I have no idea what this is. It was certainly not what I was working on. But when I sat down to write, this is what came out. I guess maybe it was subliminally influenced by my recent replaying of Brave Fencer Musashi.

Beyond the Gate

The stone of the steps were cold under Levy's bare feet, but she kept her downward descent. Every ten steps or so, there was a lit torch, but the steps were slightly wider than normal—something her short height struggled with—so every footfall strayed into darkness before she neared the next light. She shivered reflexively—it was starting to get damp the lower down they went.

A stack of books blocked her view, making her focus on each careful step, and only served to awaken the ache in her joints. She could still feel the burn from where the shackles were chained only hours before. How long had it been since she'd slept properly? Days?

As her thoughts strayed, she nearly stumbled, taking the next three steps in a rush before she caught herself. Painful jolts ran up her legs, but she bit her lip and kept quiet. Behind her, heavy-studded steps followed.

Two fortnights ago, a rebellion had flared up along the southern border of their nation. Villages had been burned to the ground, people slaughtered, and farmland purged. They made their demands clear with a wreath of heads on the castle's doorstep: they wanted to oust the Heartfilia crown.

"Hurry up!" a man snapped at her from behind. Her shoulders hunched in response as she winced, but she kept her stately pace down the torchlit corridor. If she fell, she might not get up again.

She could feel the bandage on her leg slipping and prayed it would last until the bottom. She didn't have a free hand to fix it before she tripped. The dress she wore had been cut off just above the knee to use for dressings when they had given her nothing for the wounds. She didn't even want to see what was in her matted blue hair.

But that didn't matter so much now. She had to figure out some way out of this.

Only a week ago, Levy had been at the castle, guarding Lucy, the princess and her best friend. A week ago His Majesty the king was slain, and days before that, the queen. Now they were after Lucy.

Levy suspected that her current predicament had been a botchesd job. She'd probably only gotten kidnapped because she had been somewhere in Lucy's place. Unfortunately, the rebellion had made the best of their error. As far as she knew, the fact that she had summoning blood in her veins was a well-kept secret, but the rebels had somehow found out.

Now they wanted her to call a demon to their world.

Her captors envisioned some giant beast from across the gate, rampaging across Fiore and slaying everything in its wake. Tempest winds, country-wide quakes, raging infernos. They thought that a summoner would be able to slave the demon to the rebellion's will, destroying all who opposed them. She would control the demon, and they would control her.

Levy didn't doubt that this was one possibility—she knew monsters like those did exist on the other side. She even knew she could pull it off, in theory. The principles were pretty clear, and she'd spent the last week reading up on rituals and other dimension-crossing magic when she wasn't trapped in the dungeon. She probably had enough power to do what they asked.

But she wasn't going to make it that easy for them.

She could have refused. That was the most logical option. They would kill her, but they wouldn't get what they wanted. Levy considered this, briefly.

However, she also knew Lucy. She knew how fiercely the young woman cared for her people. If the princess got hurt or killed trying to find her, Levy didn't know if she could forgive herself. But Lucy had given the summoner another idea.

The rebellion wanted her to call down a demon, but she was going to call a dragon.

Demons weren't the only creatures beyond the gate. She even thought that there were probably multiple planes, too. Lucy was a summoner as well, but the spirits she called were more of a divine sort. And then there was her new bodyguard.

Before Lucy's mother had perished, the queen had summoned a creature from the other side. He wasn't a demon, but he wasn't a celestial spirit either. Natsu claimed he was a dragon.

He wasn't a dragon in truth, since he was more humanoid than anything, but the line was blurred. It was easy to see the similarities and how one could even mistake him for a demon. Despite an almost ridiculous shade of pink to his hair, he had a pair of mahogany horns that curled form his head. Wings were melded to his back, and his fingernails were filed to points and dyed dark. He even breathed fire. For all she knew, maybe he could transform into the great mythical creature, too.

He'd been called to protect Lucy, and thankfully, he had done just that. Now that the rebellion was actively after her as the last royal standing, he had his work cut out for him. From what Levy saw, he wasn't a bad spirit. He took his job seriously and hadn't left Lucy's side since he appeared in their world.

And based on his stories, there were more of him.

Levy cleared the steps with a soft sigh of relief. Her shoulders throbbed like weights were stretching her arms to the floor; a feeling that was echoed by the pounding on the soles of her bare feet. But she didn't let any of it show on her face—they enjoyed manipulating that.

She waited patiently by the stairs for her three captors to finish their descent. The first man with an unshaven face, the one who had snapped at her, curled his lip at the sight of the room. He pulled his tanned cloak around his body tighter. It amused her to see him so unsettled—after all, they'd had no qualms about keeping her in a damp dungeon cell for a week. This wasn't so much different.

In the middle, the youngest man took appraisal of the room and made small noises. He'd tried to be the nicest to her, but she knew what he was. What they all were. The side of her head still ached if she turned just so. The last guard stuck near the steps in case she were to bolt—he was the biggest, with extra wide shoulders and a ballooned middle, and even though she was very small, she wouldn't be able to get past him.

Torches sat in the corners of the basement room, which left great expanses of wall hidden in shadows. Had someone come down to bring light? From what she could see, the stone was old and worn, covered with webs and dust like it'd been abandoned for much longer than she'd been alive. She supposed nobody had done any ritual summoning lately.

The curious part were the gashes across the stone. It was like some giant creature had raked claws across the rock and sliced through it easily. In trying to inspect the marks, she discovered the walls were stained a rusty brown in some places. So was the floor. Levy couldn't help but swallow thickly. The expansive puddles had once been blood. If she wasn't careful, that was the sort of creature that could come through the gate.

In the center of the room, a square stone floor was raised. Flames on poles sat at the corners of the platform, flickering slightly, like they were anticipating what was to come. Her stomach churned.

"Will this work for the ritual?" a voice asked her, and she snapped her head up to see the soft-spoken man turned towards her, the blue of his garments vivid against the stone even in the poor light.

Levy looked at the platform and nodded, but really she had no clue. The good part was that neither did they.

Nobody understood languages like she did. She was head translator of ancient texts at the castle. There were dead dialects in her head that people hadn't even heard of for over a hundred years—foreign symbols that looked more like children's scribbles than anything to the common man. And she knew them all.

The dusty tomes they'd handed her were a breeze to decode. The hard part now was figuring out how to do what she wanted. The old runes for demon and dragon had been pretty similar—same enough that she thought she could bluff the mistake if the rebels questioned her. They didn't know what it really said, after all.

But the real struggle was going to be after. If she managed to summon anything at all, she had no idea how to give it direction. At the base of all summoning was a contract of sorts—a summoner gave instruction and the summoned followed, within reason, according to their agreement. But how did she stop the rebels from trying to take over?

In theory, a demon, or whatever else it happened to be, only listened to the person who called it. These men claimed to be in control of her, and thus in control the creature, but was that really true? What could a demon do and not do? She didn't know. Maybe they could take it over—not that they wouldn't be able to with proper motivation regardless. Moreover, if she couldn't figure out how to restrict what she called, she could be in just as much danger as her foes.

But maybe that was okay.

Levy didn't know where they were, save for being in enemy territory—it would've been hard traveling out in the open otherwise. Scouts from the castle had been able to draw a line in the south, where the rebellion originated, but they hadn't been able to find any strongholds. A demon thrashing around would give them a pretty good idea.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the unkempt man snapped, making her jump and almost drop her books. She shuffled over to the center of the room.

Her feet hesitated at the bottom of the stairs to the platform. There was old blood smeared here too—a summoning gone wrong?

If she perished, would what she called from the gate rampage without anyone to hold it back? There was so much she still didn't know, and she had run out of time to find out.

She looked at the men who had followed her down into the room, clutching her books tightly. Seeing her about to start, they all subconsciously took a step back from the platform, gathering near the stairs. She had no doubt that they would bolt if anything appeared to be going wrong, despite what happened to her.

Would her life be worth ending theirs? To possibly put a dent into the rebellion's plans? To help Lucy?

Levy took the first elevated step and thought that yes, maybe it was.

Runes were etched into the stone slab in a rough circle, and even though they too were stained rusty brown in places, she couldn't help the wave of excitement that bubbled up within. Even in the middle of danger, she was still a scholar.

She spread the books along the edge and opened a couple for a refresher. The words were already etched into her mind, but the action was comforting. Plus, it gave her something to steady her hands with.

When she stepped across the circle, even inactive as it was, she felt a thrum of power. It sent a tingling from the tip of her messy head all the way down to her bare toes. She shivered, rubbing her arms, but she could feel the energy soak into her bones. It brushed against the magic in her veins and almost whispered. It helped her focus. Language—she understood that.

When she knelt down within the circle, it was like a comfortable weight settled across her shoulders. It didn't hurt, but she knew it was there. Absently, she ran her fingers along the grooves in the floor. She knew the symbols were the incantation for the spell. From her reading, she learned that a lot of summoners made a big show out of doing this, but that's all it was. Rituals helped focus magic, but they weren't needed.

Her skin felt like it was crawling, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Levy breathed for a moment as she got used to the feeling. It was unlike anything she'd experienced.

For a second, she wasn't sure how to start. Reading up on these things was a lot different than doing it in person, and even though she was born with this power, she'd never used it before.

Someone coughed over by the stairs, and when she glanced over, the biggest guy crossed his arms. The smile had dropped from the younger one's face too, and like he was still running the blade along her skin, her leg throbbed where the bandage sat. She met his flat look with one of her own, but at least she remembered what she needed to do now.

She scooted to the edge of the circle, reaching for one of the books. With an apologetic wince, she tore the corner of one of the pages out and then settled back into the center of the circle. They didn't allow her a weapon, so this would have to do. A lot of magic, at least of this type, needed a little blood to get going.

Levy carefully took the straight end of the thick page and held it out to the underside of her pointer finger. The arm would probably be better, but with such a frail cutting instrument, she was going to be lucky to break skin.

Sucking in a breath, she cut her finger.

She felt it immediately. An almost overwhelming pressure shoved her body forward and stole the air from her lungs. Automatically, her hands slapped the stone to catch her. As soon as her bleeding finger touched the runes, power flared over her like a gale. It blew her hair back from her face and opened her eyes wide.

Normally, a summoner needed a name to help the calling along. A few names had been scribed in the books she read. Honestly, she thought that was really dumb—most of the demons that had garnered names were not ones that should be called. But she didn't have any dragon names to help her now. She only had power.

"Draconis," she whispered, in the old language.

Closing her eyes, she let the feeling overwhelm her. Even without seeing, she could clearly tell where the etchings in the stones were beneath her, could almost see a vibrant runic circle shining with light. She tried to envision what she wanted, imagining Natsu and not. The form was similar, but it was cloaked in shadow where she couldn't fill the details in. A dragon could help them end this rebellion and keep their people safe.

When she reached out to the other world, something reached back.

Her body jerked with a start. A creature was eager to get out—that wasn't a good sign. Starting to panic, Levy tried to shut the power down. The only problem was, she didn't know how.

She could still feel the circle beneath her, but when she tried to withdraw from it, to block it out with a mental wall, it clamped onto her like an iron vice. She pulled back with her body physically, but her hands were glued to the floor. Snapping her eyes open, she saw runes begin to appear on her skin, inked like the symbols in her books. A ring of them faded into sight on her left wrist, and a chain of glyphs dotted their way up the underside of her other arm.

Levy cried out as noise suddenly engulfed her ears. A roar echoed through her entire body, stretching within the confines of her skin, trying to claw its way out. But it had nowhere to go. It burned with overwhelming force, leaving her choking, struggling for breath.

She did the only thing she could. Using all of her energy, she threw the power downward, into the summoning circle.

The writing on the stone flared to life around her, glowing a bright eerie green that nearly blinded her. To the sides, her books flopped off the platform and onto the floor. The torches at the corners blazed from fiery orange to white hot blue. Wind, seemingly out of nowhere, whipped up, flapping the ends of her fraying dress.

Then, she felt it.

It was like a hand being held out in front of her. Without thinking, she reached to take it. And then the room exploded in light.

Falling backwards, Levy covered her eyes with an arm until the brightness ebbed. The first thing she was aware of was swearing. In another language.

Kneeling on the stone, she could only gape. From the sounds of surprise on the other side of the room, her captors were doing the same.

He had his back turned to her, so at first she could only see the bottom half of his cloak covered by a dark, unruly mane. The cursing continued, accompanied by shaking his limbs and stomping around like he was sore. In between motions, she caught glimpses of his skin—much tanner than hers, though that wasn't saying much, since she spent most of her time indoors. It also seemed like it was textured, but that could've been a trick of the light.

When he turned to look at her, she gasped. A pair of crimson eyes bore into hers. Not only that, but he towered over her, which again, wasn't saying much. He had pieces of metal threaded into his skin too, in small iron rivets dotting along his nose, ears, and chin. There were even some on his eyebrows and arms. It was one of the strangest things she had ever seen, yet it wasn't horrifying.

He could've maybe passed for human if not for the pitch black horns that curled from his head. Matching claws also came to points on his fingers. He was like Natsu and yet not. They were similar in build—although this one was definitely more solid—but the way they held themselves was much different. She had gotten the impression that Natsu was more of a wild spirit. This one seemed like he could take on armies by himself.

But regardless of what Levy thought, she was sure he wasn't exactly what the rebellion wanted, and that would have to work.

Once he got his fill of looking, he cleared his throat, then asked, in a gravelly voice, "You call me here?"

She nodded after a moment of surprise. He was still speaking in his native tongue.

He took a step closer, and she couldn't help the wince—why was he covered in so much metal? Someone on the other side of the room made some sort of noise that drew his attention and made him stop, but Levy had a hard time taking her eyes off him. It was like a tether pulled her focus back each time she would look away.

Heart no longer pounding quite as fast, she almost couldn't believe what she was seeing. It had actually worked. She had called a dragon to their world—or at least whatever sort of half-species this was.

A part of her was elated that her plan might work. Another was scared. Now that she had released this creature, what would happen?

The most prominent feeling, though, was just weariness. Her old injuries still ached, but now there was extra weight in her limbs, like they were sewn up with sand. The adrenaline had faded, and there wasn't much left. What had Natsu said a few days ago? She was running on fumes. The edges of her vision started to darken.

When she tried to sit up, the arm that was bracing her gave out. Her body pitched toward the edge of the platform with no strength left to catch herself. Levy tensed and closed her eyes, waiting for impact.

That was when the dragon grabbed her.

.

.

He hadn't been to the other side in a long time.

The old man always said his turn was coming, but Gajeel stopped keeping track after the first hundred years. How much had changed since he'd been in this warring world last? Judging from the roughened woman in front of him, bruises and dried blood smeared on her skin, not a whole hell of a lot.

Dammit, she was even smaller up close. He'd initially thought her for just a girl on account of her being so shrimpy, but crouched down like he was, with the curve of her shoulder under his hand, he could tell she was as grown as she'd get—even with that startled look that knocked years off her age. Honestly, if he didn't know better, he'd doubt that she was the one who summoned him, but now he felt that pull of the binding too strongly to mistake it.

What kind of shit was he getting into this time? Before it'd been a conquering warlord who slayed the rest of his noble family thanks to some crazy prophecy. But he knew better to think he'd be called for anything pleasant—not that that was a bad thing, considering he got bored easy. He'd probably find out what sort of trouble there was soon; the green of her gaze was stormy, and those rarely lied—the unease he saw there was from more than just him. Probably.

Movement by the stairs caught his eye, and the three figures huddled there started to speak in low tones that even his enhanced hearing didn't quite make out. But they looked a little pleased, making gestures toward him. When they started speaking, a line of tension shot though the woman's shoulders. Gajeel narrowed his eyes at the group and tried to ignore the way she flinched.

"You stand?" he asked, and after a second she nodded. Gajeel almost didn't believe her—her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing after that initial look, and there was a bonelessness about the way her body swayed.

He'd admit he was a little surprised she understood what he was saying, too—he hadn't thought twice about what language she knew. More carefully than he'd done a lot of things lately, he pulled her to her feet, having to steady her shoulders when she stumbled into him. When he was sure she wasn't gonna fall on her face, he let her go.

The summoner worried her lip and quickly glanced over to the group in the corner, turning back so quickly that her messy blue hair whipped around her face. He almost started—anticipating a fall—when she nearly reached out to grab his arm. She pulled back at the last second.

"Listen," she said softly, barely audible over the men and the crackling fire. "There's been an uprising. We're in enemy territory. I don't care what happens to me, but you have to stop them."

She swallowed thickly and a hand curled over her middle protectively. "E-even if you kill me. You wouldn't have a leash then, right?" She shook her head. "Please, just—whatever happens, please stop them."

After that, she closed her eyes tightly and hunched her shoulders, like she expected him to end her right there.

Gajeel sighed and rubbed the back of his head. The people in the corner were starting to get on his nerves with their talking—like a hive of bees he wanted to swat. But they hadn't done anything to say they'd overheard yet.

She, at least, was using his language. Her pronunciation wasn't bad, a little hesitant and unsure, and that was making her trip over some of the syllables. Still damn good for nobody speaking it—he'd bet service on that. It was a wonder anyone on this side knew it.

The woman was still hunched and waiting, and every time the group by the stairs got louder she flinched. Dammit, he didn't like how this was looking.

She'd mentioned that there was a rebellion, and from the cowering on her part, there was foul play involved. What sort of scenario would make suicide the best option? A desperate last resort maybe. He didn't like it either way—that was the coward's route. It was clear she wasn't very practiced with this whole summoning thing because she didn't know the rules.

Even if she didn't give him a strict set of boundaries, he couldn't just kill her. Some rules were set in stone—literally, at some of the ritual sites—with these summonings. In fact, a called creature couldn't take any action that would directly or indirectly lead to the summoner's death. That would be cheating. Kick the shit out of them, sure, but not kill them. And Gajeel didn't really have a reason for that anyhow.

Summoners were scary shit. It wasn't smart to cross them. They could make deals, bind them inside nasty boundaries, and even weasel in self-mutilation if it didn't break the contract. He wasn't the kind of monster who could just regrow parts, so he'd pass on that, thanks.

This woman didn't look like much, but why take the risk? His old man had always stressed keeping his word, too. Old metal-head had been a bastard of a dragon, but that was beside the point. Gajeel was under contract now, even if he didn't know the specifics just yet. Crossing her wasn't really on the agenda.

Wasn't it always the quiet ones anyway?

But she was still huddled. He sighed again. Beneath his cloak, his wings twitched with the need for action. At least this was a first. Usually summoners just barked orders and pointed him in the right direction. How the hell did he deal with this?

"What about yer villagers?"

The woman opened her eyes as her brow furrowed. She blinked at him.

Gajeel made an impatient gesture. "This great plan of yers. I kill you and go rampaging, that it? And what happens to all the other people?"

There was movement behind her eyes, like maybe she was taking a second to translate what he said. Or maybe she was just surprised he didn't strike her down. That's the sort of bedtime stories they were telling kids now, wasn't it?

It didn't take long for the corner of her mouth to quirk up, but not in a happy way. Something about the look made him shift uneasily from one foot to the other. The hell was this? His pops never mentioned any of this touchy-feely shit, and he'd never had to worry about it before. Summoning wasn't like this a hundred years ago.

"If they aren't stopped, there might not be any people left," she answered. "The rebels slaughtered everyone from the first three towns they invaded."

At the last word, her lip trembled, drawing his attention to the cut on it. He frowned, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she glanced off toward the stairs, turning a little, where the three men were still conspiring. When she exposed that side of her face, the blossoming purple mark was vivid against her pale skin.

Gajeel went very, very still.

Something inside of him snarled, and he fought hard not to mimic the reaction out loud. Dragons were coveting bastards. Since phasing through that gate, he had a claim on this shrimpy woman. And someone had trespassed.

Wounds were to be expected in a rebellion. War was a messy thing—he knew firsthand. But someone like Shorty here wasn't built for front lines. Running through the warzone hadn't given her the marks either.

Besides the bruise on the side of her face, there were other blotches on the skin—at least ones he could see: her collarbone, under the arm, and on one leg. The other leg was wrapped in the remnant of some ratty cloth. Rubbed rings encircled her wrists and ankles too, like she'd been in chains. Her feet were bare and cut up.

He didn't have to look far for the culprits. The bigger man of the group suddenly laughed, and she straightened up sharply. It wasn't cowering, but her neutral face was crumbling at the corners.

While he knew nothing about this woman, she was still his. Twisted as it was, nobody on either side of the gate would say he didn't look out for his own. He had a lot of work to do.

"Which one of those bastards hit you?"

She blinked at him again. Then she got a wary look and eyed him up and down, keeping her lips clamped shut. When she hugged herself, he almost snapped at her—why the hell should she protect them?

Gajeel huffed, crossed his arms, and gave her a flat look until she squirmed. Okay, he got it. He was a big, scary dragon. But what about being on the same side didn't she get?

She opened her mouth and abruptly closed it before she answered, glancing back at the group again. She froze. The three of them were approaching.

He stepped closer and touched her shoulder, ignoring the way she jolted. Her skin had gone cold, and a fine tremble was working its way down her body.

"The younger one," she whispered, suddenly wobbling on her feet.

When she pitched to the side, he jerked to catch her. "Oi, Shorty, you ain't lookin' so hot."

That turned out to be an understatement. Her knees gave out, and he barely caught the mumbled, "It's Levy," before she passed out.

Gajeel was able to catch her and lower her to the stone before she cracked her head. Even unconscious, she shivered. That short as shit dress didn't cover much of anything—but judging from the tears, it probably hadn't started out so tiny. Her skin was almost as pale as the stone. What, did she never go outside? Or maybe she had just been locked up for that long. The beast inside growled.

A trio of boots came up behind him. He kept his back turned, even when one of them coughed to get his attention. Gajeel smirked.

He took his time pulling the string from his cloak, pausing to drape it over the shrimp. The startled gasp let him know that they'd seen the folded wings against his back. He stretched them, feeling the pitch black webbing pull as they were finally freed from their confines. He hoped they liked the metal studs embedded into them.

"Excuse us," one of them said, and it took a second for him to realize it must've been in the local language. Judging from the mellow tone, he pegged it for the youngest one. The one who hit her.

Gajeel took a long look at the beating she'd taken. He'd bet there was more too; ones she could hide. With her hair fanning out around her, passed out like she was, she was almost peaceful. But he knew better.

He finally stood and took a step toward the edge of the platform—in between them and her. Folding his arms, he debated playing dumb and pretending not to understand what they were saying. They'd probably flounder around pretty comically. But where was the real fun in that? He had a score to settle—and he wanted them to know it.

The soft-spoken one tried to smile, but Gajeel could see the uneasiness in his face. He was a practiced speaker and probably a pretty good actor against normal people. But Gajeel wasn't normal. All three of them were tense, hiding their fear behind robes that were much better off than Shorty's.

The guy with the unshaven face suddenly frowned at him. "So you're from the other side?"

Gajeel gave him a look and held his arms out, curling his wings inward for a moment and motioning at the horns on his head. "It look like I'm from around here?"

He wasn't sure he'd gotten the words right at first, but then the man scowled and took a step forward. The dragon inside tensed, hoping this idiot would make the first move. Unfortunately, the young one held up an arm to hold the offended guy back. But a few more minutes wouldn't hurt; he could savor the anticipation that way.

"Now, now, let's not do things we can't take back." Gajeel snorted and folded his arms again. "But now that you're here, sir...?"

He trailed off, expecting Gajeel to fill in his name. Names had to be earned—even ones that weren't his True Name. Like hell he was giving that information up. You could do a lot of nasty shit with a Name.

Instead, the dragon stared until the supposed speaker continued with an awkward cough. "Let's get down to business, shall we? We've some nuisances for you to dispose of—we're in the middle of a rebellion, and you're going to slay the last remaining member of the crown." Gajeel didn't miss the way the man's lip curled just slightly with his next words. "That woman can show you where—"

"You the one that hit her?" Gajeel cut the man off, pleased at the startled look on his prey's face.

"I... what?"

Gajeel, now confident he was in control, lazily stepped toward the edge of the platform. He grinned when the rest backed up half a dozen paces. The speaker looked even paler in the poor light. Good. Gajeel wanted him to suffer most of all.

"Thing is," he dragged out, making a show of stretching his arms high over his head and cracking his neck. Then, he jumped down onto the main floor. "I only take orders from Shorty over there," he said, nodding his head in the the woman's direction. "And yer not part of the deal."

"W-wait, you can't—!" the unshaven one tried to protest, but Gajeel just cracked his knuckles.

The three started to retreat faster, but he knew he could catch them. The biggest one had already turned tail, but the other two were trying to put up a brave front—morons.

"But I can," Gajeel answered, showing fang with his grin. "Shorty didn't say shit about you lot."

They ran. He counted to three, let the dragon flood his senses, and sprung.

"Gihee!"

.

.

When Levy woke, she was shivering and her hair was standing on end.

The room was different somehow, and that was from more than just laying on the cool stones. All over, her body ached—the side of her head, the curve of her spine, the length of her arm—but at the same time, she was energized. It was like she could run without stopping despite knowing she was tired. Power buzzed along her skin. Is this what summoners felt all the time?

That was when she remembered she hadn't been alone. Tension shot through her, jerking her body upright even though her muscles screamed. Something warm and soft fell away from her, but she was only partially aware as her ears roared with her pulse. After a moment, her heart slowed, and the only sound she could make out was the flickering of the torches.

Pooled in her lap was a cloak that was radiating heat from the fur sewn into it. She ran her fingers over the top, caressing the soft hide. Seeing her pale skin against the dark fabric drew her eyes to her new tattoos. She'd only seen marks like this one other time, when one of the scary swampland summoners had come to the castle—the woman scowled the entire time, but she was able to cure Lucy from a sickness born from a curse within hours.

She rubbed at them, but the ring of ancient script around her wrist didn't vanish. At least the symbols on her ankle almost covered up the worn indents from the shackles. Would these just be a different set of chains?

She brought the cloak to her chin and hugged her knees. It smelled metallic, likely from the studs decorating the garment, but there was also something comforting about it. She nearly laughed.

Across the room, she spotted the creature she had called. He was crouched down next to a body with a blue tunic—the soft-spoken one. Now that she had his covering, she could see the leathery wings resting against the man's back. The firelight glinted off the metal pierced into the webbing.

The dragon was rubbing his hands off on her captor's shirt—dark streaks came away on the fabric when the creature stood. The other two men were sprawled out on the floor, but they weren't moving. From underneath them, blood crept toward her like an outstretched hand as it dribbled across the stones. Some of it had sprayed up onto the walls. What had she called into this world?

Staring so intently at the room, she missed him jumping up onto the platform until he crouched down in front of her. She let out an 'eep!' of surprise and cringed, snapping her eyes shut and sort of cowering under his cloak like a blanket when she was young. When nothing happened, she peeked out and met an amused-looking dragon. This close, she could see the grooves in his curling horns.

Then, he coughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. In the ancient language, he asked, "Yer not gonna freak out, are ya?"

When she didn't answer at first, he repeated the question again, this time in her normal dialect. The fact that he knew multiple languages was enough to intrigue her and prompt answering his question—forgetting about the fear that he might kill her.

She looked back at the gruesome scene on that basement floor. From this angle, she was spared a lot of the gore, but she knew it was probably bad from the way some of the limbs were twisted. She waited for the horror to overwhelm her, for the shaking, for anything. Except it didn't come. She looked out at her three former captors and even though it should've bothered her more, all she felt was relief.

Levy was still undecided about the man she summoned, but the bodies weren't going to be an issue. This month, it was no longer new.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

He let out a sigh of relief. Then he grinned, and it made his piercings twist. "Good. That'd make our job a little harder." He stood, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders before holding a hand down to help her up. "There's more of those guys, right? Not much of a warm-up. Next time, you gotta watch."

When she didn't take his hand, he waved it in front of her. But she learned a little bit about blindly reaching. Levy's brow furrowed. He was being... considerate. And almost giddy, like when the kids at the library showed her what book they had just finished didn't understand.

"So, you're not going to kill me?"

He gave her a flat look that tilted his head and made his mane of dark hair follow. "How much do you know about summoning?"

Levy bit her lip reflexively and fought not to poke her fingers together. It never sat well admitting she didn't know something. "Until a few days ago, nothing really."

The dragon sighed and made a face, though she didn't think it was aimed at her. "Guess I gotta explain a few things then," he said, offering his hand once more. This time, he made an impatient sound when she just stared at it. "I ain't gonna eat you—can't. Not even if you tell me to, though you'd have to be pretty clear on what way you meant."

Despite everything, her cheeks erupted into flames. She sputtered, and he grinned. The next time he waved his hand, she let him pull her up—but she kept her head turned away in embarassment. Then, he spent the next few minutes explaining a few rules: he couldn't kill her, she sort of got to order him around within reason, and that control didn't extend to anyone else.

Absently, she realized she had been clutching his cloak while he spoke. When she tried to hand it back, he waved it off. "Keep it. Yours don't cover shit."

Cheeks still red, she didn't try to argue—she already knew that wouldn't get her much of anywhere just after a short conversation. He hadn't even let her interrupt with questions during his explaining. There was a lot more she would need to know. It was a good thing she had practice manipulating stubborn people; she had a feeling it was going to come in handy.

"So how much time we talkin'?" he asked as she shrugged into the soft material—it was lighter than it looked.

Levy shook her head. "I guess I didn't set a time frame?" she half-asked. Was that something summoners usually did? She didn't know that creatures usually had a time limit when they appeared in their world.

The cloak was a little long for her, which didn't surprise her at all. What did was the overly-complicated tie holding the two halves together. Because her shoulders weren't as wide as his, she was having trouble fastening it well enough to stay on without slipping off down.

He shrugged. "Then I'm here 'til your goal is complete."

Then, seeing her struggling—it was probably the huff of frustration that did it—he reached forward and brushed her hands away to tie the garment himself. She pouted up at him but let him do it. That didn't mean she didn't cross her arms and bite the inside of her cheek.

"But I didn't really have one when I summoned you."

"Subconsciously you did," he answered as he finished knotting the garment. It only took him one try. "Think back."

She did, though she'd admit she got a little distracted counting all of the metal in his skin. How many couldn't she see? As far as she knew, Natsu didn't have anything like that, so it wasn't a dragon thing. Thinking of Natsu made her think of Lucy, and that reminded her what her purpose was.

"Ending the rebellion. That's the only thing I can think of." He didn't seem bothered by it. Instead, he was poking around in her books. "What should I call you?"

He got up and hesitated a moment, so she knew the name he gave next probably wasn't his real Name—other creatures were more careful about that than most people she knew. She supposed with all of the summonings, and the fact that names aided a spell, it made sense to be secretive about it.

"Call me Gajeel."

She nodded, still thinking how strange this all was. Last week she had been at the castle with Lucy; now she was standing in a basement with a creature she had summoned from another world. And their goal was to end the rebellion. What had she gotten herself into?

"Oi, Shorty," he called, waving a hand in front of her face. She snapped out of her daze with a frown. What was with these nicknames? "We're partners now, 'til this thing is over. Literally bound to each other—that sort of thing. Got it, short stuff?"

She puffed her cheeks and exhaled so her hair moved. "It's Levy," she stressed again.

Instead of listening, Gajeel reached out and mussed the top of her already-messy head.

"Hey!"

"Gihee!"

Thank you for reading! As always, I would love feedback on how I can improve!