A/N: Just to avoid any confusion at the start, this story is set approximately forty years before canon. ~CS

It Was Like A Little Light

By CrimsonStarbird

One - A Cursed Boy

At first glance, it could have been a monster which tore down the road that night.

The pale glow of the moon, the only source of light so far from civilization, painted the stallion's hide in silver and shadow. The rider's travelling cloak had slipped from one shoulder, and it billowed out behind him like a single malformed wing. Beneath, the flash of white-striped pyjamas could have been the ribcage of some fiendish beast; the caper of moonlight upon the stirrups the unsheathing of ferocious claws.

Yes, at that late hour, the horse and his rider might easily have been mistaken for a living nightmare – had there been any human observers around to make such a mistake. Only the bats dared to fly that night, and as they skittered and swept through the skeletal canopy, they sensed the fear seeping from every pore of the rider and his mount and knew that neither were the kind who belonged in the night.

The stallion's ears were turned back, his nostrils flared, his red eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The rider clutched the reins one-handed in a white-knuckled grip; had he not strapped himself into the saddle, the horse's panicked gait would have thrown him long ago. His other arm was wrapped around the large bundle in his lap. It was impossible to tell, as they charged through the night, quite what it was that he grasped so tightly. Although the size of a human child, it was swathed in so many blankets that it had no defined shape, and what living creature would remain so still and quiet while carried like luggage on the back of a terrified horse?

In his hand, the rider clutched a small sphere of crystal. It shone with a gentle cyan light, not quite bright enough to see by – if not for the full moon and the horse's instincts, the uneven trail would have bested them long ago – yet it was sufficient to lend an ethereal touch to the monochrome nightscape.

"Please," the rider begged of the crystal, and his words were lost in the thundering of his mount's hooves. "Please be in range, please, please, please-"

It was on the fiftieth or sixtieth repetition that his prayer was answered, and a gruff voice echoed out of nowhere into the night. "I've told you once, and I'll tell you again," it growled, and if the words were heavy and slurred from the effects of alcohol then the rider barely noticed, for it was enough of a miracle that anyone had answered at all at this time of night. "We are not, and have never been, a guild that-"

"Master Makarov, please, I need your help!" the rider interrupted, and that desperate shout was enough to cut through the drunken tirade; perhaps even enough to ensure that the response was a little sharper, and a little soberer, than before.

"You're not the Magic Council. How did you get this lacrima-?"

"Please, I need your help; please! We're approaching Magnolia- the East Bridge- bring all the strong mages you have- please- please! He's-!"

The crystal shattered in his hand.

"NO!" screamed the rider, pawing at thin air as the transparent shards scattered in the wake of the horse's charge. He glanced over his shoulder with mad eyes, and he might have leapt after the broken crystal had a groan from the bundle he carried not snagged his attention.

"Oh, no, no," he wailed. His voice cracked with desperation; the terrified tears traced rivulets horizontally along his cheeks before the slipstream whipped them away. "Don't wake up! Please, please, please, don't wake up!"

The bundle gave another wordless groan.

"NO!" the rider screamed again. Perhaps it occurred to him then that shouting would only aggravate the situation, for his voice became a frantic, feverish mutter. "The drugs, the drugs-"

With the hand not clenched around the reins, he rummaged inside the saddlebag, seeking the syringe through touch alone. He wasn't going to be quick enough. The unnatural light, far too bright, far too clean, to belong in the night of black and silver, was already pouring out of the vivid white cracks which crept across the pouch as if it were made of glass rather than leather. Driven by an instinctive fear, he whipped his hand clear as the saddlebag shattered as cleanly as the lacrima. Cubes of leather joined the broken crystal and the tears and the hurricane of dust left in the horse's wake.

The relief of his narrow escape lasted less than a tenth of a second, because his last hope lay in pieces on the road behind him and that meant he would soon be going the same way. "No," he begged. "No, please, stop this, please…"

It did not stop. Even as the dim orange glow of the city bloomed at the end of the road, white cracks were spreading across the rest of the saddle, shredding the hardened leather like paper and creeping along the horse's bridle. The stallion caught sight of the unearthly light at last and whickered its panic. The experienced part of the rider's brain knew he should have tried to calm the beast, but he could not, because those silk-thin fractures were crawling up his arm too and his heart had forgotten how to beat-

Then the bridle broke into a thousand pieces and his left arm did the same, or so it felt. The thin bloody lines crisscrossing his forearm cut down through muscle and bone; only the tattered shreds of his skin held the fragments of the arm in place. He screamed, and so did his mount. His uninjured hand grasped at its mane. That instinct was the only thing that saved him as the horse bucked furiously; snapping teeth and heaving sides and a grating, high-pitched shriek of terror indistinguishable from his own.

Blind from the pain, screaming, panting, he drove his heels over and over again into the horse's flanks as if that could somehow spur it on faster than the terror that gripped them both. He could taste blood in his mouth and he knew it was his own, but he could also hear the river now, and the city that shone just beyond it. He was not a religious man, but then and there he screamed the names of every god of folklore, benevolent or otherwise, and promised them anything to let him reach the city alive- to let there be someone waiting for him-

Hooves clattered against the wood of the bridge. The stallion bucked again and he no longer had the strength to hold on. Both he and his cargo were flung forwards as the horse veered off into the unknown. The rider hit the ground face-first; the shadow-drenched wood merged with the darkness creeping over his vision and he lay there and wondered how long it would take to die.

And then a new sensation cut like a lightning flash through his fading consciousness: an alien voice, scoffing and scornful and undeniably real, louder even than the death throes of his terrified heart.

"This is why we were called out here in the middle of the night? A man who can't even control his horse as he flees from, oh, a non-existent army? Pathetic."

"Ivan, be quiet," snapped another voice, and the rider felt that lighting-burst again at the sound of it. Those were the same gruff tones he had heard echoing from the crystal; the man – or perhaps the deity – he had referred to as Master Makarov. With a surge of willpower, he tried to claw his way back to their wakeful world; to raise his dizzy head from the ground.

Makarov continued, "He's injured. Do what you can to stop the bleeding, and call the hospital at once. We need paramedics."

Footsteps reverberated through the bridge as shadowy figures hastened to carry out his orders. Still, the first speaker protested, "He should have contacted the hospital, then, not a mage guild. If he was being chased by an army of demons or something, then sure, whatever, but it's not our job to call ambulances for strangers! He interrupted our party for nothing."

"I wish it were nothing, Ivan," came the grim response. "But you are right on one count: he isn't being chased by an army of anything. So how did he get those wounds?"

Ivan had no answer to that. But the fallen rider did, and he tried to give it, forcing himself upwards in defiance of the sharp hiss from the stranger who was trying to assess the state of his arm. "Please, help…" he whispered. "Please- he- he's dangerous-"

"This thing?" Ivan inquired, gesturing to the large, blanket-wrapped bundle that lay unmoving in the centre of the bridge. "Is it a person? Why's he wrapped up like that?"

"Don't- he's-"

He paid the warning no heed, sauntering over and tugging the cloth aside. "What?" he demanded. "It's just a kid! What are you so-?"

"IVAN, GET BACK!"

Ivan obeyed that thunderous roar on instinct, staggering backwards, tripping, and landing flat on his backside. At the same time, a tremendous pulse of magic sent a shockwave through the air as Guild Master Makarov raised both his hands and commanded, "Three Pillar Gods!" Three obelisks of stone rose out of the bridge around the bundle, forming the foundations of a golden sphere, which sealed the prone child within.

From the ground, Ivan shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Really? You're using your strongest defensive magic to deal with one kid?"

That was when the child exploded. Blinding white light filled the sphere in a release of energy so strong that, even contained by Makarov's barrier, the tremors it sent through the earth almost tore the bridge free of the riverbank. And, before their incredulous eyes, cracks began to appear in that supposedly impenetrable barrier – a perfect grid of white lines stretching across its surface.

"That's… impossible…" Ivan breathed.

And then it was over. The destructive light vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The cracks faded, leaving the sphere intact. Within, they glimpsed a child standing upright, only for him to immediately sway and fall unresisting to the ground. He did not move again. Breathing heavily, Makarov let his hands fall to his sides, though he did not allow the magical sphere to disappear.

Ivan was the first to break the silence, with a demand that contained a lot less arrogance than before, and a whole new level of fear. "What the hell was that?"

But Makarov did not answer him, nor the repeated queries from the other guild mages present. The injured rider had his full attention. "I'm sorry, but we can't take you to a hospital yet," he said. "I have to stay here to maintain the barrier, so I need you to tell me everything you know before you go anywhere. Can you do that?"

Supported in a sitting position by one of the guild mages, the rider gave a single nod. Anything more than that would have triggered another wave of dizziness that he did not have the strength to fight.

"Okay," Makarov continued. "Who's the kid?"

The rider wet his lips, tasted blood there, and shuddered. "He's my nephew," he murmured. "His name is Gildarts Clive."

"Master."

Either Makarov did not hear the speaker as he paced back and forth along the deck, or he did not realize that the word was meant for him. It had taken a long time for his subconscious mind to begin associating the phrase Guild Master with himself – far longer than he cared to admit – and he still caught himself relapsing on occasion; periods which always went hand in hand with a deep and melancholy helplessness. This was one of those times. His hands were clasped behind his back and his thoughts were far away, but even then, his gaze jumped to the three small pillars at the boat's stern every time he reversed direction – a nervous check that his barrier remained intact.

"Master."

All the pacing in the world could not placate the anxiety gnawing away at him, however; no more than it could the guilt or the frustration or the dread. This was exactly why he had told Precht he wasn't ready. It wasn't the first time during his tenure that he had wished the Second Master were still here, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but he had never before been so aware of his own inadequacies. His mentor would have known what to do, Makarov was sure of it. Yet wisdom, so it seemed, was not something spontaneously gained upon taking on the mantle of Guild Master.

He was here on this boat not because it was the right thing to do – if anything, he knew it was the wrong thing to do, and in the long run, it would only make things worse. Rather, he was here because it was the only thing he could do.

"Master!"

The third shout managed to jerk him out of his reverie. "What?" he snapped, a little brusquely, but all his responses since the early hour of that morning had been brusque, and the guild mage who had spoken paid it no mind. Instead, she just pointed towards the horizon, where a distinct silhouette had begun to take form against the afternoon sun. Though it was still a long way off, that enormous tree was unmistakeable.

Tenrou Island. A holy ground, a haven; soon to be a prison.

An echo of his own desperate shout from the night before came back to him: I don't know! But he's a danger to others and to himself, and I can't keep him contained here forever!

Makarov ran a hand through his greying hair as his attention returned to the three pillars jutting awkwardly out of the rear deck. Barring the time he had had to dispel it so that they could move the boy onto the boat, he had been maintaining that magical barrier for over twelve hours, and he was reaching the limit of his endurance. Still, he did not dare to let it fall. The child's rampant magic might be dormant right now, but it would only need an instant of freedom to make matchsticks of the boat and leave them all stranded in the middle of the ocean.

The boy was asleep. They had sedated him before moving him, using the most powerful drugs Makarov could convince the doctors to give them. They had had no choice. That was the only way the boy's uncle, who had introduced himself as Robin, had been able to transport the boy in the first place – and he was growing resistant to the drugs at an alarming rate. The uncontrolled magic within his body was learning to disassemble their active ingredients as soon as they entered his bloodstream. He had woken twice since the ship had left the harbour, and both those conscious periods had been punctuated by screams of pain and a raging storm of white as his power tried to break down the Guild Master's barrier.

Makarov could still hear those awful screams echoing in his ears as he closed his eyes and shuddered. "What else can I do?" he muttered to the ghosts in his mind. "I don't know how to help him!"

Several of the guild mages within hearing distance cast him worried glances, but none of them spoke. They were all secretly grateful that this burden fell to their Master and not to themselves. Even Ivan was quiet, sitting on the steps leading up to the forecastle deck and watching his father pace without comment. Everyone on board the ship had been present at the encounter in the early hours of the morning. They all understood the very real danger of their situation.

The only person not present was the boy's Uncle Robin, and that was only because, once they had seen the state he was in, the doctors would not allow him to leave the hospital. His arm was fractured in so many places that they weren't sure if it would ever fully heal, even with magical assistance. Nevertheless, he would have fought his way onto the boat with the guild mages if the doctors hadn't anaesthetized him. He had ridden through the night to reach Magnolia, risking his life for the sake of the young boy in his arms. He would do more, if he could.

I'm the only family he has left, Robin had said. I'd happily take him in, but… but I can't help him!

"And you think I can?" Makarov swore out loud. He wanted to help the boy. He wanted it more than he thought he had ever wanted anything in his life.

But determination did not equate to capability or success. Sometimes it did not equate to even a single bright idea.

And while he tried and failed to think – while he tried and failed to be a mature, responsible, adequate Guild Master – the conversation from that morning replayed over and over in his head.

"Have you contacted the Bureau of Magical Development?" Makarov had asked the injured man. "They're supposedly experimenting with technology that can reduce a person's magic power, which might stop it from going out of control-"

But the bleak look on Robin's face had instantly torn that idea to shreds. "His parents took him there yesterday. They wouldn't take him in. They said he was a danger to their facility and their staff."

And as Makarov's hope had died, Robin only added, in a quavering voice, "That was their last chance. They took him back home, but their neighbours turned them away. They were driven out of the village. His parents – my sister, her husband – showed up on my doorstep with him just a few hours ago. I let them stay, but then- but then- his magic went out of control again-"

"And the boy's parents?" Makarov had asked, and the tears welling up in the injured man's eyes as he slowly shook his head had been all the answer he needed.

"Rune Knights came when the house collapsed. They gave me that lacrima… showed me how to use it to contact the mage guilds… told me that the Master of Fairy Tail might be able to help…"

And perhaps he would have been able to, if Precht had still been in charge, because Precht always knew what was wrong and what to do about it and Makarov knew nothing at all.

He hated it. His own ignorance; his own uncertainty. He did not know how to make things better, and he hated himself for it.

"It's that kid's inability to control his power that's causing the problem, right?" Ivan had interrupted the discussion to cast an accusatory glance at his father. "Why not just teach him to control it? You taught me magic, not to mention all the other people in the guild you've mentored."

"How do you expect me to do that? The moment I release the barrier, his magic will rage out of control again. It'll destroy everything it touches – the environment, any restraints we try to place on him, even the person trying to teach him. If he had only come to me sooner…"

"It's never been this bad before," Robin had supplied, tears in his eyes once again. "Sometimes he would pick something up and it would crack or break. But it was nothing. It was a family joke. We laughed about it. When my sister stopped inviting me over to their house, and declined all opportunities to meet up with the rest of the family, I just assumed they were busy teaching him; that's what she told me! I heard the rumours from their village, of course, but I thought nothing of them – if his condition was getting worse, surely his mother would have said something to me; would have got help-?

"But… I should have known better. They lived in a secluded little village, isolated and distrustful of mages. No one in our family has ever been able to use magic. I don't think anyone in their village could, either. No one knew what to do. No one understood the danger…" His tortured gaze turned towards the boy's unconscious form, sealed within a prison of light. "Now it's too late, and it's all our fault…"

"No one is to blame for this tragedy," the Guild Master had said, because it was the right thing to say, even if it was the last thing he could believe then and there. "Perhaps… perhaps there might be a way we can still teach him to control his power. If I get in touch with the old gang… the Bureau… the Council… even Warrod might help… we might be able to come up with some method of suppressing his magic while he learns to control it."

And he immediately shook his head at the hopelessness of his own suggestion. "But just contacting everyone will take days, maybe weeks! And time is the one thing we do not have!"

In the end, it had been Ivan who came up with the plan. It had to have been him. Makarov would never have consciously entertained such an idea – in fact, he had argued against it for nearly an hour, despite knowing full well the impossibility of coming up with a better suggestion.

They could not go back now. His barrier around the boy would last until they reached the island, but it would not survive the trip back to the mainland. Makarov's guilt was like a bar of iron lodged through his heart, and no amount of telling himself that there was no other option could lessen its weight as the enormous silhouette of the Great Tenrou Tree drew closer and closer.

"Master!" The same mage from before called out to him. "Is there a place on the island to moor a boat of this size?"

With an effort, Makarov broke out of the useless cycle of memories and considered the question. "There's a cove on the eastern side where the water is deep enough for us to get almost the entire way in to the shore."

As she scurried off to inform the helmsman, Ivan spoke up from the sidelines. "I still don't know why you're going to all this trouble. I mean, taking in every stray dog that shows up on our guild's doorstep is one thing, but doing all this for the sake of one boy none of us even know? It's ludicrous."

Makarov gave his head a slow, ponderous shake. "That kid is one of us now. I had to stamp him with the guild mark in order to get him through the barrier around the island. Whether or not he will choose to keep it once all this is over is another matter entirely. I won't be surprised if he never forgives us after what I am about to do."

Ivan gave a disapproving grunt, but did not push the matter further. Motion from inside the pillars of light caught his attention, and he remarked, "Oh, looks like our resident time-bomb has woken up."

Makarov opened his mouth, probably to reprimand him for referring to the boy like that, but the deadly white fractures wasted no time in making their newest assault upon his barrier. He gasped for breath at the sudden magical exertion and would have fallen if his son hadn't sprung up to catch him.

"Don't scare me like that when you're the only thing standing between us and a watery grave," Ivan scowled, glancing away.

Inside the sphere the hostile light receded, but the eerily regular grid upon its surface remained. Through the distorted shimmer, they could see the boy wide awake and on his feet, pressing his palms against the inside of his prison as if to check that it was real. With Ivan's help, Makarov limped towards him.

As soon as the boy noticed their approach, he backed away, pressing himself up against the far side of the sphere.

"Gildarts, right?" the Guild Master asked as gently as he could, pretending not to notice the boy's fear, or how he was its sole cause.

The boy kept staring at him. "Who- who are you?"

"My name is Makarov. I'm the Master of the mage guild Fairy Tail. Your uncle asked me to help you-"

His eyes opened even wider at this. "Uncle Robin! Is he alright? Where is he? Is he- is he-?"

"He's… He's in hospital, but his condition is stable."

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, trying to back away further and not seeming to notice the glowing wall obstructing his retreat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I don't want to hurt anyone! I don't- I'm sorry-!"

"It's alright." Makarov tried to reassure him automatically, but he could hardly blame the boy for not believing him when he couldn't even believe himself. He maintained eye contact, silently willing the boy to trust him; trying to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible. "I'm going to talk to some friends of mine, and we're going to figure out a way to help you, I promise."

Ivan murmured to him that they had made land. Half the mages on board were busy lowering the gangplank and unloading the supplies they had brought with them; the other half were frozen to the spot, watching the exchange between their Master and the terrified boy.

"This is a magical island," Makarov continued. "You'll be safe here. There's no one else around, so you don't need to worry about your magic hurting anyone or destroying anything. I need you to stay here for a few days while we look for a way to help you, okay?"

"I…" The boy gave a wild shake of his head. "I don't want to be alone!"

"Gildarts-"

"No, please! Don't make me stay here on my own! I'm sorry- I'm sorry-!"

Makarov overrode the boy's desperate apologies with one of his own. "I'm sorry, but this…"

But he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Had he really been about to say that this was for the boy's own good? What good could possibly come of abandoning a child on an uninhabited island? No matter how much he told himself that it was just to buy them time, so that they could work out a way of helping him before he hurt anyone else, they were really only doing it to protect themselves, weren't they? If they couldn't find a solution to his rampaging magic, would they ever return to the island, or would they just leave him there until he died and was no longer their problem?

He looked at the helpless, terrified boy and felt his heart break all over again. I have no right to be a Guild Master, he thought. No right at all.

"This is the only option available to us," he finished. "We need to keep you away from other people. You understand that, don't you? It will only be for a few days. I'll come back for you as soon as I can."

Tears welled up in the child's eyes. "I don't want to be alone… I'm scared…"

Makarov glanced over his shoulder, where the other members of his guild had assembled. They were ready. Once he removed his defensive barrier, they would have seconds at best to get the boy off the boat before his magic shattered it. One mage was going to use her wind magic to lift the boy off the deck and set him down hopefully unharmed upon the shore. The ship was ready to sail away from the makeshift dock the instant their unstable cargo was clear. Makarov gave a slight nod, and they raced for their positions as he turned his attention back to the boy.

"You'll be alright, I promise," he said, and it was the greatest lie the Third Master had ever told. "The island will keep you safe. First Master, please watch over him…"

And before he could change his mind he stepped back, brought his hands together, dispelled the barrier around the boy, and roared, "NOW!"

Contrary to what Makarov believed, Tenrou Island was not entirely uninhabited by humankind.

The single exception to that rule was a strange young man who sat in a clearing in the overgrown forest. He leaned against a withered grey tree, leafless even though summer was in its prime. The mossy carpet below him was a shrivelled, lifeless yellow. All around him lay the corpses of animals: birds that had fallen dead from the sky in mid-flight; deer, collapsing out of nowhere as they guided their young through the forest; wolves struck down as they pursued their quarry. Neither predator nor prey had been spared. In fact, at first glance, the man might have been dead himself – his eyes were closed and he did not stir; not even, so it seemed, to breathe.

But despite what was written in the history books, this man was not dead, and his eyes slowly opened to stare at the cloudless sky.

"The barrier is down," he murmured to himself. "Is this your doing, Mavis? Or… are there others upon the island?"

A/N: So, in my quest to discover how odd my writing prompts can get before people stop clicking on my stories, here's one about Zeref and kid Gildarts. Well, at least I'm unpredictable. Ever since the Tenrou Island arc I've felt that it would be interesting to write something with Gildarts and Zeref, two characters who are unintentionally destructive to their environments and potentially very dangerous to those around them, and eventually it became this prequel-ish story. As far as I'm aware, canon never provides a backstory for Gildarts, so here's my take on it. I figured I might as well upload it in case someone out there finds it interesting!

I do assume that anyone reading this has finished the manga. There *might* be some spoilers for anyone who only watches the anime (as of the time of writing), but I think they'll be unnoticeably minor. It's more that a handful of things might pass you by once Zeref starts narrating than that anything important will be spoiled from the final arc. I think.

This story will update on Sundays, life permitting. I've been pretty good at keeping to a schedule so far, but no story has ever caused me as much grief as this one, so we'll see how that goes. This isn't on the same scale as my previous stories, in terms of scope or length, and it will run for about two months.

Okay, I think that's all the orders of business. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you again next chapter! ~CS