Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail in any way, shape or form.

Warning to anyone who may be triggered from situations of war, prisoners of war, or elements resembling the Holocaust.

Sixth day, sixth story. The story isn't necessarily something to do with the Holocaust. I tried to resemble it more to the Tower of Heaven when I could.

Definite AU. It yet again veered from the original idea that I wielded for the prompt, but this came to mind and I began writing. By the way, 'Morte di Luce' is Italian for 'death of light', according to Google Translate.

After this, only one more story to go, and the strange feeling of both happiness and sadness comes to me when I think how the end is so soon.

Enjoy.

NaLu Week, Day Six: Effulgence

Shattered

There was war. It was a darkened and corrupt world out there, and she never believed that she'd become embroiled in the conflict.

They had pillaged her town, taken all that could be useful for their forces or satiate their sick curiosities – including human lives – and razed it down til it was all ash and dust. She found herself fortunate enough to not have been part of the festive slaughter they appeared to hold, but wondered whether death would've been a better option to what would await her. Part of an eclectic mix of survivors, to have salvaged a young woman like her, amongst the several others with her, meant that she was to be used.

Perhaps death would've been preferable.

They were brought to some semblance of a camp; pigs reeled in for the slaughter. She gazed at the desolate surroundings, the stoic enemy soldiers that were stationed around the camp, and the inhumane state of the captives. She fought the nausea that bubbled within her, knowing that any semblance of weakness may just have her killed on the spot.

A man addressed them, some form of introduction to their new lives for the present. "You people of that bloody Fiore are fortunate enough to have been spared by the likes of we Boscans. This camp is known as Morte di Luce, and failure to abide by the laws of this place will see to it that you are killed, understood?"

The people around her failed to muster a response. Even so, it appeared to be more than enough for the man, who then ushered them within an imposing stone-building. The building's interior was littered with grotty gaol cells from the ground up. The group she was with, thus over a dozen people, were hoarded into one, and screams of protest died out as the cell doors locked and the camp leader left them with a sadistic sneer.

She slid into a spot near the rusted cell bars, legs drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She glanced round to see the despondent prisoners she was with and wondered for what reason they had become a part of the twisted game that powers high above them played.

..O..

It was an unaccountable number of days when she was approached by a little girl that she was trapped with.

They appeared to be used as a labour force for the construction of a building on the premises of Morte di Luce to be used to aid the Bosco forces. It was gruelling work, a toll on her physically with the repetitive lifting, pushing, pulling, and other variations of activity. There was one meagre ration of food provided daily, further taking a toll on her health. It came as a surprise to her that she hadn't keeled over from exhaustion, managing to crawl back into her cell with its other patrons every night. Thoughts of whether death was a solution flickered through her mind. Every time though, there was always a part of her that stood its ground – some semblance of will wanting to live.

As most people lay close to each other for warmth as sleep overtook them, she found herself surprised when a girl began moving towards her. A part of her felt like she recognised the girl – of course, since they all came from the same Fioran town, they weren't complete strangers – and it came to her as she began talking.

"You… You're Miss Lucy, right?" she timidly asked, voice scratchy from dehydration. Lucy could only nod, recognising her as a girl who commonly visited the library that she worked in. "You used to always be with all the books, so I was wondering… Do you think you could tell us a story?"

She was taken aback by the request, finding it so strange and… far too innocent for the world they'd been violently exposed to. She gazed at the girl, whose brown eyes glistening with tears and bruises and scrapes decorated most of the visible aspects of her body. If such a thing could ease the girl from her troubles for the slightest of moments – could take them away from the terrible life they'd been thrust into – then Lucy would agree to whatever she wanted.

"A story you want, then a story I'll tell," she managed to say, mildly shocked at the cheerful tone that came out. "We'll have to be quiet, okay?"

The frail girl nodded and Lucy mulled over all the tales and stories that she'd learned in her time working in the library and before. She silently thanked her mother for the traits of imagination, and love of discovery and the unknown that she'd managed to inherit from the woman as a perfect story came to mind.

"We'll start with a daring adventure, shall we? Have you heard the story of Jack and the Beanstalk?" Lucy inquired with a small smile. The girl shook her head, eyes wide with wonder, and Lucy began to recount the dramatic and adventurous tale., unbeknownst that several other prisoners who were wide awake listened in, letting the girl's words take them away to a happier place.

They were all unaware to the newly recruited soldier stationed outside hanging onto every word that Lucy said.

..O..

It had become a nightly occurrence for her to relay tales of adventure, action, love, and happy endings to her fellow prisoners. The tales always appeared to set them at ease, and doing so let Lucy be filled with the slightest feelings of joy, because to bring happiness in a time so dark was gratifying.

In telling tales, she was usually the last person to succumb to the lure of sleep, most lulled by her voice and brought dreams of the stories she spoke of. It was the night that she spoke of Beauty and the Beast that she first noticed him from beyond the bars. All of the listeners had by then fallen asleep, but she continued on, and as she finished the tale with her nightly 'The End', she was acutely aware of someone's penetrating stare directed at her.

Her head turned to look at the bars next to her, and she had to stifle a scream when she saw a face looking at her from behind the metal, illuminated by the moonlight that pierced through the small, barred window placed high in the cell. He was clearly a soldier, evident through the enemy uniform that he donned. But, he looked younger than most of the soldiers she had seen within the camp, possibly similar to her age of twenty.

"Who are you?" she asked him quietly, moving her body back to create a space between them. His crouched body didn't appear to move from its spot, and he continued to watch her when he replied.

"Just a soldier. I watch these cells for the night shift," he told her, and her fears were ignited with his next words. "The more important question is, who are you, and what the Hell are you doing?"

She gulped in an attempt to save her drying throat. In her chest, her heart was pounding miles a minute. She tried not to think of the gun that was hitched to his belt. How long had he been listening to her? Was this the first night? Or had he known of her storytelling ever since the first tale escaped her lips?

No matter what, she had to retain her strength. She was a source of relief for the prisoners around her. She wasn't going to let her fright stop her from taking upon the duty she began to carry.

"Lucy Heartfilia," she replied curtly, face betraying no emotions of fear. "Proud Fioran. And what I'm doing, sir, is telling these people stories in order for them to go to sleep. You don't want labour forces half-dead on their feet from sleep deprivation, do you?"

He made no move for a moment, and the terse silence made Lucy wonder whether she had doomed herself with her final sarcastic quip. Instead, and much to her surprise, the soldier chuckled lightly, appearing amused while he shook his head at her.

"You're possibly the strangest prisoner I've ever met," he said, inching closer to the bars, enabling her to see more of him. His body appeared to have a lean build. His grin was wide and child-like, reinforcing the idea of his youth. Slanted eyes were watching her, black as the night skies that swirled beyond them. His hair held no regard for neatness, and was a curious shade of pink.

"And you're possibly the strangest soldier I've ever seen? What kind of soldier has pink hair?" she questioned, tact forgotten as she noted the ease to which they slipped in conversation. He appeared slightly insulted by her question, but his immaturity was shown as he pouted.

"This hair is genetic! My dad has the same colour, y'know," he bit back, and rather than the scream she had to withhold earlier, it was now laughter that she had to stifle. "Enough about me though. It's late enough that you should get to sleep soon or else you'll be half-dead like you said earlier. Go get some rest."

His message of getting rest was startling. No. To be more precise, the boy's whole persona was startling. She nodded and moved her body to lie on the stone cold ground, peering as he moved to stand and forward on to patrol the various other cells. She was so confused by the young man – what kind of person was he in treating a prisoner like her with such… humanity?

It made her frightened, excited and curious all at once. The enigmatic boy caught a hold of her thoughts as she drifted to sleep.

..O..

His name was Natsu Dragneel. Twenty-one. Born and raised in Bosco. Volunteer for the Bosco Army and joined it as soon as the war had emerged, but he had failed to get any higher rank than cadet due to his lack of intelligence and brash, violent attitude.

"Volunteer?" Lucy asked him the night he shared the information. It had been a few weeks past the first time they interacted with each other, and similar to her stories, her conversations with the Boscan soldier had become a nightly occurrence. With the rest of her cell asleep, it was a time saved for just between the two of them, and whilst the concept was difficult to wrap her head around, she continued to converse with the enemy. "Why'd you volunteer?"

Her back was leant against the cell bars, and she gazed at the singular window contemplatively. Even though the moonlight wasn't there to shine upon them both, she knew that he mimicked her position, with the feel of his back aligned with hers warm through the cold poles that separated them.

"My dad was a member of the Army since before I was born," he replied, sounding incredibly proud of the man he spoke of. "General Dragneel of the Boscan Army. Everyone respects him, and he was my absolute role model growing up. Ever since I knew what a soldier was, I wanted to be one, since I knew that he was one before. I never managed to pass the tests because I always blew up at people, but because of the situation, here I am."

Listening to his story gave her some more perspective. It was strange to hear it, two different sides to a singular topic. For Natsu, the war was something he could use to carve his way on a path of greatness, following in the footsteps of his father. For her, the war was something that took her away from her serene life. War had plunged her into a situation where death was the imminent threat. To Natsu, war was bright and glorious. To her, war was her end.

Noting her silence, Natsu spoke once more. "How about you? Your stories… Where did you learn all of them?"

A pensive smile managed to come across her lips. The young man was naïve, but wasn't she as well? Their late-night conversations screamed a simplicity that wasn't associated with war and sometime before they'd be aware, it was going to be shattered.

Even so, she'd allow herself to indulge. Like the stories she made for the prisoners were a means of escape for them, her talks with the soldier was her escape from the reminder that they didn't lead a quaint life.

"It was my Mama that first told a story to me…"

..O..

She finished the evening's story and tried to suppress the anticipation she held as she moved closer to the bars to meet with her nightly conversation partner. It was curious to see him away from the cell, since he was usually there by the time she reached the story's climax. She stood and tried to peer as much as she could through the cell bars, but it was difficult to sight him within the shadowed corridor.

Dejected, she stepped away, believing that he had forgone his visit for the night. Perhaps he's tired, she mused. She then frowned as she remembered one time where he was bruised and battered from a soldier's scuffle, but had still come for their meeting.

Unease shot through her. In all their meetings, she never stopped to think about the possibility that her partner would be killed. They were in a war, she reminded herself, and all her initial apprehensions about her situation flooded her mind. Overwhelmed, she knelt to the ground and tried to even her breaths. What if Natsu was truly dead? To whom would she continue to converse? With whom would she learn about the enemy in a different light? To meet a kind person like Natsu in the midst of conflict was a rare circumstance. It was obvious that there wouldn't be another person like him to simply be with.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor, and she looked up with a flicker of hope ignited within her. The hopeful feeling faded when the footsteps stopped outside the cell door, and no voice spoke out loud. Natsu would have immediately moved to her side of the cell and began chattering about whichever topic he felt like. It was only when she heard a jangle of keys and the cell door opening that she knew something was gravely wrong. Pure horror consumed her when the soldier grabbed her by the hair and began to drag.

Her shrieks of terror woke up her fellow prisoners. Aghast, a few of them moved forward to grab at her and pull her back. The soldier noticed their wakened state and swore, pulling out the gun from his belt and moving his body round to shoot. Lucy's cries were soon joined by her cellmates, as two of the men fell to the ground. One was writhing in pain, clutching at his shoulder. The other made no movement. As Lucy realised what had happened, a chill seeped through her, like Death itself had pricked her with a needle of ice. Her struggles began to subside, and her wails quietened to sobs.

She was afraid.

Another man had met the soldier outside the building, and they took each of her arms to resume dragging her once more. They approached another building that Lucy had seen but never entered. It appeared to be far more maintained than the prison, and when she stepped inside, there was warmth that opposed the cold cells. However, it felt betraying, offering false promises of comfort once she realised that it was an office – only one man in the entire camp was capable of having such a room.

The camp leader looked at her with a deceitful smile. She tried to struggle out of the grip the soldiers maintained on her, but doing so made them clutch tighter. Before she could protest question their motives, the door behind them opened and closed again, and Lucy turned her head around, only to feel the same chill that tormented her body when she saw the prisoner getting shot.

"I brought him here sir," the soldier announced, holding on tighter to Natsu's arm. In the soldier's other hand was a gun, its metallic barrel pointed at her friend's temple like a ticking bomb. She bit her lip to silence any other screams that she wanted to make – protests died on her lips as words never to be spoken.

"Good. Thank you soldier," the camp leader said, before moving on to address herself and Natsu. "Now, you must be wondering why I've brought you two here at such a late hour. Well, it seems that some inside sources of mine have told me of the… interesting relationship that you two have developed. Whilst it is common for my soldiers to fill their desires with the various women that we've come across, I can dare say that it's a first for one to become a conversationalist with one of the prisoners."

Neither she nor Natsu made a sound, and the leader continued.

"Now it can be presumed my fault in not clearly stating the boundaries between soldiers and prisoners within the rules. But, I felt I hadn't the need to since soldiers are supposed to know their place and what they are here to do," he stated, his voice gaining a threatening edge as his steely gaze focused on Natsu. "Natsu Dragneel, is it not? Son of General Igneel Dragneel? Of all people, I wouldn't have expected you to fraternise with the enemy. Hopefully, you hadn't made any blunders by revealing anything compromising to the girl. As much as I would love to punish you, I'll forgo it, considering your parentage and the strength that I've heard you possess."

The leader turned to her, his malicious grin still etched across his face. He took a step forward and roughly grabbed her by the chin. She heard a growl from her right, where Natsu stood powerless.

"You, on the other hand, I can do things to. Lucy Heartfilia, is it not? A simple woman who used to work within a library of a simple town in Fiore," he recited, and her eyes widened at the knowledge he possessed. He tilted her head so that her eyes bore into his pitch black orbs. "Funny to think that my inside source was truly inside – a weak man part of that horrid cell who divulged all the information he knew in order for the meagre shot at freedom. Of course he wasn't delivered such a thing, which was bound to be far too kind."

He took his grip away and receded from her, turning around to rummage for something upon his desk. "Lucy Heartfilia, the woman who told tales. You were their light, their brilliant salvation. A temptress, giving them the one thing they needed most – hope."

He shifted back around, wielding an intricate pistol in his right hand, its barrel pointed at her forehead. She held her breath, and glanced at Natsu from the corner of her eyes, feeling strangely happy at the horrified expression that dawned on his face.

To see that on some level, he felt more strongly for her than the glorious military he spoke of, given the struggle he made at the sight that beheld him, made her feel enlightened. Reflective, a smile worked its way onto her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, a heartfelt message meant for a man that had become her light when she desired the finality of death.

She was afraid.

She was afraid of dying and it was all because she wanted to live.

She wanted to live because it meant that she was with him.

The leader pulled the trigger, and a woman who appeared as a prospect of hope to a desperate group of captives fell to the ground, previous traces of life dissipating into the night air. A naïve soldier screamed in defeat as his flickering yet captivating light was put out like a breath onto a flame.