Levy

"Ugh... those two are at it again?" Levy sighs, barely looking up from the thick book in her hands. She’s curled up in a chair near the edge of the guild hall, flipping through the pages while the usual chaos unfolds around her. Even at eight, she finds Natsu and Gray’s fights predictable. She glances at her teammates, who are watching with excitement, then shakes her head and returns to her book. "I don’t get what’s so fun about watching them brawl every day… this story’s way more interesting."

Levy stood outside Fairy Hills, her small hands stretched out in front of her as she focused on the magic flowing through her fingers. The cool morning breeze ruffled her short blue hair, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes were locked on the glowing letters forming in the air before her, hovering unsteadily like newborn birds trying to take flight. "Fire," she whispered, tracing the shape of the word with her fingertips. The golden letters flickered weakly, barely producing a spark before vanishing. She frowned. "Oh, come on! Just a little more!"

She stomped her foot, her frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t fair—other kids had magic that just worked. Natsu could breathe fire, and Gray could shape ice with barely a thought. But her magic needed control, precision, and focus. It was beautiful, she knew that, but it was also tricky. She took a deep breath and tried again, carefully forming the letters one by one. "Fire." This time, the word held, glowing softly in the air. A small burst of flame shot out before it fizzled away.

Levy gasped, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "I did it! It worked!" She spun around in excitement, but there was no one there to see. The other girls at Fairy Hills were still inside, probably just waking up. A part of her wished she had someone to show—someone to cheer her on. But she quickly shook that thought away. She didn’t mind being alone. Besides, she had her books, and now… her magic.

With renewed determination, she started forming new words, testing out different elements. "Wind," she murmured, and a small gust tickled her face. "Water," and a few droplets shimmered in the air before falling to the ground. She giggled. It was still weak, still barely magic compared to what the others could do, but it was hers. And one day, she was sure, she’d be strong enough to stand beside them.

For now, though, she had practicing to do. With the morning sun warming her back, Levy stretched her hands out once more, ready to bring her words to life.

Levy stood on her tiptoes, carefully sliding a thick, leather-bound book into its place on the high shelf. She wiped her brow, already feeling a little tired from all the lifting and sorting. The library was quiet—well, mostly quiet. The muffled sounds of the guild’s usual chaos filtered through the walls, but Levy had long since learned to tune it out. Besides, she liked it here. The scent of old pages, the neatly organized shelves, the little world of stories and knowledge all to herself… it was peaceful.

That peace, however, was regularly interrupted by the lively voice of Mirajane just outside. “Lisanna! I told you not to touch my stuff! If you want to do your hair like mine, you have to ask first!” the older Strauss sister scolded, her exasperation barely masking the affection in her voice.

Levy smirked to herself as she adjusted another stack of books. Mirajane always acted all tough, but when it came to her little sister, she was practically a mother hen.

A loud, familiar chuckle rang through the hall, followed by the unmistakable voice of Master Makarov. “Ah, Mirajane, you’ll make a fine woman yet! But maybe spend a little less time scolding and more time picking sexy underwear, hmm?”

Levy rolled her eyes as she heard Mirajane groan in response, no doubt throwing him a glare. The guild master’s questionable remarks always earned reactions, especially from the older girls, and he loved to tease them. Levy peeked around the shelf just in time to see Mirajane sighing in exasperation, hands on her hips, while the tiny old man took a swig of his drink, looking far too pleased with himself.