Disclaimer:
Fate/stay night and Fate/hollow ataraxia are and its related concepts and ideas are the intellectual properties of Kinoko Nasu, Type-MOON, Notes Ltd. and other respective rights holders. This story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment, and not for any sort of monetary profit. If anything, consider this free advertising.
Birthday Well Wishes
“Where am I going?!”
“Silence!”
For not the first time in his life, Emiya Shirou was kidnapped in his sleep.
July 20, 04:00:40
Though, to say that he had been stolen from his bed in the dead of night was inaccurate. He was actually plucked from the floor of his shed where he had fallen asleep, and from a temporal standpoint the hostage taking had actually occurred in the early morning, as indicated by the above timestamp. Still, what was undeniable was that he was boldly treated like a third-rate, third-world criminal, with a rucksack pulled over his head, a chemical-dampened cloth soaked with sleeping agents pressed against his face, his hands bound behind his back, and his ragdoll body thrown out the backyard and over the wall like a bag of luggage. To add the proverbial insult to the literal injury he sustained from crunching into a bush growing along the side of the wall when he was thrown over said wall, he was still quite cognizant enough to feel the impact and pain of his descent. Clearly his captor didn’t care enough for the well-being of their target to actually put him all the way to sleep.
His muffled complaint — and wordless criticism of their kidnapping technique — was met with a bootheel to his ribs.
“Hrrrrnguuuh,” he tried to argue, but his tongue was on strike, and his words, with nowhere else to go, helplessly slid down his gullet.
Shirou was pushed, and Shirou fell. He did not fall far. Rather, he plopped helplessly onto a cushion so fluffy soft that it tried to swallow him whole, amoeba-like. His inner ears told him that he was soon righted and his ear-ears and semi-numbed lap told him that the muffled click and tightening pressure around aforementioned lap was the sound and sensation of a seatbelt being carefully locked into place. Seated as he was now, properly vertical and horizontal where he should be vertical and horizontal, the fluffy soft cushion was deprived of a would-be meal and left to starve a little while longer, with no recourse but to ineffectually attempt phagocytosis on Shirou’s butt and hamstrings.
He must have been in the belly of some great animal, for it growled, and was then off. The sound of its tires rolling over asphalt joined the sound, and the vehicle rocked slightly with each turn of street and rise or fall of road over the hilly terrain of Miyama and elsewhere.
“Glmmghph.” The half-heartedly administered drugs still kept him sort of silent, mostly harmless, and completely helpless.
The following wait was painfully protracted. Enough that—
July 20, 05:59:14
—over an hour of the ride was spent in silence. If Shirou had to guess, he’d guess that his captors had not needed to make many stops. He’d go so far as to even guess that they didn’t even need to slow down once until the final leg of their journey, when the change in the quality of roads was physically detectable. From pavement to dirt and gravel he was spirited away even further.
The vehicle stopped. The door opened. The hostage that he was was dragged out by force (but not before he is gently unlocked from the seatbelt). The sensorial deprivational lull that made his mind hazy and antsy at once was partly relieved by the chill freshness of being outside once more.
“Where am I going?!” he had finally been able to ask, after the longest time.
“Silence!” a voice distorted by either electronics or thaumaturgy snapped back at him. An accomplice pushed him in the shoulder and urged his along the cobbled path.
As the narrative caught up to itself, so too for the first time since he became caught up in this act, Shirou was thankful. He could have been half-heartedly drugged and left to sprawl on the ground like a sock monkey again for his insolence, but wasn’t. They needed him to walk. It wasn’t far, but with no way to see and his only recourse being to go one step at a time it seemed to him to take twice as long despite the urgency with which they pushed him ever forward.
Now, stairs he almost tripped over. Made of pavement, too. He felt with the tip of his toes as he ascended, as quickly as he could so as to not anger them. Soon enough he was over them, then indoors, then pushed to the tiled floor, then a bright light shone down on him, and then was finally granted the privilege of having the bag pulled off of his head.
The sight before him shocked him, but did not surprise him.
“Sella? Leysritt?” Shirou asked. He’d recognize the uniforms of those maids in a split second, but the M-38s they had strapped to their faces threw their identities somewhat into question.
“Good morning, Master Emiya.” Sella said, with the curtest of curt nods, her voice still a tad garbled by the vintage rubber.
“Shirou.” Leysritt said, with a slight bob of her head, and probably with a small smile if it could be seen behind the gas mask.
“What’s the big deal?!” After confirming that the Einzbern retainers really were the two before him, Shirou proclaimed exasperatedly, confused, “Kidnapping someone and calling them ‘Master’ seamlessly?! And what’s with those gas masks?! Why don’t you just strap a collar and lead onto me while you’re at it?”
“Tempted as I may be to treat you like the beast you are, I assure you that our garb serves a wholly functional purpose.”
“That being?”
“Obfuscation of our identities as we conducted our raid.”
Shirou sat up and hollered. “So you admit that it was a kidnapping! Tell me you didn’t drive wearing that! When it’s completely dark out, too!”
“I will not answer your pointless questions,” Sella and Leysritt pulled the masks off and stowed them away in a shady-looking duffel bag labeled ‘Property of Illyasviel von Einzbern’ which was coolly set aside into one of the many closets the room Shirou was taken to boasted. “We can spare no time humoring your barbarian drivel on this crucial day.”
His observation was wrong. Those were not closets, but pantries, and this room had so many of them that the reason why it should have so many of them should be totally obvious to anyone.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Shirou noted, “but why?”
“Is that truly not so obvious to you?” Sella’s glare was more displeased than contemptuous, but it was early in the day. Very early.
“Not as obvious as why a kitchen should look like a kitchen, no.” Shirou said and gave a shrug. Leysritt trotted over to him with a key and proceeded to undo the handcuffs that had he had worn since his internment from Fuyuki to the castle. Those handcuffs, too, were placed into the very same stowed-away duffel bag.
“We are to prepare the refreshments and meals for Lady Illyasviel’s birthday celebrations!” Sella said with a hearty humph, her expression colder yet more inflamed than it had been before.
Shirou rubbed where the metal had bitten into his wrists. “Why?” His scowl put on a good show, trying to rival Sella’s own in sternness.
“Why?” Sella repeated, displeased with him.
“Obviously I know it’s her birthday. I’m not a fool,” Shirou said. “But we already had something planned for Illya today. What’s with this?”
“Oh, yes. I saw your purported itinerary. I was unimpressed.”
Poor Shirou felt as if Sella had just grabbed his testes and squeezed.
“P-Pardon me?”
“What I clearly mean is that these planned festivities are not up to the standards frequented by the Einzberns!”
“What do you think is wrong with them?”
“Have you taken an objective look at your guest list, for starters? Did you truly plan to host so many people just in your house?”
“It’ll be a little crowded,” Shirou admitted, “but everything should work out fine, with plenty of food for everyone who comes.”
“I have no outstanding concerns about your ability to provide for any number of your guests. Rather, the concerns I have are that there will be far too much rabble in far too small of a space, that it would be detrimental to Milady’s mental health. Such reckless carousing, such wanton merrymaking concentrated into one location, so many breathing the same air as our mistress, contaminating the space that she’s in with their lowborn humors; the mere thought of it is enough for me to suffer palpitations!!” Sella grew increasingly distressed as she rattled off the laundry-list of her concerns. Shirou was almost starting to feel sorry for the head maid of the Einzberns.
“I get that you’d have some problems with the current set-up, but what does that mean to me being here in the castle?”
“Because I have taken the liberty of relocating the celebration here to the castle, and I posted a notice informing of the change on the gate to your estate.”
“Wait, what? You what?”
“There is no need to fret,” answered the real fretter, “No unwelcome prying eyes will be able to even read the message. It is based in an alchemical process that reacts to the life signs of those who are allowed—only those on the guest list have the freedom to respond to the message.”
“That sounds like sophisticated stuff,” Shirou said, despite himself.
“One only needs to collect the appropriate genetically-dense material from each person in order to be halfway ready to perform such craft, and collecting from mere humans is child’s play.”
“So, wait, you broke into my friend’s houses to, what, draw blood, cut off locks of hair, and then boil it down in a cauldron to make ink or something?!”
“The spirit is there, but the process is grossly simplified.”
Against his better judgment, Shirou wondered about that message, if he could read it if he saw the thing on his doors. “Have, have you taken anything from me?”
“There was no need for us to,” Sella said, “Lady Illyasviel has a supply of your blood on hand, so there would be no need to collect from you before we collected you.”
It wasn’t just a squeeze anymore. Now, they were squashed flat.
No, he had to force himself to accept, now was not the time to wonder why.
Shirou put on a strong front and attempted to preemptively re-rail the conversation before the ugly truth came out. “B-Back to the matter at hand, that message you left. When anyone shows up at the appointed time, when they realize things have changed they won’t have enough time to detour all the way over here where the actual festivities are to be now held.”
He could, however, imagine an exception to this. Shirou could picture Issei pedaling along the mountainous highway on his bicycle, wearing an expression of ascetic determination. That or one of completely thorough nonplussedness. He, probably, could at least make it, but that still did not change the fact that no guests, if any, would arrive until well into the evening, too late for anything, and Shirou knew that Illya had so very much wanted to mingle with the crowd who had come to see her.
“My, my, what a loss that would be.” Sella mused, an impish grin splitting the porcelain of her smooth face.
“I’ll need to call everyone and let them know of the change!” He turned around, looking for a telephone.
“Do it later, if you must!” Sella spat, “There is a task of greater urgency at hand!!”
Sella was being a pill, yes, but he could not ignore that note of desperation that had eked its way into her wail. “What task?”
“Illya needs cake.” Leysritt explained in her brusque, Leysritt way.
“We planned to buy desserts from—”
“She can buy them anytime she wants!” Sella feverishly explained. “But a homemade cake, made by the man she—I mean, one very important to her such as you would be an infinitely superior memory for her to have on her birthday.”
Shirou nodded, but even as he did so yet another question sprung to mind. “Why didn’t we decide to do this ahead of time?”
“The cake’s freshness must be assured!”
“—you really just thought about it last minute, right?”
“I DID NOT!!”
“Not last minute. Last night.” Leys explained, her smile beatific and wise.
“L-L-Leysritt!!!”
Leysritt went on. “Last night with Illya. Her bedtime. Mentioned it. Something sweet Shirou makes, on his own, just for her. She’d love that the most.
“Sella present. Sella hears. Says nothing, tucks Illya in. We leave bedroom. Sella, turns to me. Says lots. Says it fast. Makes many new arrangements. Prepares to go right away. Takes Illya’s special bag with her. You know what’s next. Now we’re here.”
Sella, now the color of a ripe raspberry, whimpered like she was a scared puppy, and Leys’ head bobbed down land stayed down like she was a deactivated robot. For a few silent seconds Shirou could do nothing but to look into two pairs of eyes, one tearful and bashfully angry and the other lost in another world, futilely seeking answers and guidance, left all by himself to process the turn of events that occurred on the night of July 19 and the morning of July 20.
Then Leys perked up. “Better,” and the robot’s systems were confirmed to have cooled. Sella still had the appearance of a woman who had no idea who she wanted to throttle more, the partner-in-crime or the drafted baker.
In an attempt to hopefully coerce her to take a third option, Shirou spoke up. “I’m not much of a baker, and Illya knows that. Is that why she didn’t say anything until then?”
“Our lady did express a small regret, yes.” Sella confirmed.
“But,” he said. His eyes were lit up. “If she asked me for anything I’d make it in a heartbeat.” Shirou rolled his sleeves up and punched his palm in eager anticipation. For the first time that morning he cracked a smile, and when did so it was infectious. Leys smiled, too, and even Sella was unable to prevent the corners of her lips from turning up.
“Show me what to do,” he said, “and I’ll follow your lead all the way.”
“Well said, Master Emiya,” and for once, Sella’s usage of the title was truly as respectful as it indicated.
“Alright! What’s the birthday girl want from the Emiya patisserie?”
“She would prefer black cherry Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, her favorite.”
“Sounds complicated,” he said, bursting with vigor and anticipation that took the bite of uncertainty out of his words. Complicated or not, there was no stopping him.
“Leysritt, assemble the ingredients so that I may instruct Master Emiya in its preparation!”
“Understood.”
“Umm, hey, Sella?”
“Another question?”
“Don’t worry, I promise it’ll be the last one I ask you.” Shirou assured the head maid as he turned to regard her. “It’s been in the back of my mind all this time, but now I really feel the need to know. You know that I live in the same house as Saber. So, how were you able to sneak me out past her?”
“We did no such thing.” Sella answered, with a knowing smirk that was positively feline.
“Ah, Shirou, you’re here!” Saber had appeared from the other doorway that connected the kitchen to the rest of the castle. It might have even lead down to the larder, if one were to judge the situation via the fully-laden platter of deviled quail eggs and the silver tankard overflowing with golden, potent-smelling mead. Saber being Saber, she probably wasn’t here to serve others the food she bore. “Try one of these!” she said anyway, “It’s topped with caviar, sprinkled with a moth’s kiss worth of paprika dust, and blended with bacon so fine you’ll think your eyes deceive you if you espy a chunk in your creamed yolk! —just one, though,” she territorially tacked on.
“Forget the eggs, you’re here, Saber?!”
“That I am! I am the one who actually permitted this arrangement to take hold. Sella’s proposed menu is quite the elaborate spread, and though I am certain without a doubt that the refreshments and activities we ourselves had planned for Illyasviel could hold their own against hers, the charm of her story — and promise of Shirou-made Black Forest cake — won me over to them!” Saber proudly announced. Her mead sloshed in agreement.
“Then you gave them permission to kidnap me?”
“You mustn’t put it that way, Shirou. I thought it to be for the best for the parties involved in the…party.”
While Shirou wasn’t completely fine with this turn of truth, he wasn’t exactly hurting from it either. Besides, there was a wish to grant, and that was far more important than any wounded pride he may or may not have been nursing. “That’s fine, Saber. Just don’t make a habit out of it.”
Saber was about to enjoy a hearty swig when Shirou suddenly bolted straight and spun around to regard her. “Wait! Saber! Don’t worry about those snacks now!”
“Shirou?!” Saber felt his urgency, though she was reluctant to leave such fine cuisine untouched. Duty to her Master and duty to the soul of cooking conflicted within her.
“Do you remember everyone we invited?! Quickly now, call all of them and tell them about the changes! If they wanted to come before they’ll definitely need to come now! Don’t worry about the long distance!”
“U-Understood!” Saber shot out her reply and then she was off.
She grabbed a handful of the eggs on the way to find the nearest telephone.
July 20, 07:33:11
“Whip the cream, Master Emiya! Whip it like a man!”
“I’m whipping it as much as I can!”
“Sift! Shirou! Sift!”
“I’m siftiiiing!!”
“EXCALI—!!!”
“SABER, NO!!!! Not the time!”
“Forgive me, Shirou!”
“So you really are here, Emiya…”
“Good morning, Senpai. I heard that you’ve been up early.”
“Tohsaka? Sakura? Rider, too? You’re here way early. Here to provide kitchen backup?”
“Actually, Emiya, I’m hear to formally complain to the party planner.”
“I tried to stop her…”
“There, there. There’s only so much a little sister can do.”
“Do we have a problem here, Madam Tohsaka?”
“No problems to be found here, Governess, unless you count the utter scrapping of every single one of my contributions to Illyasviel’s birthday party!”
“Uh oh. Caution, Shirou.”
“Has your brain been devoured by your swollen head like some sort of grotesque amoeba, or has the inside of your skull always been a vacant hollow?! If you were to put that ill-placed pride aside for one minute you’d be able to see just how superior this change of plans has been!!”
“We can’t afford to be caught in a crossfire now! There’s venison that needs broiling, the wild boar needs to get into the marinade any second now, those vegetables won’t blanch themselves, and there’s a dozen of other things that need to be done before the V.I.P realizes that fairy tale needs its princess!”
“We brought presents, Senpai! Where do we put them? Do you need help with any of that which you just said?”
“Anywhere, and anything, Sakura! It’ll all be appreciated.”
“Flambé. Bananas Foster, please.”
“Very well then, Leysritt. Show me where it is and I’ll help you.”
“This isn’t over by a longshot, but I suppose I can put aside my feelings and help business along until everything’s gone all green.”
“EXCALI—!!!”
“SABER, NO!!!!”
“GRAAAUUGGHHH!!!!!”
“Berserker’s awake! Our time is already slipping by!”
July 20, 09:02:10
“Is that you, Issei? And did you actually let Ayako ride along with you?”
“You all have no idea how far I had to ride this bike. No idea. Whatsoever.”
“Hey, having to ride all that way next a guy as sweaty and nonplussed as this wasn’t a picnic, either.”
“Geh! The fox is here. I thought I could at least deliver my gift and stay for some time before the winds of other obligations blew me elsewhere, but it seems as if the road is calling to me sooner than expected.”
“Ayako, so wonderful to see you! As for you, Mr. President, there’s plenty to be done here that could require hands like yours.”
“What are you implying, you she-devil? Do you think that I’ll really reduce myself to a captive audience for you?”
“No, never. I think that you’ll reduce yourself to a captive audience if it means being the tipping point in the success or failure of a child’s birthday party.”
“She devil with a silver tongue, that’s what you are.”
“Forgive me, Ryuudou, but I couldn’t hear your incessant muttering over all that work that needs to be done.”
“That background noise will run silent as long as I’m on the job, but not for one second longer, Tohsaka!”
“Ayako, so wonderful to see you!”
“I-I R-REMEMBER YOU!! NOOOO!!!”
“All of you delinquents, either help or get out of the way!”
“Roger!”
“Roger!”
“Roger!”
“RAUUUUGGH!!!!!”
“The unfairness of it all! Berserker is using his preternatural skills to prep foodstuff! Why am I not allowed to?”
July 20, 10:09:53
“’Ey there, all. I hear-talk that a young lady is getting one year older some time around today?”
“The rumors are true, Lancer. You have found yourself in the right place. As for these young ladies of your own—”
“They’re my plus one! And one. And one. Not too good at math I am, ye see?”
“I am not one of your concubines! I attend this celebration with my beloved Souichirou!”
“When I saw this wonderful young man on the side of the road heading to the same place we all are, I couldn’t help but pick him up like the lost dog he was, Saber! I can’t wait to show him off to Illya!”
“D-Dog, huh?”
“Classic Fujimura, eh, Fujimura? A dog and a tiger and a cat make for one heck of a color trio, doncha think?”
“A formidable trio indeed, and one that will be a merrymaking asset to the celebration that is to come. But first, you must earn that reward. There is still much to accomplish, and little time remains before the valkyrie’s cry heralds the end of what we can do.”
“Heh! That’s fine by this guy! A little blood and sweat brings out the tang of meat and booze!”
July 20, 13:46:42
“Did, did we do it, somehow?” Shirou uttered weakly.
“I believe that must be the case,” Sella exhaustedly confirmed. “The plates have been plated–”
“Plated.” Leys said, unaffected by the hours long rush
“–and all the guests are here, sans the Servant Archer.”
“Archer, he’s… keeping out of this, he says.” Rin said, with a somewhat apologetic, matter of fact countenance. “He decided upon it even before the changes were announced. It’s his loss, I say.”
“Hush now, kill the lights! She’ll be here!”
“What’s the point? We’ll just turn them on again in a second when the guest of honor shows.”
“Silence!”
It’s a scene that happens so many times to someone every single day.
The lights were snuffed, even though they would be once again lit a moment later. It just wouldn’t be right without them.
No one said a word, but the room was loud with latent anticipation.
Those big, heavy doors that separated castle from forest, one world from the other, those separated who would soon enough be united in celebration, opened.
It’s a scene that happens so many times to someone every single day, and it’s still a moment overflowing with joy, wonder, unbridled humanity, raw and heartfelt in essence.
A single light was turned on, and that was the universal cue.
“Happy Birthday, Illya!” A thunder of voices echoed off the walls of the castle’s foyer hall and bombarded the girl this was all meant for. Never before in all its years of standing had this Einzbern castle known such pure happiness, and never would it ever again.
This cobbled-together last-minute labor of love, it was as much a treasure as it was for the one it was all brought together for.
“So many presents! I mean, guests!” Illya yelped in delight.
Then, she saw the cake that Shirou had worked so hard on, that had come to be from under the guidance of Sella and Leysritt. When she found this out she asked “Shirou, you really made this?”
“Yeah, but I had my fair share of help from these two.”
“I don’t mind at all. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much, everyone.” In response to everyone’s hard work, there was no other recourse for her than to wear the brightest smile in the world.
July 20, 23:44:44
The party went on so late, and the party’s location was so remote that it went without saying that the Einzbern castle had the most houseguests that it ever had in its long and tumultuous history. It was another pleasant first, and hopefully this streak of good things that had never happened before could keep up.
It was late. All of the guest had settled down for the night. Most were dead asleep, dead to the world that did not reside within themselves. Even the Servants were so content that they were in a state of torpor.
So close to the passing of the witching hour, Illyasviel von Einzbern remained awake.
Perhaps it was because it was her special day, still. Perhaps her naturally peppy disposition had been triggered, causing her to replay the impossibly fun hours-long events of today over and over and over again in her minds eye, causing her to remain awake even when all else were soundly sleeping. Perhaps she was still excited for something, even though there was nothing to look forward to tomorrow except sleeping in, and that was nothing worth staying up for.
Whatever the case, Illya remained awake. She quickly grew bored with her apparent-insomnia when she should instead be knocked out and dreaming happy dreams.
“Fine,” she said to herself, quietly under her breath, out of respect to the castle and its denizens who had done so much that day. “A nighttime stroll it shall be, then.”
She held a coat under her arms, though she felt that she wouldn’t need it all, even with the unseasonal coldness that plagued the castle. Right now the nighttime hallways felt much more content and warm than ever before. The pressing noise of her slippered footsteps on the floor did not sound lonely to her at all, but again, content. Illya went up steps, passed through a doorway, and stepped out onto a battlement of the castle. Sure enough, the night, usually cold, was now just gently brisk. There had been no need for her to bring the jacket with her outside for weather-related reasons, whether or not they were based in actual weather conditions or the conditions of the weather of one’s mind.
That is because there is no wind. Not even up here, at the zenith of the estate. What greets her outside is stillness. Even her forest, abnormal as it is, a witch’s forest, the woods are silent.
—This is not the stillness of peace.
—This is not stillness of latent anticipation.
—This is the stillness of fear.
Before Illya is a shadow. It flickers, staticky, out of touch with, partially removed from reality. It throbs to a schizophrenic heartbeat, a tune all of its own. It is crowned with a ring of spades as dark as it is. It is red and black blood, melting and flowing and reforming. It is quicksilver. It is crimson. It is not of this world, yet is doubtlessly birthed from its foul loins, the bastard child of a trillion damned fates. It is a god. It is a devil. It is God. It is the Devil.
Illya recognizes it. There’s no reason she wouldn’t. Not when she knows full well what this hatefully familiar thing is.
“If you’re here to invalidate my existence, then you’re quite the rude party attendee.”
It’s hard to speak to it. Its existence is so enticing that it revolts her. It revolts her so much she becomes intoxicated by it. And that’s why it revolts her, and in turn intoxicates her.
“I don’t know what you hope to gain here, with rules so entrenched that your shape is twisted down into just this. Especially here, in the domain of a Holy Grail nestled within the domain of another Holy Grail? How does a third one fit into this?”
Intoxication. Revolt. Intoxication. Revolt.
“The answer to that question is that it does not. This place is far too regulated for a dreamer like you to lucidly take over. A possibility like you is mutually incompatible with this perfect world.”
At that, it finally let out an incomprehensible sound, scoffed at her word choice, scolded her for thinking she knew better than it. She was almost inclined to agree with it.
“Forgive me for my word choice, then. This world is indeed imperfect. You’re all the proof I need. But still, this is as good as it gets for everyone else, and I’ve grown to like what they offer, if not themselves personally.”
Tentacles that were as bestial as much as they were serpentine. Corded from a thousand dark wires, with bladed claws, sharp as swords, were readied. They snapped open and closed like jaws. Even as a shadow of a shadow, a Platonic Cave’s image of a god from beyond, is whorled with immeasurable power.
“Go away, you foul Rebis! I won’t play your game!” Illya declared, her feelings resolute. 99.99999999999% resolute.
She lit her circuits on fire as she prepared for her next move. She’d leave Berserker out of this. She didn’t want him anywhere near this thing she felt such disgustingly shameful empathy for. Illya would fight as much as she could, but if power was money she was a mere food stand owner compared to this world’s richest CEO that was the shadow before her. Still, if there was to be a victim tonight, there would only be one.
…even if that one victim would lead to everyone becoming a victim.
“Hey! Hey, you!”
His sneakers clopped loudly, resolutely on the stone pathway of the battlement. He threw himself in-between her and the shadow. “Trace On!” he roared, and that pair of black and white steel appeared in his hands. His was a drop of water compared to the cup that water that Illya had compared to the Olympic pool that the shadow had, but still he armed himself, threw himself into the fray against a foe he knew nothing of, to protect the last few minutes of the young woman’s special day at all costs.
The shadow started at his appearance. It did not perceive the young man to be a threat whatsoever.
“(uds0_9eeudhdk is iiUEDYjh928771@$$#71 bin IIhwujsj*&#*&:>Hbs es OUHHbin!?@!~~~”
—rather, his presence was invigorating, soothing.
“Illya?” Shirou asked, his blades still up and drawn. “This thing–”
“Shirou.” Illya said, her voice tense, biting into her own lip.
It swayed. Back and forth. Airy, like a streamer, a flag in the wind, light as a sunbeam glimpsed through forest undergrowth.
“*&^gDdjHdgUJd&& Kommt @%%#{C Die~~~~”
It had wanted to engage her, plunder all. Now, it sung, and danced. For him, the boy who had shown up.
Then, it was gone.
“Illya. What was, what do we–?”
“It’s fine, Shirou.” Illya said with a small huff. “It’s gone now.”
“But,” he asked, wary, swords still in hand. “How exactly?”
“You might have done it in an annoying way, but you drove it off. For that, thank you, Onii-chan.”
The birthday girl thanked him for that before she gave him a hug.
“Illya,” Shirou replied, happy to receive her gratitude, but his mind still reeling. “If you say so, then it really is fine. So how about you come back inside then. It’s cold out here.”
“It’s a nice cold, now.” Illya corrected him. “But yes, that would be a splendid idea.”
July 21, 00:00:04
Illya did not let Shirou know how wistful she felt as she cast one final look into the dark forest that the shadow had temporarily retreated into.
“Illya?”
“It’s nothing, Shirou. Hm, what do you say to the two of us sharing that last piece of cake together?”
“If we eat chocolate this late we’ll be up wasting time until sunrise.”
“That’s not a no!”
As ‘the fifth’ approaches and honors ‘the fourth’, follow the true path:
– Coming Soon –
Seriously though, happy birthday, Illya!
No, I'm not late, shut up.
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Originally Posted by Lycodrake
but there's not enough Herk in it to justify that, I guess.
