Discover Top Posts Tagged with #constellunaa

In the Bones: Part One

Title: In the Bones

Rated: M (for violence and later chapters)

Words: 10K+

Summary: Natsu and Lucy are from warring clans, each acting as a powerful warrior for their people. Natsu’s clan consists of skilled blacksmiths, crafting weapons from the earth and enchanting them with lost elemental magic. Lucy’s people are Spiritwalkers, powerful seers who can make contracts with ancient spirits from the bones they leave behind. (enemies to lovers AU)

AN: New AU for @constellunaa‘s birthday! Happy birthday Shana! Have a lovely day <3 This one is based on her warring clans AU which is AMAZING.

*also on FF, so please be sure to drop a review there and follow the story if you want to!

Lucy bends low over the bowl before her, cupping her hands to trap the gust from her lungs as she breathes life into the broken, forgotten splinters of bone. Cracked ribs lay before her, as well as the remains of a smashed skull, barely the size of her palm, small enough to cradle. They rattle when she blows warm air against them, shifting slightly, and she grins. Excitement sweeps through her, her hands trembling, and she has to steady herself before trying again.

She takes a deep breath, golden eyes slipping shut as she pushes passed her nerves, readying herself. Her eyes snap open once more, a faint shimmer of blue in her irises, and this time when she breathes into them, a pale, ghostly blue glow pulls from her lungs. It fans across the bones, and they quiver, clacking together wildly as she leans back, waiting for the creature to form, long forgotten pieces of itself finally becoming one.

Her eyes slam shut, her heart stuttering in her chest, and she bites her lip. Lucy’s lungs go still, the oxygen leaving her in a rush, and she reminds herself not to panic, her mind used to the loss of breath, though her body constantly rejects the feeling. Her lungs scream for air, her spirit flickering as she continues to breathe against the bones she found days earlier while out in the woods.

Eventually, she runs out of air, the blue glow leaving her and washing across the rattling bones, the sound growing so loud she can barely think. Lucy gasps for breath, coughing slightly, and winces as her chest aches, her life-force growing thin for a moment before coming back to her.

The consequences of walking with spirits were the first things Lucy was taught as a child, her mother making her promise never to spread herself too thin. There’s only so much a Spiritwalker can take, their lives much more fragile than others.

The bones fall silent a moment later. The rattling stops suddenly, and her eyes snap open, gold flickering in the early morning light spilling in through the open window. The wool rug beneath Lucy tickles at her skin, and the bones are quiet, as if nothing happened. For a moment, she frowns, eyes narrowing as she stares down at them, but then they shift again, though not because of her.

A low whining sound reaches her ears, so soft she almost doesn’t notice it, and Lucy grins as a pair of furry ears twitch behind the ribcage. Another whine reaches her ears, and she laughs as the creature lifts its head, a wolf cub peeking at her, more alive than the fractured skull at her feet.

It yawns, shaking itself, and stands on trembling legs, wobbling as it takes the first step of its second life. Peering up at her, blue eyes lock with Lucy’s, the same ghostly flicker of her breath. It takes a step towards her, slipping slightly, and she laughs, the wolf’s body flickering at the edges, almost smudging, not entirely there.

Lucy giggles and reaches out with one hand, allowing the cub to sniff at her fingers. “Hello, little one,” she coos, scratching it behind its grey ears when it noses at her, waddling on too big feet to flop down before her, rolling onto one side and allowing her to scratch at its belly. Lucy winds her fingers through the soft fur of its stomach, feeling its chest rise with borrowed breath, alive but also not.

It saddens her for a moment, her smile slipping away as she remembers that though it breathes and she can touch it, the wolf is only half alive.

She glances behind it, staring at its bones, and winces, wishing there was something more she could do. The life of a Spiritwalker is not an easy one, Lucy’s come to learn in her twenty years. It’s bittersweet, Lucy constantly wishing she could do more, but knowing that bad things happen to those who try.

Shaking herself, Lucy scoops the wolf cub into her arms. It yelps, not expecting the sudden shift in position, but settles against her, tail wagging as it noses at her chin, teeth latching onto one of the bones on her necklace, long and thin, carved from the ribs of a lion spirit, lost long ago. He comes when she calls, eyes ghastly blue and fangs sharper than anything she’s ever seen.

She does not call upon them often. Walking with powerful spirits can be dangerous, most do not like to be controlled. Lucy’s called upon the lion only three times since the necklace was passed from her mother to her, all of them in battle. He’s saved her life several times, and Lucy would call him a friend if she thought she could believe it. She’s been told that the older the bones the more tricky the spirit. They can be liars, saying what they want, making promises they cannot keep, anything to be summoned.

New bones, like those of the pup in her arms, are harmless, not tainted and bitter from their long sleep. She’s loath to trust the ancient spirits, no matter how helpful they can be. There was one she trusted years ago, she muses, sighing as she feels the empty weight around her throat, no choker where one once was.

Lucy doesn’t dwell on it, pushing herself to her feet and wiping the dirt from her legs. The cool air tickles her bare thighs, and her long braid thumps against her back, the rest of her hair loose and tumbling down in great waves. She brushes her bangs aside, fingers skimming across the crystals dangling from her ears. Rolling one between her finger and thumb, Lucy shifts the spirit into her left arm, cradling it to her as the wind whips through the room.

Her necklaces clink together as she turns towards the door, tensing when she notices a familiar figure watching her.

The taller man glares down at her, lips twisted into a disapproving sneer as he eyes the cub tucked into her elbow, still gnawing at the bones hanging around her neck. He says nothing, only stares, and Lucy shifts in place, gaze darting away from his as she stiffens, flinching under his gaze. “Father,” she murmurs, golden eyes flickering up to meet a pair darker than her own, so deep they near black.

For a long moment he says nothing, simply glances between her and the wolf in disgust. His hands clench into tight fists, and he releases a slow breath, head shaking slightly. “Lucy,” he greets her in return, no warmth to his tone as his gaze flicks to the bowl of bones resting in the dirt.

She shifts, waiting for him to say something, and her shoes scuff against the ground, wet dirt matting the white fur lining her boots. He observes her silently, and Lucy busies herself with straightening the long cloth around her hips, a deep red and lined with soft dragon scales, some of the only remnants of the long forgotten beasts. It tickles at her skin, the thin belts around her hips keeping it snug against her, and Lucy finds herself tracing the edge of the fabric absentmindedly.

The cool air winds around her bare midriff, the red cloth wrapping around her chest doing little to keep away the North wind coming from the winter woods. It has been growing colder lately, and while she’d like to believe it’s merely the changing seasons, she knows deep in her soul that they’ve come for her clan.

They were foolish to run.

“Have you thought about what we discussed?” he asks her, not looking at her as he glances around the small space she’s created for herself, nothing but a low wooden building, large enough for her and perhaps another. It isn’t as glamorous as his own home, she knows, the one she used to live in.

Lucy would rather sleep where people live.

“What is there to discuss?” she asks him, laughing bitterly and twisting to her right, walking away from him and ignoring his glare as she lifts her long knife from where it rests above the fire, the flames casting twitch shadows against the ivory weapon. Expertly carved, Lucy was gifted it on her sixteenth birthday. The blade is a symbol of her age but also a weapon of power, given to her for her fighting spirit.

Her fingers skim the bone lovingly and Lucy hears him curse behind her, practically snarling.

“Lucy,” he calls to her, sighing and she can feel his gaze burn against her back, can practically taste his anger in the air. She considers ignoring him, but knows better.

Instead, she turns to face him, eyes narrowing as her lips press into a thin line. Her chin tilts upwards, her back straightening, and she twirls the weapon between her fingers, feeling its familiar weight in her palm. The wolf cub whines, burrowing into her shoulder, and she hushes it gently.

“You want to start a war that you cannot win,” she hisses, glaring back at her father, eyes narrowed as something like contempt winds through her. The bones around her throat shift, rattling as they feed off her distress. Her father takes a step towards her, and Lucy’s rage flares in her chest, fingers curling around her blade defensively.

Jude stares at her, long robes flowing around him, rich garnets and royal blues curling around his frame. He sighs, staring down at her, something like pity in his gaze. He reaches out slowly, crossing the small distance between them and placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches away, but he doesn’t release her, only grips her tighter. “You underestimate us,” he hisses in her ear, nails digging into her bare skin and making her cringe.

The wolf cub snarls at her father, barring its small teeth threateningly, hackles raises, and she quiets it with a gentle touch, shaking her head softly. It whines, but does as she asks, wet nose pressing against her neck and soft fur warming against her skin. Its lungs move with a phantom breath, heart beating rhythmically, and Lucy shudders as she thinks about her father demanding she release its soul back to the earth.

“And you underestimate them,” she counters, yanking out of his grip. Lucy shakes her head, suddenly furious at her father’s refusal to listen to her. She’s been telling him for days what a mistake it would be to attack so blindly. Their Spiritwalkers are few compared to the Dragonborne warriors. And while her people are strong, their numbers dwindle with every passing year.

They cannot handle a war, not so soon after the last.

Jude snorts, shaking his head, and backs her against the wall. “You managed to hold them off once,” he reminds her, and Lucy sneers, wondering if he’s forgotten the price she and every other Spiritwalker paid for that fight. It wasn’t a win for them, only a momentary gain of ground. They did little more than push back their enemies for a short time.

“Yes,” she drawls, sending him a cool look offset by the fire burning in her gaze, gold sparking with rage. “And it cost me dearly,” Lucy reminds him, shifting the cub to graze her fingers across her throat, wincing as she feels the empty space where her mother’s necklace once rested, a small, thin scar resting in its place. “We cannot start a war we are unable to finish.” She locks eyes with him, daring her father to challenge her.

“We have spirits,” Jude snaps, leaning into her space, and Lucy’s skin crawls as his eyes pin her. She shakes her head, disgusted, and ducks beneath his arm, stepping around him and heading for the door. She’s given him her answer, and she isn’t about to change her mind, not when she know how many people will be lost.

If the fighting doesn’t kill them, the Skinwalkers certainly will.

“And they have men,” Lucy counters, scoffing. She turns back to him, stopping just inside the entrance to her home. Lucy sighs, shaking her head and wishing there was some way to get through to him, knowing he’ll never listen. “There are so few of us left,” she reminds her father softly, pleading with her eyes for his to understand. He’s never been one to walk with the spirits. He doesn’t know what it means. “Do not sacrifice us in vain,” Lucy warns him.

Again, Jude shakes his head, taking a step forward as his expression darkens, twisting into something unfamiliar that makes her wince. She’s always been grateful her feather could never walk with the spirits, fearing what he would become. The power to bring things back, to control them, if only for a moment, it does things to people. That power drives some of them mad.

“If you would simply raise—”

Lucy whirls on him, baring her teeth and daring him to come closer. “The dead do not like to be awakened,” she hisses, voice low. He takes a step back, and she groans, wishing again that he would just listen to her for once. Laughing incredulously, Lucy turns towards the door once again, tucking the cub safely against her chest, tightening her grip on her weapon as she storms out of the room, abandoning him to the silence and empty space.

He follows after her, not letting her go far, but Lucy simply ignores him, padding across the stone paths and ignoring him as he shouts her name, demanding she come back. A few turn to stare at them, but Lucy pays them no mind, not wanting to deal with conversation at the moment.

Jellal catches her eye, half-hidden in the shadow of a building, and sends her the briefest of nods, so slight she almost misses it. He watches as her father chases after her, hand going to his weapon as the older man closes in on her, but Lucy shakes her head, calming the warrior. He blinks, frowning, and doesn’t relax, and Lucy knows Gray is near as well. Both men have served their clan well, and though neither are Spiritwalkers themselves, they’ve always trusted her lead.

“Where are you going?” her father demands, stopping as Lucy edges towards the woods, not daring to follow. His eyes widen, and behind him Lucy sees Gray, his expression paling as he sees her heading straight for the forest.

Walker Woods, they call it, and not named for those that dance with spirits. Monsters hide there, having followed them from the Icelands. Most don’t dare enter the trees, terrified of what they might find, but Spiritwalkers do not have that option. The forest may be cursed, but it’s the only definite place to find what they need.

“To dig up more bones,” she calls over her shoulder, not bothering to glance back as she steps into the dark woods.

The hammer comes down hard on the piece of warped iron, Natsu’s brow furrowing when the metal doesn’t twist the way he wants it to. He’s always had a knack for metalwork, but sometimes he wishes it would bend to him the way it always has for Gajeel, his older cousin. He’s always been the better blacksmith of the two of them, but Natsu can’t begrudge him for it. The iron may respond to Gajeel easier than it does him, but Natsu can call himself the better fighter of the two of them.

Gajeel is good, but not nearly as fast.

Natsu continues to pound at the sheet of iron, slowly working it into a curved blade, similar to the old one he’s worn on his arm since he was younger. He’s been needing to make a new one for months, his old one chipped and broken after the long summer, a price he paid during the fighting. He meant to fix it, but between the rest of his work, he simply hasn’t found the time. He could have requested one from Gajeel, but Natsu has always felt better using weapons he’s crafted with his own hands.

He trusts Gajeel with his life, more than he trusts anyone else, but Natsu thinks iron is different. It can be unpredictable even in skilled hands, and for that Natsu only trusts his own.

He stares down at the piece, shaping it into a shallow bend, enough to follow the curve of his arm, and decides that this one will be his. He’s waited months to make one for himself, and he’s completed enough orders to keep this one. If anyone has an issue with that, he thinks they can shove it.

Natsu sneers as he thinks about Erza, a warrior only a few years older than himself. She’s more particular about her weapons than most, and wants them done twice as fast, but has no skill for the craft herself. He figures she won’t be happy about her newest sword coming in late, but if she has an issue, he won’t feel particularly bad about sending her Gajeel’s way.

While he respects Erza more than most, the girl has been a thorn in his side for ages, practically since he started his apprenticeship. She never seemed to learn that good quality takes a longer time to craft, much to his constant annoyance.

Natsu huffs, paying little attention to his craft, and slips slightly, arm coming too close to the fire. He hisses at the heat, jerking away from the flames, but the fire doesn’t touch him, warded away by the metal in his ring.

The plain, silver band glows red, pulsing with the heat from the fire until he has to look away from the light. He glances back as the light dims, catching sight of a small flame as it dances across the back of his hand, warm, but not but not burning him. It flickers for several seconds, Natsu lifting his hand to get a better look, but when he raises the flame level with his eyes it disappears entirely, quelled by the ring’s magic.

He smiles down at the ring fondly, shaking his head and runs his finger across the smooth band, silently thanking it for protecting him once again. He’s always marveled at their ability to utilize magic. It’s something his clan has done for years, even before he was born. He grew up hearing the stories and legends about how it the magic was harnessed, about how the great hero Yuri stole the power of lightning from the Gods and vanquished the demon Zeref.

He doesn’t understand how it all works, but they’ve managed to enchant their weapons and the other metal they decorate themselves with. It’s something they’re taught when they’re young. Natsu learned it through hours of watching Igneel work, the process more delicate than crafting the iron itself. Embedding weapons with elemental magic can take hours, sometimes days depending on the amount.

Simply spells like those in his ring, merely meant to ward away the fire and keep him from being burned while he works, are rather quick to embed compared to those in a fully formed sword, taking little more than a few seconds to cast, though it can take some time for them to fully settle. With jewelry they always cast the spells while the metal is soft, pliant and easily crafted, letting the magic settle as the iron or silver hardens.

It’s a difficult skill to master, but Natsu prides himself in how much he’s managed to accomplish at such a young age, even surpassing his father in skill some time ago. Igneel has always been one of the best, working with the metal for over twenty years at this point, but he also taught Natsu everything he knew before eventually retiring, handing over his shop to Natsu and Gajeel, though he often comes by to oversee their word, still a master in his own right.

Natsu trusts Igneel’s judgment more than he trusts his own at times, always relying on his father’s second opinion.

Shaking his head, Natsu settles his palm atop the curved blade, feeling it crackle with heat beneath his touch, warm but not scalding like it would be without his magic. Leaning over the iron, Natsu bends at the waist until he’s nearly kissing it. The heat fans across his face, but his piercings keep the fire from burning him, one in his lower lip and four in his left ear, three in his right.

The flames lick at his skin, and Natsu takes a deep breath before murmuring an enchantment, smoothing his palm along the blade, fire dancing beneath his fingers. The blade glows for a moment, a red haze surrounding the iron before fading just as suddenly as it was there, seeping deep into the metal.

He grins as he pulls away, fingers skimming across the metal one last time before he leaves it completely. Natsu glances over his work with a critical eye, humming to himself as he looks for any imperfections in the metal, pleased when he sees none.

Natsu finishes quickly, leaving the sword to cool and stepping aside. He finally notices the heat clinging to him, sweat sticking to his skin and rolling down his back. Cringing at the feeling, Natsu grabs at the old rag he keeps at his work station, swiping it up with a curse and wiping it across his brow to remove the sweat dripping into his eyes. He runs it along the side of his neck, stilling briefly when it comes in contact with the pale, raised scar on his throat.

He lets his hand linger, tracing the silver scar with a frown. It’s only a few years old, still relatively new to him, a brand he’s carried ever since their first battle with the Bone Witches. Sneering, Natsu swipes across the damaged skin, growling to himself as he thinks about that day. He was careless and it cost him. He won’t make that mistake again.

She caught him from behind, fast and silent as she lunged for him. He didn’t have a moment to think or move as she closed in on him, lashing out with her weapon made of bone. It caught him across the neck, ripping open the side of his throat. Natsu’s lucky to have lived that day, her blade just missing the artery on his neck, though she drew blood.

He made sure to return the favor, striking for her neck when she leaned in close to him, checking to see if he was dead. She was faster than him, Natsu only able to knick her, barely drawing a thin line of blood before she was dancing away, disappearing into the battle. He would have followed, tracked her down and forced her into a fair fight, but something stopped him.

Natsu glances down at the spare knife he keeps at his hip, hand drifting down to trace the smooth, carved pendant hanging off the hilt: bone. He doesn’t know why he kept it. He should have just let it be, left it laying on the ground, but something told him to take it, to keep it. Something about it makes him feel safe, somehow. He doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t think he wants to. The bones have always made him nervous, Natsu knowing that the spirits of the dead cling to them.

It’s unnerving, and not something he likes to dwell upon.

Natsu drops the pendant back in its place, shaking his head. It’s not worth thinking about. Silently, he shoves the thoughts away, sighing through his nose and wiping another line of sweat from his chest, not liking the feeling of it sticking to him. Natsu hums under his breath, glancing around at his work for the day, pleased to see several orders completed, more than he was hoping to finish at that.

He tenses suddenly, feeling someone come up behind him, only relaxing when he recognizes the familiar presence.

“You’ve been busy,” his cousin comments, giving a low whistle as he steps into the room, glancing at the rows of weapons lining the walls. Gajeel ambles over to a row of axes, reaching out slowly and dragging a finger along the flat of the blade. He raises an impressed brow, leaning in to inspect the filigree along the edge, delicate with its thin lines, but holding a raw power as well. Gajeel nods, seemingly awed, and glances back at Natsu over his shoulder, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Natsu grins, peering into the next room over, unsurprised to see the empty walls, nothing more than a handful of unimpressive knives resting in one corner, no less than five of them. “And you haven’t,” Natsu jokes in return, snorting. He isn’t surprised, Gajeel hasn’t been in his workroom for the last three days. His requests have been piling up, and Natsu thinks that if he isn’t careful, he’s going to lose several customers very soon.

As much as Natsu loves his cousin, he isn’t above taking his customers. Gajeel may be the better craftsman, if only by a hair, but Natsu has the far better reputation for being on time. Gajeel’s been too busy chasing around girls all week to get any of his work done. A pity, really, but Natsu can’t say it isn’t amusing.

Gajeel shoots him a nasty look, whirling on his heel to lock eyes with Natsu. His gaze narrows, Gajeel crossing his arms over his chest defensively, unpleased with all the teasing. “I’ve been busy,” he defends himself, practically hissing, and Natsu has to bite back his laughter, knowing how temperamental Gajeel can be.

“Yes,” Natsu agrees dryly, turning back to the blade he was working on, “chasing Levy must be very time consuming.” He allows himself to laugh, hearing Gajeel grumble something nasty behind him. Any other day Natsu might have gotten mad over Gajeel insulting him, but he’s in a surprisingly good mood, given how long he’s been awake.

Behind them, someone clears their through, causing Natsu and Gajeel to tense upon recognition.

“Yes,” an equally dry voice agrees with Natsu, their tone disapproving. Natsu glances to the side, seeing his cousin cringe slightly. “Gajeel, running after the McGarden girl must be very difficult.” Gajeel has the decency to flush as he turns around staring guiltily at his feet. Natsu does the same, staring up into the smiling face of his father. Igneel quirks a brow at the two of them, glancing into Gajeel work space. “Considering how little work you’ve done this week, I’d imagine she’s quite the catch.”

Gajeel blanches, but doesn’t argue, and Igneel laughs, throwing his head back as he crosses his arms. The golden bands around his upper arms glint in the light from Natsu’s fire, and Igneel’s green eyes go bright when he sees what Natsu has been working on all morning. He reaches out, patting Natsu on the shoulder before turning to cuff Gajeel, gently reprimanding him for ignoring his work.

“Igneel,” Gajeel greets, pouting slightly.

Natsu snickers at his cousin. “Hey, Dad,” he replies, grinning up at him.

Igneel’s smile slips nearly as soon as it appears, a darkness cutting across his eyes, exhaustion clouding his features. Natsu and Gajeel exchange a look, confused, and Igneel sighs when he sees the silent question in their eyes. He takes a step forward, towering over them both, and dips his chin to whisper in their ears, a low growl to his words. “Acnologia called a meeting,” he warns them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders and squeezing.

Natsu scoffs, shaking his head. “A war council,” he corrects, spitting the words. They leave a bad taste on his tongue, Natsu’s nose wrinkling as he thinks about it. While their meetings were once simply that, they’ve become something far darker. Acnologia took control not three years ago, forcing their former leader Makarov to either step down or die in combat, the two men disagreeing heavily on what to do with the Bone Witches coming from the north.

Natsu has no love for the witches himself, but Acnologia speaks of what would have been considered war crimes years ago, treating them as less than human. He doesn’t trust the Bone Witches, but disagrees with Acnologia’s methods, the man relying on nothing but cruelty to drive them out. Natsu will never understand senseless slaughter. He’ll give them a war, if it comes to that, but he refuses to slip into their homes at night and cut their throats while they sleep.

There’s no honor in killing children.

Gajeel elbows him in the ribs, gaining his attention, and Natsu’s head snaps up, his gaze locking on Igneel’s as his father squeezes his shoulder. “He wants to see everyone immediately,” Igneel tells them lowly, a hint mischief in his gaze as he rolls his eyes, Igneel holding no fondness for their clan leader.

The position was meant to be Igneel’s once. Makarov was grooming him to be his successor, set to hand down his position to Igneel come the full moon in the midst of summer near three years back. Acnologia took the position first, demanding it while Igneel was off scouting in the east.

Igneel could have demanded a trial by combat, denouncing Acnologia and claiming the title of leader for himself, though he didn’t dare. Acnologia has always been cruel, and Igneel could never be sure what the man would do to his children if he lost.

Wendy was only thirteen at the time, too young to defend herself from someone of Acnologia’s skill.

“But,” Igneel continues before either of them can speak, giving them both a little wink, “I don’t think he’ll mind if you two are already busy.” It’s a joke more than anything, Igneel sending Gajeel a pointed look, jerking his head towards his nephews workspace. Gajeel flushes slightly, sending Igneel a sour look, but eventually sighs and heads off to continue his work from earlier in the week.

Igneel squeezes his shoulder once in a silent goodbye before disappearing, and Natsu watches him leave for a moment before glancing towards the Wilder Woods in the north, frowning slightly as he stares across the village at the dark forest.

Natsu grabs his scarf before setting off.

Fallen branches crackle beneath her boots as she creeps through the trees, following the wolf spirit as it weaves through the tall grass, disappearing from her sight for a moment before racing back to her, yipping happily. Lucy smiles down at the cub, though her nerves begin to prickle every time he makes a noise, aware that she is not the only thing in this forest, and certainly not the most dangerous.

She hushes him softly, crouching down to tickle beneath his chin and let his wet tongue lap at her cheek. He whines softly, seeming to understand her hesitance to go further into the woods. Lucy's already lost track of how long she's been walking, unsure if she's strayed outside the boundaries of her own territory.

Most of their Spiritwalkers have picked their own land clean of bones, finding all they could in the surrounding forest. Her wolves were a lucky find, near a stream on the very edge of their lands. It was a pair of them, strewn across the bank, bodies still warm and sticky with blood, their pelts missing and their bodies half-eaten. Lucy didn't stay there long, just enough to pick a bone from each of them before running back the way she came, aware that the Skinwalkers could still be close, never satisfied with their first steal.

Lucy spent days carving the bones into pieces for her hair, etching the symbol of her clan onto each of the bones and decorating them with paint. They could never be considered the nicest of her carvings, done when Lucy was barely sixteen, her craft still sloppy.

Neither of the wolves appeared to mind her poor craft, simply happy to run again, no longer bound to their bones beside the stream, left on the bank to rot and sink back into the soil. While she would never call the spirits tame, there is something special about them.

Sharsa and Fen have been beside her for several years now, one of Lucy's more common summons. They come when she alls most days, others when she does not, and though they are not nearly as cuddly as the cub she found, Lucy finds herself to have a kind of mutual respect with them. They recognize her strength and power, accepting her for it, but she thinks they also fear her.

Most spirits with violent deaths always do.

A branch snaps off to her right, and Lucy jerks around hand going to her knife, but it is only Fen, the black wolf trotting through the trees higher up on the hill, alert and watching for the Walkers. Sharsa is farther ahead, sniffing at a tree, her muddled, grey coat hiding her among the forest. The cub glances at Fen, tail wagging, and darts from her side without a second glance, running over to inspect the older spirit. She watches him bob through the grass, keeping a watchful eye on him until he reaches Fen's side.

She knows her spirits would never abandon each other.

Lucy watches the cub for a moment more musing over a name for him. She has names for all of her spirits, believing that the names give them a purpose, a reason not to wander and become lost in the forest. While their bones are bound to her, Lucy always allows them to wander for a time, give them a choice between walking beside her or returning to where they lie, bodies slowly being consumed by the worms and buzzards, flowers growing from their ribs and the roots of trees winding around their bones.

Sometimes she thinks about her own bones, wondering where they might end up, and if anyone would ever call upon her after death. She wonders if they might be thrown onto the grass to be found by some wanderer, her body rotting slowly, left in the fields to freeze at night and to thaw again during the day, the sun and frost not biting at her flesh as it once would.

She wonders if she might be there so long that she becomes a part of the land, flowers scattered across her empty chest cavity until she sinks beneath the earth.

Sighing, she continues onward, keeping an eye on her wolves as they run through the forest, barely making a sound that she can hear. Lucy wonders if the Skinwalkers can hear them, if they can smell her spirits or not. The legends never say, and those who come across them rarely come out from the woods.

When they lived in the north it was easier. They took less, stole less because the ice slowed the rotting of their flesh, and kept the carcasses they did steal fresher for longer. As sick as it seemed, it was a better life than they live now, war wagged against them in the south, myth and monster coming for them from all around. She hardly knows what to do anymore. They used to ward off the flesh stealers, but there are simply too many now, an entire colony fallowing them from the north.

They thought running would save them, but now they have nowhere else to go.

Off to her right Fen suddenly growls, ears pinned back as he crouches low to the ground. The cub follows him, whining softly, and Sharsa appears at her side, amber eyes locking with Lucy's briefly. The wolf urges her to stand, and Lucy rises from her crouch, casting a wary glance towards her spirits standing atop the hill.

She purses her lips, but follows after them, padding across the forest floor silently as she races up the crest of the hill, something urging her to look. The wolves are behaving oddly, acting more curious than afraid, something they would certainly be if they came across a Skinwalker.

Lucy knows her wolves, and they would not lead her astray like this.

Lucy breaches the crest, peering through a scattering of branches and leaves to look down into the valley below, a small lake resting on the other side. Her eyes snap open wide as she sees something unexpected.

Natsu's fingers skim the surface of the water gently, watching ripples form and then disappear as they drift farther away. His green eyes flick across the lake, something moving out of the corner of his eye, but Natsu finds nothing, only trees and the deep blue of the lake. Wetting his lips, Natsu casts a quick, wary glance around him, lips pressed into a thin line as he tenses.

He's never been quite so deep into the woods before, always turning back before he passed the Sola tree close to the border. Igneel always told them not to venture too deep into the forest, knowing it's where the Bone Witches go. The darkness always scared him as a child, but he's no longer young, always hiding behind Igneel. When the Bone Witches claimed the territory to the north of the Summerlands, miles off, but close enough for the Dragonborne to be wary, people say they brought something dark with them, something evil that lurks in the woods.

A myth, he's been told, nothing more than a silly legend meant to keep children from running off. They think their monsters will become the Dragonborne's, think their legends with come to swallow them all whole. He sneers at the thought, knowing the truth. The Bone Witches ran from the north because of the cold, nothing else. They came to the Summerlands on their own will, not because of some face stealing monsters.

He takes a deep breath, sighing to himself, and skims the lake's surface once again, dragging a lazy finger through the water. The sunlight glints off the blade strapped to his right arm, chipped and worn in places, many years old. He should have been taking better care of it, but Natsu never was careful with anything. The blade has saved his life more than once, and that was enough for Natsu.

Absentmindedly, he plays with the beads and feathers hanging from the lowest strap, debating if he should remove it for now, the air around him peaceful and quiet. Natsu decides against it, tugging at his scarf, a soft material made from old dragon scales, before reaching for his left wrist, straightening his bracer and letting his fingers run along the teeth sewn into the leather, counting each of them as he goes.

Dragon teeth have always been important to his clan, though the beasts no longer walk among them. The fangs are sewn into clothes, added to weapons, and are popular accessories in jewelry, making necklaces and earrings. They're also popular in betrothal necklaces, the teeth or bones of dragons being carved and paired with precious gems.

He's never made one himself, but Grandine still wears the one Igneel gave her over twenty years ago, never taking it off that Natsu's known. Most are fiercely defensive of the carvings, treasuring them more than most things.

A snarling sound comes from off to his left, and Natsu freezes, tensing as his gaze snaps around. His breath catches in his throat, eyes widening when he sees a large, black wolf snarling at him from the rocks bank, lips curved back over its teeth, blue eyes ghostly as it glares at him, teeth flashing.

There's something wrong with it though, Natsu notices. It looks strange, almost faded at the edges, not all there. Frowning, Natsu shifts, raising his arm defensively as he readies himself for an attack. The wolf snaps and snarls, taking a step closer, and Natsu hears another growl coming from his other side, his stomach twisting as he realizes they have him surrounded.

He swears under his breath, lips curling back over his teeth, and considers making a run for it. His legs tense, Natsu ready to spring upwards in only a moment.

Something sharp is pressed to the side of his throat suddenly, and Natsu stills, his eyes widening when he feels the flat of a blade slide against his skin, almost teasing. Someone moves behind him, human, and he winces as he realizes what's happened. He should have been able to tell by the wolves eyes, how faded them seem at the edges, as if they're becoming dust. Of the his left the wolf snarls, teeth bared and dripping with saliva, and he flinches back as it takes a step forward, moving right into the blade pressed to his neck.

The wolves bark, closing in, and someone murmurs a quiet word to them, calling them off. The black one cocks its ears in her direction, but stops growling almost immediately, dropping back to sit on its hunches, still staring with its glowing eyes. "You should not be here," a familiar voice whispers behind him, almost teasing, and Natsu feels bare skin brush against his back, the knife pressing against him firmly, daring him to cross her.

"Bone Witch," he hisses back, a bite to his words. She snorts, the knife pricking at his skin, though she's careful not to draw blood. Natsu growls in annoyance, angry with himself for not hearing her coming. She always has had a way of sneaking up on him, something that bothers him to no end. It isn't the first time she's crept up behind him, and he knows it certainly won't be the last.

She laughs, hardly taking offense to his mocking tone, and nudges him with her foot, urging him to stand. Natsu does so slowly, aware that she could kill him before he could lift his arm in defense. The wolves are still watching him as well, and Natsu knows better than to think they wouldn't get to him first. "And we call you monsters," she breathes against his ear, making him shiver.

Natsu snorts, hiding a smirk, and casts a lazy look in her direction, something like mischief dancing in her gaze, both of them knowing she has the upper hand. "What do you know of monsters?" he asks her, a low rumble to his words, but none of the bite from earlier, his eyes tracing the curve of her jaw with interest.

She merely grins.

His focus shifts, gaze sliding along her weapon appraisingly, though he tries to hide it. "Dragon bone," he muses, nothing short of impressed with its craftsmanship. The Bone Witches are skilled in their own right, he's come to notice with time. Though their metalwork is nothing compared to the Dragonborne, their skill with carving bone is something to marvel at. "Did you carve it yourself?"

Admiration pools in his gut as he eyes the knife pressed tight to his skin. While they may have bad blood between them, Natsu would never deny his respect for her, both as a warrior and

Natsu's gaze locks with her familiar golden eyes, her lips twisted into a pretty smile as she holds the knife to his throat. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, tickling at her skin, and Natsu can't help but take in the sight of her. She's always been beautiful. It was something he couldn't help but notice, even as she slit open the side of his neck.

His eyes slip lower on her frame, greedily taking in the sight of her bare skin before snapping back up, realizing he shouldn't be looking while she has a knife pressed to his neck with every intention of using it. Her skills are nothing to scoff at either. He underestimated her once and it nearly cost him his life. It's a mistake he won't make a second time.

"You like it?" she asks him, leaning the bone slightly away from his skin, allowing him to relax for only a moment as she suddenly twists it in her hands, the sharp edge brushing against his skin. She grins, eyes sparking with humor and he knows she's only toying with him. "You may be the better crafter," she tells him, slowly lowering the blade and stepping in close enough to whisper in his ear, "but we have our ways."

His throat bobs with a swallow, and Natsu tenses. She jerks back a moment later, aware that while she might not be looking for a fight, it doesn't mean he isn't. Natsu watches her warily as she steps away from him, lowering her dragon bone knife to her side. "Do not be afraid," she tells him, lips pulled into a small smile. "There is no honor in your death outside of battle," she murmurs.

"And why should I believe that?" he questions, gaze flicking from her eyes to her knife, recalling the feel of it ripping through his skin. "We've fought before, Lucy," Natsu reminds her, though not unkindly.

She hums in agreement, head tilting to one side as her gaze slips down to his neck, eyeing his skin behind his scarf. "Your scar healed nicely," she informs him. He sneers at her, but Lucy merely grins as she shoved her blade into the dirt, letting it sink into the wet soil before releasing it. She stares for a long moment, almost imploring him to do the same.

He raises a brow as she gestures with her empty hands, showing him she's unarmed. "And what's to stop me from killing you?" he hisses, practically snarling at her. Hesitating for only a moment, Natsu sighs and shakes his head, silently cursing himself. His hand snaps to the blade on his arm, Natsu tugging at the leather straps viciously, hearing them unbuckle.

"Honor among thieves," Lucy tells him, watching with interest as his weapon falls to the ground at his feet, clanking against the rocks loudly.

The wolves calm as soon as he's unarmed, turning away from him in sudden disinterest. Natsu eyes them, frowning, and hears a quiet yip come from near his feet. His eyes snap down, Natsu tensing, but he stills when he sees the wolf cub batting at the buckles on his boots. He blinks at it for a moment, confused, and frowns when he hears Lucy's quiet laughter.

"Plue, what are you doing?" she asks the cub, shaking her head when it flops onto its back, tail wagging and paws batting at his shoes. The wolf ignores her, leaning in to chew at the leather and growl playfully. Natsu snorts, hiding a smile as she chides the cub, quirking a brow at the ridiculous name.

"Plue?" he repeats, swallowing down a laugh when she sends him a nasty look, offense flashing in her eyes. He's not trying to be rude, really, it's surprising, given most of the names she chooses.

Lucy frowns at him, eyes narrowing just the slightest. "Yes, Plue." She crosses her, shifting her weight onto her right hip, sending him a challenging look. "Is there something wrong with that?" Her gaze goes cold, almost daring, and Natsu finds himself grinning back at her.

"No," he admits, shrugging slightly gaze flicking between her and the wolf cub. "I just thought your ability to name things was better than that." Lucy frowns, but he continues before she can speak. "Sharsa is the name of a goddess," he notes, recalling her saying the name earlier, though he can't be sure which wolf is which. "The controller of winds. And Fen was one of two guardians of Asha, the primordial night." She raises a brow, appraising him, but changes the subject quickly.

"You are awfully deep in the woods," she murmurs, leaving her weapon in the dirt as she steps towards him. Natsu tenses, waiting for her to lunge for him, but Lucy merely grins, more wolf than sheep. She circles him slowly, coming around behind him, and his head snaps around to look at her.

He snorts, shifting on his feet when her hair tickles his back, and his gaze slips lower than it should, tracing across the lines painted across her bare torso. There are four on each side wrapping around her ribs, looking more like fingers come to cradle her than war paint. "I could say the same for you," he whispers back, softer than he intends to, and he hates himself for that.

She comes back around to stand in front of him and Natsu stares at the small, silver scar on her neck, little more than sliver. Not for the first time he thinks about giving that necklace back to her, but he doesn't dare act upon those thoughts. He shouldn't care to begin with, but he also doubts she would take it from him, figuring it a trick.

Natsu wouldn't blame her for that.

"What brings a blacksmith so far out?" Lucy regards him coldly for a moment, then drops into a crouch, calling out to the wolf cub still gnawing at his leather boots. Lucy's lips twitch at the edges, but she manages to smother her grin. The cub looks up when she calls him, tail wagging as he bounds back over to her, allowing Lucy to scoop him up in an embrace.

Something in his chest twists sickly when he realizes that cub must have died somewhere in these woods.

Natsu sneers at her, not missing the flash of fear in her eyes. "These aren't your woods, Witch," he hisses. The cub whines, curling tight against Lucy, and the larger wolves both shift, baring their teeth and daring him to try something.

"You should not be here," she repeats her first words to him, yanking her knife from the dirt and taking a step closer to him. Natsu stills, but feels no animosity coming from her, only raw fear that creeps from her voice into his bones, rattling him to his core.

He opens his mouth to snap at her, but something makes him stop. There's an honesty in her gaze, something that he simply can't ignore, and though he wants to laugh and mock her for her fears, all he can manage is a small, incredulous, "because of your myths?" It doesn't come out nearly as strong or mocking as he intended, but Lucy winces all the same.

"Natsu, please," she whispers, saying his name for the first time. Something about it makes him pause, his eyes locking with hers as she comes to rest just in front of him, so close he taste her skin if he wanted to. Her wolves begin to whine, tails tucking between their legs, and Natsu swallows, green eyes locking with hers. "You cannot be here," she whispers, speaking faster now. "It is not—"

A loud, shrill sound pierces the air, cutting Lucy off, and she pales, horror creeping across her features. The wolves yelp, leaping to their feet, and trot towards the Bone Witch, tucking themselves close beside her and crying, trembling. Natsu's hair stands on end as a second cry joins the first, then a third and a forth seconds later. He frowns, and Lucy makes a low sound, raising her knife defensively as she whirls around, eyes scanning the trees as the cries rise up around them, growing louder—closer.

For a moment he thinks it's simply an elk, knowing them to walk the forests from time to time, but something in his gut tells him that's wrong. The wolves lower themselves to the ground, whimpering, and he's never known spirits to fear the living. Lucy as well seems terrified, and he doubts that something like an elk would scare her so badly.

More than that, something about the sound is off, too high pitched, held for too long, and inhuman. It sounds monstrous, something not right about it, and Natsu is about to ask Lucy what it is when her fingers suddenly curl through his, jerking him forward.

Natsu starts to ask what's wrong, confused, but Lucy cuts him off, hissing at him that they need to leave and dragging him forward by the hand. He lets her pull him along, the sound unnerving him, his chest constricting as it grows louder, coming at them from all sides.

The wolves suddenly bolt into the woods, Lucy chasing after them, yanking him along with her. Natsu glances back at the lake over his shoulder, realizing he's left his blade, but he doesn't dare stop, not knowing what's happening, but something urging him to keep running.

Something catches his eyes from across the lake as they disappear into the trees, a pair of large, silver eyes staring back at him, empty and glowing through the trees. His breath catches, Natsu unable to look away from them, and stumbles, Lucy yanking him back upright without pause. Natsu's gaze snaps back to the tree line, but the eyes are gone, nothing but shadows pooling beneath the trees.

He doesn't know how long they run, the wolves at their heels and Lucy guiding him through the trees, weaving between them easily. He manages to keep pace with her, grip tightening on her fingers when that same shrill, eerie cry starts up again, ringing through his ears and making something inside him twist sickly.

The forest goes quiet suddenly, no sound but their heavy breathing and branches snapping beneath their feet, unnerving him. Far off, something cracks, different from the sound of branches, sharper, like bone, and an icy hand wraps around his heart, squeezing and stealing his breath.

Natsu doesn't know how long they've been running, only that the sky suddenly goes dark, clouding over as a low rumble tears through the air, thunder in the distance. Lucy murmurs something he can't hear over the sounds of rain and the shrill sound that seems unending, and stops suddenly, shoving him down into a thicket, bushes of thorns tearing at his skin. He hisses, wincing as his head hits the ground, but doesn't have a moment to think before Lucy's dropping down beside him, her body half covering him as she hides within the brambles.

He inhales sharply, feeling her soft curves blanket his torso, Lucy's legs on either side of him, her face hovering over his, hair falling around them like a curtain. Natsu flounders for a moment, unsure where to put his hands, but finally settles them on her hips, yanking her down against them despite thinking better of it. Her bare skin burns against him, Natsu feeling her everywhere, not a hint of space between them, and it causes his mouth to go dry.

The wolves settle in around them, Plue curling beside Lucy's thigh and the larger wolves tucking themselves into the brambles, uncaring as the thorns rip at their hair.

"Lucy," he gasps, choking slightly as he feels her breath fan across his throat, her nose nearly touching his. "What's—" She hushes him before he can ask what she's doing, breath mingling with his, and Natsu's about to snap back at her when he hears a crackling sound from nearby.

He goes still, dragging Lucy down tighter against him, and she does her best to keep Plue quiet, stroking his head as he whimpers. Natsu's fingers bite into her hips, sure to leave bruises, and he momentarily feels a flash of guilt, not meaning to hurt her. His grip loosens, hands sliding higher on her waist, his head falling to the side as he peers through the tangled mess of thorns, barely able to see anything.

A snapping sound splits through the air, followed by a short cry from whatever's appeared to follow them. Natsu grits his teeth, trying to see through the slight drizzle pouring down around them, making the forest dark and hazy. One of his arms loops around Lucy's back, tugging her against him, and he stills as he sees something moving through the trees, too far away for him to make it out.

Squinting, he leans in closer to the thorns, trying to get a better look.

Far off, the tree branches move. No, not the branches, he realizes a moment later, antlers. He frowns, thinking they truly have run from an elk, but than the creature shifts, and Natsu realizes it's too tall and hunched unnaturally, an odd curve to its spine. His breath comes out shaky, and though he can't get a good look at the animal, he knows something's wrong. It stands on two legs, though its front limbs drag on the ground, a putrid smell curling through the air, like something rotten.

It turns towards them hiding in the bramble, and Lucy makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. The creature's eyes flash silver in the darkness, antlers shaking above its skull as it rocks back and forth. Natsu pulls Lucy tighter against him, fingers fisting in her hair, and then the creature tilts its head back and bellows, that same, piercing cry stealing his breath.

Others take up the call, several dozen from somewhere farther off, and Natsu doesn't know how much times passes before they stop, the creature ambling away from them slowly, creeping back into the trees.

What must be hours later, Lucy finally crawls away from him, shifting until her back is pressed against the side of her black wolf, the animal curling around her protectively. Plue crawls into her lap, and the larger grey wolf settles by her legs. Natsu follows her, not daring to speak louder than a whisper. His thigh presses to hers, Lucy glancing up at him, face ashen and pupils blown wide.

"What was that?" he breathes against her ear, aware that his hands are shaking. He glances through the bramble, squinting to see if it's come back, but sees nothing, only the trees and rain. Natsu's hand settles against the spare knife at his side, playing with the hilt as he waits for Lucy to regain her bearings, the woman seemingly lost in thought.

Eventually she laughs, soft and bitter, and shoots him a look that cuts through his skin, making him feel much smaller than he is. "Our myths," she hisses at him, mocking his words from earlier. She glares at him for a moment longer, then sighs, pulling her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. "We didn't choose to come to the Summerlands," she murmurs, Natsu almost missing her words, "we were chased from the north…" Lucy trails off, wincing, and for a moment he doesn't recognize her as the warrior that nearly took off his head. "They've been hunting us for generations."

He swallows, throat constricting with sudden understanding, and he winces as he thinks of Acnologia's plans, of the terrible things he's been rallying for. He shoves the thoughts back, leaning into Lucy until her side is pressed against his, letting her leech some of his warmth, but needing the contact himself, unable to process what it is he saw. "What are they?"

"Monsters," she whispers, voice cracking, and Natsu stares down at the side of her face, watching her stumble to find the right words, her lips trembling. "Face Stealers," Lucy tells him, turning to face him directly, wincing. "They have many names." She cringes with each one she says, and Natsu remembers that names have a power to them, as if speaking them might draw them in.

They drift into silence for several minutes, Lucy shivering beside him, her thin top doing little to keep away the chill of the rain, and her scaled skirt is drenched, clinging to her hips and sticking to her thighs.

"It sounded like elk," he tells her, not knowing what else to say. He feels foolish for speaking his thoughts, but it drags a very small smile from Lucy, and his chest lightens momentarily, until a darkness clouds her features, Lucy curling in on herself.

She nods, wetting her lips. "But you know it wasn't," she states, barely loud enough for him to hear her. Her fingers drum against her thigh, painted nails looking like blood against her milky skin.

"They take the form of a man," she continues, frowning across the thicket, looking through the bramble similar to him. "But… not a man," she corrects herself, shaking her head and sighing. "They're taller," she notes, "covered in hair, and having the face of an elk, the muzzle of a wolf." Her eyes squeeze shut, her fingers digging into her skin until she leaves little crescent shaped marks in her wake. "A punishment from the Gods for consuming human flesh," she finishes, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Cannibals," he spits, skin crawling as he thinks about it. The Dragonborne have their own stories about those who eat flesh, but never have the monsters of legends been brought to life.

Lucy nods, playing with Plue's ears, the wolf seeming even more faint now than before, as if Natsu could reach straight through him. "Because of their hunger," she continues softly, "their own flesh begins to rot, clinging to their corpses." He flinches, nose wrinkling in disgust, but Lucy doesn't stop there. "They steal more flesh to keep their form. Stripping the skin from anything that wonders into the woods." Her larger wolves both whimper, and Natsu tries not to imagine how Lucy found their bones. "They hide in the trees, afraid of the light."

Natsu doesn't know how to respond, so he stays quiet, sitting with Lucy until the rain clears, the sun spilling through the trees once again. Still, he doesn't move, wanting to say something, but unable to find the right words.

Lucy beats him to it.

"We never wanted a war," she murmurs, sighing to herself as she leans back against the spirit behind her. It whines, nosing at her hand, but she doesn't appear to notice, gaze unfocused as she stares through the brambles, watching, waiting.

He doesn't know to respond.

#constellunaa

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#constellunaa