Chapter Text
Erza lived at the Hills Hotel, where she worked as one of the housekeepers. The hotel had been built only recently by Jude Heartfilia, a man who had owned several banks in Magnolia before turning his attention to hospitality after his wife's death. The building itself was enormous: a tall, red, four‑story structure with each room opening onto a small private balcony. A hedge maze and elaborate gardens wrapped the estate, and Mr. Heartfilia had spared no expense — he intended the place to be the very definition of luxury.
When the Dragneel orphans first set eyes on the hotel, all they could think about was its size. Their home had always been modest, just enough for three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. This was something else entirely.
"You could probably fit everyone in the whole country in there," Natsu said, staring up.
"I wonder why it's all the way out here," Juvia mused. "Wouldn't it make more sense nearer town?"
"I didn't even know there was anything out here," Natsu replied. "Feels like the middle of nowhere."
"I like the gardens," Wendy said. "Can we go look at them?"
"Later, Wendy," Juvia said. "Let's wait for Gildarts to get back with Erza."
Gildarts Clive was the Dragneel family's lawyer and a longtime friend of their father. He had a daughter and had lost his wife when his child was very young, so he understood what it meant to raise children who had been through trauma. He had allowed the orphans to stay at his house while custody arrangements were worked out and intended to visit regularly to make sure they were settling in.
"It is a beautiful place," Juvia said.
"Yeah, but kind of creepy," Natsu replied. "Does anyone else get the feeling that building is staring at us?"
"The windows do look like eyes," Wendy admitted.
"Reminds me of Dr. Cream," Juvia said.
Dr. Cream was their therapist. Gildarts had convinced the children to see him to help them recover from the fire, but the doctor had never been simply compassionate. In his clinical curiosity he treated the three of them like a case more than like children. The kids felt it. Natsu called him a quack outright; Juvia was polite but guarded; Wendy ignored him completely. They weren't stupid — they knew that something about them was different.
Natsu had visions: fragments of places and faces that flashed through his head, images he couldn't place. Once he dreamed of a woman being strangled; days later the newspapers reported that a famous actress had been murdered in that very way by her ex boyfriend. Juvia had an uncanny ability to see what was inside a person's heart and soul. She could tell just by looking at a someone, if they were lying or hiding something— it had saved her as a six year old when a smiling stranger approached her at the playground with candy in his pockets but all she could see was a monster, so she ran screaming to her father. Wendy's gift however was the strangest: she claimed that she could see, hear, and talk with people that were silent and invisible to everyone else. For years adults chalked it up to imagination until she described details she couldn't possibly have known — a dead neighbor's hair and eye color, the exact look of a co‑worker who had died decades before Wendy was born. The explanations people offered were always slanted toward folklore or fear. Rumors circulated at school that the Dragneel blood carried uncanny gifts — witchcraft, curses, anything to explain the things they couldn't.
Gildarts stayed just long enough to say goodbye, made sure they had his number, and left them under Erza's care. Inside the wide, old‑fashioned doors, Mr. Heartfilia was waiting. He examined the children with the cool appraisal of a man unused to surprises. He was tolerant enough — in a way — to give them a chance, but he made no secret of his reservations about "possible mental cases" living on his property. Erza being an excellent housekeeper helped; no one cleaned like she did, a skill she'd perfected in part because she liked order.
"Mr. Heartfilia, this is my nephew Natsu," Erza said. "And my nieces, Juvia and Wendy."
"How do you do," he replied. "And how old are you Wendy?"
"Eight, sir," Wendy answered, clutching Juvia's sleeve.
"And Juvia," he added, "you're quite pretty. I have a daughter your age. Perhaps you two could be friends."
"I would like that, sir," Juvia said.
Mr. Heartfilia stepped forward and inspected Natsu more closely. "This one is older than I expected," he said. "Sixteen, seventeen perhaps?"
"Hey — I have a name you know," Natsu spoke up.
"Your hotel is impressive," Juvia said quickly, changing the subject before Natsu could start something.
"Thank you," Mr. Heartfilia said. "I've invested everything in this estate. The materials came from houses that once stood on this land, homes that had been abandoned and fallen into disrepair."
"And nobody related to the previous owners tried to claim them?" Natsu asked.
"No records of heirs," Heartfilia said. "There were ownership documents, but nothing about what happened to the families. No trace of descendants. It was the strangest thing. With no one to claim them, I was free to buy, tear them down, and use the remains to construct this hotel. I did take the belongings that were left and put them into storage — I hoped to return them to any descendants if they could be found. If not, some of the pieces will likely end up in a museum. They're over a hundred years old."
"Interesting," Erza said. "May I see this storage room?"
He produced a ring of keys and handed one to her.
"Before your wards settle in," Mr. Heartfilia continued, clearing his throat and assuming a firmer tone, "there are a few rules I expect to be followed. Respect the property and the guests. No loud noise or running in the halls, no vandalism. The gardens are closed after dark. And absolutely no one is allowed in the boiler room or in my suite unless they're staff. Is that clear?"
Natsu rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yeah, whatever."
"Good," Heartfilia said. "I run a tight ship and I expect you Erza to keep them in line."
"Yes sir." Erza said.
As Mr. Heartfilia left, Erza's expression softened. "He can be intimidating," she told the children, "but he means well. Keep to yourselves and behave, and everything will be fine."
"So where's our room?" Juvia asked.
"Second floor. Follow me," Erza said.
Can we explore the gardens first?" Wendy asked eagerly.
"Sure, I'll have the bellboys take your bags up and then I'll give you the whole tour. Don't wander off until I come back."
As the bellboys lifted the children's worn duffel bags with polite indifference, Erza pointed the trio to a stone path that branched out from the main entrance, its smooth surface flanked on either side by rows of perfectly trimmed hedges and clusters of lavender, roses, and bleeding hearts.
Once outside, Wendy squirmed in Juvia's arms, silently asking to be let down. As soon as her feet touched the cobblestones, she took off skipping ahead, unable to contain her excitement.
Juvia followed more cautiously, her gaze drifting to the towering hedge maze looming before them. Its high, perfectly trimmed walls of dense greenery seemed serene at first glance—but the stillness pressed in too tightly, the silence just a little too deep. Something about it unsettled her.
"Does anyone else hear that?"
"Hear what?" Natsu asked, crunching gravel beneath his boots.
"Exactly," Juvia said. "There's no birds. No bugs. Not even wind."
"Creepy," Natsu muttered. "Nice view, though."
They entered the central garden square — a wide open space with a stone fountain at its heart. A marble angel stood at the center, arms outstretched, as water trickled softly from her open palms into the basin below. Vines curled up the angel's legs like snakes, and at her feet rested a plaque that had been too weathered by time to read clearly.
Wendy let out a small gasp and pointed excitedly.
"Look!" she said, hopping on her toes.
From the base of the fountain, a small green frog leapt out of the shallow water and began making its way toward a patch of low-hanging wisteria near the edge of the clearing.
"Wait!" Wendy squealed, dashing after it.
"Wendy—" Juvia called, but the girl was already chasing the frog through the blossoms.
"I've got her," Natsu said with a sigh, jogging after his little sister. "Don't fall into the pond or anything!"
Juvia shook her head, watching them vanish into the curtain of purple flowers. Alone for the moment, she turned her attention to the garden's edge. The roses were stunning — soft pinks and deep reds arranged in careful symmetry. Drawn by the perfume, she leaned in, letting the scent soothe her nerves.
She reached out gently, intending only to brush a petal, but her finger caught on a thorn she hadn't seen.
"Ow," she hissed, jerking her hand back. A small bead of blood welled up on her fingertip.
Before she could lift her hand to her mouth or search for a tissue, a clean white handkerchief was gently pressed to the wound. Juvia blinked, startled by the sudden appearance of the boy. His touch was light but confident as he wrapped the cloth around her finger before she could utter a word of protest.
He looked to be about her age, with tousled dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, and eyes the color of storm clouds—deep gray, with a flicker of something unreadable beneath their surface.
"You should be more careful," he said, his voice low but not unkind. "The roses here bite more than they bloom."
"Thank you," she murmured. "I probably shouldn't be touching them anyway. They're on private property."
He gave a crooked smile. "Between you and me, Mr. Heartfilia couldn't care less about the gardens. He only put them in to keep his daughter happy. She refused to move out here without them—said this place would be a desert otherwise. He's never even set foot in the garden."
"What a shame," Juvia said softly. "It's very lovely."
She noticed the smudges of dirt on his cheeks, a sheen of sweat on his brow. Around his waist hung a worn belt, with dirty gardening gloves and well-used tools tucked into it.
"Are you the gardener here?" she asked.
"I am."
"You're a little young to be working a job like this, aren't you?"
He shrugged. "No school would take me back. Mr. Heartfilia wanted someone cheap, and a guy's gotta eat—so... here I am." He offered a small, almost self-mocking smile. "I'm Gray, by the way. Gray Fullbuster."
"Juvia Dragneel," she replied. "I just moved here with my brother and sister. We're staying with our aunt—she works here."
"Oh yeah, Erza mentioned you all were coming. In that case, welcome to the mausoleum."
"I'm sorry? The mausoleum?"
"That's what I call this place. Everything inside is so dull and lifeless, you'd swear it was filled with corpses."
Juvia glanced toward the hotel. "It doesn't look that bad from the outside. How long have you been here?"
"Since I was eight," he said. "But I've never liked it."
"How come?" she asked, tilting her head, clearly curious.
Gray hesitated, something dark flickering behind his storm-gray eyes. "It's not important." He shifted slightly. "So why—"
But the words stalled in his throat as his gaze locked with hers. Her lavender-blue eyes were soft, open—genuinely interested. It caught him off guard, like she wasn't just asking to be polite; she actually wanted to understand him.
Something warm stirred in his chest—unfamiliar and unsettling. It felt like he could tell her anything, every secret he'd buried. But he didn't want to talk.
"I gotta go," he said suddenly, stepping back and hurrying off.
Juvia watched until he disappeared behind several shrubs, then joined her siblings.