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Chapter Text

Saber clutched Shirou’s broken body to her chest as if he were the most precious thing in the world, even as the winter air bit at her exposed skin. Her destination was a familiar one. The Emiya manor approached on the horizon, a welcome sight of dark wood and paper screens in the black of moonlight. The gate slid open with no resistance, and the first thing she did was carry him inside, finding an empty futon in his room to gently place him upon.

Her instincts took over. She moved through the familiar halls like a ghost, securing every window, checking every door. She was low on mana, it was true; an ambush now would put her at a severe disadvantage. She could summon her blade and use her excellent swordsmanship, but anything superhuman would have to wait until she recharged. All the more reason to be thorough.

She had lived here with him only a little over a week ago, but she felt the pang of nostalgia nonetheless. There were nights during her corruption where she wished for nothing more than to be right back here, basking in the presence of her young Master. But as the Servant of the Shadow, she was at the beck and call of a dark mistress. She was unable to dematerialize, so her captors simply had her "rest" in the mud's cold, suffocating embrace. She shuddered at the memory, pushing it away.

Once satisfied with the manor's security, she moved to the cabinets, her memory guiding her to Shirou’s medical supplies. Alcohol, bandages, gauze. He would need everything. She knelt beside his still form on the mattress and, after carefully removing the tattered remnants of his shirt, began to re-examine his wounds.

If wounds told a story, Shirou Emiya’s said he should not be alive. The swords that had grown from his body had receded, leaving behind a horrific constellation of gashes across his torso and remaining arm. How he had not only managed to fight her, he had scored the winning blow, was a testament to a willpower that defied all logic. None of the blades had pierced a vital organ—a miracle in itself—but infection could be as deadly an opponent as an enemy servant.

After flushing the wounds with saline, she dabbed a cloth with alcohol. As she pressed it gently to the first wound, she felt his body tense, his teeth gritting involuntarily in his sleep. The sting had woken him.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Stay still, Master,” she commanded, her voice softer than she intended. “I must treat and wrap your wounds.”

His gaze settled on her, his expression not of fear or alarm at her altered form, but of pure, unadulterated relief. “Saber… is that really you?” he whispered, the words spoken as if she were a fleeting dream that might vanish at any moment.

Cursed be this fragile heart, and the way this man made it feel. “Y-Yes, Master. You freed me from the Shadow’s grasp. Do you not remember?”

He groaned, trying to push himself into a sitting position, only for her hand to gently but firmly push him back down. “I… wasn’t sure if I was dreaming.” His mind was still hazy from overuse of Archer’s arm, though it was clearing up slowly but surely. His gaze drifted to the stump of his left shoulder. “I guess I wasn’t.”

The admission startled her. “Do you dream of yourself in such pain often?” She meant it as a dry joke, but a pang of regret struck her as she saw the honest, resounding yes in his eyes. She pushed the feeling aside and returned to her work, dabbing at the other wounds as he hissed softly against the sting. She brought out the needle next. Shirou kept a beginner’s suture kit, clumsy needle, coarse thread. She was no medical expert, but she was competent. She closed only the worst tears; the rest she dressed and prayed he would not fever. Shirou never once voiced a complaint, only gritted his teeth and hissed at the sting. His pain tolerance was through the roof.

She was wrapping his torso in clean bandages when the floor murmured, a long, hollow roll from the direction of Mt. Enzou. A dull crimson light suddenly flared from his wrist. Both of them froze, watching as the three Command Seals burned before flickering away into nothing, leaving behind only unmarked skin.

They both knew what it meant. The Holy Grail War was over.

The Greater Grail had shut down, the ritual sustaining the Command Seals was unraveled, dissolving the bond of Master and Servant once more.

For a moment, they simply sat in the moonlight, waiting to see if the world would be swallowed by the curse of Angra Mainyu.

“I guess that means I’m not your Master anymore, Saber,” he said quietly, his voice laced with the fear that she would now walk out the door and leave him.

“In terms of a magical contract, perhaps,” she replied, her golden eyes never leaving his. “But I would remain by your side, Shirou. If you would have a blackened heart such as mine.” The words were a prayer, a plea. Please, let me stay. She would stay with him and protect him from anything that threatened him. This was her vow.

“Are you kidding me, Saber? You’re still you underneath all of that.” He reached out with his right hand, palm open, a gesture of pure acceptance. “I don’t know what you went through, but I imagine it was hell. None of it was your fault.” I know you didn’t choose to become this. I know you didn’t choose to fight me. “I’ll always have a place for you here… if you’ll stand by a one-armed, third-rate magus who’s too stubborn for his own good.”

A small ghost of a smile touched her lips as she finished tying his bandages. “I think that type of person is the only Master for me.”

He drifted back to slumber soon after, his body finally succumbing to its need for rest. Saber stood vigil just outside his room, a dark guardian watching over him. But as she stood in the shadows, her eyelids grew heavy. Ah, yes, she thought. I have a human body again. And with a human body came human limitations. Exhaustion, a feeling she hadn't truly known in a long time, pulled at her like a physical weight. She slumped against the wall, trying to will herself to stay awake, but it was a futile battle. Darkness claimed her at last.

The dream carried her back to that accursed forest. Ribbons of darkness gave way to reveal her form, clad not in the blue and silver armor of a king, but a gothic black dress more befitting a servant of malice. She raised a hand, and her blade materialized in it. Blackened armor, reinforced by a torrent of excess mana, crawled over her skin, and a dark visor slid over her eyes as she charged forward. She hated this form and everything it represented. And yet, she had to confess, the power felt good. No longer bound by the meager mana of a novice Master. Now she drew upon the infinite, corrupting power of the Grail itself.

The Shadow’s commands resonated in her mind with the force of a Command Seal. They needed the Einzbern girl for the ritual, but Berserker was interfering. Assassin could not hope to defeat the ancient demigod. That was where she came in. Annihilate Berserker. Ensure the others do not interfere.

The dark edge of Excalibur Morgan met the rough-hewn stone of his axe-sword. Though she was thrown back, she suffered no injury, a testament to the absolute defense of her armor. They met a great many more times, the raw strength of the man crashing against her profane power. Though he could match her, even overpower her at times, this was not a fight Berserker could hope to win. The most damage he managed was a spiderweb crack across her visor, but it would not change the outcome.

Once upon a time, she had struggled to fight this Servant, and it had nearly cost her Master his life. That time had passed. She raised Excalibur, and as she softly invoked its true name, it did not release the light of hope, but a consuming darkness, a reversal of the rising sun that swallowed all light. As it met the immortal demigod, it overtook him, leaving nothing in its wake as the last of his nine lives was spent.

She leaped forward to confront the Masters, landing with a heavy thud and turning with her blade pointed at a boy she knew all too well. His eyes widened in horror as he took in her altered form, her visor finally shattering to the floor. The sight of his terrified face broke her heart.

She couldn’t stand it. Her work here was done, there was no reason to stay any longer. She leaped back toward where Assassin was waiting. “I have accomplished my mission. I would like to rest.”

“Of course.” She wasn’t tired, she was a servant with infinite mana, but Assassin didn’t call her on it. They were sufficiently rattled, and he could finish the job.

"...Saberrrr!" Her resolve almost faltered right then and there. She could never forget the pleading, shattered scream of the boy she’d left behind. She wanted nothing more than to turn back and drop to her knees in front of him, proclaiming ‘I’m sorry!’ over and over again until she physically couldn’t anymore. Instead she resolved herself to just steal a glance back at him.

…but her head wouldn’t turn, no matter how much she willed it. The ribbons of darkness wrapped around her once again, pulling her back into the abominable mud.

She had wanted nothing more than to break down, to become a mess of her own sobs. But the Shadow wouldn’t let her, overriding even her most basic physical responses. It took all of her willpower just to let a single tear escape, a tiny speck of sorrow lost in the infinite mud of the Grail.

A broken boy in a bed let loose a sob of his own, his body trembling as he relived the misery of his knight.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The darkness of the terrifying memory gave way to a sliver of bright morning light and an incredibly loud noise. Saber grimaced, a sharp pain shooting up her neck from the uncomfortable angle she had slept at against the wall. What was that damnable sound? Her awareness returned in an instant. She was on her feet, a silhouette at the front door drawing her full attention.

Immediately, her eyes narrowed. Someone was here. Without a thought, Excalibur Morgan was in her grasp, just the blackened blade, no power behind it for now. She didn’t know who they were, but if they dared threaten Shirou, she would show them no mercy.

“Shirou! Open the door, I’m freezing out here!”

Oh. That voice. Shrill, demanding, but utterly without malice. It was a voice that would never mean harm to Shirou.

An enemy she could deal with. Taiga was someone Saber was entirely unprepared for. The woman obviously meant no harm, so she couldn’t be vanquished like any other foe. Perhaps if she remained silent, Taiga would assume he wasn’t home and leave?

“I can see the light on in there! I know you’re home!”

Damn my lapse in vigilance! She had meant to stay awake and stand guard, so she wouldn’t be caught off guard like she is now.

“That’s it! You leave me no choice! I’m using my spare key!”

Saber heard the lock rattle. Thinking quickly, she dismissed Excalibur Morgan an instant before the door slid open. Taiga stepped through as if she owned the place which, technically, her grandfather did.

“Eh… Saber? You’re back?” Taiga’s eyes raked over her. “Did you go to a funeral or something? Why are you dressed like that?”

Honesty would only sound absurd to Taiga. I just spent a week enslaved to an incarnation of evil that corrupted my body and brought forward the worst of my personality. This dress was an extension of that. She kept her expression stoic as she answered “In a sense. I only just returned.”

“Eh, no matter. Where is Shirou?”

Oh no. If Taiga saw him, she would panic, and Saber didn't know how to handle that right now. “He is resting. He has been through a great ordeal.” Not a lie, just omitting the truths that would be harder for her to accept.

“Oh… I wanted to check on him, with all those mysterious killings and that earthquake at the mountain. Can I talk to him?”

No. No, no, no. “Miss Taiga, I do not believe that is a good idea.”

“Nonsense.” Taiga brushed past her, moving faster than Saber could react without revealing her true nature. “Is he in here—”

She slid open the door to Shirou’s room. Her usual boisterous energy evaporated into a strangled gasp, her smile collapsing into horror. Before Saber could say a word, Taiga rushed forward, falling to her knees beside the futon and grabbing the boy’s shoulders, shaking him violently.

“SHIROU! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARM?!”

As Taiga fussed, something low and canid pooled at the fence line, longer than a dog, thinner than a man. A link scraped stone once, soft as a breath. Cold iron touched the air, and then the shape unstitched itself back into the trees.

Chapter Text

Shirou awoke to a different world of pain, one that was somehow simultaneously both infinitely better than the one he was used to and far worse. It was a contradiction, just like his whole life.

“Ow! Taiga, what are you—gah! Stop!” The violent shaking of his shoulders sent shockwaves of agony through his torso. He grimaced, his vision swimming.

Saber was by his side in an instant. With a single, economical movement, she placed a hand on Taiga Fujimura's shoulder and delivered a forceful shove that sent the woman stumbling back several feet. Taiga stared for a moment, shocked by the sheer strength contained in Saber’s petite form.

“Miss Fujimura,” Saber’s voice was cold as steel, leaving no room for argument. “As you can see, Shirou is gravely injured. He requires rest. Please control yourself, or I will remove you from the premises.”

A chill ran down Taiga’s spine as she looked at the gothic guardian standing over Shirou. Her gaze fell back to the boy in the bed, and her bravado instantly crumbled, tears welling in her eyes. “Shirou… What happened to you?” she asked softly, a startling contrast to her usual boisterousness.

A pang of guilt fluttered in his chest. Taiga truly did care for him; she just had… odd ways of showing it.

“I…” Crap, Shirou thought. He hadn't even considered a cover story.

Saber, sensing his struggle, stepped forward. Hesitation was the difference between life and death on the battlefield. “There was an… accident,” she stated, her voice flat and practiced. “We were all in great danger. Shirou saved us—myself, Rin, and Sakura—though it came at a great cost.” It wasn’t a lie, merely a version of the truth stripped of all its horrifying details. She would let Taiga assume it was a vehicle accident, not an ancient magical ritual gone horribly wrong.

“That’s just like you, isn’t it, Shirou,” Taiga murmured, her voice thick with a mixture of pride and sorrow. She looked around, her expression turning to alarm. “Wait, where are Rin and Sakura now?”

Saber’s gaze fell to the floor. “I… do not know,” she confessed. “My priority was to get Shirou to safety. I left Sakura in Rin’s care.”

The conversation that followed was a grueling battle of wills. Taiga, frantic with worry, insisted they take him to a hospital. Saber stonewalled her with unshakable resolve, making an excuse that Shirou required "specialized care" that a normal hospital could not provide. Of course, the real reason was that a hospital visit where he was missing his arm would spawn way too many questions, and only a few of them were actually answerable to non-magi, but either way, they did not need the scrutiny from it (Plus, Taiga was technically his legal guardian still, dubious though it is. Him losing an arm technically under her care would not reflect well on her, especially since her occupation was school-teacher). Shirou, weak as he was, had to back her up, pleading with Taiga to trust them. Finally, she relented, but on one, non-negotiable condition.

“Fine! But I’m staying here to look after you! You clearly can’t be left alone!”

And so, after nearly ten years of living at Emiya manor with Shirou, Taiga Fujimura finally decided to help around the house instead of just freeloading. However, a new and immediate crisis soon emerged. With Shirou out of commission, the Emiya household was left without a cook. As Saber’s stomach let out a low, dignified growl, they were forced into their most desperate hour, resorting to an act Shirou considered almost sacrilegious.

They ordered takeout.

The days that followed fell into a strange, chaotic routine. The first dinner they shared was a quiet, awkward affair on the cushions around his table. Shirou, refusing to be bedridden, had insisted on joining them, where he discovered the simple act of eating was now a frustrating puzzle suddenly down one arm. He fumbled with his chopsticks, unable to steady his rice bowl, a hot flush of shame washing over him with every spilled grain.

As his body slowly knitted itself back together, his stubbornness returned in full force. Even before the sutures were removed, he was already pushing himself. Saber found him in the dojo, his body trembling, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled through a set of shaky, one-armed push-ups.

His attempts to resume his magecraft were even more frustrating. At least three times, he tried to sneak out to the shed, believing Saber and Taiga to be occupied. Each time, just as he was about to sit and try to reinforce a single metal pipe, a shadow would fall over the doorway.

“Your body is not yet stable,” Saber’s voice would cut through the silence, sharp and logical. “You are risking permanent damage to your body and your magic circuits. This is an inefficient and reckless course of action. Return inside.”

He would be summarily escorted back to his room, feeling like a chided child. The house was kept safe and secure, but it ran on a steady diet of convenience store bento and delivery pizza.

Shirou often wondered what became of Rin and Sakura, but he had no idea where they were or how to reach them. He figured Rin had succeeded, since they weren’t dead or actively being consumed by shadows, but the question ate at him for days in the back of his mind. He tried phoning Tohsaka manor once but the line beeped dead. It seemed like someone hadn’t paid the phone bill over there and the line was disconnected. He would have to make a visit there once his condition improved.

This new reality came to a head on a crisp afternoon two weeks after the end of the Holy Grail War. Taiga, holding a fistful of takeout receipts, looked horrified and declared a financial crisis.

“We can’t keep doing this! We’re going to go broke!” she declared, conveniently ignoring the family credit card in her wallet. “Shirou’s out, and I have to get to work. Saber-chan, it’s up to you!” She thrust a hastily scribbled list and the house wallet into Saber’s hands. “Go to the store. Get these things. Do not come back with more takeout!”

Saber looked down at the list as if it were a royal decree outlining the terms of a surrender. “I understand. I will not fail you, Miss Fujimura.” Before she left, she stopped by Shirou’s room. He was sitting up, looking a little stronger than the day before.

“Be careful,” he said with a small, tired smile. The absurdity of telling a Heroic Spirit to be careful on a trip to the supermarket was not lost on him.

A rare, ghost of a smile touched her own lips. “I will endeavor to return victorious, Master.”

She stepped out of the familiar gate of the Emiya manor, her black dress a stark contrast to the bright afternoon sun. Her mission was clear: acquire provisions for her master and his household.

This should prove… manageable, she thought, her expression one of grim determination as she set off toward the Fuyuki shopping district.

Adjusting to the modern world was going relatively well for Saber, all things considered. She did have her experiences in Fuyuki from the previous grail war, so even though the world had advanced by 10 years, it was not nearly as drastic of a difference as the jump from 1500 years ago. Plus she has basic knowledge of modern history and culture provided via the Throne of Heroes.

What was more difficult was getting used to having human needs again. She was only ever part-servant, it is true, so she was used to the feel of hunger and the need to eat, but as a servant, she only ever slept to preserve mana, not to ward off exhaustion. After a few days of rest and recovery, her power had been restored, which let her access her Dragon Core.

She would never touch the infinite power of the grail ever again, not that she wanted to anymore, but she suspected that her peak power now was slightly stronger than it was before her altering, though her agility was slightly lessened. But another unfortunate truth soon revealed itself to her; She could not finely control her mana, not like she used to. It wasn’t something that manifested itself in everyday life, after all she didn’t need to use mana to augment her strength for the mundane tasks of life, but when trying practice maneuvers, she found herself expelling more energy with each strike than she intended, turning precision strikes into crushing blows unintentionally. She was no longer a chisel, but a hammer.

As she walked, her heels clicked softly against the pavement. Her black dress earned her many glances, but she paid them no mind. They were irrelevant. The automatic doors of the supermarket slid open, and she procured a basket, checking her list. Milk, rice, eggs—these were simple. But the store’s layout was bafflingly illogical. Why were canned beans in a separate aisle from other canned foods? She would have to lecture the manager on his inefficient organizational tactics later.

List in hand, satisfied she had located the final item, she turned from the aisle, her awareness wandering for just a moment. She walked directly into the person in front of her.

“Hey, watch where you’re—huh?”

“My apologies,” Saber said automatically, her voice flat. “Forgive my lack of awareness. It will not happen again.” She looked up to properly face the young woman. A familiar head of twin-tails held up by black ribbons. Recollection flashed across Saber’s features. “Rin?”

Two weeks ago…

Rin stumbled out of the cavern, the unconscious form of her sister a dead weight on her back. How did Archer always make this look so easy? she wondered through a haze of pain and exhaustion. Right. Heroic Spirit. Superhuman strength. Stupid question. The thought was a fleeting moment of dark humor in a sea of misery. She faltered, her own wounds screaming as Sakura’s weight bore down on her.

The battle had been the greatest physical ordeal of her life. The details were a blur of adrenaline and terror; channeling the power of alternate selves through the Kaleidoscope with the Jeweled Sword, fighting an endless tide of Sakura’s shadowy titans. She remembered the look of pure shock on Sakura’s face when she realized Saber wasn't responding to her summons. She remembered closing the distance, the Jeweled Sword humming with impossible energy before she detonated it, the resulting blast of prismatic light obliterating the last of the shadow constructs.

She remembered standing over Sakura, the Azoth dagger held high, ready to end the nightmare that had consumed Fuyuki. Ready to destroy the monster that had killed Archer, that had devoured so many…

She couldn't do it.

Mad as she was, this was still Sakura. Her sister. Rin had failed her once by letting her go, had failed her for ten years by turning a blind eye. She couldn’t fail her again by striking the killing blow. The dagger dropped from her trembling hand, and she collapsed as Sakura’s laughter dissolved into uncontrollable, heartbroken sobs.

She didn't know how long she was unconscious. When she came to, she saw the corpse of that disgusting excuse for a priest, discarded unceremoniously with a brand of magic she recognized from the Einzbern heir. Ahead, Illya stood in her ornate Dress of Heaven, her hand outstretched as a pure, white light enveloped Sakura, dissolving the black ribbons from her body. It was a miracle of the Third Magic, a power beyond comprehension. Illya had severed the connection to Avenger and cleansed Sakura of the darkness that had ailed her all her life.

Rin crawled to the precipice where Illya now stood. “Illya…”

“Tohsaka.” Illya’s voice was steady and small, as if it had to be both at once. “I wanted to speak to Shirou one more time.” A tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It seems I won’t get that miracle.”

Rin glanced at Sakura’s bare shoulders, the shadow-dress gone.

“Sakura… you—”

“I cut the thing that was eating her,” Illya said, exhaling. “The rest is for you. She still has to answer for what she’s done. So do you.” Her gaze softened. “Love broke this city. Let love mend it.”

Rin bowed her head. She understood.

“Thank you, Rin.” Illya’s lashes fluttered; the light around her thinned. “Please… look after Shirou, my Onii-chan, for me.”

With a final, gentle smile, Illya stepped forward to meet her destiny. Rin scooped up Sakura’s unconscious body and fled as the cavern began to die around her. At the entrance, the space where the dark knight and the idiot boy should have been was suspiciously empty. A silent prayer for Shirou’s safety was all she could manage before the rocks tumbled down, sealing the tomb behind her. The long walk home, carrying her sister through the moonlit streets, took everything she had left.

She was thankful no one saw them. She carried Sakura upstairs, laid her in her own childhood bed, and dressed her in a fresh nightgown. After brushing the matted hair from her sister’s face, Rin’s strength finally gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, her own exhaustion claiming her at last.

The next week was a quiet penance. It was Rin making up for a decade of neglect, one painstaking task at a time. Sakura remained completely unconscious, lost in a deep, feverish sleep. Rin used what little prana she could muster to perform gentle healing magecraft, trying to soothe the ravaged pathways of Sakura’s body and encourage the fading of the last Crest Worm scars. She, the pristine honor student, found herself changing sheets, preparing simple broths that went uneaten, and sitting by the bedside for hours, sometimes talking quietly to her unresponsive sister, trying to provide an anchor back to the world.

On the eighth day, Sakura’s eyes opened. There was no scream, no thrashing. Just a quiet, horrifying awareness. She looked at Rin, and her expression crumpled into one of immense shame and fear, muttering weakly “Nee-san…”

Rin was next to her in an instant. “I'm here, Sakura.” She felt tears well up in her eyes at the sheer feeling of relief. “Thank goodness, you're awake.”

“Senpai… is he safe? Is he alright?” She was afraid that in her anger and madness, she may have killed him.

Rin wanted nothing more than to tell her little sister that yes, Shirou was safe and sound, but that would be a lie. Rin had no idea what happened to Shirou, where he is or what his condition was. The only thing she has to go off of was the idea that he must have succeeded in killing Saber Alter since she didn't interfere in their fight. It would be cruel to mutter a reassurance here only to have it be false, so all she could do was deliver the honest truth.

“I don't know, Sakura.” Tears welled up in the violet-haired girl’s eyes at that, and she became a mess of sobs for the rest of the day.

The second week was harder. Sakura was awake, but catatonic, trapped in the prison of her own guilt. She was physically weak, but her psychological wounds were far deeper. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't talk, except to mutter apologies to Rin, to Shirou, to the world. She would simply lie there, tears silently streaming down her face. Rin had to be the strong one, the patient one. She coaxed, she pleaded, she sat in silence, simply refusing to leave her sister alone with her demons.

In a quiet moment late at night at her sister’s bedside. Rin devolved into sobs of her own. Sakura had suffered so much, and she did nothing for years. She never checked to see if she was alright, just played the part of the arrogant magus that was expected of her. She just wanted her little sister to be alright, to be happy. She thought by keeping her distance, keeping her out of the horrors of the moonlit world that she was doing that, but fate seemed to be unkind to her anyway.

It was at the end of that second week, with their pantry bare of the simple foods a recovering invalid might eat, that Rin was forced to venture out. She felt a shadow of her former self—not the proud Second Owner of Fuyuki, but just a tired girl in a sweatshirt, staring blankly at onions in the brightly lit aisle of a supermarket. It was a moment of crushing, absurd normalcy.

She turned to look at her list, and was bumped in the back by someone running into her. Honestly! People these days, did they have no awareness?

“Hey, watch where you’re—huh?”

“My apologies,” came a flat, familiar voice. “Forgive my lack of awareness. It will not happen again.” Rin looked up. A black gothic dress. Pale skin. And cold, golden eyes that mirrored ones that had haunted her nightmares.

Saber Alter.

The Shadow's weapon. Terror surged through Rin’s body. The supermarket disappeared, and all she could see for a moment was the blackened servant in her battle armor, mana infusion looking like bloodstreaks, surrounded by flames, holding her darkened holy sword and ready to strike. Oh god. If she’s here, what happened to Shirou? Did she kill him, was she back for revenge? Panic started to rise in her, but the scene slowly faded back into reality as the flames of oblivion faded back into fruits and vegetables at the front of the store.

She was just… standing there. Holding a shopping basket. Rin’s mind, always analytical, struggled to process the conflicting data. The ultimate Servant, the monster who had annihilated Berserker… was in the produce section. Wait… Saber's at a grocery store? The sheer, baffling absurdity of it blue-screened her mind.

“Rin?” Saber’s voice was even, but her gaze was intense. “It is good to see you.” It wasn't a threat. It sounded like a simple statement of fact. “I believe we have much to discuss. Would you like to talk after we have both checked out?”

Rin could only blink, her mind rebooting. If Saber was here of all places, then maybe Shirou won and brought her back from the dark side? That was good, right? “Y-Yeah,” she stammered, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. “That sounds good. I’m… I’m just surprised to see you here, is all. I would’ve thought Shirou would be the one to do the shopping for you.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw it. A flicker of something—pain, sorrow—in Saber’s stoic expression. The dark knight lowered her gaze.

Rin's heart plummeted. Oh no. “Is… Is he alright?”

Saber’s golden eyes met hers again, her composure restored. “He is alive,” she said, her voice low and heavy with unspoken meaning. “Come. We should not discuss the particulars here.”

“Yes. Let us discuss.” And with those words arguably the two most powerful individuals in Fuyuki made their way to the checkout line, carrying not mystic weapons and swords, but baskets of curry and chicken soup.

Chapter Text

When Saber left the house, Shirou was left truly alone for the first time in weeks. The quiet was unnerving. Taiga had left him a stack of his schoolwork, a flimsy tether to a normal life that felt a million miles away. He sat at the low table, trying to hold a pen. The simple act was a study in frustration. With no left hand to steady the paper, each stroke of the pen sent the sheet skittering away. After twenty minutes of producing little more than angry-looking scribbles, he gave up, a low growl of frustration in his throat.

He needed to do something he understood. Something that felt like progress.

Naturally, the first thing he did was something that would probably get him yelled at later. He slid open the door and made his way out back to the shed.

The familiar scent of dust and old oil greeted him. This was his sanctuary, his workshop, his place of origin, where it all began on the night he summoned Saber and stepped into a world beyond his comprehension.

This time, however, he wasn't here to reinforce pipes. He had to face a more fundamental problem that came to his mind when fighting his battle with the pen, ironically a problem of the sword.

His fighting style, the one he had bled to learn and inherited from a future that would never be, was useless to him right now. Kanshou and Bakuya, the married blades, couldn't be wielded as a pair with only one arm. He was sure through the phantom knowledge from Archer that the man had used them individually from time to time, but it was always a temporary measure, a specific technique or circumstance. The blades were more than a symbolic yin and yang, one could not be wielded at their full potential without the other. He needed to find something new to overcome his new limitations. The single-bladed stances he learned from Saber were closer, but they still revolved around a two-hand grip. He needed something else entirely.

He was sure the answer lay in the faded fragments of memories he'd inherited. Phantoms of weapons, an entire armory belonging to that man’s Reality Marble. A Reality Marble that was, ever so slowly, becoming his own. He wasn't there yet, though he and Archer were the same person, their internal worlds were different. Archer’s experiences led to his internal world being a vast desert devoid of hope. Shirou wasn’t sure what his would look like yet, but he could already sense it was quite different. He had borrowed from that world when he’d had the arm, but everything from it came at a cost. It was a graft from a higher existence that was slowly overwriting his own. He would have surely succumbed to it had Saber not severed the limb.

He let out a soft sigh, the memory bringing a strange mix of pain and gratitude. He knew she still felt immensely guilty for taking his arm, but in a way, she had saved his life with that single, brutal strike. He would never be the same, but he was alive.

And if he was alive, he could still help people.

…Helping people, huh? The thought felt different now, lighter. Archer had asked him in that church what felt like a lifetime ago if the path of the hero was truly his path. In the days that preceded that question, he had felt the full, crushing weight of that path, the same weight that turned his father into the tired old man he knew. To stay true to the path of the Hero of Justice would have required him to sacrifice the person he clung to to save the many. To abandon it meant forsaking that mission for a single person.

At that moment, the path of human warmth had been at odds with the path of the hero. If he had steeled his mind then, he would have doomed himself to a lonely existence, empty of warmth or connection. No one would have been spared in his pursuit of that mission. Not Sakura, not Rin, not Illya, not even Saber. He didn’t want that. He truly didn’t. He remembered the guilt he felt for even questioning his dream, until Illya had reassured him that it was only natural to want to protect those you care for.

Illya… He didn't know what happened to her, either. Another name on the list of uncomfortable, aching unknowns.

Still, the decision to forsake the dream hadn’t been painless. Every atrocity he overlooked for Sakura’s sake, every violation he allowed to happen while clinging to that one connection, he had felt the very edges of his soul fray. With Archer’s arm and the decision to save Sakura above all else, he was destroying himself both physically and spiritually, and with the world's cruelest irony, he hadn't even been the one to save her in the end. He had simply thrown himself from one self-destructive path onto another.

He raised his right hand, focusing. "Trace, on."

The phantom of a familiar European longsword formed, shimmering in the dusty air for a moment before dissolving in a shower of blue motes. The effort was far more draining than he expected. He’d never had many magic circuits, but this felt different. Weaker. He could feel it now. He never had many magical circuits to begin with, and losing his arm probably cost him about a fourth of them. This was going to be harder than he thought. If he was going to keep relying on projection, then he had to be smarter. More efficient.

"Grr…"

A low vibration in the air. A guttural growl that didn't sound like it came from any normal animal.

His instincts flared. The air in the shed grew suddenly cold, the light from the open door seeming to dim. He was being watched. He spun around just as a wolf made of pure shadow and rage pounced from the darkest corner of the shed, its claws aimed for his throat.

“So… how exactly are you still here?”

Rin’s question cut through the quiet of the walk home. She had woven a minor privacy ward around them, a shimmering bubble of silence that followed them down the sidewalk. The question was a perfect blend of a magus’s clinical curiosity and a friend’s genuine confusion. The Holy Grail War was over. Rider had vanished. Saber should have as well.

Saber, for her part, considered how much the Tohsaka heiress would realistically know. “Are you aware of what happened at the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War?”

“Only what Kotomine told me,” Rin answered, her voice laced with a familiar distrust. They both knew that meant she’d been told a carefully curated set of lies.

“Then are you aware that the Archer from that war survived its conclusion?” Saber asked, her golden eyes watching Rin’s reaction carefully. “That he remained in Fuyuki for ten years, awaiting the next one?”

“What?” Rin stopped dead in the street, her mind spiraling. The Archer in the Fourth War… Gilgamesh. Father’s Servant. Are you telling me he was alive all this time, right under my nose?

“At the end of the Fourth War, the Holy Grail was destroyed, spawning the great fire,” Saber continued, her gaze distant as she recalled a choice taken out of her hands. “He remained close by as it was destroyed. Upon its destruction, the mud of its corruption was released, and the Archer of the Fourth War was washed in it.”

Saber paused, letting the implications sink in. “By doing so, his spiritual form was incarnated. He was granted a true physical body, allowing him to remain without a Master.”

Rin’s jaw was agape. She felt a sharp, personal sting at the thought. A living link to her father, to a past she barely knew, had been here all along, and that fraudulent priest had kept it from her.

“When I was taken by the Shadow at Ryuudou Temple,” Saber said, her voice dropping as she looked down at her own pale hand, “I was swallowed by that same mud. I was bathed in it for days.” She met Rin’s gaze again, her expression grim. “I was incarnated as well. But its effects on me were… more severe. I have been altered, perhaps permanently. And I was enslaved to the Shadow.”

The revelation landed with a heavy thud. Rin looked at Saber, at the pale skin and cold eyes of a woman who was once a beacon of honor, and a wave of guilt washed over her. Guilt for Sakura, and for this knight who had become another victim of her family's tragedy. “Saber… I’m so sorry,” Rin whispered, the words feeling horribly inadequate.

Saber held her head high, a flicker of the proud king returning. “There is no need to apologize, Rin. You are not at fault. Besides,” she said, and for the first time, a small, genuine smile touched her lips, “I have been freed from my bonds. I now choose whose cause my sword serves.”

The statement was so firm, so full of resolve, that it broke the tension. Rin let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Right,” she said, her mind shifting back to the present. The "how" was explained. Now for the "what." “What happened in the cavern, then?”

“Shirou refused to back down. I could not disobey my orders, so we clashed.” Echoes of steel ringing on cursed Fae metal seemed to resound in her mind. “He held his own, pushing his body beyond every limit to match me. But I could tell his strategy was flawed. He was holding back. I… attempted to reach him, to implore him to end my suffering for your sake.”

Her face was a mask of stoicism, but her voice was laced with the memory of that pain. “He went forth with a desperate gambit, using his final projection to trace the weapon of Caster…”

Rule Breaker, Rin’s mind supplied instantly. The ultimate anti-magecraft tool.

“It severed my connection to the Shadow and restored our bond,” Saber continued, her voice growing quieter. “But it came at a price. He left himself exposed. As a Servant of the Shadow, I was compelled to strike… and my blade took his arm.”

A cold dread seized Rin. “W-Which one?” she asked, the question sharp and urgent.

“His left. The discolored one.”

Relief washed over Rin so intensely it nearly buckled her knees. The cursed arm. The one that was slowly killing him. He was crippled, but he was free from its poison. “That's… okay,” she breathed, her mind already racing with possibilities. “We can work with that.”

They had reached the gates of the Emiya manor. The quiet of the neighborhood settled around them as their heavy conversation concluded.

And then it was shattered.

A raw, pain-filled scream ripped through the air, a sound both women knew intimately.

“Shirou!” Rin cried out.

“Master!” Saber’s voice was a low growl.

Caution, reason, and groceries were all thrown to the wind. The paper bags hit the pavement with a dull thud. In an explosive burst of prana, Saber’s black battle armor, shaped in the likeness of a dragon’s limbs, materialized over her dress, complete with the softer plates that extended up her neck to her cheeks. Excalibur Morgan appeared in her grasp. In a single heartbeat, the tired shopper was gone, replaced by the full, terrifying majesty of the Altered King.

She dashed through the gate. Rin was right behind her, gems already glowing in her hand, ready for war.

Shirou dodged, his body moving on pure instinct as monstrous claws tore through the air where his head had been. The beast, a wolf-like creature made of pure shadow and rage, stumbled past him and onto the floor of the shed. He scrambled back, his hand closing around a stray steel pipe, and with a grunt of effort, he forced his magic circuits open, reinforcing it into a viable weapon.

The beast was not down for long. It righted itself and launched forward, maw agape, aiming to tear the flesh from his remaining arm. Shirou met the charge with a hard, desperate swipe of the pipe, the impact rattling him to the bone. He used the momentum to backpedal out of the shed and into the garden, holding the pipe before him like a sword. The reinforced steel would hold, but it was a blunt, clumsy instrument.

As if summoned by the conflict, the afternoon sun itself seemed to dim. Clouds gathered overhead, casting the familiar garden in an unnatural twilight. From the shadows of the surrounding trees, faint howls echoed, and pairs of glowing red eyes materialized, attached to semi-translucent, wolven bodies. They growled, baring teeth of solidified night, and began to circle him.

This was not a fight he could win. Not as a one-armed amputee with fresh stitches straining across his torso, and certainly not with a pipe as his only weapon. He threw it aside, his mind racing through the phantom arsenal he had inherited.

“Trace, on.”

The blade that materialized in his hand was long and slender, a rapier with an ornate silver crossguard. It was a fencer’s weapon, built for precision and speed, not power. It was the first thing that came to his mind when he considered a one-handed stance. He settled his feet, left leg back for balance, the point of the blade aimed steadily forward as the creatures attacked.

The first shadow lunged. Shirou sidestepped, letting its momentum carry it past as he executed a clean slash through its jaw. A mist of blackened energy hissed from the wound in lieu of blood, and the creature dissolved. The second beast was already on him. He stepped back, bringing the blade up to block a strike from its claws. He was too late to parry; he could only absorb the kinetic force, letting it shove him backward. His torso screamed in protest, a sharp, tearing sensation telling him his newly healed wounds were ripping open.

He grit his teeth, pushing through the pain. As a third beast joined the fray, he found a desperate rhythm, his movements an economic dance of thrusts and evasions. He found an opening, driving the rapier through the second beast's chest, dissolving it like the first. He was panting, his single arm burning with exhaustion, but two were down.

The final beast, larger than the others, was smarter. It didn't charge blindly. It feinted, then lunged, but not at his body. Its maw snapped shut not on his flesh, but on the blade of his sword. With a horrific screech of stressed metal, the projected rapier snapped in half.

Defenseless, Shirou had no time to react as the beast slammed into his legs, knocking him off balance. He hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. A moment later, searing pain erupted across his chest as the beast’s claws tore through his shirt and the bandages beneath, carving fresh wounds over old ones.

A blur of black and red descended over him.

There was a single, violent shriek from the beast as a blade engulfed in dark energy cleaved its torso in half. It dissolved into nothingness before its pieces even hit the ground. Shirou looked up from the dirt, his vision swimming.

She was standing over him, a dark guardian positioning herself defensively, her golden eyes scanning the shadows for any further threats. Rin arrived a moment later, her face pale with shock, gems already glowing in her hand.

But Shirou’s gaze was fixed on the knight. The shadows of the garden seemed to cling to her armor like a royal mantle, and he was suddenly reminded of a scene from a lifetime ago, of a moonlit night when a beautiful king had appeared before him. “I ask of you… are you my Master?”

He hadn’t seen her in her armor since their battle, but now, with the immediate horror subsided, he had to be honest with himself. She looked good. Terrifying, yes, but every bit the beautiful, regal, and powerful king she was meant to be.

“Are you alright, Shirou?” the dark knight asked, her voice a low, urgent rumble.

Shirou groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position with his one good arm. “I… they got me good here…” he managed, patting his chest. His shirt was in tatters, and fresh, angry claw marks screamed across his bandages.

Rin jogged up, her face a mask of frantic relief. “Shirou!”

A genuine smile broke through his pain. “Tohsaka! You’re alive!”

“So are you, you big dummy, but you keep finding new ways to get your body screwed up!” she shot back, the insult laced with affection.

“Hey… this one’s not my fault, I just went out to the shed to—” he grumbled, an admission that promptly earned him a stern glare from Saber. “—when these things started attacking me.”

“What were those creatures?” Saber stared at the spot where the beast she felled had dissipated. Already, the unnatural clouds were breaking apart, letting the afternoon sun spill back into the garden.

“Hell if I know,” Shirou answered bluntly. He was surprised when a pair of strong, armored hands scooped him up bridal style. “—Ah, Saber! What are you doing?!” A faint blush crept up his neck.

“You are injured. This is the most efficient method to return you inside,” she stated, her logic unassailable as she carried him back toward the house. As much as he hated being treated like he was helpless, he had to admit the warmth in her arms felt good

He was deposited gently onto his futon, where Rin and Saber took turns fussing over him. While Saber went to retrieve their discarded, and likely bruised, groceries, Rin took charge. Her demeanor shifted from panicked friend to focused magus, her hands glowing with the soft, green light of healing magecraft. She carefully cleaned the new wounds, her touch precise and clinical. As she worked on the cauterized stump where his left arm had been, a quiet sigh of relief escaped her. At least the cursed arm hadn't had time to do any permanent damage to his soul.

Saber returned to the room just as Rin was finishing. The quiet, domestic scene was interrupted when Rin, still observing Shirou's flow of prana, suddenly paused. Her eyes narrowed.

“Saber,” she said slowly, a note of awe in her voice. “Did you know that this idiot has a Noble Phantasm inside his body?”

“What?” Shirou was just as shocked as she was.

“I could be wrong, but I'm confident. There’s something ancient and impossibly pure fused with your soul… a sheath. If it’s the one I’m thinking of…”

Avalon, The Everdistant Utopia. The name echoed in Saber’s memory. “I suppose I did know,” she admitted, her voice heavy. “How else could a human recover from the injuries he sustained from Berserker? I believe it was the catalyst used to summon me. But I can no longer feel the connection to it. Not since…” Not since I was taken.

Rin sighed, the pieces clicking into place. “I suppose that tracks. It’s gone dormant. I would think it would react to being in the presence of its rightful owner, but…”

There was nothing. And Saber knew why. In the eyes of the Fae who had forged it, she, in this blackened state, was now unworthy. It made a cruel sort of sense when she was enslaved to the incarnation of All the World’s Evils. But she was free now. The fact that it hadn't reactivated meant she was still considered unworthy. The thought was a sting sharper than any blade.

Damn my weakness! she thought, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Once again, Shirou was paying the price for her failures.

As Rin continued to observe him, her mind was already shifting to the future. “Hmm… no promises, but I might be able to do something about your whole arm situation. I have to make a call to someone in London. It will take a while, but I might be able to call in a favor or two.”

Anxiety raced through her. The letter from the Clock Tower, the official summons, had arrived days ago. As the Second Owner of Fuyuki, she would have to answer for everything. She’d been putting off answering it while she tended to Sakura. She was done putting the magi society above her family. But she couldn't put it off forever.

“What? Really?” Shirou’s eyes went wide, ecstatic at the prospect of getting his arm back. “Thanks, Tohsaka.”

“Don’t thank me yet, dummy. I haven’t done anything,” she said, stepping back.

Silence lingered in the air for a moment, heavy with all the new revelations. Finally, Shirou asked the question that had been hanging in the back of his mind for two long weeks.

“Tohsaka… what happened with Sakura?”

Rin’s expression softened, a deep sadness in her eyes, and she prepared to tell him everything.

The air in the Fuyuki Airport arrivals terminal was stale, thick with the scent of recycled air and lukewarm coffee. The final flight from Rome had landed, and the last of its passengers trickled through the gate.

Among them was a young woman who moved with a quiet grace that drew no attention. Her silver hair was a pale slash against the dark, practical fabric of her coat. She carried a single, unassuming bag. To the bustling travelers around her, she was just another passenger. Nothing about her suggested she was an agent of the Holy Church on a mission in a city still bleeding from a secret war.

She paused before the large glass windows, looking out at the distant lights of the city as dusk began to settle. Her orders were clear: assess the spiritual damage following the collapse of the Fifth Fuyuki Holy Grail War, account for the loss of the overseer, and assume his post at the Fuyuki Church, at least until a long term replacement could be appointed.

The late Father Kirei Kotomine. Her predecessor. Her father. The report had been characteristically sparse, merely confirming his "cessation of duties." A sterile, passionless euphemism.

But as she stood there, a faint, familiar sensation prickled at her skin. It was not the agonizing echo of a singular, powerful demon that she was used to. This was different. It was a scattered, fragmented miasma of malice… the lingering whispers of a thousand lesser things gnawing at the edges of reality.

But beneath that static, there was a singular beacon that defied all logic: a Divine Spirit of the highest order, incarnated into a physical form, yet simultaneously tainted by an immense, unholy curse. A living, breathing paradox of sacred and profane.

A faint, curious smile touched the corners of her lips.

“Fuyuki,” Caren Hortensia whispered to the glass, her breath fogging the pane for a moment. “How beautifully broken you are.”

Chapter Text

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the weight of Rin’s story. She sat by his futon, her voice hoarse and tired, having finally answered the question that had hung in the air since she'd arrived. Saber stood like a statue in the corner, ever the dark and silent guardian, her armor dismissed, leaving her in her black dress once again.

Illya was gone.

She had sacrificed herself to perform a miracle of the Third Magic, ending the corrupted Heaven’s Feel ritual and saving not just Sakura, but the world. A raw, burning pressure built behind Shirou’s eyes, but for some reason, the tears refused to fall. His grief was a solid, immovable lump in his chest.

If she were here, she’d be making fun of him, some teasing remark about him being a sensitive boy, but it would be followed by a genuine smile and a warm, fierce hug. He had only truly known his step-sister for a few weeks, but in that time, she had gone from a bitter enemy to his most unwavering ally, vowing to be his sole supporter if the world abandoned him.

And now, he would never see her again.

Still, she hadn't died in vain. She had succeeded where they had failed, breaking Sakura free from the darkness and giving them all a chance to live in peace.

Sakura…

He didn’t know what to feel. He was glad she was alive, of course, but from the sounds of it, she was in a terrible, fragile state. Physically recovering, but mentally trapped, drowning in the guilt of every horror she had committed. The weight of almost ending the world was now crashing down on her with her sanity restored. It reminded Shirou of a quote he’d read once: Dying is easy. Living is hard. Death brings finality. Living means you have to carry the weight of those who are gone, and the crushing weight of what you’ve done.

An immediate, desperate impulse seized him. He had to go to her. He had to reassure her, to tell her it was okay... even though he knew deep down that it wasn’t. He had to be her hero again, and save her from her own guilt. He pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.

A firm hand settled on his shoulder, gently but immovably pushing him back down onto the futon. “No.”

He looked up at Saber, then across the room at Rin. “I have to see her,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “She needs me.”

“Shirou, no,” Rin’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, but her expression was ironclad. “She doesn’t. Not right now. The opposite, actually.”

He stared at her, confused.

“Think about it, you idiot,” she said, the familiar insult softened by a deep sadness. “She’s already wallowing in enough guilt to drown the whole city. If she sees you like this… without an arm…” Rin gestured to his empty sleeve. “In her mind, she’s responsible for you losing it. Twice over. First with the Shadow, and then through her command of Saber.” At the mention of it, Saber looked away, a flicker of discomfort on her face.

"She wasn't herself..." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

"Do you really think that matters to her right now, Emiya?"

The cruel logic of her words hit him like a physical blow. He had been so focused on his own path that he hadn't considered how his sacrifice would look to her. Seeing him in this state would not be a comfort; it would be a living, breathing testament to her sins, and how they had hurt the people she cares about the most.

“Your part in this is done, Shirou,” Saber said quietly, her golden eyes filled with a heavy understanding. “You cleared the path for Rin to reach her. Now, you must trust her with Sakura’s recovery.”

Shirou hated it. He hated sitting here and doing nothing. But what else could he do?

“I’m going to tell her you’re alive, obviously,” Rin continued, already planning. “That you’re recovering well. But the subject of your arm… that has to be handled carefully, when she’s stronger.”

Honestly, Rin thought to herself, I don’t know how much I want them together at all during this period. Sakura needed to heal, to find herself again. If Rin let her immediately become codependent on Shirou, she would be doing her a disservice as a sister. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. They couldn't exist solely for the sake of the other anymore. They had to learn how to be their own people again.

And for Shirou, all he could do was lie back, defeated not by a monster or a magus, but by a painful, undeniable truth. He closed his eyes, letting the gentle warmth of Rin’s healing magic ease the physical burdens his body still carried, even as the weight in his heart remained.

The taxi dropped her at the base of the hill. Caren Hortensia ascended the stone steps to the Fuyuki Church with a quiet, efficient grace. The building was simple, almost humble, a placid facade of faith that offered no hint of the secrets it kept. This was her new post. The only semblence of inheritance she had from this man.

She let herself in, the air inside cool and thick with the scent of old wood and faded incense. Her footsteps made no sound as she passed through the empty chapel. She didn't pause to inspect the nave or the altar; her business was not with God, but with the sins of the man who had pretended to speak for him here.

Her assigned quarters were a small, sparse bedroom in the attic, clean and ascetic, once belonging to the man in question. She set her single bag down. This was to be her world now. From the small, circular window, she could see the lights of the city beginning to twinkle in the encroaching dusk.

She thought of her father, the man she had never once met after their parting. Kirei Kotomine. Both had served the same Church, their paths orbiting but never crossing. She knew the story, of course, pieced together from cold, impersonal Church records. She knew she was the spitting image of her mother, Claudia, whose love for a man incapable of feeling it had driven her to suicide. She knew that her father, having found his only proof of "normalcy" broken, had given her up without a second thought.

She held a deep, cold, and carefully polished contempt for him. It was not a fiery hatred; it was a simple, logical conclusion drawn from the evidence. His sadistic nature had destroyed her mother and orphaned her.

Despite this certainty, as she methodically inspected his former office and living quarters, she could find no obvious evidence of his wrongdoing. The rooms were as ascetic as her own, obsessively tidy. The only items of note were his detailed notes on the magical training of Rin Tohsaka and bank statements that revealed a bafflingly clumsy mismanagement of the Tohsaka family's finances. It was incompetence, perhaps even embezzlement, but hardly the profound evil she was searching for. Yet, she knew. Deep in her soul, she knew a man like Kirei Kotomine could never lead an honest existence. His evil was simply better hidden.

It was then that she felt it. Beyond the general stillness of the church, there was a spiritual stain on the fabric of the place. An arrogant, ancient, and deeply malevolent aura lingered in a section of the church that, according to the building's plans, should not exist. There were no official records of anyone else living here, but the lingering miasma of corruption and evil was unmistakable. Following the sensation, she found a masterfully concealed door behind a tapestry in a disused hallway.

The room she entered was a den of worldly excess that bordered on blasphemy. Fine silks were draped over gilded furniture, and a collection of priceless wines and brandies lined an entire wall. It was the lair of a king who had hidden his throne in a house of God.

How sinful... To think oneself above god...

On a bedside table, amidst a clutter of golden trinkets, lay a single, simple object that was completely out of place. A heavy, old-fashioned iron key.

The simple key felt cold in her hand. It belonged to only one other door in this church. The one leading down into the cellar.

A faint, cloying scent, masked by incense and bleach, hit her as she approached the true door. She inserted the key, turned the lock, and pulled the heavy door open, met with a wave of cold, stagnant air and the overwhelming stench of death.

She descended the stone steps, her face an emotionless mask. The sight that greeted her at the bottom would have broken a lesser person.

It was a monument to all of the sins of Kirei Kotomine.

The bodies of dozens of children, orphans, their forms pale and drained, lay discarded in the dark like broken dolls. They were the secret that had fueled the Church's operations, the mana batteries for a Servant she would later find had roamed this city for a decade.

And in the center of the horrific display, one body was different. A woman with crimson hair, clad in a sharp suit, was slumped against a pillar, a gruesome wound in her chest. She was impossibly, stubbornly alive. Caren didn't need to check for a pulse. Her own unique senses could feel the spiritual anchor keeping the woman tethered to the world: a core of pure, incandescent hatred and a burning desire for revenge.

Caren’s gaze swept across the tomb her father had built beneath his own church, her expression unreadable.

"Father," she whispered into the cold, dead air. "What have you done?"

Night had fallen completely over the Emiya household. Rin had returned to her own manor, Taiga to her room, and a fitful sleep had finally claimed Shirou. The house was quiet, steeped in a silence that felt heavy, watchful.

But Saber was awake.

She stood in the darkened hallway, the single word echoing in the recesses of her mind. Unworthy. It was a judgment, cold and absolute, delivered not by a court or an enemy, but by the very magic that was once the source of her legend. The quiet of the house was suffocating. She needed air. After a final check to ensure every lock was secure, she slipped out into the cool Fuyuki night.

The walk was familiar, a ghost of the patrols she and Shirou had once taken in the first week of a war that now felt like a lifetime ago. The crisp night air did little to clear her mind. Instead, the familiar streets only served as triggers for her memory. As she passed the school, she remembered their first true victory as a team, when they’d found Shinji and Rider assaulting Ayako Mitsuzuri. She remembered the clean, righteous feeling of their coordinated attack, the satisfaction of a triumph for justice and honor.

She thought now of how naive that feeling had been. It was only a prelude. That victory, that public humiliation of Shinji, had likely been the final catalyst that convinced Zouken Matou to step from the shadows and kickstart the true disaster to come. Their strength, their very success, had invited a greater evil.

A few days later, Zouken had led them into a trap at Ryuudou Temple, and she was taken. Assassin was a skilled opponent, but without the Shadow’s interference, she knew she would have defeated him soundly. But it was never meant to be a fair fight.

It was Zouken's idea to take her, and bind her to Sakura. The girl had agreed, but for different reasons. Where Zouken wished to acquire a new weapon, Sakura merely wished to remove Shirou from the war by taking his servant, which she believed would keep him out of the conflict, and therefore keep him safe. The coalescence of these desires saw the Shadow ambush and swallow her in her duel, pulling her into the mud, violating her body and soul.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't bring herself to truly blame Sakura, not when she knew the depths of Zouken's evil. But it was still Sakura’s will, her pain and her jealousy, that had directed the Shadow’s power. She was not blameless, to be sure, but the lines of blame were a tangled, messy knot she could not unravel, not least of which when she still blamed herself for so much.

And that led to the crux of the matter: her corruption. She once thought Kiritsugu a cruel Master. He was unbearably utilitarian, and only saw her as a weapon. It's not secret she hates him for forcing her to destroy the Grail when they were so close to claiming it, but now she wondered if he, too, had sensed its corruption at the end.

But his cold pragmatism was nothing compared to the absolute enslavement she endured under the Shadow. A weapon is truly all she was to the Matou clan in the final week of the war, forced to point itself at the few people that she truly cared about in the world anymore, unable to even think about turning against her master. All she could do to help Shirou was spare him when she did not have explicit orders for his termination, or push him to use all of his energy in their final duel.

It was that corruption, that enslavement, that had deemed her unworthy. The Fae, the beings that had gifted her the sacred armaments of a king, had forsaken her. The pain of that judgment was a cold, sharp thing in her chest.

The thought sent a deeper chill through her. Her right to rule, the very foundation of her legend, had been granted by a different blade. She wondered now if she would even be worthy of Caliburn. If she were to stand before that stone before the lake again... not as an idealistic girl with an unblemished heart, but as this cynical, corrupted wraith... would the Sword of Selection still choose her? Or would it, too, have forsaken her, leaving her just a woman with a failed dream?

Truthfully, the signs had been there all along. The thirteen seals that restricted the true power of Excalibur were a testament to the ideals of a knight of the Round Table. The battle must be to save the world. The battle must be one against evil. The battle must not be against one pure of heart. Her purpose under the Shadow had been an inversion of them all, so she could not access the blade's power. And so, the mud had reforged her blade into a twisted mockery. The blackened Excalibur did not release the holy light of promised victory, but the black primeval energy of the will of Britain, the will to resist the age of man. Such power was wielded in her time by Artoria's treacherous sister, Morgan Le Fey. Hence the blade’s new name, Excalibur Morgan.

All of it, every failure, every corrupted ideal, led back to one, agonizing truth. Shirou had Avalon. If it were active, he would be healed in days. His arm would even regenerate. But because she had lacked the will to resist the Shadow, because she was now deemed unworthy, he suffered.

Her walk ended at the great bridge overlooking the Fuyuki River. She leaned against the cold railing, staring down at the dark water as it reflected the distant city lights.

“Lady Vivian…” she spoke, her voice quiet, almost lost in the sound of the wind. “...I am unsure if my voice may still reach you from this distant land.”

She took a steadying breath. “I stand before you as a king who has failed her kingdom and a knight who has broken her vows. And now, my unworthiness is the cause of his suffering. The sacred sheath you bestowed upon me so long ago now lies dormant, and he pays the price for my sins.”

Her gaze softened, her voice filling with a raw, fierce devotion.

“The one who suffers is Shirou Emiya. He is the master I have chosen to serve. He is a better man than I ever was a king, embodying the very ideals I was meant to uphold." Memories flash of his smile, his fierce look of protectiveness when someone he loved was in danger. He was the only master that never forced her to do anything she didn't want to do. He respected her, learned from her, and she learned from him in kind. She was proud to call him Master, before it all came crashing down.

"In his heart is a dream of a utopia that, perhaps, we could have built together at Camelot. He saved my very soul when it was lost to darkness.” She smiles softly into the moonlight. He would definitely be able to pull Caliburn, she thinks to herself. He would never have made the same mistakes she made as King, the mistakes that led to Britain's downfall.

She leaned further over the water, her plea a desperate, selfless prayer.

"Please… do not let him continue to suffer for my failures. I ask nothing for myself, nor for the crown I have forsaken. This plea is for his sake, and his alone. I would gladly offer my life upon that hill at Camlann a thousand times if it would spare him this pain. Not for this fallen king, but for the man she now serves… for the one true champion in this age of man, I beseech you: let the Everdistant Utopia awaken within him.”

But the water did not respond. The river flowed on, silent and indifferent.

With a heavy heart, she pushed herself off the railing and turned back, her spirits dampened by the crushing silence.

Long after the sound of her footsteps had faded, down in the deep, dark water, a single, brilliant mote of golden light flickered for just a moment before vanishing.

Not yet, little king. The whispers went unheard, but were spoken to the night. Soon the sword and the sheath will be challenged once more, and you will have a chance to prove your courage once again.

Chapter Text

The air in the Matou Estate was worse than stale; it was stagnant, thick with the silence of a place that had long forgotten how to breathe. As Rin moved through the upper floors, she couldn't shake the feeling of profound dread that clung to the property like a burial shroud. At first glance, it was an unassuming, traditional household, but Rin knew better. As a magus, she could feel the lingering psychic stains of a decade of misery, a greasy film of despair coating every surface. The real horrors, she knew, were below, in the pit of worms that had once been Zouken Matou's workshop. She had no intention of descending into that darkness just yet. Saber will have to come with me for that, she thought grimly. And we'll bring fire.

She pushed open the door to what must have been Shinji's bedroom and the smell hit her first—the sweet, cloying odor of decay. The corpse of Shinji Matou lay twisted on the bed, his face frozen in an expression of shock and outrage, as if he couldn't believe something as inconvenient as death had happened to him. The initial, visceral shock gave way to a cold indifference. He had always been an arrogant fool, but now she knew the true depths of his monstrosity. Sakura could be blamed for many things in her madness, but killing Shinji Matou was not one of them. Rin closed the door without a second thought, leaving him to rot.

Her purpose here today, she decided, was threefold.

First, the practical. She made her way to Sakura's old room. Looking around the small, sparse room that had been her sister's cage, a fresh wave of guilt washed over Rin—not just for her own inaction, but for the original sin of their father, who had willingly handed his youngest daughter to this house of horrors. Why, Father? She pushed the thought down and focused on gathering clothes. Sakura was finally out of bed and lucid, a small victory sparked by the news that Shirou was alive. However, it quickly became apparent that Rin’s wardrobe didn't quite fit her. As Rin folded a familiar blouse, a small, sad smile touched her lips. In another life, she might have felt a pang of sisterly rivalry. Now, it was just a quiet, bittersweet reminder of the woman her little sister was becoming.

Second, the pragmatic. Her eyes scanned a small bookshelf in the corner. The Matou magecraft. Sakura, now technically the head of the family by default, had given her blessing to take whatever she wanted. So, if Rin were to, say, appropriate a few valuable texts to sell in London and alleviate the Tohsaka financial situation that Kirei had so thoroughly bungled… who was it really harming?

The third purpose, however, was the most important. Rin knew she had to leave for the Clock Tower soon. But the thought of leaving Sakura alone, still so fragile, was unbearable. She needed a guardian. Someone who knew her trauma intimately. And only one other person had ever held that role for Sakura.

Her gaze fell upon a thick, leather-bound tome, its title simply "On the Nature of Familiars." An idea, sparked by Saber's impossible incarnated existence, began to crystallize into a brilliant, desperate plan. She pulled the book from the shelf, its pages falling open to a chapter on binding spiritual beings.

She sat on the edge of Sakura’s old bed, her mind racing. To bind a Heroic Spirit as a familiar without a Grail was considered theoretical at best. The text warned that the ritual required a spiritual anchor of near-infinite capacity. For Rin, it was a blueprint. It was the Tohsaka legacy, after all—a lineage meticulously bred for generations to produce heirs with prodigal magic circuits. It was why Sakura, born a Tohsaka, had been so desirable to the Matou clan, whose own magical blood had thinned to near nonexistence. When you added the fragments of the Grail still embedded in Sakura's body, her magical capacity was beyond anything the book's author could have conceived. It would be dangerous, but if it meant leaving her sister with a true guardian… it was a risk she was willing to take.

With a duffel bag of clothes over one shoulder and a backpack heavy with dusty tomes, Rin left the oppressive silence of the Matou estate behind. Her afternoon was a blur of errands. She filed the necessary paperwork at the school, covering her and Sakura’s long-term absences. The official story was a tragic vehicle accident, the same one that had supposedly cost Shirou his arm, had also claimed the lives of Zouken and Shinji Matou, and that Rin was taking care of her as she recovered physically and emotionally. The story was thin, but a subtle confusion glamour woven into the documents would ensure no one looked too closely.

After a stop at the bank to prepare for her flight to London, she walked through Eastern Fuyuki and paused, her gaze drawn up the long stone steps to the old church on the hill. The lights were on. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney. The sight was so mundane, so domestic, that it was deeply unsettling.

The Church’s replacement has arrived. As the Second Owner of Fuyuki, it was her duty. With a sigh, Rin squared her shoulders and began the ascent.

The long stone steps leading to the Fuyuki Church felt colder than she remembered, each one a step further away from the world she knew and into a new, uncertain territory.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open into a chapel that was still and silent. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, incense, and the faint, antiseptic smell of bleach. The pews were empty, and the only light came from the fading sun through the stained-glass windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.

Standing near the altar, a silver-haired young woman in a dark, simple set of church robes was wiping down a candelabra with methodical precision. She moved with a quiet grace that was at odds with the tense atmosphere of the place.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked without turning around. Her voice was quiet, melodic, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"I am Rin Tohsaka," Rin announced, her own voice echoing slightly in the empty space, a deliberate projection of authority. "I am the manager of this land. I assume you are the replacement sent by the Holy Church."

The woman finally turned. Her eyes were a startling shade of amber, and they held an unnerving stillness. “Of course, I was wondering when you would grace my presence.” She looked Rin up and down, not with simple curiosity, but with the detached air of a biologist examining a specimen. Rin felt a sudden, professional prickle of annoyance; she was used to being the one in control of a room.

"I am Caren Hortensia," she replied, her expression unchanging. "Though you may call me Sister Caren. I have been assigned here in the wake of Father Kotomine's… departure… from this Earth." The pause was infinitesimal, but Rin caught it. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Second Owner."

There was no pleasure in her voice. Rin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the church. This woman was not Kirei Kotomine, but something about her still unnerved Rin Tohsaka. There was a grace to the way she talked, almost angelic, but she could tell there was something buried underneath that unassuming smile of hers . This was something else entirely, something cold, analytical, and perhaps, even more dangerous.

"Likewise," Rin said, her guard fully up. "The Church was… expedient in filling the position."

"Tidying up another's mess is never a task to be delayed," Caren stated simply, a faint, curious smile touching the corners of her lips. It was a charming expression that didn't reach her eyes. "There is so much spiritual turmoil to account for here. So many lost lambs."

She set down her cleaning cloth, her hands clasping before her in a posture of prayer.

"I pray for the city's recovery," she continued, her voice taking on a beatific, gentle tone. She tilted her head slightly, a gesture that might have been inquisitive or even gentle on another person. On her, it looked like a predator adjusting its angle of attack. "Especially for the souls of those most affected… the tainted girl of the Matou name, the lost son of the Magus Killer, and of course, that tragic king, blackened against her true purpose."

Rin froze, her blood turning to ice. Each title was a perfectly aimed dart, delivered with the serene grace of a blessing. Caren's amber eyes watched her, waiting. It wasn't just that she knew everything that happened in the Holy Grail War; it was the casual, effortless way she revealed it, as if discussing the weather. It was a simple declaration. I know everything. I see everything. You can’t hide from me.

Rin's mind raced, forcing her expression to remain neutral. Show no weakness. "Of course, Sister. The city has been through a great deal. I must depart from here soon to settle affairs with the association in London, but I hope to help my lands recover from the disaster of the last Holy Grail War."

Caren’s smile widened, becoming a display of polite, feminine charm that was profoundly unsettling. "Of course." She gave a slight, almost imperceptible bow of her head. "The Mages Association and the Church have a treaty. I am merely here to offer aid and maintain the peace. I look forward to a… cooperative relationship, Miss Tohsaka."

The word "cooperative" hung in the air, weighted with unspoken meaning. It was a promise and a threat, a reminder of the tenuous truce between their two ancient, antagonistic organizations.

"As do I, Sister Caren," Rin replied, matching the false warmth in Caren's tone.

She gave a curt nod and turned to leave, the weight of those amber eyes feeling like a physical pressure on her back. As she stepped out of the church and into the encroaching dusk, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Rin couldn’t prove it yet, beyond the snicker of a feeling, but the peace that had been bought in the Cavern of the Greater grail now seemed transparent, like glass. And the woman in the church seemed like she was intent on shattering it, behind the same kinds of pretenses of peace and spiritual healing that once belonged to Kirei Kotomine.

The cool, familiar wood of the dojo floor did little to soothe the fire in Shirou’s mind. Rin’s healing magecraft had worked its wonders; the last of his stitches were gone, and the deep, tearing agony that had been his constant companion was now just a dull ache. But in its place was a new torment: a phantom itch where his left arm used to be, and a restless frustration that had nowhere to go.

He wasn’t angry, not really. Not at Rin for forbidding him from seeing Sakura, not at Saber for taking his arm, not even at himself for the choices that led him here. He had accomplished his goals. He saved Saber, and in doing so, he had cleared the path for Rin to save Sakura. He didn’t regret it. What truly gnawed at him was the quiet, hollow space that followed victory. His purpose was gone. He was a sword without a fight, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

So he came here, to the one place that had always offered clarity. With a borrowed shinai in his right hand, he tried to move through the basic forms Taiga had taught him as a child. It was a disaster. His balance was off. Every instinct screamed at him to use his left hand to steady a strike, a hand that wasn't there. After another clumsy swing that sent him stumbling, he let out a growl of frustration and let the bamboo sword clatter to the floor.

"Your form is inefficient. Your frustration makes you sloppy."

He looked up. Saber was standing in the doorway, a silent pillar in her black dress. She moved into the dojo, her golden eyes scanning his stance with a critical gaze.

"Would you like to spar, Shirou?"

"I don't think I'd be much of a challenge for you right now," he mumbled, rubbing the stump of his shoulder.

"I do not mind," she said simply, picking up a shinai for herself.

As she took her stance opposite him, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He remembered the old days, sparring in this very spot. Her eyes had been a brilliant emerald then, her hair tied back with a blue ribbon to match the one on her white blouse. She had been a patient, if demanding, teacher, her critiques sharp but meant to build him up. The woman before him now was different. Her eyes were cold gold, her ribbon black, and her stance held an unforgiving rigidity that promised no quarter. She had never gone easy on him before, but Shirou could tell this would be a much harsher lesson.

​She didn't wait for him to be ready. One moment she was still, the next she flowed forward, the air hissing as her shinai cut a sharp, clean arc aimed at his ribs. He brought his own bamboo sword up, blocking with a loud clack that sent a painful vibration through his arm. It was a novice's block, a clumsy, two-handed motion he attempted with one arm, and she punished it instantly. Before he could recover, she pivoted, her shinai sweeping low. His feet, still unused to the new center of balance, tangled as he tried to backpedal. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the polished wood. She stood over him for a single, silent beat before returning to her starting position, offering no help, no words of advice. The lesson was clear: a mistake is a weakness, and weakness is death.

​He was grateful for it. He pushed himself up, his jaw tight with determination. There was no pity in her strikes, only the cold, hard logic of a warrior. She came at him again, a relentless flurry of thrusts and slashes. He abandoned his attempts to block her power head-on and focused on what she was teaching him without words. His footwork became his shield. He learned to use the shinai not as a wall, but as a ramp, deflecting the force of her blows rather than absorbing it. He felt his instincts, honed by the remnants of phantom memories of a thousand battles, begin to adapt. His single arm was a liability, but it also forced him to be more efficient, to make every movement count.

​The rhythm of the dojo changed. The sound of clumsy, desperate blocks was replaced by the sharper, faster cadence of a true duel. He was still on the defensive, a ship tossed in the storm of her assault, but he was no longer sinking. He sidestepped a powerful downward strike, letting the momentum carry her past him, and for a fleeting instant, her back was open to him. He didn't take the opening—he knew it was a test, a trap, that would have seen him on his back in no time, should he spring it—but the fact that he saw it was a victory in itself. He spun to face her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his arm burning with exhaustion, but a grim smile touched his lips. In the span of an hour, under her merciless tutelage, his technique had improved by leaps and bounds.

As they broke apart for a splinter of a moment, the memory of their final battle, the last time they’d crossed blades, surfaced. He remembered the static of Archer’s arm, the desperation, the guaranteed killing technique he had considered unleashing. Crane Wings. A move that could kill a god, but in reality it would have taken them both. His head buzzed with the remembrance, and it took the same willpower to dismiss it that it took back then.

"You're distracted."

The words barely registered before her shinai swept his legs out from under him. He landed hard on his rear, the impact jarring him back to the present. Saber stood over him, her expression unreadable.

“I don't need to tell you what distraction means on the battlefield, do I?”

"I… was just thinking about the time we fought in the cavern," he admitted honestly. "I was thinking about Archer's techniques."

A flicker of something—disappointment? offense?—crossed her face. It was the same face she’d had upon seeing Kanshou and Bakuya in the cavern. "You would still rely on the techniques of another?!"

She pointed her blade towards the floor and rested her hands on it, as if she had planted it into the ground, like she did so often with her real blade. “Saber it's not—” He was about to defend himself when she continued, her voice low. 

"Shurou… I must confess to you. In the cavern, I had… hoped you would project my sword. A final clash between the true Excalibur and Excalibur Morgan. I admit I was… saddened, when you chose his married blades instead of mine."

Shirou stared, stunned by the confession, Saber was rarely this forward with what she felt.

"Until he gave you his arm, all you knew of true swordsmanship, I taught you," she said, her gaze pointed towards the floorboards, as if the memory lay in the reflection of her yellow eyes. "I had wanted our confrontation to be the final duel. The apprentice surpassing the master. To fall upon your blade… your version of my own sword… it would have been a satisfying death. A reprieve from my cursed existence, and I would have faced my death with honor that your skill was the one to grant it to me. To use another’s techniques in our final battle… I can admit it was a blow to my pride as a teacher."

The raw honesty of her words hit him harder than any physical blow. "Saber…” The pride of seasoned warriors was a strange thing, but it's something he could see the grim, sad logic in. He considered his response carefully, “I didn't project Excalibur because I didn't have the energy to. It requires a lot more energy than normal to project Divine Constructs… it would have killed me before we even got started."

“Oh…” Saber wasn't new to the world of magic, but she was by no means a magus. It made sense then that he would use the techniques of the man who gifted him his arm, and not those of his first teacher.

He looked at his own hand. "And I'm drawn to Archer's techniques for another reason too. It's because they feel… natural."

She puffs her cheeks in annoyance, but he just took a deep breath before continuing. "That's not to say yours are flawed at all. If I had more time I could've used them just as well with practice, but his techniques feel natural because Archer… well… he is me. From a different future. A Heroic Spirit from another path my life could have taken."

Saber’s golden eyes widened. For a long moment, she was utterly still, processing the revelation. Then, a slow understanding dawned on her face. Of course. It was the only explanation. The only way a human could have accepted the grafted limb of a Heroic Spirit, even for a few minutes, without being instantly destroyed by its existence. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

She lowered her shinai, the sparring session forgotten. "I see."

Her gaze on him softened, the harshness of the teacher replaced by a deep, new understanding. His frustration, his search for purpose—it all made sense to her now. He had rejected Archer's path of the self-destructive "Hero of Justice," and he could no longer follow the path of dedicating himself solely to Sakura either. He was adrift, caught between futures, needing to forge a new one for himself.

And in that moment, Saber found her own new purpose.

"It does not matter whose techniques you use," she said, her voice firm with a new resolve. "A sword is a sword. What matters is the will of the one who wields it. You are still unrefined, both in technique and in purpose. You are still searching for your way."

She knelt before him, her golden eyes locking onto his.

"Your path is no longer Archer's. It is also no longer for Sakura alone. It must be your own," she stated. "And I will help you shape it. I will be by your side until you become the man you are meant to be. If you will allow me, Master.”

He smiled gently at her, orange eyes peering into yellow. “Of course, Sensei Saber.”

She scoffed lightly at the nickname. “Then get on your feet. We’re going again.” And soon the dojo was once filled with the sounds of wood clattering against each other as the sun fell golden beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

The air in the Tohsaka manor’s basement was cold and sharp with the scent of dust and ozone. In the center of the workshop floor, a summoning circle glowed with a soft, steady crimson light, its intricate lines almost a perfect mirror of the one Rin had used to summon Archer. This time, however, there was no ancient catalyst, no priceless pendant that had crossed time and space. The only catalyst present was the raw, undeniable bond between the girl standing nervously at the circle's edge and the spirit she was calling home.

Sakura stood beside her sister, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Are you sure this will work, Nee-san?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the circle. "Without the Greater Grail…"

"I'm sure," Rin said, her voice a calm and steady anchor. She gave Sakura’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "The theory is sound. But the mana cost is going to be immense. I'll handle the ritual structure, but you need to be the anchor. When the connection forms, pour everything you feel for her into it." She offered a small, confident smile. "You're not alone in this. We'll share the burden."

Rin glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner. Its hands pointed to exactly 2:00 a.m. She had triple-checked it. No clumsy mistakes from time distortion this time.

Taking a deep breath, the sisters joined hands. Their voices, one strong and one hesitant, wove together in the quiet of the workshop.

“For the elements of shadow and blood. For the foundation, stone, and the archduchess of contracts. For the ancestor, my sister's keeper. Close the gates of the cardinal directions. Come forth from the Crown, and follow the forked road to the Kingdom.”

“Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Repeat five times. But when each is filled, destroy it.”

“Set.”

“Heed our words. Our bond creates your body, and your loyalty creates our future. If you heed a maiden's call and obey her heart and reason, then answer us.”

“I hereby swear… That I shall be a sanctuary for the wounded. That I shall shelter the monster and the maiden both.”

“You… seven heavens, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding…Answer our call, Medusa!”

The final name was a command that ripped the air apart. A torrent of prana erupted from the circle, a blinding flash of violet light. Rin cried out as her own magic circuits burned, the drain immense and immediate, leaving her gasping and dizzy. She stumbled, but Sakura’s grip on her hand held firm, a pillar of impossible strength as her own vast reserves of magical energy flooded into the circle, anchoring the spirit and forging the new contract.

The light receded as quickly as it came, leaving behind the scent of lavender and the silent, graceful figure of a woman with long, violet hair. She was dressed in her familiar black leathers, a long, pink blindfold sealing her eyes. Then, with a quiet shimmer of energy, she was at Sakura’s side, kneeling before her.

"Sakura," Rider's voice was a low, melodic murmur, filled with a deep relief. "I have answered your call."

"Rider…" Sakura breathed, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch Rider's shoulder. "I'm so sorry… for everything."

Rider tilted her head up. Though her eyes were sealed, she could feel the change in her Master's very soul. The oppressive darkness that had clung to Sakura was gone. She was lighter, her spirit her own. But beneath that freedom, Rider could also feel the crushing weight of a guilt that was just as heavy. "You have nothing to apologize to me for," she said softly. "You have been freed. That is all that matters."

Sakura’s shoulders trembled with a sob of pure relief. "You're here," she whispered, helping her Servant to her feet. "I didn’t think I would ever see you again..."

Rider wrapped her arms around her Master, pulling her into a tight embrace. The comfort was as much for the gorgon as it was for the girl. “Nor did I," she admitted. "When I felt my form dissipating with the destruction of the Grail, I did not think I could be called into this world again.” This new bond felt different—not the cold, impersonal contract of the war, but a warm, living anchor tied directly to Sakura's soul.

At that, Rin offered a tired but proud smile. “Yeah… a ritual to access the Throne of Heroes without the Grail's contract was always going to be tough. But we did it.”

“Quite impressive, Rin Tohsaka,” Rider said, returning the smile. It was an unprecedented feat of magecraft, one worthy of study. Rin knew she would have to keep this a closely guarded secret. If the Mages Association discovered she’d bound such a powerful familiar outside the confines of a Grail War, it would draw unwanted attention to everyone in Fuyuki, and they were already under enough scrutiny as is.

Rider’s gaze softened as she looked at Rin. “Thank you for saving my master.”

The waves of exhaustion were hitting Rin now, and she just managed a nod. "Come on," she said, gesturing toward the stairs. "Let's get out of this dusty basement. We can have tea in the parlor and have some long overdue conversations."

Rin set the teapot on the stove, letting the water heat up slowly. She didn’t have Archer’s skill with making tea, probably never would. There was a quiet, effortless perfection to the way he did it that she could never replicate. The thought brought a familiar ache to her chest, which she quickly pushed aside. She was getting distracted. Heading back toward the parlor, she paused in the hallway, her steps silenced by the sound of Sakura’s soft confession.

“It’s been… hard some days. Living with what I’ve done… what I almost did.” Sakura’s voice was a fragile whisper. “Some days I just feel like I’m floating… like I’m just existing. Unable to move forward, but unable to move back.”

“I understand,” Rider replied, her tone a low, steady murmur. And if anyone could understand a guilt so crushing it paralyzes the soul, it was Medusa, the maiden whose desire to protect her sisters was twisted by cruel gods until she became the Gorgon, a monster that consumed even those she once swore to protect.

No wonder they're so close, Rin thought, her heart breaking for them both. Sakura’s story was a tragic mirror of Medusa’s own. The sharp whistle of the kettle broke the quiet. Rin stepped into the room. “Sakura, I’m feeling a bit drained. Can you go fetch the tea for us?”

The younger woman looked up and nodded. “Of course, Nee-san.”

Rin felt a pang of guilt for the half-lie, but as Sakura left the room, she sank onto a cushion, the magical exhaustion hitting her in a wave. The ritual drained Rin almost completely, it would take days for her to fully recover her mana, she knew, but Sakura, thanks to her frankly absurd capacity, was still fine. The real reason, of course, was that she needed to speak with Rider alone.

The taller woman’s gaze met hers. “Thank you, once again, for protecting her.”

The words scraped against Rin's raw nerves. “Yeah, no thanks to you,” she scoffed, the harshness of the words surprising even herself. She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “Dammit, that’s not… I’m sorry. The exhaustion is getting to me.”

Rider’s expression remained serene. “I understand how you feel,” she said, her blindfolded gaze turning toward the window and the darkening twilight. “I refused the boy’s offer, and I left you to face her demons alone.”

“Why?” Rin asked, the question blunt. “We could have used you. We needed you.” Sakura needed you went unsaid.

“Because I could sense his heart,” Rider confessed. “His mission to save Sakura was real, but it was not his absolute world as it was mine. There was an admiration for another in his heart, and I would not risk my beloved on the fickle heart of a man.” Her voice dropped, laced with a guilt that ran deeper than a simple tactical decision. “In truth… a part of me believes the most merciful path would have been to end her suffering myself. To be for her what Perseus was for me. But I could not bring myself to do it. Call it love or call it cowardice… it does not matter. I chose to do nothing at all.”

“I know what you mean,” Rin said quietly, her own gaze becoming distant as she remembered the feeling of the Azoth dagger in her hand right above Sakura’s head, ready to end her life in an instant. “In the end, even when I had defeated her and had her at my mercy… I couldn’t do it either. And I’m glad I didn’t, because now she gets a chance to live, and hopefully, be happy again...” The gaze turned into a smile as she imagined a future where Sakura was able to laugh and smile freely again.

Her tone hardened as she met Rider's gaze again. “But your choice had consequences. Real ones. Because you weren’t there, Shirou had to face Saber alone." She paused before continuing, "And because of that, he lost his arm again. He’s alive, thank god, but I haven’t told Sakura about his arm yet and I hope you understand why.”

Rider flinched as if struck. The information landed with the full, brutal weight Rin intended. She knew what Shirou losing his arm the first time had done to Sakura’s mental state. She could feel the other implications of Rin’s statement as well; If Rider had been there and fought by his side, that might not have happened. 

Of course, if he hadn't lost the arm, it would have killed him, Rin thought with cold pragmatism, recalling the swords that had pierced his body. But she chose to keep that part to herself. Let Rider feel the weight of this. It was a burden she had earned.

“Still, he succeeded. He survived, cleared the path for me to face Sakura alone, and even managed to save Saber along the way.”

“He saved the King of Knights?” Rider asked, a note of genuine surprise in her voice. The news brought a flicker of light to the grim conversation. Another soul twisted into a monster against her will had been freed. It was a worthy victory.

“Yes. But now we have to live with the aftermath,” Rin said, getting to the point. “I have to leave for London soon to deal with the Mages Association. I’ll be gone for weeks, probably even longer. I can’t be here to watch over her, and she’s still so fragile.” She leaned forward, her expression intense. “Shirou and Saber are both still here if you or Sakura need them, but he’s recovering himself, and I don’t want those two being codependent on each other anymore.”

She set her hands down on the coffee table. "I am asking you now to protect her the way you didn’t back then. I need you to be her absolute shield. Can you do that?”

For a long moment, Rider was silent. Then, she gave a single, solemn nod. “I will not fail her, or you, again. I swear it.”

Just then, the soft sound of footsteps approached. Sakura entered the room, carefully carrying a tray with the teapot and three cups. The tension in the air vanished instantly, replaced by a fragile veneer of normalcy. “Sorry that took so long, Nee-san. I brought some of the cookies Taiga-san left as well,” Sakura said, a small, shy smile on her face.

“Perfect,” Rin replied, her own voice light and casual as she took a cup. “You always know just what we need, Sakura.”

But as she sipped her tea, Rin felt the weight of the promise that now hung in the silent spaces between them, a vow made in the twilight to protect the girl who still had no idea how fiercely she was loved.

Shirou walked up the familiar stone path to the Fuyuki Church, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach with every step. It was probably sacrilegious to think of a House of God as enemy territory, but Shirou wasn't a particularly religious man. Ever since the Holy Grail War, this place was, in his mind, the domain of one person: Kirei Kotomine. Few things in the war had been simple, least of all the necessity of working with the corrupt priest even after understanding the depths of his evil. Shirou knew on an instinctual level that there was no reality where the two of them could have ever coexisted peacefully.

Saber stopped at the gate, a dark silhouette against the noon sun, clad in her black dress despite the last remnants of winter's chill. It reminded him of another scene, one blanketed by the soft glow of moonlight weeks ago, a memory that already felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.

"You're not coming in?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, her golden eyes fixed on the church's steeple. "A place of worship has little to offer a being like me," she stated, her voice flat. "Besides, this was that man's den. I will stand guard here."

Shirou nodded, understanding her complex reasons. He wouldn't ask her to enter a place that was both holy ground and the former lair of an enemy. As he approached the large wooden doors, the deep, resonant hum of an organ swelled from within. He pushed the doors open, and the sound washed over him, accompanied by a soft, clear voice singing in a language he recognized as Latin but could not understand. Still, there was a distinct, haunting beauty in the melody that filled the vast, empty nave.

The church inside was spotless, but the air was heavy with memory. Sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, painting the pews in jewel-toned patterns of ruby and sapphire. Dust motes danced in the brilliant rays of light. At the front of the chapel sat a small figure at the grand pipe organ, her dainty hands moving passionately across the keys, seemingly lost in the song. Her robes shimmered a deep violet in the light, a matching hat adorning her long, silver hair. Shirou stood quietly at the back of the church, unwilling to disturb the priestess in her work, letting the solemn music settle over him.

The final verse was sung, and as the last chord from the organ faded, a profound quiet fell over the church. The girl lifted her hands from the keys and placed them gently in her lap.

“Have you come to confess your sins?”

The words were soft, almost angelic, like the voice that had just sung so beautifully, but they echoed in the silence with an electric charge.

Shirou’s brow narrowed. He walked forward a few paces, his footsteps unnaturally loud on the stone floor. “I don’t know,” he replied, a bit of defensive snark in his voice. “How much time have you got?”

A small, serene smile touched her lips as she turned on the bench to face him. “More than you, I imagine, Shirou Emiya.”

“You know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question. That smile, that calm, all-knowing confidence in this very building… the sense of deja-vu was so strong it made the hairs on his arm stand up. It was a chilling echo of the first time he’d spoken to Kirei Kotomine.

“Indeed,” she said, as if it were a simple fact of the universe that a stranger should know his name on sight. She stood, her small stature making the formal introduction seem almost theatrical. “I am Caren Hortensia. But you may call me Sister Caren.”

“I’m not one for titles.” He told her bluntly. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll call you Caren.”

“Hmmph.” She puffed out her cheeks in annoyance at that. “Such insolence towards a humble servant of the lord. Do not worry, I shall pray for your transgression to be forgiven.”

He let a small grin cross his place. This girl was kind of cute when she pouted. Maybe he’d have to push her buttons more some other time.

“I assume Rin Tohsaka sent you?” She asked him.

He lifted a finger on his remaining hand. “Nailed it in one. She has to head out of town soon, and said you could help if any trouble arises.”

“Of course. The second owner is wise to direct you to me. As part of my role with the holy church, I shall be here to provide support to the stewards of the land should any trouble arise.“ Her grin was wide, and an image flashed in his mind again. Again, he could not shake the feeling he was talking to another version of Kirei Kotomine.

“Right… I hope nothing happens where I have to rely on your aid too much. I don’t exactly have fond memories of priests… no offense.” He added at the end to try to save some face.

Her expression furrowed at that. “I take it you were acquainted with Father Kotomine then?” Shirou nodded. She exhaled softly, as if a deep understanding was conveyed with just that gesture.

“Though we serve the lord, those of us of the cloth are only human after all, and humans are sinful creatures by nature. Father Kotomine was… more human than most.” She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. “I pray that the sin permeating his soul be cleansed by the holy fires, so he may find his salvation.”

He was a little unnerved at the image, even someone like Kirei burning perpetually in purgatory was a little grim for him, but he understood the general sentiment, at least he thinks. “Human is one word for it…”

She smiled a wicked grin at him then, and he was straight back to unnerved. What was this girl’s deal?

That grin widened, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of sin," she said, her amber eyes seeming to peer directly into his soul. "Tell me, Shirou Emiya. Does it weigh on you? Inheriting all the sins of the Magus Killer, only to abandon his dream the moment it became inconvenient?"

Shirou froze. The words were a surgical strike, aimed directly at the fractured foundation of his ideals. His hand balled into a fist involuntarily. “Why you…!” He cursed under his breath. Her grin softened into something deceptively sweet as her gaze flickered down to the empty space where his left arm should have been.

"You have suffered a great deal," she cooed, her eyes twinkling as if sharing a private joke. "If you ever feel the need for... absolution... or a helping hand, please, do not hesitate to ask. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

The sheer audacity of it—the deep personal attack followed by the cruel, childish pun—left him speechless. Then, as quickly as it came, her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by an expression of professional seriousness.

"But I digress," she said, her tone suddenly devoid of all warmth. "Be on your guard, Shirou Emiya. There are new beasts prowling the edges of this city. They are not Servants, and they hunger. The Church is already aware of them."

Finding his footing at last, Shirou met her gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him completely rattled. "I know," he said, his voice level. "I've already had a run-in with them."

For the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed Caren's face, quickly replaced by amusement. "Oh?" She turned and began walking back towards the altar. "Then try not to get eaten again before your keeper returns from London," she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing in the nave.

She left him standing alone in the silence, grappling with a chilling warning, a twisted offer, and a question that cut deeper than any blade.

Without another word, Shirou spun on his heel and walked, his footsteps echoing once before the heavy wooden doors swung shut behind him, sealing the cold and the quiet within.

Saber was waiting for him at the gate, her posture unchanged. Her golden eyes missed nothing—the tense set of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, the storm brewing behind his eyes. She could tell he was deeply rattled, but she did not ask for an explanation. The priestess was not to be trusted; that was all she needed to know for now.

As he started down the path with a determined, almost frantic pace, she fell into step beside him. She matched him stride for stride, a silent, dark guardian offering her unwavering presence.

He walked for several blocks before his rigid pace finally broke. He came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, letting out a long, shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A moment later, he felt a gentle pressure. Saber had hooked her arm through his, her touch soft but firm, an anchor in the turbulent wake of his encounter.

He looked at her, and she met his gaze with a steady, reassuring calm. He didn't have to say anything. He didn't have to explain the unnerving conversation or the feeling of dread that had settled in his heart. She was simply there. And he was deeply grateful for it.

The warmth of the afternoon sun blanketed them, chasing away the last of the church's chill. For the first time since his meeting with Caren, he felt grounded. Together, they started walking again, not with a frantic purpose, but in a steady, shared rhythm, arm-in-arm down the sunlit street.

Chapter Text

The air in Rin’s bedroom was warm and thick with the scent of makeup and quiet determination. Rider stood behind Sakura, her movements deft and gentle as she drew a silver-backed brush through her Master’s long, violet hair. Sakura sat perfectly still at the vanity, her gaze distant. In the corner, the quiet was broken by a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t know,” Rin muttered, holding two dresses up against herself and scowling at her reflection. “Is the red too aggressive? Does the black say ‘I’m in mourning for my social life’?” Her fussiness was a thin veil for her anxiety. Everything had to be perfect. If she could control the little details, maybe she could control the big ones, too.

The occasion was being treated with the reverence of a state dinner, because in their small, scarred world, it was just as significant. It was a farewell party for Rin, who was scheduled to leave for London the next day. It was also the first time Sakura would see Shirou since the war’s end, and the first time she would see him without his left arm. Saber would be there as well. Rin’s plan was to control the reveal, softening the blow by encasing it in the armor of a public place, surrounded by a table for five people who cared.

For Sakura, however, every soft stroke of the brush was a countdown to a judgment she felt she deserved. The memory of her last conversation with him still lingered, a venomous echo. The courtyard of her family's estate. Darkness. Shirou, standing protectively in front of Rin, his face a mask of desperate, pleading horror. She remembered the misguided, all-consuming jealousy she felt at the sight of him defending her sister from the monster she had become. He had pleaded with her to stop, to not let her grandfather win, but she wouldn't be swayed.

“I was crazy from the very beginning,” she had told him, a wicked grin stretching across her face as the Shadow’s power thrummed through her.

The truth was, every emotion she felt towards Shirou was now just a different shade of guilt. He had poured out his heart and soul to save her, and she had repaid him only with pain. She took Saber from him. She took his arm. She had almost taken the entire world, ready to let Angra Mainyu be born from the Holy Grail, using her body as its unholy vessel. She had never cared for Zouken’s ambitions of immortality at the cost of the world; she had only wanted to keep Shirou safe. But her efforts only caused him more pain, until finally, something inside her snapped.

But now… now she had a chance to apologize. A rare, impossible chance that so many others twisted into monsters by fate were never given.

“Sakura?” Rider’s voice was a soft murmur, pulling her from her memories. “Are you certain you are ready for this?”

Sakura met her own eyes in the mirror, her expression hardening with resolve. “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I have to see him. I have to deliver my apologies myself.” She turned to face her Servant. “And I need to apologize to Saber. For what I did to her.”

Rider’s heart ached with a bittersweet pride. She had never been given the chance to face her own sisters, Stheno and Euryale, to apologize for the monster she had become. For Sakura to willingly walk towards her own judgment… it was a bravery Medusa could only admire.

The final preparations were a blur. When they were done, the three women stood before the full-length mirror. Rin was a stunning vision in crimson; Sakura, a quiet, budding hope in lavender. Rider, by contrast, had chosen a simple, dark evening gown that was elegant but unassuming, Breaker Gorgon having been traded for an enchanted pair of sunglasses that could temporarily hold back her mystic eyes and not make her look like an asylum patient in public. She did not see beauty in her own tall, statuesque form; to her, true beauty was small and precious—everything she saw in Sakura.

They looked, for all the world, like three princesses heading to a royal ball. Which made it all the more fitting that their destination was the bright, greasy, and passionate promise of a simple burger place downtown.

Getting ready hadn't been much of an issue for Shirou since the war. With one arm, simplicity was key, and his usual outfits of long-sleeved shirts and jeans was easy enough to manage, especially since he hadn’t been going to school in his recovery and therefore did not need to put on the academy uniform. Tonight, however, was different. Rin had called earlier with a simple, firm instruction: "We're dressing up a little. Don't show up in a sweatshirt."

Shirou let out a sigh of frustration when she hung up. Knowing her, that could mean anything from golf attire to black-tie formal. He didn’t even own a suit, now that he thought about it. He knew Kiritsugu had several in his wardrobe, that he and Taiga still held onto even after his passing, but he still had a bit of growing to do before he reached Kiritsugu’s size.

So there he was, standing in his room, wearing a crisp pair of khakis and fighting a losing battle with a white button-up shirt. The fabric kept slipping, and trying to guide the small, pearlescent buttons through their holes with one hand was a study in profound frustration. After several failed attempts, he let out a defeated sigh.

"Saber!" he called out, the reluctance heavy in his voice. "Can you... give me a hand?"

The door opened, and she walked in. The breath caught in his throat. She was wearing the black heels and leggings that had become her new norm, but her dress was different. It was a plainer black garment with dark grey underlayers, the neckline higher and more modest than her usual attire, exposing less of her chest. And yet, it somehow felt less conservative, the entire look drawn together by a sleek, black corset that accentuated her slender, powerful frame and made her upper chest seem far larger than it actually was. She looked less like a wraith and more like a noblewoman ready for a royal court.

A faint blush crept up his neck, but Saber, ever dutiful, made no mention of it. She simply stepped forward, her expression focused and professional, and began to deftly button his shirt. Her fingers were quick and precise, and in seconds, the task he had struggled with for minutes was complete.

"Thank you," he managed, his voice a little hoarse.

"It is no trouble," she said, her work done.

As he looked at their reflections in the mirror—him looking far more put-together than he felt, and her looking effortlessly regal—he thought of their destination.

"You really have a thing for burgers lately, don't you?" he asked with a small smile.

It had been her suggestion, of course. In the weeks since the war's end, Saber had developed a surprising and intense infatuation with two specific staples of American cuisine: pancakes and hamburgers. Shirou had always disdained burgers, viewing them as a greasy, inferior form of food compared to the balanced, nuanced Japanese dishes he loved to cook. But necessity was a harsh teacher. Cooking had become a nightmare with one hand, and burgers were one of the few foods that could be eaten perfectly well with a single hand.

He'd come around. He still hated the cheap, flimsy offerings of fast-food chains, but he had to admit, a hand-crafted, perfectly grilled burger from a dedicated chef was its own art form. It was a different skillset from his own, but one he could now appreciate.

The thought brought his own handicap to the forefront of his mind. While he was adapting, learning to navigate the world with a new center of gravity, the hope that Rin might find a solution for him in London was a constant, quiet hum in the back of his mind. Any amputee, no matter how well-adjusted, would leap at the chance to get their limb back.

"Are you ready to depart?" Saber asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, shaking off the melancholy. "Let's go."

They took off, leaving the quiet of the Emiya residence behind. The restaurant, a place owned by an old acquaintance of Taiga's grandfather, was only a short walk away. For a few precious moments, the weight of the evening—of Sakura's fragile recovery and the conversation that awaited them—seemed to lift, replaced by the easy, comfortable banter of two partners simply heading out for a meal.

As they started their walk east into the heart of downtown Fuyuki, Shirou adjusted the collar on his shirt, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“I still can't believe the legendary King of Knights has been completely conquered by a ground beef patty between two buns,” he teased.

“It is an efficient and highly satisfying delivery system for sustenance,” Saber replied, her tone perfectly serious as the black ribbon holding her hair swayed in the evening breeze. “The combination of grilled meat, melted cheese, and fresh vegetables provides an excellent balance of protein and carbohydrates.”

“Right… speaking of which, for two people heading to a place with sticky tables, we look like we're about to crash a wedding,” Shirou chuckled, gesturing to his own button-up and her elegant dress.

“One should always present themselves appropriately for the occasion,” she stated primly. “It is a sign of respect for the craft of the chef.”

“Saber, the chef is a guy named Kenji who wears a backwards baseball cap.”

“Then we are showing respect for Chef Kenji,” she insisted, her golden eyes completely earnest. “A grill is not so different from a forge. His is a noble craft.”

Her serious defense of a burger chef was so sincere that Shirou couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve really gotten into modern food, haven’t you?” he asked, his tone softening. “What did you usually eat… before all this?”

Saber was quiet for a moment. “Growing up with Sir Ector, the land was not bountiful. Our diet was mostly what the livestock could provide. Meats, harsh stews, coarse bread. It was food for survival, not for enjoyment.”

Shirou thought of the vibrant, flavorful dishes he loved to create, and a pang of sympathy went through him.

“I did not experience things like fine cheese or wine until after I became king,” she continued. “And even then, they were reserved for state occasions. Coming to Japan, to your home… I admit it was an overwhelming experience for my palate. Your cooking was the first I had that was made not just for sustenance, but with care.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it so much,” he said warmly.

He expected a simple agreement, but instead, a shadow flickered across her features. She looked away, a subtle tension in her posture that wasn’t there a moment before.

“Saber?” he asked gently. “What is it?”

She hesitated, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a quiet, pained whisper. “Since my alteration… my sense of taste has been muted. I can no longer perceive subtle flavors. The delicate taste of vegetables, the nuanced balance of dashi… it is all dull, like a distant memory. The only things I can still taste clearly are foods with very strong, direct profiles. Intense sweetness… or the powerful, savory taste of grilled meat.”

The pieces clicked into place with heartbreaking clarity. The pancakes. The burgers. It wasn’t a preference; it was a desperate search for any flavor she could still experience. Shirou’s heart ached. He remembered her reverence for a simple bowl of his rice, the pure, unadulterated joy she took in every meal he made for her. Another piece of her had been stolen by that cursed mud, a small, simple joy he hadn't even known was gone.

“Saber…” was all he could manage.

“There is nothing to be done, Master,” she said with a quiet finality, as if stating an unmovable fact of the universe. “This is who I am now.”

No. The word was a silent roar in his mind. He wouldn't accept that. Not for a second. He didn’t care how long it took, or what he had to learn. He would find a way to help her, either by reaching through the corruption or shattering it completely. She had been denied her chance at happiness and the simple joys of life once before, as a king who sacrificed everything. He would be damned if he let her be denied them again.

With a new fire lit in his heart, he started walking again. She fell back into step beside him, the silence between them heavy with her resignation and his new, unspoken vow. He reached over, hooking his arm through hers, a firm, supportive weight. He felt her stiffen for a fraction of a second, surprised by the gesture, but she did not pull away. She said nothing, neither encouraging nor dissuading him, as they continued their walk to the restaurant, a new and profound challenge now silently shared between them.

The bell above the door of "Kenji's Grill" chimed cheerfully as Shirou and Saber stepped inside. The place was exactly as he remembered: warm, noisy with the clatter of plates and a classic rock song on the jukebox, and filled with the mouth-watering scent of grilled onions and sizzling beef. At the grill, a burly man in a backwards baseball cap and a cliché "Kiss the Cook" apron looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin.

“Shirou, my man!” Kenji boomed, striding over to deliver a hearty clap on the back that nearly sent him stumbling. “Good to see you up and about! Heard you were in that nasty accident. How you holding up?”

“Getting by, Kenji-san,” Shirou said with a practiced smile. “It is what it is.” He gestured to his companion. “This is Saber.”

Saber, who had been observing the master chef in his domain with intense respect, gave a formal, perfect bow. “It is an honor to make the acquaintance of the master of this establishment,” she said, her voice ringing with the gravity of a knight being presented at court.

Kenji blinked, then let out a roaring laugh. “Whoa, so formal! I like her!” he said, grinning at Shirou. “Nice to meet you too, Saber-san. Grab that corner booth, I’ll be right with you!”

They chose the booth, and just as they were sliding onto the worn vinyl seats, the bell above the door chimed again.

The jukebox seemed to fade. Conversations stuttered. The breath caught in Shirou’s throat. Rin, Sakura, and Rider stepped inside, and the entire casual diner seemed to fall silent around them. Dressed in their elegant evening wear, they looked like three goddesses who had mistakenly wandered into a mortal establishment. Rin was in a fiery red dress, Rider a statuesque shadow, but Shirou’s eyes found and locked onto Sakura.

He didn't see the cackling, unhinged maniac from the Matou courtyard. He didn't see the timid, helpless girl who had clung to him. He saw a tired young woman who had been through an unimaginable hell, her shoulders heavy with a burden he could only guess at, but who was still standing. And in that moment, he felt a wave of profound, gentle admiration for her strength.

He offered a small, hesitant smile, about to raise his hand to wave.

Her eyes met his, and for a fraction of a second, he saw a flicker of shy, hopeful light in her expression. Then, her gaze dropped. It traveled from his eyes, down to his shoulder, to the white button-up shirt… and the empty sleeve pinned neatly beside it.

The color drained from her face. The fragile hope in her eyes didn't just fade; it shattered, replaced by a look of pure, gut-wrenching horror and self-recrimination. She froze, a statue carved from shock and guilt, her breath hitched in her throat.

“Sakura?” he started, his voice barely a whisper.

It was as if his voice broke the spell. Without a sound, she spun around and fled, the bell on the door chiming violently as she burst back out into the night.

“Sakura!” Rin cried out, lurching forward.

“Sakura, wait!” Shirou called, already half-standing from the booth.

A firm, gloved hand settled on Rin’s shoulder, stopping her. “I will handle this,” Rider said, her voice calm and absolute. Without another word, she swept past them, a silent violet shadow exiting the restaurant as gracefully as she had entered, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

"Dammit," Rin hissed, sinking back towards the booth. "This is what I was afraid of. I wanted to break it to her slowly..." Her eyes flashed with frustration towards Shirou. Plans always seemed to fall apart when he was involved.

"I do not know what you were expecting, Rin," Saber's voice was cold and logical from across the table. "This was always going to be a shock, no matter how you presented it. A wound of that magnitude cannot be... broken slowly."

Rin opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn't find a counterargument. Saber was right. Defeated, she slumped into the seat opposite them as the muted sounds of the diner slowly began to return, filling the new, heavy silence at their table.

Sakura didn't know where she was running; she just ran. The cheerful chime of the restaurant bell was replaced by the harsh, frantic pounding of her own heart in her ears. She ducked into the first alleyway she found, the sudden darkness and the sharp stench of garbage a welcome, grounding shock to her system. She slammed her back against a cold brick wall and slid to the damp ground, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Her lungs were on fire. Bile crawled up her throat, hot and acidic. The image of Shirou’s empty sleeve was burned into her mind, a frantic, looping nightmare. She did that. The thought was a physical blow, knocking the breath from her again. She was responsible.

In the forest, when he shielded Illya from the Shadow… from her… she had taken his arm then. She’d only meant to injure him, to stop him, but it didn’t matter. This was the result. And then she’d done it again. In the cavern. The absolute order: “If he enters the cavern, kill him.” She had given Saber that command, knowing the Shadow’s power would make it impossible to disobey. So Shirou had fought, and he had lost his arm a second time because of her. Because of a command she gave.

He must hate her. He has to hate her. Of course he hates her.

A strong, gentle hand touched her shoulder, and a calm voice cut through the storm in her mind. "Sakura."

Rider was there, a silent violet shadow in the dim light. She knelt, her tall form shielding Sakura from the mouth of the alley. "Breathe with me," she said, her voice a firm, steady anchor. She took Sakura's trembling hand. "In… and out. Just breathe."

It took a minute of following Rider’s lead, but slowly, the fire in her lungs cooled. Her breath steadied. The bile retreated.

"Better?" Rider asked softly.

"A little..." Sakura admitted, her voice hoarse. The panic had receded, but in its place was a cold, crushing weight.

"He wants to see you," Rider began, her tone gentle. "He has for a while. He was worried."

The words, meant as a comfort, only connected the final, painful dots in Sakura's mind. He wanted to see her. But she hadn't known about his arm. Which meant…

Sakura looked up at her guardian, her previous panic sharpening into a new, dawning sense of betrayal. Her voice was no longer weak, but sharp and accusing. "Nee-san knew the whole time, didn't she, Rider?" she asked, her voice trembling with a fresh wave of pain. "She knew about his arm. Why… why didn't she tell me?!"

Rider sighed, sitting beside Sakura on the grimy pavement. “She wanted to spare you this burden before you were ready.” A pause. “For what it is worth, I agreed with her.”

The words hit Sakura like a knife. A hot, indignant anger rose within her. She wasn’t some child who needed to be coddled!

…Except… that’s exactly how she had been acting. The anger collapsed as quickly as it came, replaced by a wave of shame. She had barely been able to get out of bed for weeks. She was still completely dependent on Rin and Rider. And just now, at the first real test, at the very sight that proved their caution was justified, she had shattered and run away. She had just proven them right.

“I’ve been a terrible sister, haven’t I, Rider?” she whispered, the fight gone from her voice.

“No,” Rider answered, her tone flat and absolute, leaving no room for argument. “You have been human, recovering from an ordeal that would have broken armies. You possess a strength greater than legions of men and a grace befitting a queen. Rin could never hate you… and neither could he.”

Logically, Sakura knew that was true. Why else would Rin be taking care of her? Why else would Shirou have fought to the brink of death for her? But the guilt still screamed at her that she was unworthy, that they must hate her deep down. She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, unapologetic growl from her own stomach. The emotional exhaustion had left her ravenous.

A low chuckle came from beside her. “Would you like to head back inside?” Rider asked.

Sakura looked at her guardian, then towards the bright lights of the street. She nodded, letting Rider pull her to her feet. She would not cower anymore. She would face what she had done. She would sit at that table, and she would move forward, just as she had promised herself she would.

And if she happened to get a juicy burger along the way, all the better.

The bell above the door chimed, a sound far too cheerful for the weight of the moment. Sakura stepped back inside, Rider a tall, silent shadow at her side.

Every head at the corner booth turned. Shirou’s expression was one of pure, unadulterated relief. Rin’s was more complex, a mixture of that same relief and wary caution. The signs of Sakura’s panic attack were still visible—the slight tremble in her hands, the paleness of her face—but she forced it all down as she slowly made her way over, Rider’s steady hand on her shoulder a silent source of strength.

She stopped at the edge of the table, her gaze fixed somewhere on the tabletop. "Senpai... Nee-san, Saber-san... I apologize for my outburst earlier. It will not happen again." Her voice was quiet, formal, and strained with effort.

"It's alright, Sakura," Rin said, her voice a little too bright as she tried to force a sense of normalcy back into the evening. "Come on, sit down. Let's order."

An awkward, heavy silence settled as Sakura shuffled into the booth, sliding in next to Rin. She was thankful when Kenji came over, his boisterous presence a welcome disruption.

“Alright, what can I get for the man of the hour and his lovely entourage?” he boomed, pulling out a notepad. He winked at Shirou. “Didn’t know you were so popular, my man! Keeping all these good-lookin’ girls to yourself!”

Shirou waved it off, a faint blush on his cheeks. “They’re just friends, Kenji-san.” The statement hung in the air, fantastically inadequate for the web of history and emotion at the table.

After Kenji took their orders and retreated to his grill, the silence returned, thick with unspoken words. Sakura took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed.

“Senpai…” she began, her voice barely a whisper, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. You tried so hard to save me… and all I did was hurt you. I wouldn’t let you.” Her gaze then shifted to the dark knight sitting opposite him. “And Saber-san… for everything I did to you, for what I turned you into… I am truly sorry.”

Saber responded before Shirou could, her golden eyes meeting Sakura’s without a trace of pity or malice. “Apology accepted,” she stated, her voice as crisp and cold as a winter morning. “I will not lie to you and say that all is forgiven. What was done to me was a violation that cannot be undone.” She paused, letting the hard truth settle. “However, you have shown immense strength of character to face what you have done and seek to make amends. I despise weakness, in spirit or in body. You, Sakura Matou, are strong, whether you realize it or not, and I accept your apology.”

It was not a statement of forgiveness, but one of profound, unwavering respect. It was more than Sakura could have hoped for.

Then, Shirou spoke, his voice gentle and full of a warmth that seemed to push back against the room’s chill. “Saber’s right. And I could never hate you.” He looked at her, and his expression was one of deep, earnest understanding. “I know you weren’t in your right mind. Yes, you were conscious, you were making choices… but you weren’t rational. Not with those damn worms inside you, not after everything Zouken and Shinji put you through for all those years.” A pang of pain was sent through her at the reminder.

He leaned forward slightly. “You deserve a lifetime of happiness to make up for all the pain you went through. And if you ever need anything, if you ever need help, you call me. I’ll come running. We both will.” He glanced at Saber, who gave a single, almost imperceptible nod of confirmation.

Tears welled in Sakura’s eyes, but for the first time that night, they weren’t tears of guilt or horror. They were tears of relief.

Just then, Kenji returned, a large tray laden with five enormous, perfectly grilled burgers and a mountain of fries balanced expertly on his arm. The mouth-watering scent of sizzling beef and melted cheese filled the air, a tangible, grounding reality that broke the heavy, emotional atmosphere.

As he set the plates down, the spell was broken. The conversation shifted, tentatively at first, as they began to eat.

It was Rider who spoke first, her blindfolded gaze directed across the table to Saber. "Saber," she began, her tone one of professional curiosity. "You are not a bound familiar like myself. How is it that you remain in this world?"

"I was incarnated," Saber answered simply, taking a precise bite of her burger. "The mud of the corrupted Grail gave me a physical body. I no longer require a master's mana to sustain my existence." She paused, her own curiosity piqued. "You, however, should have returned to the Throne. How do you retain the memories of this war upon being re-summoned?"

"Our bond is… unique," Rider explained, glancing toward Sakura. "Sakura was once a Lesser Grail. Fragments of it, and the memory of our connection, remain within her soul. With her as my anchor instead of the Grail itself, my memories were restored to me."

The conversation turned as Rin looked at Shirou, her expression softening with concern. "How are you doing with your arm? Really."

"I'm getting by," Shirou said with a slight shrug. "Most things are fine, but some stuff is still… hard." A faint blush touched his cheeks. "I, uh, had to get Saber to button my shirt for me earlier."

At that, a small, quiet giggle escaped from Sakura. It was the first genuinely happy, unburdened sound they had heard from her in weeks, and it was more comforting than any words could have been.

The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable, friendly haze, the five of them carving out a small bubble of normalcy in the noisy diner. When they were done, Kenji came back with the bill, dropping it on the table with a cheerful, "Hope you all enjoyed the best burgers in Fuyuki!"

As Rin reached for her wallet, a loud CRASH echoed from across the street. Everyone in the restaurant paused, looking around, before dismissing it as construction noise and resuming their conversations. A moment later, it came again, louder this time—a horrific, grinding sound of tearing metal and shattering concrete.

"What was that?" Rin asked, her head snapping toward the window.

Shirou and Saber were already on their feet, their brief moment of peace shattered. They moved to the large front window, peering out into the night. A massive, inky black shadow was draped over the building across the street, a formless horror that seemed to drink the light of the streetlamps. It was moving, flowing like thick oil down the side of the building and into the street.

"It's coming closer," Saber said, her voice a low growl.

The shadow surged across the road with unnatural speed. Before anyone could react, the entire front window of Kenji's Grill exploded inward in a deafening shower of glass and splintered wood. Patrons screamed, scrambling back from the entrance as a monstrous, wolf-like creature made of pure shadow and rage hauled its massive frame into the restaurant. It stood on all fours, its head taller than a man, its red eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger as it let out a guttural roar that shook the very foundations of the building.

Chapter Text

The guttural roar that shook the foundations of the building was a sound of pure, primal hunger. The friendly chatter of the diner died in an instant, replaced by a wave of terrified screams. Patrons scrambled away from the front of the restaurant, knocking over tables as the monstrous shadow beast hauled its massive frame through the shattered storefront.

In the ensuing panic, Kenji ducked behind his counter, fumbling for his phone. His fingers, slick with sweat, frantically dialed for the police. "Help!" he yelled into the receiver. "There's a—a monster at my—"

The beast's red eyes locked onto him, its head tilting as if it smelled his fear. With a movement too fast for its size, a massive clawed hand swept across the counter. The phone was obliterated into plastic shrapnel, and the Formica countertop split with a sickening crack, the razor-sharp claws passing inches from Kenji's terrified face.

Shirou didn't hesitate. The world seemed to slow, the screams fading into a dull roar. All he saw was the terrified man who had just served them dinner about to be torn apart.

"Trace, on."

A flash of pale blue light accompanied the familiar snap of a magic circuit firing in his mind. The cool, solid weight of a European longsword settled into his right hand, knowledge flooding his system. He was on his feet and moving before the thought was even complete, leaping over the back of the booth and positioning himself between the beast and Kenji.

A blur of black and red shot past him. An explosive burst of prana, cold and immense, slammed into the air. Saber stood between him and the monster, the light of the diner glinting off the plates of her draconic black armor, which had materialized over her evening dress in a heartbeat. The oppressive weight of Excalibur Morgan held firmly in her grasp, seemed to drink the very light from the room.

The beast lunged. Saber met its charge not with her blade, but with a single, devastating kick. Her leg, wreathed in an impossible amount of magical energy, slammed into the creature's chest. The impact was a wet, concussive boom, like concrete shattering, and the multi-ton beast was lifted off its feet and hurled backward out of the hole it had just created.

Without a sound, Saber leaped after it, a dark predator in pursuit of her prey.

"Saber, wait!" Shirou yelled, chasing after her into the street.

Left in the ringing silence, Rin, Sakura, and Rider were frozen for a moment. So many witnesses. A public, flagrant, and cataclysmic use of magecraft in the middle of downtown Fuyuki. Her carefully laid plans for the evening had been spectacularly obliterated. Dammit, Shirou! The thought was automatic, if a little unfair. She couldn't fault them for what they did; without their intervention, Kenji would be dead. But this was going to be a hell of a mess.

"We have to go," she said, her voice sharp. She rushed to the splintered counter, pulling a wad of bills from her wallet and slamming it down. "Sorry for the mess, Kenji!" she yelled at the stunned owner before bolting for the door, Rider and Sakura right behind her.

As they burst out into the cool night air, the sounds of a supernatural battle already echoing from the direction of the park, a final, dreadful realization hit Rin. A simple confusion glamour wouldn't erase this. Not with this many witnesses, not with this much destruction. There was only one organization in Fuyuki with the resources to handle a cleanup of this magnitude.

She let out a groan of pure frustration. She was going to have to call the Church and ask that creepy priestess for help.

By the time she caught up to them in Fuyuki Central Park, the battle was in full swing. The ground was already torn to ribbons, the beautiful lawn gouged with massive claw marks and craters, reminding her of Saber's fight with Berserker. Annoyed, Rin bit her thumb and drew a glowing crimson circle in the air. "Anfang!" she commanded, pushing her prana into the hastily constructed bounded field. The air shimmered, and the deafening sounds of the battle suddenly muffled, the light within the field bending and distorting. To anyone outside, the chaos would now seem like nothing more than a localized earthquake—a mess for the city to deal with, but far better than a full-blown breach of the masquerade.

Secret war, my ass. She thought to herself.

[ Recommended Music: Mighty Wind (2012 Version) - Fate/stay night (Realta Nua) Soundtrack Reproduction ]

"Foul Beast! How dare you interrupt my dinner!" Saber yelled as she charged. She tried cleaving it in half with a single horizontal strike, but the creature, with a speed that defied its bulk, dodged under the blow. Her strike met only air, carving a deep, black trench in the park lawn behind it. She lifted the blade, spinning on her heeled boots to deliver a devastating vertical strike, but it was caught between the beast's massive talons. She was shocked by its raw strength as it twisted, using the blackened holy blade as an axle to spin her around before launching her into the grass several feet away.

If the beasts that attacked Shirou were like wolves, this creature was a bear forged from night and rage. It needed mana to survive, and like a hungry predator drawn to a feast, it had found the irresistible conglomeration of the Tohsaka sisters and two Heroic Spirits. Its strength was enough to be a genuine challenge. Artoria hadn't been on a hunt like this since the days of old, and a wicked grin spread across her face as she saw the beast charging towards her again on all fours. With a swift nod, her draconic visor materialized over her eyes and nose, the black metal crackling with red mana.

A cold, clear combat focus settled over her as the metal sealed her face. In her full armor, she was the spitting image of her uncle, Vortigern, the Vile King. The man who murdered her father, King Uther and plunged Britain into a dark age. She wondered what her father or Merlin would think if they could see her now. Perhaps this was what they always wanted—a strong, ideal king in the visage of Vortigern, but his moral opposite.

She didn't meet its charge head-on this time. As the beast thundered towards her, she sidestepped at the last possible second, a blur of motion. Excalibur Morgan, humming with dark energy, raked across the creature's flank as it passed. A shriek of pure rage tore from its throat as black ichor, thick as tar, hissed from the deep gash. The beast stumbled, its own momentum carrying it into a large oak tree with a ground-shaking CRUNCH.

It righted itself, shaking its massive head, its red eyes now burning with a focused hatred for her. It didn't charge again. Instead, it opened its maw and unleashed a torrent of shadowy tendrils, each one tipped with a razor-sharp point, that whipped through the air from all directions. Saber became a whirlwind of black steel, her blade a near-invisible shield as she deflected and severed the shadowy appendages. Sparks of corrupted energy flew with every impact, lighting the park in strobing flashes of crimson and black. She was pushed back, her armored boots digging furrows in the ruined grass, but none of the tendrils found their mark.

The constant destruction, the gouged earth and splintered trees, sparked a memory. This park… this was where the Fuyuki Community Center once stood. This was the epicenter of the final battle of the Fourth Holy Grail War. The building had been obliterated when Kiritsugu, using the last of his Command Seals, had forced her to destroy the Holy Grail. The resulting deluge of cursed mud had spawned the great fire that destroyed a third of the city and stole Shirou's childhood. The irony was cruel. Here she stood again, a corrupted version of herself, tearing apart the same ground in another battle she did not choose.

Shirou came running up mid-duel, his own traced longsword held ready. He saw an opening she had created and lunged, his blade sinking deep into the beast's shoulder. The creature roared in pain and swung a massive, clawed arm around, not at her, but at the weaker opponent who had wounded it. Saber rushed forward, her own blade coming up just in time to block the strike. The sound of metal screaming against the beast's talons echoed through the park as her sword locked with its claw. The sheer, brutal force of the impact stunned her, sending a shockwave up her arms and forcing the hilt of Excalibur Morgan from her grasp. The blackened holy sword clattered to the ground as she was knocked backward.

A crimson flash of light struck the beast's face—a gandr shot. A moment later, ethereal chains of a cold steel erupted from the ground, wrapping around its front legs. Sakura and Rider had arrived. But the beast, enraged, gripped the chains binding it, and with a monstrous heave, used them as a whip to slam Rider directly into her master.

The beast roared in triumph, shaking Rider's chains from its limbs. Shirou and Saber cried out in alarm as Rider and Sakura were thrown into a heap on the ruined grass. For a moment, the battle paused, the monstrous creature savoring its advantage as its glowing red eyes scanned the scattered opponents.

"Sakura!" Shirou yelled, his heart seizing with fear.

Rider was on her feet in an instant, her chained daggers in hand as she placed herself defensively in front of her master. Sakura pushed herself up, her lavender dress stained with grass and dirt, a dark bruise already forming on her cheek.

"Sakura, get back!" Saber commanded, retrieving Excalibur Morgan from the ground. "It is not safe!"

"No," Sakura said, her voice trembling but firm. She met Saber's gaze, then Shirou's, her own eyes filled with a new, unwavering resolve. "I'm not running anymore. I'm not hiding. This time, I'm fighting with you."

Before either of them could argue, she was already chanting, a simple binding spell that sent tendrils of purple energy slithering across the ground toward the beast. It was their first formal combat as a Master and Servant duo. Though their emotional bond was absolute, their battlefield synergy was non-existent, at least right now. As Rider lunged forward, Sakura’s spell arrived a half-second too late, only managing to snare one of the beast's hind legs. The creature, unbalanced but not immobilized, swung a massive claw, forcing Rider to abort her attack and pivot into a desperate dodge.

The fight devolved into a chaotic dance. Rider would press the attack with her blinding speed, only to find her movements hampered by the beast's raw, unpredictable power. Sakura provided support from the rear, launching bolts of magical energy and attempting to ensnare the creature, but her timing was just off, her attacks failing to sync with Rider's lightning-fast maneuvers.

Forced back by another swipe of the beast's claws, Shirou parried with the simple European longsword in his hand. The blade looked unassuming, but he had projected it for a very specific reason. As he fought, he tried to channel the phantom knowledge stored within his soul, the soul of the blade projected through his reality marble. This blade was a phantom copy of the sword of Bedivere, the Knight of Loyalty.

The idea for this came to him during another spar with Saber. When she told him tales of her most trusted retainer. What resonated with him about Bedivere, beyond his unwavering devotion to his king, was the fact that like Shirou, he too, had lost an arm in combat, before even coming into service of King Arthur. Though he lacked supernatural power like Lancelot or Gawain, he was still a master of swordsmanship, like any Knight of the Round, despite his handicap.

Unlimited Blade Works, as he now knew it to be called, allowed him to channel the experiences and skills of the original owner of the weapons it copied, and one-handed swordsmanship was exactly what he needed right now. But the odd variable thrown into this equation of Shirou’s was the fact that Bedivere’s Sword is not a Noble Phantasm, it was simply a typical welsh longsword common in Camelot. It meant the mana cost of projection was not near as high as it could have been, but getting the exact skillset from the blade he was looking for was tricky, like scanning through dozens of papers to find the one you need.

But as he deflected another blow, setting up an opening for one of Saber’s strikes, he thinks he found what he was looking for. Excalibur Morgan raked across its skin, a gash of dark mana leaving it. It was wounded, but far from defeated, and wounded beasts were sometimes the most dangerous. The beast let out another roar, this one a concussive blast of force that sent a shockwave of shadow energy rippling through the park. Everyone was thrown back, struggling to keep their footing. Their disorganized attacks were doing nothing but tiring them out.

"It's too strong to fight head-on!" Shirou yelled over the ringing in his ears, planting his sword in the ground for balance. "We need a plan!"

The others looked to him, their impromptu commander. The battlefield was a whirlwind of frantic, shouted orders as he took charge.

"Saber, you're our big gun! Get ready to use your Noble Phantasm, we'll make an opening for a decisive blow!" he commanded. "Rider, Sakura! Your job is to bind it! Use your chains, any spell you have, just pin it down!"

"Understood," Saber replied, her voice a low growl as she stepped back, the dark energy within her Dragon Core beginning to stir.

"I'll keep it distracted!" Shirou finished, turning to face the beast as it regained its footing. The others turned to him, hesitation in their eyes. Was he really planning to keep the beast's attention solely on himself? It was a dangerous plan. He wasn't a heroic spirit, a single blow from it could kill him. But they hardly had time to debate about it, and no way to come up with another plan on time.

With a roar, the creature charged him, and the desperate dance began. Shirou met its fury head-on, his mind a razor-sharp focus of Bedivere's one-armed techniques. He ducked under a sweeping claw that could have torn him in half, parried a lunging bite with a shower of sparks, and used the beast's own momentum to slide past another attack. He was hopelessly outmatched in strength, but for a few crucial seconds, his skill and sheer nerve held the monster's attention, until it slipped on a bit of mud. There.

"Now!" he screamed.

As if on cue, Rider shot forward, a violet blur weaving around the beast's legs, her chained daggers lashing out to ensnare its limbs. At the same time, Sakura slammed her hands together, tendrils of pure purple magic erupting from the ground to wrap around the creature's torso and arms. The beast roared in fury, struggling against the combined assault, its muscles straining against both physical and magical chains. It was pinned.

This was the moment. Saber raised her blade, the dark sword now glowing with an ominous, swirling nebula of red and black energy. The air grew cold, heavy with an oppressive, dreadful power as she prepared to unleash the true name of her weapon.

"EXCALIBUR..." she roared, the name of the holy sword a blasphemy on her lips. "MORGAN!"

She brought the blade down. It did not release the golden light of hope, but a pillar of shrieking, violent miasma. A torrent of chaotic red and purple energy erupted from the sword, a wave of pure destruction that washed over the ensnared beast. It was not a beam of cleansing light; it was a wave of despair that overtook the creature and seemed to swallow its very existence, a pillar of profane moonlight towering into the stars.

The park was plunged into a deafening silence as the light faded, leaving behind a cloud of black smoke and the smell of ozone. But as the smoke cleared, a collective gasp went through the group.

It was still standing. The beast was a mangled ruin of its former self, its shadowy form riddled with deep gashes and burns that sizzled with dark energy, but it was alive. And it was enraged.

Saber stood panting, her magical energy almost completely depleted from the use of her Noble Phantasm, her body momentarily stunned from the backlash. With a final, hate-filled roar, the beast charged, its target was the drained knight who was the source of the blast.

With her little energy left, all she could do was stare at as the beast grew larger in her field of vision. There was no panic behind her visored gaze, only a brace for pain to come.

"SABER!"

Without a thought, without a plan, Shirou ran. He poured every last ounce of his strength into his legs, intercepting the beast's path. With a desperate cry, he leaped, bringing his sword around in a single, all-or-nothing arc aimed directly at the creature's neck. The blade, reinforced with his remaining prana, sang through the air and met its target. There was a wet, tearing sound, and the beast's head was severed from its shoulders. Its body stumbled forward a few more steps before collapsing into a mountain of dissolving shadow, its momentum sending Shirou tumbling hard onto the ruined grass.

For a moment, no one moved. They all held their breath, staring at the dissipating remains of the monster. The silence was broken only by Shirou's ragged gasps.

Saber, her visor betraying no emotion, walked over to where he lay. She looked down at him for a second before reaching out and offering him her gloved hand. He took it, and she pulled him easily to his feet. She then raised Excalibur Morgan high in the air in a silent, warrior’s salute letting the twilight gleam off of the darkened steel. This was a salute she did often to praise exemplary soldiers in Camelot, before planting it in the ground.

The adrenaline began to fade, and as the reality of their triumph sank in, so did the sight of the devastation around them. The park was a ruin of torn earth, splintered trees, and scorched grass, a testament to the violent battle that had just concluded.

Sakura and Rider rushed over to the center of the ruined park, arriving just as Saber pulled a breathless Shirou to his feet.

"That was a marvelous strike, Shirou Emiya," Rider said, her professional assessment carrying a note of genuine admiration.

Shirou shook his head, leaning on his traced sword for support. "Saber's Noble Phantasm did most of the work. I just got the final blow in." He and Saber were both clearly exhausted, while Sakura, and by extension Rider, still had a vast wellspring of mana to draw from.

"That creature…" Shirou said, making the connection as he caught his breath. "It was bigger, but it felt the same as the ones that attacked me in the shed."

Saber nodded beneath her visor, scanning the dissipating wisps of shadow. "Its form reminded me of the Magical Beasts we sometimes hunted in Old Britain."

"The form, perhaps," Rider countered, her tone serious. "But its nature was different. Its signature… it was reminiscent of the corrupted mud of the Holy Grail."

The words sent a chill through the group. Just then, Rin arrived, jogging to a halt beside them, with Caren following at a serene pace. Caren was already at work in the background, her hands tracing glowing sigils as she chanted in soft Latin. Where she passed, lines of golden light stitched the torn earth back together.

Rin’s expression was grim, her mind already working furiously. "Rider's right," she said, catching her breath. "But that should be impossible… Illya disabled the Greater Grail. It shouldn’t be able to produce any more mud."

"As one who is… intimately familiar with it," Saber chimed in, her voice carefully neutral, though the tension in her posture was palpable, "I do not believe it was born of the mud. This creature held only a fraction of its... viscosity."

"Then what was it? Someone’s overgrown familiar?" Shirou asked.

"No," Rider stated flatly. "It was a true beast, possessing not intelligence, but instinct. Its attack on the restaurant was a predator seeking a meal, not a targeted strike."

An expression of horror dawned on Rin’s face. "The Grail was disabled," she muttered, her eyes unfocused. "Not destroyed..."

"Nee-san?" Sakura asked, her voice small. "I don’t understand…"

Rin shook her head, focusing on the group. "Think. At the end of the war, when you were acting as the Lesser Grail… how many Servants had you absorbed?"

Sakura flinched at the reminder, but considered the grim tally. After a moment of heavy silence, it was Shirou who answered. "There were... six, weren't there?"

Rin nodded. "Exactly. But the Greater Grail needed seven to achieve its true purpose." And to unleash All the World's Evils upon humanity, went the unspoken, terrifying addendum.

"So it hadn't even started the process of bringing… that thing… back yet?" Shirou asked, the pieces clicking into place in his mind.

Saber knew this as well. A cold, visceral memory flashed through her—the feeling of the Shadow’s absolute power, the suffocating helplessness of being its puppet, the cold dread of knowing Zouken's final, awful plans. “Right,” Rin confirmed, her sharp voice pulling Saber from the dark memory. "And no wishes were granted either before it was disabled, which means...”

"It didn't use any of the mana it had built up," Rider finished, the chilling reality of the ticking time bomb beneath their city finally laid bare.

Rin ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "This is just a theory, but that system was never meant to hold that much power indefinitely. It was meant to accumulate it and then expend it. My guess? It’s been leaking mana ever since it was disabled."

"But that would just be raw magical energy," Saber countered. "It requires an intelligence or desire, at least, to transform it into the shape of a beast."

"And what if there just so happened to be a malevolent spirit trapped inside it," Rin shot back, her voice laced with bitter irony, "a spirit that was moments away from being born before the system was shut down? It's plausible its lingering will is shaping the leaks as they trickle out, giving form to its hatred and its desire to exist."

"That would track with their behavior," Rider nodded. "The convergence of leylines here has been drained. The beast likely drank itself full to grow to its size and strength, and then sought an even greater meal in the form of us."

A heavy silence fell over the group as they absorbed the full, horrifying weight of their new reality. They weren't just fighting monsters; they were fighting the dying, hateful gasps of a catastrophe they thought they had averted. The sounds of Caren’s quiet chanting ceased, and the last of the golden light faded as the park grounds returned to a pristine, untouched state. Her work finished, the priestess turned and walked serenely toward them

Caren did not acknowledge Rin or Shirou, and only spared a harsh glare at the Gorgon Enchantress and Dark Knight. What captured Caren’s focus was the girl whose lavender dress matched her hair, and she marched up to Sakura. Shirou and Saber instinctively tensed, their bodies shifting to stand slightly in front of Sakura protectively.

Instead of a threat, Caren stopped before her and offered a gentle, disarmingly sweet smile. "You are Sakura Matou," she said, her voice soft. "I am glad to see you are unharmed. You have endured a great deal." She reached out and gently took Sakura's hand. "The Lord often gives his hardest trials to his most beloved servants. Your survival is a testament to your strength."

Shirou, Saber, and Rin could only stare, completely baffled by her unexpected kindness. As Caren released her hand, Rin finally snapped out of her stupor.

“Um… Thank you…” Sakura softly replied. “You are?”

“Caren Hotensia, Priestess of the Holy Church. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Matou.” Shirou and Rin exchanged a baffled look. Where was this kindness when we met her? Rin thought, but pushed the question aside as she rushed to Sakura's side.

"Sakura, are you okay? You're bruised, your dress is ruined..." she fretted, fussing over a smudge of dirt on Sakura's cheek.

“I’m okay, Nee-san.” She gently guided Rin’s hand down where it had touched her cheek. “I’m happy… I was able to be useful, to help everyone in battle.” Sakura beamed a wide smile at her, and Rin felt her heart soar at the joy of her sister, and everyone else felt smiles grow on their faces as well.

Caren turned to Rin, her demeanor shifting from gentle comforter to cool professional. "My associates from the Church will handle the memory alterations for the witnesses and coordinate with the city on the official cover story—a gas line explosion," she stated. "You have my thanks for containing the immediate spectacle, Second Owner."

"Don't thank me," Rin muttered, annoyed at having to rely on her. "Just get it done." 

Another gas leak? They’ve got to come up with better excuses. Shirou thought to himself. Still though he looked down at his own tattered, blood-and-grime-stained button-up shirt. It was definitely a lost cause. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only exhaustion and the grim reality of their new situation.

Rin let out a long, weary sigh, surveying the five of them—a battered, strangely assembled team standing in a magically repaired park. "Come on," she said, her voice heavy with the fatigue of the entire night. "Let's go home. I need a real drink, the kind they won’t give a 17 year old in public, and tomorrow is going to be a very long day for me."

Chapter Text

Sleep refused to come for Sakura.

She slipped out from her futon, her footsteps silent on the cool wooden floors of the Emiya manor. The house was still, steeped in a fragile peace that felt utterly alien after the chaos of the evening. After the battle, it had been Shirou who insisted they all return here together. Rin had protested, grumbling about a well-deserved brandy waiting for her at the Tohsaka estate, but his logic had been unassailable. With more beasts potentially lurking in the shadows, staying together, at least until they were rested and recuperated, was the only sound strategic choice. The Emiya estate was slightly closer than Tohsaka Manor, and it had its own bounded fields to alert of intruders. Saber gave a stern reminder to Rin about her early flight to London, and that had settled it. The only break from the group after that had been Rider making a swift dash back for toiletries to prepare to stay the night.

And so they were here. But for Sakura, this house was something other than their fortress for the night. It was a sanctuary that held the ghosts of a time before, a time of great joy and love, but also her deepest misery. The quiet hallways seemed to echo with a pain only she could hear, and the familiar scent of tea and old wood was mingled with the phantom memory of her own body being eaten alive from within, and the things she had to do to survive such an ailment.

With a shudder, she slid open the door to the veranda, the crisp night air a welcome shock. She found Rider there, sitting perfectly still in one of the wicker chairs, a silent guardian bathed in moonlight. As a Servant, she had no need for sleep and had taken it upon herself to serve as the night watch.

"Can't sleep?" Rider asked softly, her gaze turning toward Sakura as she approached.

Sakura shook her head, leaning against the railing and wrapping her arms around herself. "Just being here... it brings back memories… good and bad." Her voice was a fragile whisper.

"I remember the pain," Sakura continued, her gaze fixed on the dark, sleeping garden. "The feeling of the worms... crawling inside of me, consuming, always hungry. Coming here was the only time I felt human. But even then... I brought them with me. They were always with me…" She took a shuddering breath. "I needed things from him to stay alive. His warmth, his... blood, and even more than that... Things a normal person should never have to ask for…" And she knew Rider understood. She must have felt the echoes of it all through their bond in those days. The joys, the misery, the pain, the lust… she had shared it all.

Sakura turned to face her Servant, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I feel like I used him, Rider. I pushed him so far past his own comfort, and he just... let me. He says he's fine with everything that happened, that he doesn't regret it..." Her voice cracked with a frustrated anguish. "But how can that be true? He's too kind, too polite to ever say otherwise. I'm not fine with what I did to him. So how can he be?" The words tumbled out, heavy with a guilt that had been festering in the silence. "I just... I feel so bad, Rider. I feel like I was just leeching off of him for so long, taking everything and giving nothing back in return."

Rider was silent for a long moment, simply listening. Then, she rose with a fluid grace and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her master in a firm, steady embrace.

"The burdens Shirou Emiya chooses to carry are his own," Rider said, her voice a low, steady murmur in Sakura's ear. "It is his choice alone whether he shares their weight with you. If he offers them, you may choose to accept them and help him carry them. But you cannot force them from him, Sakura. You cannot demand he unburden himself for your sake. If he tells you he is fine, and chooses to carry that weight alone, then you must trust his decision."

She paused, her hand gently rubbing Sakura's back. "That being said, it is not healthy for anyone to carry such weight alone. I hope he finds someone to truly unburden himself to, whether that is you, Saber, Rin... or even myself. I do not know if the two of you can resume what you once had; there is too much pain woven into your history now. But I hope you can remain friends for the rest of your lives." Rider's grip tightened slightly, a firm, reassuring presence. "He has given you his forgiveness and proven beyond a doubt that he cherishes you, in spite of what happened. What remains is if you choose to accept that, or not."

Realistically, Sakura knew that Rider was right about everything; this was far from the first time she’d been told that, but guilt and grief did funny things to a mind. The words, a strange mixture of pragmatism and optimism, gave her hope. They didn't erase the guilt, but they offered a different path—one of acceptance.

Leaning into the comfort of the embrace, a flicker of something new crossed Sakura's features, a spark of light in the darkness of her memories. "Tonight... tonight was different though," she whispered, her voice stronger. A small, proud smile touched her lips. "For the first time, I wasn't just taking from him. I was fighting with him. I was able to be useful, to help everyone." The memory of her magic snaring the beast, of seeing Shirou and Saber capitalize on the opening she helped create, was a warm, powerful feeling. "I was so happy... that I finally got to help him for a change."

Rider looked down at the girl in her arms, her heart aching with a fierce, protective pride. No one else could possibly understand the war being fought behind those gentle eyes—the crushing weight of past sins battling against this fragile, budding hope. Rider knew that battle intimately; she had lived a twisted version of it for centuries. But in this moment, she didn't see a monster or a victim. She saw the quiet, unyielding strength of the small, beautiful girl who had survived a hell that would have broken armies, and to her, it was the most precious thing in the world.  

Rider ran a hand through Sakura’s long hair. "And perhaps you will continue to be able to in the future," she said softly. She pulled back just enough to look down at her master, a rare, fond smile gracing her lips. "But know that I will be here for you, in any way you require, my beloved."

The sincerity in her voice, the weight of the endearment, was enough to make Sakura let out a small, surprised giggle—a fragile but genuine sound in the quiet night. She hugged her guardian tightly. In Rider's arms, the ghosts of the house seemed to retreat. Here, she wasn't being judged or coddled; she was simply protected, understood in a way no one else could manage. The warmth of the embrace chased away the lingering chill of her nightmares, making her feel completely and utterly safe.

Finally, Sakura sagged against her, the last of the tension breaking as a few silent tears traced paths down her cheeks. She leaned into the embrace, finding a solid, unwavering anchor in the chaos of her own memories. Together, they stood in the quiet of the night, two souls marked by tragedy, finding a moment of peace in each other's silent company as they watched the distant, unblinking stars.

Shirou was dreaming, or rather, he was witnessing another's dream. 

He was not in Fuyuki, not in Japan at all. He stood on a grassy hill under a sky of pale, northern blue, in a place his own memory held no claim to, yet felt achingly familiar. There was a weight in the air, a solemn importance that pressed on him like the moments before a coronation or a funeral. At the base of the hill stood a lake, its waters so deep and serene they seemed to drink the light from the sky. He scanned the landscape, and a second glance was all it took for recognition to slam into him with the force of a physical blow.

A rough-hewn stone sat near the water's edge, and from it protruded an ornamental golden sword. He had never seen it before, yet his soul knew it instantly. It was the sword of Uther Pendragon, but more famously, the blade of his heir. Caliburn, the Sword of Selection.

Its hilt was smaller and more ornate than that of the more famous Excalibur, decorated with delicate, golden filigree that spoke of ceremony, not war. The moment he laid eyes on it, his magic circuits resonated with a low, reverent hum. He could feel the power within the blade, a contained, brilliant flame waiting for the touch of its rightful wielder.

A small figure stood before it. It took him a moment to resolve her form against the bright landscape, but he knew her. This was not the dark knight of his present, nor the holy king he had fought beside previously. This was Artoria as a wide-eyed girl, clad in a simple, practical white tunic, her blonde hair catching the breeze as she faced her destiny.

She stepped forward, her small hand turning as if to grasp the handle, when a voice spoke from nearby. Ahead, a figure in a large white cloak knelt in the grass, his features obscured by a deep hood. "The man who pulls this sword from the stone is the true King of Britain," the words carried the weight of prophecy, the final decree of Uther Pendragon as he lay dying from the betrayal of his own brother, Vortigern, at the sacking of Londonium.

Artoria said nothing, simply staring at the sword. The man spoke again, his tone softer, laced with a weary sadness. "Artoria, you should consider it once more before you take it. There is no going back once you touch that sword. You will no longer be human."

Shirou listened, a silent observer in a memory not his own. The words didn't sit right with him. No longer human? His own analytical mind, the part of him that was a magus, questioned the logic. Caliburn was a magnificent weapon, a powerful mystery, but it was still a man-made blade, forged by mortal hands. No matter how much power was poured into it, it could not fundamentally transform its wielder into something more.

Unless the transformation that the man spoke of was more symbolic than literal… in which case that made a lot of sense in explaining how Saber… no… Artoria saw herself.

She finally answered, her voice clear and firm, carrying across the quiet hill with a resolve that defied her youth. “Yes. I have come to take this sword because I desire it so. I will become the king this country needs. Saxons, Picts, and our own countrymen will threaten us no more.”

She reached out without another moment’s hesitation. Her fingers closed around the golden hilt, and with a single, fluid motion, she drew the blade from the stone. There was no resistance, only the clean, soft shing of steel sliding free. She lifted it high, and the sunlight caught the polished blade, casting a brilliant, blinding glare that consumed the world.

Shirou knew, with an instinct that transcended thought, that he had just witnessed the birth of a legend. He was almost positive he’d witnessed this scene before, yet he knew he hadn't. The recollection was a phantom in his own mind, an echo without a source. Could it be ?No, this wasn't just a thought. It was a certainty, a phantom of knowledge from the future still lingering in his mind. Archer had experienced it at some point in time, that’s why it felt so familiar…

The question hung in the dream-stilled air, followed by a more urgent one. Why am I seeing it now?

The light of the sword did not fade; it transformed. The grassy hill dissolved, reforming into a vast battlefield where she now stood as he knew her, clad in kingly blue and silver armor. An army stood arrayed behind her, their voices a rising chorus of reverence and awe.

“Our King is the god of war! He is constantly in the vanguard and knows no defeat!” “There are none who can get in King Arthur’s way.” “The King never grows old!” “He is the incarnation of a dragon!”

The praise washed over her, yet she stood impassive, her hands resting on her sword, planted in the ground like a monument.

But the light of reverence casts long shadows.

The scene shifted again, the open field constricting into the cold, torchlit stone of a castle corridor. A red-haired knight, his fur-lined coat draped over his shoulders, spoke in a dejected, melancholy tone to another knight with white hair. “The King is not human,” Tristan lamented to Bedivere. “He does not understand the hearts of men.” The red-haired knight walked out, his words hanging in the air before he was gone, never to be seen again.

He thought he was out of earshot, but their blonde-haired king had heard every word from atop her throne. Her face remained a mask of indifference, but Shirou, the unseen observer, saw the truth. He saw the infinitesimal tightening of her jaw, the flicker of pain in her emerald eyes before the mask of the perfect, unfeeling king slammed back down.

The whispers of the court grew louder, souring from reverence to resentment.

“King Arthur is cold and distant.” “He is heartless.” “Arthur is a tyrant!”

Shirou didn’t understand. King Arthur stood for everything noble, for justice and chivalry. Was this really Camelot? How could her own knights, her own subjects, say such things? Unless... was this how she saw herself?

A final, vicious accusation cut through the din. “He doesn’t even carry the Sword of Selection anymore… he’s unworthy!”

The word rang out, and the world froze around it.

Unworthy.

Unworthy.

Unworthy.

The dream-Artoria's eyes went wide, the accusation landing like a physical blow to her very soul. The scene shattered and reformed one last time into a chaotic melee. She held Caliburn high, bringing it down to block a strike from a foe fighting without honor. A rule of chivalry had been broken, and the divine protection of the blade faltered. With a sickening, crystalline shriek, the Sword of Selection shattered, its pieces scattering like broken glass. The sheer shock on her face was mirrored on the faces of her knights, and on Shirou's own ethereal, dream-like form.

That same word resonated as the dream dissolved into darkness, a pulsating, overwhelming sound.

Unworthy...

Unworthy...

Unworthy…

A gasp tore from Saber’s lips as she jolted awake, the phantom shriek of shattering steel still ringing in her ears. She sat bolt upright on her futon, her body slick with a cold sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs. The dream—no, the nightmare—clung to her like a shroud, the final, echoing accusation of unworthy a fresh wound in her soul. Clad in a simple black nightgown, she pushed herself to her feet, the need for a glass of water a desperate anchor in the turbulent wake of the memory.

As her bare feet padded silently across the wooden floors, her mind spiraled. She thought of the fractured Britain she had inherited, a land bleeding from the betrayal of Uther by Vortigern, its cities sacked, its borders besieged by Picts and Saxons. She had been one of perhaps a dozen warlords who claimed a kingship, but she had been the one to unite them, some willingly, such as King Pellinore, and others through the force of her blade.

She had chosen to rule with virtue. It had earned her the fealty of the greatest knights in the realm and the adoration of her people, for a time. But was that her folly? Mordred and his allies had called her a tyrant by the end anyway. If she had to do it all again, a dark part of her wondered if she should have simply become the monster they feared to secure the future of her people.

But that wasn't her true wish. If she could truly undo it all, she would have chosen to never rule at all. She would have let someone else pull Caliburn and bear its terrible weight. Surely someone else could have done better than her, right? That was the dream that fueled her through the Fourth Holy Grail War, the hope that drove her to fight alongside a man whose methods she despised. Kiritsugu’s lack of honor had been a bitter pill to swallow, but if winning the Grail could save her country, the path to victory didn't matter.

Except, she had been denied that chance at the final moment, forced by her own Master to destroy her dream with her own hands.

The most bitter irony of all was learning, ten years later, that her dream had been a lie from the start. The Holy Grail was corrupted. Even if she had made her wish, Angra Mainyu would have twisted it, turning her desire to save Britain into an apocalypse that would have annihilated her people. With the cruel clarity of hindsight, she was now grateful to Kiritsugu. Not because she was at peace with her reign, but because his final, brutal command had saved her from becoming the architect of her kingdom's true and final doom.

She reached the kitchen, her thoughts a tangled, heavy knot. Placing an ice cube into her glass, she downed the water in a few quick gulps, letting the cold liquid wash down her throat. It did little to soothe the fire in her soul. Deciding a patrol of the house was in order, she began her quiet rounds.

There were no oddities. She passed one room to see Sakura sleeping soundly, held securely in Rider's arms. The two Servants shared a silent, mutual nod—a brief, professional acknowledgment between guardians. In another room, Rin was snoring, her ungraceful slumber a stark contrast to her usual poised demeanor. Saber let loose a small, slightly wicked smile at the sight of it.

Then she felt it—a subconscious pull, as if her legs were moving on their own, drawing her to one room in particular. She paused before the door to Shirou's room and, with a soft touch, slid it open. She tried not to make a sound, but as the twilight from the window caught his face, she saw not a resting man, but one whose eyes were wide open. He wasn’t sleeping — just lying still, staring upward, as if the ceiling held answers.

"Apologies, Master," she whispered, her voice barely disturbing the silence. "I did not mean to disturb your slumber."

"Nah, you didn't wake me up, Saber." He turned his head, and his eyes met hers, amber orbs peering into gold. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. “I don't think either of us got much sleep tonight." It felt as if he was examining her very soul, and for a terrifying moment, she felt completely exposed. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to move away. At his side, even from across the room, she felt warm, safe. The doubts and worries that had been screaming in her mind seemed to fall away, silenced by his steady gaze.

She moved closer, kneeling by the side of his futon. "Master... Shirou..." she began, her voice trembling slightly with a vulnerability she rarely allowed. "Could I... stay here with you, tonight?"

He looked at her for a long moment, truly seeing her—not the king, not the Servant, but the exhausted girl haunted by a nightmare. He saw the pleading look in her eyes, a silent cry for comfort she could not voice. "Of course, Saber."

She didn't say another word, simply sliding onto the futon beside him. With a soft sigh, she settled between his side and the blankets, resting her head gently on his chest. He held her tightly with his one good arm, pulling her close. In the quiet of the room, two souls who had just witnessed the same dream of a fallen king found a peaceful, shared solace, basking in the warmth of the other as they finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The air in the Clock Tower did not feel real. It was too old, too heavy, steeped in the dust of forgotten rituals and the lingering scent of ozone. Just three days after leaving Fuyuki, Rin Tohsaka stood alone in the center of a cavernous lecture hall, the stone beneath her feet worn smooth by the footsteps of generations of mages who had come before her to learn, to teach, or to be judged.

Today, she was here to be judged. 

Tiered benches rose up around her in a suffocating semi-circle, filled with the shadowed, murmuring figures of the Mages' Association elite. Muted magelight glowed from enchanted sconces, casting long, distorted shadows that made the room feel less like a place of learning and more like an ancient amphitheater built for a sacrifice.

Rin kept her posture impeccable, her hands clasped calmly behind the back of her more ornate red jacket, the formal wear she kept for occasions such as this. She had spent the flight meticulously preparing, pushing down the grief and exhaustion from the war and replacing it with the cold, calculating focus of a magus. She was Rin Tohsaka, the Second Owner of Fuyuki and the last of her line. She would not show weakness here. She stood firm, but inside, the knot of dread hadn’t loosened since she stepped into the chamber.

"Rin Tohsaka," a voice boomed from the central podium, echoing in the vast space. It belonged to Lord Brishisan, the elderly head of the Department of Lore, a man whose face seemed permanently carved into a mask of weary disapproval. "You stand before this council to account for the events of the Fifth Fuyuki Holy Grail War. The official report details a catastrophic breach of the Veil, the destruction of significant portions of the city, and the confirmed deaths of dozens of mundanes. As the legally recognized manager of the Fuyuki lands, this failure falls squarely upon your shoulders. Have you anything to say in your defense?"

The whispers in the stands grew louder. Rin could feel their collective judgment pressing down on her—the weight of tradition, of expectation, of failure.

She lifted her chin, her gaze sweeping across the shadowy figures before landing back on Lord Brishisan. "I do," she said, her voice clear and steady, betraying none of the cold fear coiling in her stomach.

"The failures in Fuyuki were indeed catastrophic," Rin began, her tone crisp and factual. "However, they were not the result of mismanagement, but of a legacy of deception and corruption that predates my stewardship by sixty years."

She laid out her case with the precision of a surgeon. "The origin of this disaster lies with the Third Holy Grail War, when the Einzbern master summoned a villainous Servant—Angra Mainyu, an incarnation of All The World's Evil. Upon its defeat, Angra Mainyu's essence permanently poisoned Fuyuki’s Greater Grail, twisting its function from a wish-granting device into a vessel for a world-ending curse."

She paused, deliberately omitting Illya’s revelation about the Grail’s true purpose of reaching the Root. That information was best left out for now. There would be enough vultures descending upon Fuyuki for it soon enough, best not to add kerosine to that particular fire.

"This critical information," she stated, her voice hardening, "was never disclosed to the Tohsaka family. The Second Owners were left to manage a contaminated ritual site without ever being informed of the poison in the well. This corruption persisted into the Fourth War, where disaster was only narrowly averted when the victor, Kiritsugu Emiya, chose to destroy the manifesting Grail rather than make a wish."

A nervous stir went through the room at the mention of the Magus Killer, a name that still carried a terrifying reverence. The unspoken implication—that their continued existence was owed to his infamous pragmatism—was not lost on them.

"This brings us to the Fifth War," Rin continued, turning her sights on the true conspirators. "The Church's appointed overseer, Kirei Kotomine, was not an impartial party. As a veteran of the Fourth War, he was fully aware of the Grail's corruption and actively concealed it, manipulating events to escalate the conflict. His co-conspirator was Zouken Matou—a magus I believe this council knows by the name Makiri."

A low murmur rippled through the hall at the mention of one of the founding families, a figure not seen in London for centuries.

"Zouken sought to achieve immortality by binding himself to the dark spirit within the Grail," Rin explained, her voice sharp. "To achieve this, he further polluted the system by transforming his heir into a false Lesser Grail, poisoning her with the Grail’s essence and controlling her through his crest worms. He did not care that the destruction of humanity would be the cost of his wish." She let the weight of that accusation settle. Even among mages, Zouken's methods were considered extreme, a fact she knew many in the room would concede.

"As soon as the true nature of this decades-long conspiracy became clear," Rin concluded, driving her final point home, "I ceased all hostilities with the other legitimate Masters. I forged alliances to contain the crisis and ultimately, we succeeded in disabling the corrupted Grail before it could bring about a world-ending catastrophe.”

A skeptical voice from the panel asked, “And what became of Zouken Matou?”

“To give Father Kotomine a sliver of credit," Rin answered coolly, "for as dark as his own desires were, he did ultimately kill Zouken by exorcising his soul. The last of the crest worms were destroyed by his heir when she finally broke free from his control.”

“And this heir?” the voice pressed. “The false Lesser Grail. What became of her?”

Rin felt a protective surge, forcing her expression to remain neutral. “She lives,” she said carefully. “She is, however, still recovering from her ordeal. I would request oversight of her be left to myself, as the manager of the land.” She knew the request was thin, but she had to try.

A long silence followed her testimony. Then, a new voice, sharp and cold as shattering ice, cut through the quiet.

"A convenient and well-rehearsed narrative," the voice drawled. From the highest tier, a woman with bright brunette hair looked down at her, her matching brown eyes filled with disdain. Lorelei Barthomeloi, the Vice-Director of the Clock Tower, and head of the Artistocratic Faction, revered by many as the “Queen” of the Clocktower. From just a look, Rin knew that she had already made up her mind before she even began her testimony.

"You speak of deception and the failures of others," Lorelei continued, "but you ignore the central failure of your own name. A Tohsaka of old would have been prepared. A proper Second Owner would have detected the taint on their own land. You did not. Your father died, your family withered, and you allowed a disaster to unfold under your very nose. It seems to me as though you have only yourself to blame for failure to properly execute a storied magical tradition."

The accusation was personal, a direct strike at her pride. Rin's hands tightened into fists behind her back. The mask of the perfect, polite honor student cracked.

"With all due respect, Vice-Director," Rin’s voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs, "you speak of legacy as if it is a shield against a sixty-year-old deception. By the time I was made aware of the Grail's true nature, the corruption had already manifested into a perversion of the Third Magic itself. We were not facing a simple rogue magus; we were facing an ancient evil amplified by a contaminated Grail. My allies and I risked life, limb, and our very souls containing a threat that traditions were utterly blind to, and an even greater crisis was only averted through my allies' sacrifice of said life and limb. So please, do not speak to me of the failure of the Tohsaka name. My name survived."

A shocked silence fell over the hall. Before Lorelei could deliver a scathing retort, the great doors at the back of the chamber slammed open with a deafening boom that shook the very stone.

An old man stood silhouetted in the doorway. He was not grinning. His eyes held no amusement, only the ancient, weary weight of centuries. The air in the room grew heavy, the pressure immense, as if a five-star general had just entered a room of unruly recruits. Every whisper died. Every gaze, including Lorelei's, snapped to the newcomer with a mixture of shock and fearful deference. “What a fuss you’ve stirred over this…”

Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Wizard Marshall, strode into the room, his cane tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on the stone floor. His authority was absolute.

"You are debating the color of the stable doors after the chimera has already burned down the countryside," Zelretch stated, his voice quiet but carrying an absolute power that cut through the tension. He stopped a few feet from Rin but addressed the entire council. "The Fuyuki situation is concluded."

He pointed his cane at Rin, not in accusation, but in declaration. "Rin Tohsaka is now my responsibility. Her future belongs to me. You will grant her a full acquittal of all charges. This matter is closed."

Lorelei shot to her feet, her face a mask of disbelief and fury. "Lord Zelretch!" she exclaimed, her voice tight with outrage. "You cannot simply dismiss this case before the council has reached a verdi—"

Zelretch turned his head just enough to pin her with a gaze that felt older than the stones of the building. His voice was deathly quiet. "I can. And I have. Do not test my patience on this, Lorelei."

The Queen of the Clock Tower stood frozen, her protest dying in her throat. She felt verbally slapped, as if the use of her first name was equivalent to a child being scolded by their parent by using their middle name. She slowly, stiffly, sat back down, her knuckles white where she gripped the arms of her seat, utterly silenced.

The tension in her spine snapped all at once. She realized she hadn't exhaled in nearly a minute. Zelretch’s presence still echoed in the stone, but the room itself had fallen quiet — not with judgment now, but with awe.

She was safe, and had a path to freedom for those she held dear. And she had just been claimed. Her new life in London, under the watchful eye of a deathly serious and notoriously difficult master, had just begun.

Zelretch’s study was a place that defied logic. Located at the very apex of the Clock Tower, the large, circular room was lined with towering shelves of books that seemed to groan under the weight of impossible knowledge. The single, vast window behind his heavy oak desk did not look out upon the grey skies of London, but upon a swirling nebula of stars, the silent, slow dance of galaxies providing the room’s only light. 

Rin stood before the desk, having been led there in a stunned silence after the trial’s abrupt conclusion. She offered a deep, formal bow. "Lord Zelretch," she began, her voice filled with sincere gratitude. "I do not have the words to express my thanks for your intervention. You saved both my life and the honor of my family name."

Zelretch, who had been staring into the cosmic vista, turned slowly. The ancient weariness in his eyes seemed to deepen. "Do not thank me, girl. I did not intervene for your sake, but for the sake of stability. The vultures in this place would have torn Fuyuki apart picking at the scraps, and that would have been... inconvenient, at this stage." He gestured to a leather chair opposite his desk. "Sit."

Rin did as she was told, her posture remaining ramrod straight. Her shoulders remained tight, coiled as if expecting a blow. She didn’t trust him. Not fully. But she trusted that he wanted her alive—and that, for now, was enough. She would hear him out.

"Two hundred years," Zelretch mused, his gaze becoming distant. "It has been two hundred years since I stood with your ancestor, Nagato Tohsaka, alongside Justeaze von Einzbern and Zouken Makiri to create that ritual. A grand experiment. A path to the Root." He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I never imagined it would spiral into such a catastrophe—though perhaps I should have. There is a reason I entrusted Nagato with the path to the second magic, and not the other two.”

His ancient eyes settled on Rin, and for the first time, she felt he was truly seeing her. "You have inherited the kind heart of your ancestor, but you and your sister have far surpassed him as magi."

He leaned forward slightly, the starlight from the window glinting in his eyes. "The Fuyuki Holy Grail system, for all its flaws, is an efficient method of brute-forcing a miracle. It is not, however, unique. Theoretically, any magus with a vast enough supply of mana and the correct knowledge could create their own Holy Grail. That is why the Association is so diligent, so ruthless, in policing the misuse of magecraft. A single failure can threaten the world."

His gaze sharpened. "Yet even among failures, there are sparks of brilliance. Recreating my Jeweled Sword, even momentarily, is no small thing. It took me decades. You and the boy did it in desperation. I am profoundly impressed."

Spoken like fact, the praise struck harder than any insult. Cold certainty always hit deeper than flattery.

"I will teach you," Zelretch stated simply. "Unreasonably difficult magecraft. Things I have never taught to another soul. Your potential is wasted on the dogma of this place." He raised a single, cautionary finger. "Be warned. My training is exceptionally difficult. It will push you to the very brink of your limits. Furthermore, I cannot teach you the Second Magic. There are no 'spots' for a new Magician, and I have no interest in creating a successor. You will be my student, not my heir. Do you accept these terms?"

Rin’s heart hammered in her chest. This was a crossroads of impossible significance. The path he offered was one of hardship with no guarantee of the ultimate prize. But to a true magus, there was only one answer.

"I am deeply honored, Lord Zelretch. I accept," she said without hesitation. "The pursuit of knowledge is its own reward. The difficulty of the path does not matter." Secretly, a familiar, arrogant thought sparked in her mind. And if I can touch the Second Magic once on my own, perhaps I can do so again, without your direct guidance. She wonders if he was counting on such a thought in her head.

A rare, faint smile touched Zelretch’s lips. He was impressed. "That answer is why you are worth my time. Most magi would balk at such a journey without the promise of a miracle at its end," he said, nodding slowly. "You truly are Nagato's descendant."

The flicker of approval vanished, replaced by something heavier—a scholar’s burden or a warlock’s warning. "Listen closely, my new apprentice. When the full truth of what happened in Fuyuki eventually spreads, and it will, others will come. Even tainted, the Greater Grail is now a relic of impossible magical density—a cataclysmic myth buried under Fuyuki. The allure of such a prize... even the most dignified families will not be able to resist it. Your fight to protect your home is far from over."

Zelretch's warning hung in the star-dusted air of his study, a grim but expected prophecy. Rin wasn't naive.

"I have considered that," Rin replied, her composure returning. "The wards around the cavern are my own design, reinforced by knowledge from my family's oldest texts. No one will reach the Greater Grail without my knowing." She met his ancient gaze, and for the first time since entering the room, her confidence wavered, replaced by a deep, gnawing anxiety. But even the looming threat of relic hunters didn’t gnaw at her gut the way the next words did. "That's not what I'm truly worried about."

Her voice dropped, losing its sharp edge. "At the trial... I had to reveal certain details about my sister, Sakura. Her connection to the Grail, Zouken's modifications... I said only what was necessary, but I fear it was too much." She looked down at her hands, the memory of Lorelei's cold, inquisitive stare sending a chill through her. "The Association does not look kindly on such abnormalities. I'm worried they'll issue a Sealing Designation. That they'll take her away to be studied."

The thought was a venomous thing. Rin had already fought through a living hell to save her sister. She would do it again, would burn the whole Clock Tower to the ground if she had to, but even the mighty Tohsaka heiress couldn't fight the entire Mages' Association on her own and win.

"I can assist with that as well," Zelretch stated simply, as if discussing the weather. His casual tone was a stark contrast to the life-or-death fear gripping Rin's heart. "But my protection comes with conditions. You have been... strategically discreet so far. Continue to be."

He leaned back in his chair, his ancient eyes seeming to peer through Rin and across the world, back to a small city in Japan. "Say nothing of the knight who should not walk, or the boy who should not breathe. The world is kinder when it forgets its miracles."

The words were a quiet confirmation of what she already suspected. He knew. He knew everything. The casual, precise mention of Shirou sent a jolt through her, a stark reminder of the impossible gulf in power between them. And yet, it was oddly reassuring. The statement wasn't a threat; it was spoken in confidence, a shared secret. Zelretch was the Magician of the Second Magic, a being who had witnessed countless ages of magecraft. He had no need to dissect the people close to his new apprentice for study, and he was not bound by the Association's dogma. His knowledge wasn’t a threat. It was leverage. And, for now, it was aimed in her favor.

"As long as those particular... irregularities... remain a local Fuyuki matter," Zelretch continued, "I will ensure the Association's gaze remains fixed on the more 'official' problem of dealing with the remnants of the Greater Grail itself. They will be too busy squabbling over the bigger prize to concern themselves with a recovering girl. Of course, as Second Owner of the Land, you will be consulted in all official discussions regarding the matter."

A profound sense of relief washed over Rin, so potent it almost made her dizzy. Sakura was safe for now, as long as she did her part.

Zelretch stood, the audience concluded. "Go. Rest. You have one week. My training is not for the weary. Be here at dawn, seven days from today."

Rin rose and gave another deep, respectful bow. "Thank you again, Lord Zelretch. For everything."

She turned and walked away, her steps now lighter, filled with a new and powerful sense of purpose. Her new life in London would be a battlefield of politics and impossibly difficult training. She had to restore her family's finances, navigate the factions of the Clock Tower, and live up to the expectations of a living legend. But she would do it.

For now, she had to trust them. Trust that Fuyuki wouldn’t burn while she learned how to survive a fire of a different kind. She had her own work to do, continents away. And if anyone could conquer the Lion's Den in London and restore the Tohsaka name to its former glory, it was Rin Tohsaka.

The Fuyuki night was quiet, deceptively so. Streetlights cast long, lonely pools of orange across empty sidewalks as Shirou and Saber made their rounds. The rhythm of the patrol was familiar—an echo of nights spent tracking rogue Masters or chasing the Shadow’s trail. Now, the enemy was different: formless, primal beasts born from a dying Grail, but the roles were the same, even though they were vastly different people. He was the vanguard, and she was his invincible sword.

Shirou’s gaze scanned the dark alleys and quiet rooftops. With Rin gone, a new weight of responsibility had settled on his shoulders. Sakura had been diligent in her own training, practicing the formal magecraft from Rin's books and working on her battle coordination with Rider, but he and Saber were reluctant to lean on her too heavily. It wasn't just because she was still recovering; it was a matter of pride for the two of them. They wanted to be the ones that could be relied upon to protect. Plus, the thought of having to rely on Caren for anything was a possibility neither of them was willing to entertain.

So it was just the two of them now, patrolling Fuyuki. Him in a black jacket and jeans, and her in the draconic black armor of the Altered King.

"I wonder what Tohsaka is up to right now," Shirou mused, breaking the comfortable silence. "Probably at some high-society ball, drinking expensive tea and arguing with stuffy old men about the proper way to set down a rune."

"Are such activities commonplace in modern Britain?" Saber asked, her tone curious.

Shirou scratched the back of his head. "I'm not really sure, Saber. I've never been. But I imagine it's a lot different now than when you ruled."

Saber considered this for a moment, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon. "I have been summoned to this era twice, yet I have not set foot in Britain since the Battle of Camlann," she said, her voice softer than usual, tinged with a distant wistfulness. "I imagine it has changed a great deal. I would like to see it someday, perhaps." She had never allowed herself to think of such things during the war; the quest for the Grail had consumed every part of her. Now, with that all-consuming goal gone, what was she left to do now? She satisfied herself by being with Shirou, but eventually she knew she would need to have something else in her life. "But that is a thought for another time. My ambition now is to protect you and your interests here in Fuyuki."

Her declaration was simple, a statement of unshakeable fact. Before Shirou could respond, a low rumble broke the quiet of the night. It grew steadily louder, the distinct sound of powerful engines. A moment later, two sleek motorcycles rounded the corner, followed by a long, black limousine that slid to a silent, imposing halt beside them.

The back window scrolled down with a soft whir. Inside sat a man with an old face, clad in a tiger-skin vest over his ordinary gray robes, a sharp gaze. A wide, almost predatory grin stretched across his face. Shirou knew the old man instantly, Raiga Fujimura.

Shirou’s posture tensed immediately. Taiga’s grandfather was intense, but he meant well. As Kiritsugu's oldest and closest friend, Raiga had looked after Shirou from a distance since his father's death, managing the legal and financial side of the Emiya estate with ruthless efficiency. Shirou knew he wasn't a bad person, but he had never been able to get comfortable with the fact that he was the undisputed head of the Fujimura Group, the most powerful yakuza syndicate in the region.

"Shirou-boy!" Raiga's voice boomed from the car. "Burning the midnight oil, I see. Hop in. You and I are overdue for a man-to-man chat."

It wasn't a request. Shirou felt a familiar sense of resignation; when Raiga Fujimura wanted to talk, you listened.

Beside him, Saber had shifted her stance almost imperceptibly. Her body was coiled like a spring, blade held in hand, her gaze cold and analytical as she assessed the men on the motorcycles. Each was sharply dressed in thick motorcycle jackets, with firearms concealed just beneath. To her, these were armed retainers of a powerful lord, their honor and intentions unknown. They were a potential threat.

Raiga’s eyes flickered to her, his grin widening with genuine appreciation. "And bring your muscle with you," he chuckled, nodding towards Saber. "A pretty lady who can watch your back. I can respect that."

Shirou let out a quiet sigh. "He’s not a threat, Saber. He’s... family."

Saber did not look convinced, but she gave a single, stiff nod, relaxing her stance and dismissing her sword. Shirou opened the door to the limousine, the scent of expensive leather and old whiskey washing over him as he and his guardian stepped out of the quiet night and into the den of the tiger.

Raiga settled back into his seat, his sharp eyes appraising the quiet, armored woman sitting beside Shirou. "So," he began, his jovial tone returning, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Raiga Fujimura." He extended a hand.

Saber met his gaze but did not take his hand, keeping her gauntletted hands squared on her chest. "You may call me Saber," she stated, her voice flat and formal.

Raiga chuckled, withdrawing his hand without any offense. "Saber, huh? An odd name for a pretty lady." He winked at Shirou. "Still, I suppose I have you to thank for keeping this boy in one piece. Mostly." He gestured to Shirou's empty sleeve, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Shirou chuckled awkwardly, a nervous habit he couldn't shake around the old yakuza boss. Saber remained silent, golden eyes sharp and unblinking

Raiga's expression sobered, the playful energy vanishing in an instant. "Alright, kid, let's cut the crap," he said, his voice dropping to a low, serious rumble. He looked pointedly at Shirou's left side. "That car crash story is bullshit. I know just about everything that happens in this city. A crash bad enough to take a man's arm... my people would have heard about it. They would have seen it."

He leaned forward, and for the first time, Shirou saw a look of genuine pain in the old man's eyes as he stared at the injury. "Kiritsugu... before he passed, he asked me to look after you. To see you like this... I feel like I let him down."

The mention of his father seemed to break the tension. Shirou managed a small, sad smile. "You didn't let him down, Raiga-san. He knew... he knew this was a possibility."

"Heh. That he did," Raiga said, a nostalgic grin returning to his face. "Always preparing for the worst, that man. Remember that time he tried to build that 'self-sufficient irrigation system' in the garden? Flooded the whole damn yard and half the street."

Shirou laughed, a real, genuine laugh. "He said it was a 'minor miscalculation in fluid dynamics'. Taiga was furious for a week."

As the two of them shared fond memories of Kiritsugu's final, quiet years, Saber remained silent, a stoic observer. The man they spoke of was a stranger to her. The Kiritsugu Emiya she had known was a cold, pragmatic magus, a ruthless assassin who saw her as nothing more than a tool. This man—this kind, tired, and slightly clumsy old man who fumbled with garden projects and doted on his son—was someone she had never been allowed to meet. The stories reminded her of Sir Ector, the knight who had raised her. To a young Artoria, he was the definition of what a knight should be, and she had tried to carry his principles with her to the throne. She understood now, well and truly, that the Shirou she met a month ago had inherited his dreams and ideals from his adoptive father much the same as hers, but without the pain and weight of sacrifice that Kiritsugu carried.

Raiga's laughter subsided, and he sighed, his gaze returning to Shirou. "Realistically, I know you lost your arm in one of the same battles Kiri used to fight. I also know there's damn-all a man like me can do to stop a man like you from fighting them." He shook his head. "You're made of the same stubborn, righteous stuff he was. Your world... I don’t understand a lick of it.. Nor do I want to.."

Shirou stayed silent at the admission, his face betraying neither shock, nor confusion. It was pointless to try to lie, but he couldn’t very well begin to explain even half of what truly went on, but Raiga was grateful, because he didn’t want Shirou to. He looked at Shirou, his eyes filled with a new, profound respect. "My people saw enough. Lasers, earthquakes, fire in the forest... It was war, wasn’t it?…”

He looked at Shirou, eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude.

“I know you just went through hell, Shirou. I know a lot of people got hurt, but… You kept my granddaughter out of it. You protected her. You gave an arm for this city. Most wouldn’t give a finger. For that, I cannot thank you enough, young man." Raiga leaned forward, offering his hand once more. Shirou took it, and shook it, the firmness of the old man’s grip underlining his sincerity.

“Of course, Raiga-san. She’s important to me too.”

The yakuza boss leaned back in his seat once more. “Your old man… He was a frequent associate of mine before his retirement. When he came to me after the fire… I helped him settle everything and get out. We had an understanding in those days… I’d have his back, and he’d help us out if anything… ‘extra’... showed up, thankfully it didn’t.”

“You’re a man now, Shirou. You’ve got the scars of war to prove it, but if you ever need my help with anything, especially protecting this city, it’s yours.”

Shirou felt the weight of the offer, the passing of a torch from one generation to the next. "Thank you, Raiga-san," he said, his voice earnest. "It means a lot."

Raiga simply nodded, a gruff but sincere smile on his face. "No, Shirou. Thank you." He tapped on the glass partition. "Drop 'em off at the corner up here," he called to the driver.

The limousine slid to a silent stop on a quiet residential street corner. As Shirou and Saber stepped out, the cool night air felt fresh after the heavy atmosphere of the car. Just as Shirou closed the door, the window scrolled down again.

"Shirou-boy!" Raiga called out. "Left you a little something back at the house. Something to show my gratitude. Use it well!"

Before Shirou could ask, the window slid up, and the limousine pulled away, its motorcycle escort revving their engines before following it into the darkness.

“Are you alright?” Saber asked softly, once the car disappeared.

“Yeah,” Shirou answered. “Just thinking... about the kind of man I need to become.” He wasn’t a hero of justice, but could he be a hero for his city? For the people he cares about? He didn’t know for sure, but the possibility soothed something deep in his soul.

The rest of their patrol was quiet. The city slept peacefully, giving no hint of the beasts that lurked in its shadows or the secret wars fought on its streets. When they finally returned to the Emiya Manor, the house was dark and still. Shirou was exhausted, the emotional weight of his conversation with Raiga settling over him.

As he stepped into the main living area, he stopped. There on the low table, where nothing had been before, sat a long object wrapped in fine, black silk.

He approached it slowly, Saber at his side, her expression curious. He knelt and carefully unwound the silk ties. Beneath the cloth was a black lacquered scabbard, simple but flawlessly crafted. He drew the blade.

It was a katana, its steel a deep, dark grey that seemed to drink the moonlight filtering through the window. But what caught his breath was the hamon, the temper line along the edge. It was not the usual soft white or grey of folded steel, but a vibrant, jagged line of blood-red that looked as if it were still liquid, still hot from the forge.

Shirou stared, mesmerized by its dangerous beauty. Beside him, he heard Saber let out a sharp, quiet gasp.

"This forging style... the shape of the tang, the depth of the steel's color, and that crimson edge..." she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. She had seen countless legendary weapons, but this one resonated with a unique, violent legacy. "There are tales, even in the Throne of Heroes, of a line of Japanese swordsmiths whose blades were gifted to Shoguns. They were said to be cursed, to crave the blood of their enemies with a will of their own."

She met his gaze, her golden eyes wide with the gravity of her discovery.

"Shirou," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "This is a Muramasa blade."