Fairy Tail: Echoes of the Sands

The Imperial Palace breathes heavily, like a cornered beast. Even at this hour, as the sun dips toward sunset and long shadows stretch across the marble slabs, the air feels compressed—too thick, too hot for stone walls. You walk along the gallery, passing arched openings that reveal shaded gardens: there, amidst the cypresses, the fountains stand frozen, and even the wind fails to stir the foliage. The silence is unnatural. Usually, at this time, the parade ground hums with the voices of recruits, and the clatter of weapons echoes from the barracks. Today, there is only a distant drone, like the low rumble of an approaching storm.

Your footsteps ring hollowly in the empty corridor as you approach the Council Chamber. The doors, adorned with bas-reliefs of dragons and sandstorms, are already slightly ajar. Fragments of voices drift from within—sharp, with metallic undertones. Then, the doors swing wider, and the Sprigans emerge.

First comes August. His staff taps rhythmically against the floor, each strike resonating in your chest. The old man pauses in the doorway, squinting at the sunset sky before shifting his gaze to you. In his black eyes, there is not a shadow of surprise, only a faint weariness laced with curiosity. He slowly runs a hand through his beard and speaks, more to himself than to you:

— Azir is lingering with the Emperor. — he shakes his head, a barely audible hint of mockery slipping into his voice. — The King of the Desert was in a foul mood—that much I can say for certain. He left a scroll for you in his study. If you want to know what he's plotting, look there.

Brandyish appears from behind August, nonchalantly adjusting her collar. The girl gives you a fleeting glance before turning back to August, arching an eyebrow.

— Larkaid failed to show up again. The barriers aren't ready, and Zeref was asking about the eastern gate defenses. — she smirks, then adds, addressing you directly, — It seems everyone is having problems today, except for me. But if I were you, I wouldn't dally with that scroll—Azir rarely leaves messages without reason.

Without looking back, August begins to walk slowly toward the gardens, his voice drifting from a distance:

— He will be on the parade ground by sunset. If you're late, he might just come looking for you himself.

You are left standing in the deserted gallery. From outside, the wind carries the scent of dry earth and heated stone. Somewhere in the distance, a commander's shout rings out as he inspects the ranks. Before you lies a long corridor leading deeper into the palace, toward Azir's private quarters. To your right, a staircase leads down to the parade ground, where the sounds of training drift up. To your left, a door leads to the library. August has already disappeared around the corner, and Brandyish is leisurely walking in the opposite direction, leaving a faint trail of floral scent in her wake.