Chapter 8: Metalicana
Standing at the edge of a wide, shimmering lake was a boy with no visible eyebrows.
Or rather, he had them. They were just made of metal.
Three round silver studs sat above each eye like artificial brows. Two more lined either side of his nose, a pair rested just beneath his lower lip, and two more decorated his chin.
His ears were crowded with metal piercings—two neat rows of five on each side, glinting faintly under the bright afternoon sun.
He looked industrial. Hardened. And he was currently staring blankly at the water.
"Woah…" Gajeel gulped, placing his hands on his hips. "This thing's huge."
Behind him, a sharp, amused chuckle rolled through the clearing.
"What?" Metalicana's deep voice rumbled, vibrating the grass. "Do not tell me the great Gajeel Lionheart fears a little water."
"Please." Gajeel scoffed, shooting the massive dragon a sideways glare. A challenging, arrogant grin stretched across his face. "There isn't a single thing in this entire world that I'm scared of!"
He suddenly bolted forward.
"CANNONBAAALL—!"
His feet pounded against the earth. With one powerful leap, he launched himself high into the air and tucked his knees in tight to his chest.
SPLASH!
Water exploded upward in a massive, respectable wave before settling back into gentle ripples. A second later, Gajeel's head resurfaced, shaking his messy black hair like a drenched wolf.
"Haah! I gotta admit," he said, wiping the water from his eyes, "taking a bath is easily one of the top ten best things in life."
The lake was cool, refreshing, and entirely peaceful.
Then, the sunlight vanished. A massive shadow swallowed him whole.
Gajeel slowly looked up, his crimson eyes widening to the size of saucers. High above, vast iron wings spread wide against the blue sky, was a certain overgrown metallic lizard.
"…Old man?"
Metalicana grinned. A heartbeat later—
BOOOOM!
The lake practically detonated. Water surged outward in a genuine tidal wave as the Iron Dragon crashed down into the center of the lake without a single shred of elegance.
Gajeel was launched violently backward by the sheer kinetic force of the splash. "HEY?!" Gajeel spluttered, coughing up water.
Metalicana rose from the depths like some ancient sea monster, looking entirely pleased with himself. "You are not the only living soul who enjoys bathing, whelp."
Water poured off his massive iron scales in heavy sheets as he settled deeper into the lake bed. And just like that, what had begun as a peaceful afternoon bath became a full-scale aquatic disaster zone.
Although the lake eventually rippled peacefully once more, Metalicana spoke up as if continuing a deeply important discussion.
"Although I find bathing… agreeable," the Iron Dragon rumbled, half-submerged in the water, "I fail to understand why humans insist on executing the task every single day."
Gajeel, still recovering from the mini-tsunami his foster father had created moments ago, slowly floated over toward him. "…You're saying you don't bathe every day?"
"I do not." Metalicana shook his massive head. "Twice per week is more than sufficient."
Gajeel stared at him blankly. "That's actually disgusting, bro."
Metalicana ignored him entirely.
With a tired sigh, Gajeel leaned back into the water, letting himself float on his back. The cool lake carried him gently as his red eyes drifted toward the clear sky overhead. For a while, neither of them spoke, enjoying the quiet of the mountains.
"…Man," Gajeel muttered, breaking the silence. "Hard to believe it's already been a year since you started training me." His gaze settled on the blazing orange sun. "…I don't really feel any different, though."
Metalicana, resting comfortably on all fours in the shallows, opened one dark eye. "And how exactly did you expect to feel?"
Gajeel thought for a moment, watching the clouds. "I dunno… figured I'd wake up one day super ripped or something."
"…You expected an instant physical transformation?"
"Well—yeah. Maybe."
A low, deep chuckle vibrated through Metalicana's heavy chest. "You may yet experience a true change," the dragon said. "Though not in the simple way you imagine."
Gajeel tilted his head slightly, splashing the water. "Hm?"
"Certain Mages," Metalicana continued, his voice taking on a teaching tone, "through extreme refinement of their Magic, gain the rare ability to completely assimilate their physical bodies into their chosen Attribute."
"Their physical form becomes completely indistinguishable from their magic's true nature."
"A fire-aligned Mage may disperse into a living flame. A water-aligned Mage may dissolve entirely into liquid itself. In such a state, ordinary physical attacks pass harmlessly through their bodies… or shatter completely upon contact."
Gajeel's eyes widened slightly, his interest piqued. "So… I could turn my body into iron?"
"Yes," Metalicana answered plainly. "Eventually. But it demands immense, flawless control. Your body and your life-energy must move as one cohesive unit." He snorted softly, spraying water. "You are… exceptionally far from that point."
Gajeel clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Tch."
"And for you, the path will be even harsher," Metalicana added.
"…Why?"
"Because your magic is classified as Lost Magic."
By now, father and son had drifted closer together, floating face-to-face atop the quiet, sunlit water.
Gajeel blinked. "…Lost Magic? What's that supposed to mean?"
Metalicana stared at him in a long, unbroken silence. "…I did not explain this to you?"
"…No."
"…Ah." The dragon visibly reconsidered several life decisions. "Well then." He cleared his throat, a deep, grinding sound. "All Magic falls into two primary classifications."
1. Caster-Type magic.
- Shaped and released directly from the Mage's body.
- The Mage themselves function as the direct conduit.
- Example: A fire Mage gathers power within their palm, and releases flame. No tool. No medium. Only the Mage and their magic.
2. Holder-type magic
- Requires an external, physical medium to function.
- The Mage channels their magic into an object to stabilize or shape their power.
- Example: A magical sword may carry a flame without burning away. The object does not create the power; it merely holds it.
"And beyond these basic types," Metalicana continued, the water lapping gently around his massive chest, "exist deeper, rarer classifications shaped by history itself. Ancient Spells originate from the earliest civilizations. They operate under harsher laws and demand tremendous effort to cast… but possess devastating power."
The lake water grew still around them.
"And then," the dragon said, his voice lowering slightly, "there is Lost Magic. Techniques nearly erased from the pages of history. Many vanished due to their catastrophic consequences… their instability… or fear."
Gajeel scratched his cheek, piecing it together. "…So Dragon Slayer Magic is one of those?"
Metalicana nodded once. "Yes. And rarer still… are Dragon Slayers themselves." His metallic eyes softened faintly as he looked at the boy. "You possess a single, dominant Attribute. One you can create naturally… withstand without taking harm… and consume to restore your own strength."
"…Eat metal," Gajeel summarized with a grin.
"…Yes."
A wide, excited smile slowly spread across the boy's face. "…That's still the coolest part."
Metalicana huffed, sending small, playful ripples across the lake.
◆ ◇ ◆
Nightfall settled quietly over the mountains.
Metalicana lay upon the cold earth—vast, quiet, and unmoving. His iron scales looked dull and solemn beneath the silver wash of the moonlight. Curled tightly against his belly, fast asleep, was Gajeel.
The boy's breathing was steady, peaceful, and completely trusting.
'I suppose… it is time.'
Metalicana's gaze slowly lowered to the small child resting against him. At that moment, a sudden rush of memories flooded the dragon's mind.
Every single moment he had spent with Gajeel came rushing back.
He saw a small, snarling boy who proudly refused to cry. He remembered a stubborn, fierce glare that dared to challenge even a dragon.
He remembered the long, quiet nights spent tracing letters into the dirt until the boy could finally read them back without stumbling.
He had taught him how to fight. How to survive. How to read. How to think.
It would not be an exaggeration to say he had given the boy a life. He had raised him.
The dragon's massive jaw trembled. A dragon's heart was always said to be made of unbreakable iron. But right now, he felt as though his very soul were splitting apart.
"…My heart… cannot endure this," he muttered hoarsely. Heavy, unrestrained tears slipped from his massive eyes, trailing down his hardened scales.
A wet, self-deprecating laugh broke through his quiet sobs. "You were an insufferable little brat when I first found you," he whispered to the sleeping boy. "And somehow… you became the child I cherish most."
His heavy claws pressed faintly into the soil, his body trembling.
'How could you ask this of me, Igneel…?' A heavy tear fell. Then another.
One of the large drops landed squarely against Gajeel's cheek. The boy stirred, his brows knitting together in discomfort. Slowly, groggily, he opened his eyes.
"…Metalicana?" His voice was thick with sleep. He looked up, his vision clearing. "…Why're you crying?"
Metalicana quickly lifted one massive claw and rested it gently atop the boy's head, blocking his view.
'Perhaps it is selfish… but I do not want him to remember my sorrow.'
Slowly, heartbreakingly, the dragon forced a smile. It was wide. Too wide. Bright and trembling, even as the tears continued to stream down his face. It was the largest smile Gajeel had ever seen on the Iron Dragon's face.
And the most fragile.
"Hey… Gajeel." His voice cracked under the weight of his grief, but it did not waver. "I love you, kid."
Gajeel froze, the sleep instantly vanishing from his mind.
Before the boy could form a single word, Metalicana leaned down and gently pressed two massive claws against the child's temple. A sudden warmth flared between them. Soft at first, then blindingly intense.
A brilliant white light erupted outward, completely swallowing the dragon and the child alike. Within that pure, blinding light, Metalicana's final, echoing thought resonated quietly.
'This is my final gift to you. A gift called Iron Dragon Slayer Magic.'
◆ ◇ ◆
Rain. It was cold, steady, and completely unforgiving.
Gajeel lay unconscious in the middle of a muddy forest clearing as the sky above him darkened into a heavy, suffocating gray. The first droplets fell softly against his skin, followed by a sudden downpour, heavy enough to completely soak through his clothes.
The cold water tapped relentlessly against his face. His eyelids twitched. Moments later, his eyes snapped open.
"…What happened…?" His vision blurred in and out of focus.
All he could see were towering trees, thick mud, and rain slicing through the air.
'A forest…? Why am I in a forest?' Slowly, his muscles aching, he pushed himself upright. The lingering drowsiness vanished, instantly replaced by a hollow, sickening feeling in his gut.
"…Metalicana."
The rain suddenly felt deafening.
[I love you, kid.] The memory struck clean through his mind.
Gajeel's brows tightened in sheer confusion. "That look in his eyes…" He swallowed loudly, his throat incredibly dry. "…I've never seen him look like that before."
His gaze snapped frantically around the empty clearing. "…Where is he?!"
He scrambled to his feet, rain pouring down his face in thin streams, mixing with something warmer gathering at the corners of his eyes. He sniffed the air aggressively.
Once. Twice.
"…I can't smell him."
As a Dragon Slayer, his senses were sharper than any normal human's. The heavy rain might blur a scent, but it could never completely erase a dragon's presence.
"Is it just the rain…?"
No. Dragons carried a physical weight in the air. A metallic heaviness. A distinct, powerful scent that clung to the world itself.
There was absolutely nothing.
[…My heart… cannot endure this.] As those words echoed in his head, his chest tightened painfully. A cold, terrifying fear took shape.
He began walking. Then faster.
Then he was sprinting. Branches snapped violently underfoot as the rain intensified into a storm.
'Is it happening again?' His thoughts spiraled wildly with every desperate step. 'I was abandoned once. I was orphaned by my real parents.'
The downhill slope of the mountain came much too fast.
'Am I going to be left entirely alone again?!'
[When that day arrives… and the weight of the world presses you to your knees… someone may extend their hand to you.]
"What the hell did you mean by that?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs into the roaring rain.
[I will not raise you as an object. Nor as a weapon. But as a human.]
"I don't care what you wanted!" Gajeel roared back at the empty, silent forest.
His foot suddenly slipped on the slick mud. The ground gave way beneath him. He tumbled, losing his balance completely. The steep hill only fed his momentum as his body rolled violently downhill through the briars and rocks.
CRACK.
His head slammed hard against a thick tree trunk.
A flash of blinding white pain exploded behind his eyes. He clutched his head, his teeth grinding together as a sharp pulse of agony radiated through his skull. Warm, thick fluid began to trickle down his scalp.
Blood.
Rain and hot tears mixed freely across his face.
"You're just like them…" he muttered hoarsely, forcing his trembling body upright. "You're just like my damn parents." He leaned against the tree, his breath hitching. "Who do you think you are? Training me… making me stronger… just to throw me away like trash?!"
[I am your teacher. Not your chain.]
"You don't get to act friendly with me!" he screamed, staggering forward blindly. "Go find some other Dragon Slayer! I don't care anymore!"
[I love you, kid.]
"Shut up—!" His heel missed solid ground entirely.
SPLASH.
The lake swallowed him whole.
It was the exact same lake. The same water they had peacefully bathed in just days prior. He sank for a long moment beneath the dark surface, the heavy rain dimpling the water above him.
[You will crush your enemies in close combat.]
[My magic is a gift. It awakens when you understand what—or who—you fight for.]
Underwater, Gajeel's eyes snapped open. The pain and confusion in his crimson eyes instantly hardened into a cold, terrifying intensity.
He broke the surface, gasping sharply for air. The rain hammered mercilessly against the lake. But his eyes were no longer wild with panic. They were filled with a grim, dangerous resolve.
"…Fine," his voice was low, cutting through the sound of the storm. "If no one else is going to be there… then I'll just fight for myself."
Water streamed down his face as he stared defiantly into the heart of the storm. "I'll trust no one. And no one will ever trust me."
The rain did not answer.
How does a child know if their choice is correct? Gajeel didn't hesitate for a single second.
"Because I'm not wrong," he whispered, his jaw clenching tightly. "What's wrong… is this messed-up world."
On the seventh month. On the seventh day.
In the year X777. Or more simply—
July 7th, X777.
The Iron Dragon Metalicana vanished from the face of the earth. And a young, broken Dragon Slayer was left entirely behind.
Not long after that fateful day, that same boy would wander into the darkness and join a brutal guild known as Phantom Lord.
But that is a completely different storm. Because in the present day—
The rain falls once more.
And deep within the flooded corridors of that very guild, the woman of the rain clashes fiercely against the Iron Dragon Slayer.