Want to support CHYOA?
Disable your Ad Blocker! Thanks :)

Chapter 2 by Cross C Cross C

Where Do You Start?

Fairy Tail - Desierto's Hung Son

Written in collaboration with Namichwan.

After months of traveling by night through many lushly green and developed kingdoms, Verona finally entered Magnolia Town.

His bare feet brushed against the cobblestone streets, each step taken with the nimble grace of a desert fox, an instinct from weeks of slipping through foreign lands under moonlight. Now, under the oddly gentle cloud studded sun of midday, the lively streets around him clashed with the quietness of his long journey. The city of 60,000 pulsed with energy, and he felt every curious gaze as people stopped to look at the man from Desierto.

He paused, taking in the city’s bustling energy. This was unlike any place he had ever seen. The town stretched far and wide, buildings rising in tidy rows with pointed roofs and carved stonework. There were so many people, each passing by with purpose and chatter that filled the air, a cacophony of voices, laughter, and the clinking of metal and goods.

So different from the quiet, open sands of Desierto.

Streets full of clattering carts, chattering shopkeepers, and the aroma of freshly baked goods greeted him as he wandered, awestruck, through the winding paths. He had heard tales of this town—a magical hub, the beating heart of Fiore’s magical community—and he felt a tingling excitement at the prospect of joining it, and most especially, Fairy Tail.

One middle-aged woman selling silk scarves on Central Path noticed him, her kind smile softening as she watched him from behind. At first, she thought he was a lost child; his small stature and delicate, almost feminine frame stirred a maternal urge within her. But as Verona turned, she was startled to see a pair of intense, dark eyes framed beneath a glinting scarab headpiece. The beetle's iridescent green and blue hues shimmered under the sunlight, catching her off guard and drawing her gaze down to the fine, slightly disheveled strands of blonde hair that framed his face. Verona's features were striking—finely boned, with high cheekbones, a narrow jawline, and full lips curved in a knowing smirk. He looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, as if he carried a piece of the desert itself in his gaze.

Her smile lingered, a mixture of fascination and confusion, as she took in his bare torso, covered with intricate tattoos winding over his collarbones, ribs, and down his stomach, symbols that seemed alive in the sunlight. His slender, wiry frame was lean but muscular, with a quiet strength visible in every movement. A strange insect-like cape made of dark chitin pieces draped over his shoulders, hanging in loose, segmented strips that clinked softly as he moved, adding an exotic touch to his appearance.

But her gaze continued to wander downward—and that’s when she saw it. Her eyes widened, her cheeks heating up as she took in the unexpected sight. His pants hung low, unzipped and open, with his enormous… endowment swinging freely, barely constrained by a garish, striped green and pink sock (A Bosco nobleman's stocking?). It was strange enough to see such a covering, but the stocking’s torn end allowed his glans to peek out, as though he hadn't even noticed it had slipped free. Behind, his testicles hung heavy and bare, large and unhidden, their presence an unapologetic display that the woman found almost dizzying.

As she shook herself from her reverie, the woman noticed other townsfolk reacting with equal bewilderment, though, in typical Magnolia fashion, they shook their heads and moved on, murmuring amongst themselves about the “new mage” in town. After all, if this stranger wasn’t a Fairy Tail mage, he was certainly about to become one. The eccentric clothing? The fearless attitude? He fit right in.

Verona, meanwhile, seemed entirely unaware of the fuss his appearance was causing. As he walked along the path, his eyes were set on the grandeur of Kardia Cathedral rising before him, its spires stretching proudly above the buildings around it. He wondered how many generations had lived and worshipped in its shadow, carrying on Fiore’s magical traditions. This city was ancient, brimming with history—and power.

The kind of place, he thought with a secretive smile, where he could find the alliances he sought.

An older man with a cart of fresh loaves stepped back as Verona passed, eyes widening as he noticed the unmistakable tube swaying beside him. Verona, oblivious, continued on, shifting his stocking casually, wrapping it a little tighter over his manhood as if it were a second foreskin, an odd and uncomfortable necessity, a concession to these people of the green and blue who hid themselves away so strangely. For Desiertonians, the human body was simply a part of nature’s beauty, as respectable as any other aspect of the self, and yet here they demanded layers and coverings as if ashamed. It was all very strange.

As Verona strolled leisurely through Magnolia’s lively streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the city, he felt the pangs of his long journey catching up to him. In Desierto, such matters were simple and straightforward, attended to wherever convenience allowed—no one there would bat an eye at a man answering nature’s call in a bustling street. So, with the easy nonchalance of his homeland, Verona turned to the side of the road, just past a flower stall and in the shadow of a tall stone building, and began to relieve himself.

The flow was immediate, strong, and unrelenting, echoing off the cobblestones and gathering curious glances from several nearby passersby. The sheer volume and intensity of his stream left more than one onlooker blinking in astonishment, some even averting their gaze in embarrassment as they caught sight of his exposed member, still loosely covered by the sagging striped sock that now left his glans bare, a strikingly flared article, dusky and brown about the size of a mid-sized plum.

One man, a middle-aged local with a belly that spoke of regular indulgence at Magnolia’s many taverns, strode forward with a look of outrage.

His face was already reddening as he approached, fists clenched and lips drawn tight in fury. “Hey!” he barked, voice hoarse with indignation. “What in the blazes do you think you’re doing? This isn’t some… barnyard, lad! This is Magnolia! Show some decency, for heaven's sake!”

Verona, lost in the relief of the moment, glanced over his shoulder and blinked at the man, unfazed. “Oh? I’m watering the sands.” he replied simply, his voice carrying the faint lilt of his Desiertonian accent. His expression was one of mild curiosity, as if he found the man’s indignation to be a fascinating new cultural quirk rather than a personal affront.

“There are no sands here!” The man’s face went beet red.

The man’s indignation and loud tone drew more attention, with several townsfolk now watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. Verona, however, continued to finish his business in serene silence, the powerful flow tapering off at its own unhurried pace. At last, he gave himself a light shake, rolling the end of the stocking back down over his glans, the adjusted the sock back into place with all the casual calm of someone unbothered by the uproar he’d caused.

The man’s protests continued, his outrage escalating with each word. “…The nerve of people like you! What are you, some kind of barbarian? You need to be shown some respect, some order! I can’t believe—”

Verona’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. The man’s outrage might have intimidated another, but Verona was undeterred. Instead, he raised one hand, fingers tracing the air in an elegant, practiced motion.
With a sharp snap, Verona activated his Relationship Magic.

His Relationship Magic, the singular ability that would make him the leader of a tribe like no other—a tribe he would build from connections and bonds with his own hands and cock, the strongest tribe in all the land that he would return to the sands with and show them all!

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. Bright, vibrant lines of pure energy exploded from the man, radiating outward in every direction, casting a dazzling array of colors across the street. Each line pulsed with a unique hue, vibrant blues, fiery reds, gentle greens, and bold yellows, all tracing intricate paths into the air.

They connected to floating orbs that materialized one by one around the man—glowing nodes of potential relationships and existing bonds.

The orbs were mesmerizing, suspended in a delicate, shimmering web around the man. Some glowed intensely, representing strong bonds like family or close friends, while others pulsed faintly, connections that were distant or waning.

Each one pulsed in harmony with Verona’s magic, offering him a glimpse into the fabric of the man’s relationships. With a practiced eye, Verona spotted a few key orbs: one pulsed a soft yellow, likely a friend who admired the man’s sense of duty, another glowed with a fiery intensity, undoubtedly a loved one or a spouse. These connections wove around him like a network of shimmering threads, each one a path Verona could choose to explore—or rewrite.

His focus sharpened on a single orb, one that glowed a warm, inviting orange: a bond of mentorship, a guiding hand. This was a role the man had filled before, perhaps with a younger family member or an apprentice. With a subtle shift in his thoughts, Verona willed this orb to brighten, intensifying its hue as it began to radiate even stronger.

As he manipulated the magic, the web surrounding the man adjusted, the lines shifting and reconnecting until Verona’s presence became entwined with the pulsing orange orb. The threads wove between them, growing brighter and thicker, solidifying the sense of connection. The man’s expression softened; his previous fury dissolved, and his face now showed a warm familiarity as if Verona were someone he’d known for years.

FATHER FIGURE. Hung in the air briefly, cementing the man’s new role in both pairs of eyes.

The glowing network faded from view, the orbs dissolving back into the invisible web of magic that Verona had altered. But the man’s reaction made it clear that the relationship had been reshaped.

The man clapped Verona on the back, beaming down at him with all the affection and indulgence of a trusted guide. “Ah, Verona! What a troublemaker you are,” he laughed, as though they shared a long history together. “I should have expected as much. But don’t worry, lad, I’ll make sure you get the hang of things here in Magnolia!”

Verona gave a polite nod, a slight sparkle of amusement in his eye. “Thank you. I knew you’d be understanding.”

“Of course, of course!” the man chuckled, his tone carrying the warmth of an old friend. “Now, let’s start with some basics. In Magnolia, we have public restrooms all over the place—makes things a bit more convenient, eh?” He laughed again, his earlier irritation fully replaced by a sense of friendly guidance.

The man gestured to a nearby street corner, where a simple wooden sign indicated the location of a public restroom. He pointed it out proudly, as if unveiling a great secret. “Just look for these signs, alright? That way, you won’t be shocking the whole city with that beefy one-eyed monster of yours!” He gave Verona a hearty wink, clearly humoring the young man’s desert-born ways.


The man who guided Verona through Magnolia introduced himself–much to his own mild confusion as to why he needed to introduce himself at all–as Alden.

He was an older fellow, perhaps in his late fifties, with a broad, sturdy frame that had weathered many seasons of labor. He happily repeated his story to Verona, not surprised by Verona's supposed absent-minded memory, treating it as just another quirk of someone who had traveled far.

Alden had spent his life working in Magnolia as a baker, but after his son left to join a trading expedition, Alden found himself with a lot of time on his hands. Known for his warm demeanor and loud laugh, Alden had taken to showing newcomers around town, offering guidance to help them adjust to Magnolia's bustling pace. He was familiar with every corner, nook, and cranny of the city.

“Magnolia's a lively place, as you’ve probably figured,” Alden chuckled, gesturing to the vibrant stalls, street vendors, and chattering groups of townsfolk. “We don’t see too many Desiertonians around here, lad, but you'll be alright. You’ll find the people in Magnolia tend to roll with whatever comes their way.” His eyes twinkled knowingly, a reference to Verona’s earlier indiscretion.

Verona walked alongside Alden, his eyes wide, still drinking in the sights and sounds around him. The paved streets, the colorful signs, and the noise—everything was different from Desierto, a far cry from the quiet, sprawling sands. But despite the strange glances he received for his unique attire—or lack thereof—he found himself growing more intrigued with every step.

“And here we are,” Alden announced, coming to a stop before an impressive, imposing structure. Verona looked up, his eyes tracing the grand building that loomed before him. “Fairy Tail Guild. This is where you said you wanted to go, right?”

Verona nodded, his gaze still fixed on the guild building. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

The headquarters of the Fairy Tail Guild stood proudly at the center of Magnolia Town. It was a strange and grand building, rising with multiple levels and colorful banners. To Verona, it looked like something built by giants who loved bright colors and had a need to show off. The building had layers stacked atop one another, each more elaborate than the last, and parts of it even had what looked like protective walls on top, like a fort.

The ground floor had a roof made of small square tiles. Large torches lined the upper levels, making it look grand and important. At the top was a small dome with a bell, its pointed roof covered in tiles. Two tall structures stood by the entrance, with long glass windows reflecting sunlight and strange spinning symbols at their tops.

The top floor had a large banner with the Fairy Tail insignia fluttering in the breeze, and smaller banners on each side with the Magic Council's emblem and another symbol. The top floor was simple and functional, while the middle floor was more decorative with ornate walls and windows. The ground floor had many small windows, reinforced with thick wooden beams.

Surrounding the headquarters was a fence, its base constructed of solid stone and topped with decorated iron railings. Pillars at intervals along the fence were topped with torches, and an open gate provided access to the guild. The gate was decorated to resemble an open portcullis, complete with railing and tiles, and a large sign hung above it bearing the guild’s name.

Within the fence, in front of the building, lay the "open air cafe," as Alden had called it. Verona found the name odd—why specify 'open air' when it was obviously open? For his tribe, communal spaces were always under the open sky. There were over two dozen tables, each with benches on either side. Some tables had large, striped umbrellas providing shade—a luxury that stood out to Verona, who was used to the harsh, uncompromising sun of Desierto. The area was bustling with activity, filled with mages laughing, chatting, and enjoying drinks, an atmosphere that was carefree in a way he had never experienced before.

Alden turned to Verona, giving him a hearty pat on the back. “Well, lad, here’s where we part ways. Fairy Tail’s a good place, full of folks with a lot of heart. You’ll fit right in. And remember, they have bathrooms here too. This lot's liable to punch first if you just start draining your hog on their floorboards.” He gave Verona a wink, and with that, Alden turned and began to walk away, humming a tune to himself as he disappeared down the street.

Verona stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of the guildhall. He could hear the raucous laughter of the mages within, the boisterous sounds of camaraderie and life. It was unlike Desierto, where the silence was filled with the rustling of shifting sands, the distant calls of desert creatures, and the whispers of the wind carving paths across endless dunes—subtle sounds that Verona loved deeply. Here, everything was full of energy, full of power. He smiled to himself, a spark of excitement igniting in his chest. This was where he would start.

He stepped through the open gate and crossed the yard towards the guild's main entrance. As he pushed open the large double doors, the noise from within washed over him like a wave. Laughter, shouting, cheers—the guild hall was alive, and it was everything he had imagined it to be.

Inside, the building was just as extravagant as the exterior. The main hall was vast, with a high ceiling supported by sturdy beams, the walls decorated with various banners and artifacts—trophies from past missions and conquests. Large wooden tables were scattered throughout, many surrounded by groups of mages talking, drinking, and eating. A massive bar ran along one side of the hall, where a silver-haired woman stood, her smile warm as she served drinks to the guild members.

Above the bar, a large board was affixed to the wall, covered in flyers and notices—requests for help, jobs waiting to be taken. Verona's eyes widened slightly at the sheer number of them, each one representing an opportunity for adventure, for connection, for growth.

He took a step forward, the weight of his journey falling away as the vibrant energy of the guild enveloped him. This was it—the place where he would build his tribe, where he would forge the bonds that would make him strong. And, most importantly, this was where his true journey would begin.

What's next?

More fun
Want to support CHYOA?
Disable your Ad Blocker! Thanks :)