the weight of the pins.
“Better,” Natsu announced, sitting back to admire his handiwork with obvious satisfaction. “Now you look like a real kid.”
Lucy wanted to argue, but something about having her hair loose made her feel fundamentally different. Freer, somehow, as if she’d shed some invisible weight she hadn’t realised she’d been carrying. “The advisors are going to be so mad.”
“When’s the last time you got in trouble?” Natsu asked suddenly, his tone curious rather than judgmental.
“I don’t get in trouble.”
“That’s boring. Everyone should get in trouble sometimes.” Natsu’s grin turned mischievous, his eyes sparkling. “Wanna know a secret?”
Despite her better judgment, Lucy found herself leaning closer, drawn by the conspiratorial tone in his voice. “What kind of secret?”
“I can do magic.”
Lucy blinked in confusion. “That’s not a secret. Lots of people can do magic. My father has employed many wizards, and—”
“Not like this.” Natsu held out his hand with his palm up, and Lucy watched in fascination as small scales appeared along the back of his hand, shimmering crimson-red in the moonlight like precious gems. Then, with a little puff of concentration that made his face scrunch adorably, a small flame flickered to life above his palm, dancing and wavering in the gentle night breeze.
“Whoa,” Lucy breathed, leaning even closer despite the heat radiating from the tiny fire. That was true – if the wizards wanted to make fire, they’d need some sort of magical dust or the like. Natsu made it look easy by comparison. “I’ve never seen magic like that before! Does it hurt?”
“Nah,” Natsu looked proud, his chest puffing slightly with satisfaction. “My dad says I’ll be able to do bigger flames when I’m older, but this is pretty cool, right?”
He closed his hand carefully, snuffing out the flame, and grinned at her with obvious pleasure at her reaction before suddenly staring at the scales on his hand and then tucking his hand away quickly so she couldn’t see it clearly.
“It’s really cool,” Lucy said earnestly, talking about the flame and subconsciously adopting his casual vocabulary. But she was interested in the other part of him, too. She reached out without thinking, then hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly in the air. “Can I... can I touch them? … The scales?”
Natsu’s expression grew uncertain, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he nodded and held his hand steady for her inspection. Lucy gently traced her finger along the scales, marvelling at their texture. They were smooth and warm to the touch, like polished stones that had been sitting in the sun all afternoon.
“Wow,” she said quietly, her voice filled with genuine wonder. “They’re warm like a candle.”
“My family’s had dragon blood in our veins going way back,” Natsu said, trying to sound casual but clearly pleased by her fascination rather than fear. “That’s why I can do the fire thing.”
Lucy looked up at him quickly, confusion creasing her brow. “Wait—dragon blood?”
Natsu pulled his hand back, his expression growing uncertain once more as he seemed to realise what he’d revealed. “… Yeah.”
Lucy knew the legends intimately; who didn’t, after all? They formed a core part of the kingdom’s history – in fact, the entire continent’s past. The tales spoke of long-extinct dragons that once reigned over the lands, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. Creatures that hunted for sport, sought treasure above all else, and killed without mercy or remorse.
Lucy watched as Natsu’s scales faded away, leaving no evidence of his magic, and she suddenly felt as if she’d walked into an invisible wall. The boisterous boy who had been so full of confidence now seemed deeply unsure of himself, his shoulders hunching slightly as if preparing for rejection.
She reached out and took his hand once more, scales or not, much to his obvious surprise.
“Your magic is way cooler than mine,” she said simply, offering him an honest smile that reached her eyes.
Natsu seemed to accept this reassurance, his posture relaxing as he allowed his scales to reappear, as if they had just been gently hiding just beneath his skin. Lucy found herself fascinated by the phenomenon; she could observe nothing in his hand to suggest he had hundreds of tiny openings for them to emerge from.
“Dad says when I get older... the scales will always be visible. I won’t be able to hide them any more,” he explained, his voice carrying a note of resignation that seemed far too mature for a nine-year-old.
“I wonder why it works like that,” Lucy replied, curious as ever. “Is your dad the same?”
Natsu nodded slowly. “Yeah, but he’s always wearing long sleeves and stuff to hide them when he comes to these events. He says the ‘noble-folk’ get worried when they see them. Most of the time, he doesn’t care if people see them.”
“That’s silly,” Lucy said quickly, her voice carrying fierce conviction. “You shouldn’t have to cover them up like that.”
“I dunno,” Natsu answered, leaning back to lie down on the grass, his boundless energy finally tamed by Lucy’s acceptance. “Dad’s got scales up his arms, across his shoulders, on the sides of his neck… must be pretty weird for some people.”
Lucy made the decision to lie back with him, her eyes finding the stars scattered across the cloudless night sky, spotting constellations with ease.
Natsu changed the topic suddenly, not from discomfort but as if a thought had just occurred to him. “What’s your magic, Lucy?”
The question caught her off guard, making her stomach flutter with unexpected nervousness. She wasn’t particularly keen on discussing her abilities.
“It’s not as good as yours,” she answered evasively, dodging the question entirely.
“It’s star stuff, right? I heard all the royals were supposed to have that.”
Lucy’s hand twitched awkwardly at her side. “...It’s really not that impressive and I can’t show it to you right now, we’re not in the right place for it.”
Natsu sat up, genuine confusion written across his features. “What do you mean?”
“…It’s not anything fancy, okay?” Lucy reiterated, feeling decidedly boring compared to Natsu’s dramatic flames and beautiful scales. “I’ll show it to you if you visit again, but you should be prepared to be unimpressed – it’s nothing special.”
“Hey.” Natsu’s voice softened with understanding. “Just ‘cause you can’t make fire appear doesn’t mean you’re not special.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause you’re the first person who didn’t look at my scales like I was gonna eat them.” Natsu’s grin returned, warm and genuine. “Plus, you’re way more interesting when you’re not doing that princess voice.”
Lucy felt warmth spread across her cheeks. “I don’t have a princess voice.”
“You totally do. All proper and boring. But right now you sound like Lucy. It’s better.”
They settled into comfortable silence, listening to the distant sounds of the party drifting down from the upper levels of the palace balconies: laughter, music, and the occasional shout of excitement. The first meteors were beginning to streak across the sky, leaving golden trails against the darkness beyond.
“Look,” Lucy whispered, pointing upward with wonder in her voice. “The Celestial Tears are starting.”
Natsu hummed approvingly as Lucy continued gazing upward, a peaceful smile spreading across her face.
“They look nice,” Natsu said quietly. “Like shooting stars.”
“They happen every nine to ten years,” Lucy began eagerly, ready to share her knowledge. “Father said—”
Natsu shot her a look, gentle but pointed, as if reminding her that she didn’t need to perform or educate him like he was just another guest she needed to impress.
Lucy caught his meaning and insisted with renewed enthusiasm, “It’s a good story, really! Not just facts.”
“Okay then,” Natsu replied, getting himself comfortable and placing his arms behind his head like a pillow.
“So a long time ago, there was a lonely king who ruled the night sky. He looked at all the bright stars around him and decided he needed friends to keep him company.”
“The meteors?” Natsu interjected, his curiosity genuine.
“I’ll get to it!” Lucy insisted with playful exasperation. “So with the brightest stars, he created a whole bunch of powerful spirits from their light. They all lived in his kingdom for a very long time until one day, one of the star spirits came to him and said they needed a purpose to exist.”
“Like something to do?” Natsu asked, working to follow the story.
“Exactly! So the king allowed them to leave the kingdom to find their purpose.”
“And?”
“They found people in the world below, but the people weren’t as happy as the spirits were, so the spirits tried to help them.”
“What’d they do?”
“Some gave them fire,” Lucy said first, smiling when she saw Natsu’s face light up at the mention. “Some gave them water. Some even gave them music to lift their spirits.”
“What’s this got to do with the meteors?”
“I’m getting to it—you’re really impatient!” Lucy replied quickly, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance. “So eventually, the king noticed they had been gone for a very long time, and he called them all back. The spirits were sad to leave, but the king told them that the people needed to figure these things out for themselves.”
“And then?”
“And then he decided that each spirit could rule over one cycle of the moon to help the people without making life too easy for them.”
“So, you have a spirit looking out for you?” Natsu asked with growing interest. “Which one?”
“Well, the scholars said I was a complicated case because I was born between two moon phases—”
“Uh, okay.”
“So my spirit is technically Aquarius, whose role is to move water, but in my case, they say that Aquarius might benefit me more with more water-like effects than just moving water because the books say—”
“This is starting to sound like a lecture—”
“Sorry, I’m getting carried away...” Lucy paused, then brightened. “But that’s just one way the story ends. The other one, my favourite, is that the king decided that once in every one hundred and twenty moons, the spirits can visit the people again and give their hidden gifts.”
“One hundred and twenty moons?”
“Around ten years.”
“How is that better?”
Lucy pointed upward again at the meteors, her face glowing with excitement. “Because that’s what those are—the spirits, coming to visit everyone again, but always secretly.”
“So you’re saying tonight there are lots of spirits walking around and giving us things we can’t see?”
“Yes, isn’t that wonderful?” Lucy asked, her face beaming with the joy of sharing a tale she truly loved. This was technically her first visit from the spirits, if it were truly more than just a tale, and despite the lonely start to the night, she was excited for this moment.
Natsu lay back in thoughtful contemplation. “I wonder what they’ll give me, y’know, if they even give gifts to non-star people.”
“They do,” Lucy reassured him. “I can’t wait for mine.”
They watched the celestial display in comfortable silence for a while longer, Lucy occasionally sharing additional details about various spirits, but nothing that overwhelmed Natsu or lost his attention.
Lucy pondered what her own gift might be, but deep down, she already knew the answer. It was obvious, really, sitting right beside her under the starlit sky.
She had been given a friend.