Fate/Reclamation (IC)

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Returning through the streets of Westminster. People, automobiles, gray sky.

---The same sight as before.

Returning to his apartment. Well-lit entrance, staff in the main entrance of the complex, customary greetings.

---The same sight as before.

Returned home. Dead body, discarded knife, a bloody floor.

------The same sight, as before.


Arwyn closes his eyes, and takes a breath. He walks to the side of the body. With its eyes having been closed, one could almost deceive oneself into believing the man lived still.

Kneeling, with hands that could not help but tremble, Arwyn softly sifts through the remaining contents of the open suitcase, at last.

The letter. Papers, with words and a diagram. Arwyn recognized them now as the circle and the chant for the summoning ritual. Some manner of sword; the catalyst?


And---a slip of paper, with his address.

"----."

Arwyn shakes himself. The question of how had already been asked, and now its answer will never be known.


But…why…?

As though transfixed, without realizing, his gaze was drawn to the body. A feeling of nausea welled up, flooding into his mind, threatening to overwhelm him completely.

It was as though time did not exist, here, all alone, just him and what had once been a man, and a question that refused to be acknowledged.


"…why…"



……He couldn't remain like this. He had to move forward.

The papers in the suitcase served as a reminder of what he must do.

The summoning circle, first of all. It would need to be inscribed with a material suitable for conducting. Examples of such being mercury, blood, preferably of a sacrificial animal---

…Blood?

His gaze involuntarily returned to the dead man, once more.

No---that…that was unthinkable. He couldn't do that. There was no way. He'd rather---yes, he'd rather……


In a daze, Arwyn stands back up, and picks up the discarded knife that had been used to commit the deed this morning. An utterly ordinary butter knife, purchased some years ago at the cutlery section of some homeware store when he had moved in. One of several, chosen at haphazard that morning. By no means a weapon of any common sense.

Had he been in a more lucid state, Arwyn might have at last wondered how its blunt edge had even managed to do what it did. Instead, still holding the knife in his right hand, Arwyn uses his arms to gingerly transport the body to the study…and quietly closes the door on it.


His mind was a blank, as he returned to the living space whose floor was still covered in dried blood.

Almost absently, he removes his suit jacket, and pulls up his sleeve, exposing his left arm.

He shifts his grip on the knife, and in one swift motion---for just a moment, he feels the touch of cold metal on his skin, across the back of his arm, before it transforms into a sharp, burning sensation.


…It wasn't enough. More, deeper, until------

"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching the Kingdom circulate.

I hereby declare.
Your being shall serve beneath me,
and my fate shall rest upon your sword.

If you submit to this will and law, obeying the sanctum of the Holy Grail, then answer me.

I hereby give my oath.
I shall attain all virtues of Heaven;
I shall rule over all evils of Hell.

From the Seventh Heaven,
attended to by three great words of power,
come forth from the Counter Ring,
protector of the holy balance!"

[zikari8]

Mori Shiori
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

“That should do it.”

Hearing the satisfying click of a success, Shiori retrieved her makeshift picks (two hammered paperclips) and turned open the formerly locked door. As she had expected, past the door, she found herself in an old, empty, and unused warehouse.

After leaving her master’s abode, Shiori had gone to find a suitable place for summoning, lest she decided to perform a magical ritual on the streets in broad daylight. Naturally careful and carefully natural, she roamed the streets of old East London until she found a decaying shuttered warehouse. Making sure nobody was watching, she scoped the place until she found a second story door ripe for illegal entry. Although lockpicking wasn’t her expertise, the outdated lock only took her a few frustrating minutes and a few makeshift tools using stuff she found in her purse. Looking back though, she could probably have saved time and just broke down a door that old…

Once again confirming nobody was watching, she closed the door behind her and prepared the ritual in the middle of the warehouse floor. Taking the materials out of her purse, she drew the magic circle while nervously reciting the incantation in her head, as to not mess up later.

“Fill Fill Fill Fill… was it four fills or five fills? Five, right? Yeah, five.”

Her materials were very simple. She used some chalk to draw out the summoning circle’s shape and then layered a conductive material above it. Her material of choice was kuchikamizake she herself had chewed. If her theory was correct, the spiritual purity of the liquid should be effective as a conduit for magical energy. Finally, she positioned herself on one side of the circle, in accordance with feng shui, as to maximize the ritual’s efficacy.

With her circle complete, she placed her precious, precious catalyst in the middle. Stored in a box as to protect it from the outside elements, it was without a doubt her most precious possession. Yes, it was very precious… so much so that she spent her remaining funds on it.

“…I wonder where I’m going to sleep tonight…”

With a shy, such depressing thoughts floated about in her mind.

Regardless she carried on. Emptying her mind of those earthly worries, she focused solely on the task at hand. Her posture contorted to focus her energy into her right hand, while her breath stabilized.

A single prayer escaped her lips.

“Lord, watch over me.”

And the ritual began.


In her mind, she recalled her master’s lessons and found her mental trigger.

A red balloon. Expanding. Expanding. Expanding. Expanding. And…

Pop

The invisible switch was flipped. Her magic circuits flared to life and she began reciting the incantation. Once her switch was flipped, her training took over and she flawlessly pronounced the words while accumulating mystical power in her fingertips.

Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. Salt. Oil.

With all her might, she called upon all six elements. Pain spread through her nerves. Sweat dripped from her neck. In other words, everything was going according to plan.

Her command seals surfaced on her right hand. The fruits of her 18-year long battle glowed as did the summoning circle before her. A gale began forming, blowing violently at her skirt. Shiori's formerly neat black hair was standing straight.

Yet, in the face of such exciting events, Shiori remained cold. Her mind had lost the ability to think; she was completely in the zone. The searing pain in her hand barely registered. Emotion, justice, duty… for a single moment none of that mattered any longer. She was possessed.

"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!"

Her eyes flashed gold and the magical energy in the area peaked. A bright flash burned the surrounding shadows.

The ritual was complete.

And from the piercing light –

[I3uster]

Heroic Spirit ???
Boundary of Emptiness
Always

There was a request.

It was as simple as that. A call, not of a threat to her country, nor to greater humanity. A simple plea, bypassing the intended system, uttered by a girl. A girl living in a time after she had long left this world behind her.

But an existence like hers was not so easily extinguished. Her birth had already laid out a path to a life of fame or infamy. But it was her own actions that made her reach this place. Feats that exceeded those of what so many could have accomplished in her stead.

She was a being that overturned the path that was laid out to her. An actor going off the script.

A heroic spirit, forever etched into history.

A noble calling beyond the circle of life and death.

And so she existed, a record, tightly kept. Only to respond when intended. She had never been one to skip procedure.

Still, a decision had been made in the favor of the cheating girl that called for her. Even if that kind of behavior necessitated a scolding

After all, she had a little request of her own.

-----

Lancer of White
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

She took a deep breath through her nose and immediately furrowed her brows.

It smelled of molten iron. Or maybe gunpowder. The magic that had called her to this place was not subtle craft but rather an attempt to tear a hole with brute force. And so, lights and brimstone announced her coming. The thought of leaving a demonic impression greatly displeased her, but these mages often seemed more attracted than repelled by such filth.

And so, disgust was the first impression she felt as she walked the earth again. Disgust at her arrival, disgust at the rather unceremoniously looking location, and most of all disgust of what stood ahead of her.

"Hmmm..."

The smoke had still not cleared up fully. She had comfortably lodged herself on her own travel accommodation. Kings of certain realms would summon entire countries with them when summoned in such manner, but for her elegant clothing and a chair that could have easily been a throne were the only remnants she would bring along with her.

At least those that could not be considered part of her as well.

And so she sat, mustering the girl with displeasure. The distorted nature of all that dealt in magecraft could be clearly felt from her, but there was something more beyond that. They enjoyed their covert nature, to hide what lies underneath, but with her it was...strange.

The plain-looking girl's presence in that room was so minuscule Lancer's eyes seemed to slip from her almost by themselves, instead scanning the walls and ceiling of this dark place.

If she had to describe that girl with one word, she would probably use "empty".

The smoke cleared, and finally the girl's eyes met hers. It felt like staring into a ravine.

This would not do.

She let out a sigh. Surrounded by symbols of her former glory, the woman's gaze was still fixed on the young girl. Due to her sitting down she might be on a lower eye level, and yet the power differential was clear.
This was, without a doubt, a heroic spirit.
As if to break the spell that had them both frozen, looking at one another she waved her hand. A surge of magical energy betrayed its nature as a powerful artifact and its outlandish shape only added to that impression. It looked like twisted tree branches woven into a spike of three meters length.

Still on her chair she rather unceremoniously let its tip impact the floor.

A hollow thud followed, unmistakeably unlike the wooden knock one would expect. The sound of bone rang through the walls of the abandoned building, louder than anything after her arrival.

Finally, she got on her two feet, and approached the girl. Still, no word escaped her lips as she dragged the strange, horn-looking artifact behind her. There were maybe two meters between them, and again she started mustering her from the bottom to the top. As she reached her face she paused.

In that moment, Mori Shiori's intuition acted just a second too late.

Maybe because there was no intent to harm her. No intent to kill, or even fight. Maybe her presence alone inspired awe that served as distraction. Maybe she simply was not used to seeing something move this fast. But whatever it was, it was enough to leave Shiori's chest wide open.

Lancer's spear ran right through the center of her ribcage. As she twisted it, the girl's previously regular breaths turn into a hectic gurgling.

Still in shock, frozen not in pain but by the sheer absurdity of the situation, the girl heard Lancer's voice for the first time.

--------------

________________

The beating of her own heart grew too loud to make out anything however. Her consciousness faded away, as if washed out by the surge of magical energy that now filled the place.

-----

It took just a moment. But the sensations remained all the same. A complex of ideas had laid the foundation for what she was about to go through. A school of thought that had abandoned old ways of thinking of ones pupils. Children were not raw material to be fashioned in ones image, nor were they drywood out of which a flame of knowledge could spring if only kindling was provided.

A child was understood as any beast. A slave to its drives. Without the right kind of guidance and constriction it would not grow to be anything but that.

Shiori felt a thousand shouts ring in her ears.

A spoiled child was like a broken arm, arrested in a hurry by a dilettante. A crooked growth, as nature had intended it. There was only one way to fix such a seemingly permanent disfigurement, no matter if a feral mind or a misshapen appendage.

The arm had to be broken and a new cast had to be made.

She felt a thousand stricken knuckles.

That which many consider natural had so often proven itself to be an enemy of humanity. But it was not an enemy that humans necessarily had to fear. The nature of the heroic spirit that had affected her was proof of this. For humanities advancement would one day exceed its nature and realize the founding principle.

Dominium Terrae. The right of humans to reign above nature.

The girls mind had merely become another battlefield. Her own nature was currently being rewritten just the slightest bit, taken over by human will.

A thousand slaps to her face.

Knowledge she never had before flooded her mind. Languages she never spoke, musical training, fencing, riding, etiquette, posture, knowledge of diplomacy, geography, of operas and theater, of deception and intrigue, it all flooded into her mind in a second that felt like it was stretched to an eternity.

It was then she would finally understand the nature of the heroic spirit she had summoned.

The woman was not simply content being a heroic spirit. She made them.

A weak will would be washed out. She would only work with the finest material if she was to do her work.

All Shiori had to do was prove to be such, or be driven mad.

-----

Lancer of White
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2) [1 minute later]

The chest wound that she had previously inflicted on the girl seemed to have vanished, only blood and torn fabric remaining as reminders that it had even existed in the first place. The cut revealed no scarring, yet Lancer was still not giving it the dignity of treating the girl as anything but a discarded body.

She had made herself comfortable in her chair again, awaiting a sign of life by her Master. A word, would be enough to prove that she had survived the harrowing experience. If not, there had been no chance for the girl from begin with. It simply would be a foregone conclusion, nothing more, nothing less.

An inadequate Master would not do. Superior troops are needed if success is to be guaranteed in a military campaign, and a Holy Grail War was, in that respect at least, a war like any other.

And so she kept lounging, waiting for a sign of life. Either to put down a madwoman or on a small off chance...no. That girl had not been promising from the start.

A wheezing sound. Slowly the girls eyes opened, and finally she would hear Lancer speak her first intelligible sentence.

"I have made the choice not to waste your time. I would prefer you would return that favor if possible..."

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragenos
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

The winged, stone guardians lifted their heads, black eyes following the white clad woman as she passed between them. A world of sunlight, concrete and glass gave way to another. A pitch black stairwell of solid stone lurked past the grotesque guardians, the air freezing to a chill as Chimeragenos entered another domain. The only trace of life to be sensed within the subterranean abyss that the woman descended into unflinchingly was her own. Only the swaying chains at her neck and wrists resounded in the lifeless dark. Even the pristine white of her hair and dress disappeared into the black, merging into the singularity of nothingness.

One second merged with eternity as she descended deeper and deeper, until finally her feet fell upon even ground.

A dim blue torch lit up the vast chamber. Its haunting glow fell to her ankles, slithering across the stone floor like a morning fog, forming a stream like a small current. Two other torches cast similar lifeless lights, mounted on pillars alongside the first. Behind them lurked an enormous door, the old stone groaning as the master of the chamber drew closer to it.

With her first step into the second chamber, Chimeragenos exhaled, and a series of orbs adorning the seemingly endless cavern lit up. What was once a place of raw dark gave way to a vast facility. In rows that stretched beyond sight, giant tubes lined up. Pale light radiated from the strange liquids filling each container, highlighting the inhuman things contained; preserved within.

A deep roar echoed from somewhere out of sight. Followed by a hiss. Stomping routinely resounded through the chamber. The shuffle of something heavy along the stone. A shrill cry. A second roar rose up to challenge the first. An explosion like burst shook the glass as something heavy and alive thrashed. A long shriek crawled out of the shadows.

Claws scratched stone as something began to pace. Excited panting spread on the air like a prayer of savagery. Three barks called out together. A fourth answered.

A red figure rose in the distance. Hooves smashed bedrock. Water crashed and rolled in the air. Wings spread out over the air. Something crashed.

Another shriek. Two more roars. The barking began again.

The magus closed her eyes.

"Silence."

And issued her order.

The chaos came to a halt. In one single second it all stopped. The parade of life came froze, as though it disappeared entirely. The things out of sight sunk back into a quiet state of subservience. The towering woman who they dwarfed strode between the glass tanks. One by one, she eyed them.

Some were tall and thin, others were short but wide. A few stretched the length of an entire house, and inside some even housed specimens that showed signs of life. Behind the glass, pupils twisted and followed her movement.

With purpose the Lord approached one specimen in particular. What was stored inside was incomplete. Parts of a whole. A mass of wriggling scales that resembled a serpent's tail, that moved as though it was alive, but was very much dead. Something ancient. A foe surpassed by a hero, whose triumph was passed down as a legend.

The magus peered into the glass tank, and the specimen twisted. The lord pressed her hand upon the glass, as if to grasp the thing preserved within. The glowing liquid within twisted, pulling the ancient remains to the edge of the glass, where Chimeragenos' hand was planted.

"Sufficient."

{-----}


Withdrawal within elimination, engrave four areas and surround with the summoning circle.

Alexandra towered over the circle.

It would serve as the catalyst itself. Its borders were inscribed with a mix of her own blood and scales ground into powder.

She held no desire to fight alongside a hero. The scion of the Chimeragenos desired a monster that no ordinary hero could surpass. If a Heroic Spirit is the peak of mankind, preserved records of the greatest humans to live, then she needed a beast that posed a threat to mankind itself. A demon. An absolute enemy to what a hero is.

If such a thing could even be summoned.

Even if she doubted the capacity of the ritual's system to place such an existence into the molds prepared, she would attempt it regardless.

If she succeeded she would be unstoppable.

The red brands flared.

I hereby declare.

A superficial chant. The ritual was being performed for her. This summoning was nothing but a formality. Nevertheless, Alexandra recited it. At times the words twisted as they left her lips, becoming gaps. Voids. Empty words that she herself did not know or understand.

Your being shall serve beneath me, and my fate shall rest upon your 『　』.
If you submit to this will and law, obeying the 『　』 of the Holy Grail, then answer me.

The peerless vision of Chimeragenos shuts down. Confronted by the fifth element, not meant to be perceived by human eyes, her eyes cease to function.

I hereby give my oath.
I shall attain all virtues of Heaven;
I shall rule over all evils of Hell.

But that restriction applies only to human eyes.

A second pair of eyes, eyes that do not belong to homo sapiens, to a primate, open in their stead.

From the 『　』,
attended to by three great words of power,
come forth from the 『　』,
『　』 of the 『　』 balance.

[Katie]

In the end, I decide to take the train home. It’s fast, to be fair, but what’s most important is that it’s crowded. Only… Only a particularly reckless magus would try to make a move in broad daylight and in the middle of Central London, there’s no way it would end well. While it’s typical of magi to look down at common folk, they do have their purposes. Easier to hide in a crowd than an empty building, I would think.

Still, it doesn’t give me much time to think about what I should do about the matters of the catalyst and where I’ll summon. There’s only one area I’m even remotely comfortable doing such a ritual in, but that isn’t quite an area where I can just do what I want. At the same time, there’s the matter of a catalyst. Considering there’s no way for me to afford one considering my current financial state, I think I might really have to let luck be the deciding factor…

Erika Kanzaki
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

The first thing I notice walking down the street is that there’s a commotion in the lawn. Specifically, my lawn. My step quickens, because I’m not in the mood for this, and the cause quickly makes itself apparent.

A tiny, stone gargoyle is on my lawn, surrounded by the myriad of fluffballs that have taken residence in my front yard. For that matter, fluffballs is a bit of a misnomer, but I can’t tell if they’re catlike or rabbitlike or any other animal. Yousei, the technical term, is really just too vague, and I’m pretty bad at describing creatures.

Even as I muse about this, I can clearly see this situation is at a stalemate. While they have the gargoyle surrounded, growling and ready, it seems their owner hasn’t given then the signal to attack. The gargoyle, on the other hand, maintains its stony poise. Though, I don’t find myself too worried. I have my suspicions as to who this surprise familiar belongs to.

Though, for once in my life, I can recognize which of the fairies is leading the pack. Maybe I can resolve this before entering the front door.

“Sawamura,” I say with a clap, hoping to get his attention. For a moment, I think I see the faintest hint go a fraction, but he keeps on growling at the intruder on his territory. Stupid animal. I hate playing this game.

“Sawamura-san,” I say again. Almost immediately, the thing’s ears twitch and he turns to look at me, eyes wide, in some mixture of fear and surprise. I haven’t even done anything to him, why is he so afraid? Obviously, I’d be annoyed if he insisted on this honorific monkey business. I’m a magus and he’s a familiar, so why do I need to give him any sort of respect? “Could you leave this guy alone? He’s… a friend, I guess.”

He looks at me and I stare back into his big beady eyes.

…Then he scampers off into the house through the pet door and the gargoyle follows. I’ve won against her awful pets yet again. The others scatter around, their job done. Without a ringleader, they’re pretty aimless.

Speaking of which, I should follow after Sawamura and explain the situation to her. It’s more than required at this point, and standing in the middle of the yard isn’t productive in the slightest. Though, as I’m fishing for the keys to get inside, the door opens wide, my housemate giving me a cheery grin.

“What’s shakin’ bacon?” Natsuki glances back at the gargoyle, which was now making itself situated on a cupboard. “You know who sent that? I kept the fairies in check because of the last time a lecturer sent over a familiar, and I didn’t want a repeat of that again…”

“Oh, it’s probably from Lady Chimeragenos,” I say, watching Natsuki’s eyes light up like the tacky Christmas lights our neighbor has. “I’ll explain if you give me a moment to—”

“Wait, the Chimeragenos? As in my faculty head?” While I understand that some people in this world are absolutely elated at meeting a faculty head, but Lady Chimeragenos has her own kind of reputation that makes a reaction like this really, really weird. Like being fascinated about someone’s hydra terrarium.

“Aren’t you a bit too excited about this?” I state my honest opinion. Maybe it’s just a Zoology thing.

“No way! I idolize her! Wouldn’t it be amazing to stroll around the Clock Tower not giving a fuck like she does?” And there’s the Natsuki style reason I was looking for. No doubt Natsuki is interested in her faculty head for academic reasons, but she always has the weirdest reasons for liking people…

“Language, Natsuki,” I reprimand, though we’re both grown adults. I just do it out of habit, since my younger sister was like that too. Natsuki just groans in response. “Besides, that kind of behavior is something only Lords like her can get away with, so isn’t it unrealistic to admire something you’ll never achieve in your lifetime?”

“Gotta dream big or you’ll dream nothing at all,” Natsuki replies, setting up folding chairs next to a sorry excuse for a dinner table. The state of this house is just so economically scrapped together that I’m amazed she and I find it liveable. “Oh, mind if we get takeout? I didn’t, um, cook today.”

I sigh. I’m sure Natsuki knows how much more expensive of an option it is compared to actually doing the chores she was assigned today, but I’m also pretty exhausted from this morning, and besides, this is probably the last meal we’ll have together. Might as well indulge.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, and Natsuki gives me this look like I’ve done something heinous. Maybe she was expecting me to argue, but there’s no point in souring the mood. “I’ll explain over lunch.”

“Alright.” She nods vigorously, wondering what kind of crazy things will come out of my mouth that led to me having one of Lord Chimeragenos’s familiars at my doorstep.

And thus, I explained the Holy Grail War to my housemate over some bad Chinese takeout.

-------

“So, you’re in some extremely screwed up ritual that’s basically Battle Royale with legendary figures as your familiars? And the reward is some vague, nondescript supreme miracle?” Natsuki says rather excitedly, like it’s the best news she’s heard all day. Doesn’t she understand our lives are at risk?

“Yeah,” I say, not really sure how to follow up on that. But, now that everything’s been laid out, it’s time to say what’s been eating at me for a while now. “Anyway, Natsuki, I think you should…”

The words hang in my throat, and I don’t know why. What I’m doing is the moral thing.

“I should what?” She cocks her head a bit, puzzled.

“I think you should leave. Go home or something.” It’s obvious that London won’t be safe in the slightest, and living in the same house with me, a Master, is asking to be hurt or even worse. “It’s too dangerous to stay here, with me.”

I don’t have an option of leaving the country, but she does. Though, the scowl on her face when I say those words tells me everything I need to know.

“Pay for my ticket then,” Natsuki says, her chirpy tone swapped with the professional tone she uses when she feels like acting her age. Still, her proposition is just… Well, she wasn’t planning on seeing the parents she dreads so much this year. Her offer is fair in that sense. Since I’m kicking her out, I should at least pay for her travel expenses.

Maybe if I skipped this month’s rent and called in a Clock Tower favor to mess with our landlord, and then if I…

“That was rhetorical, you idiot.” Natsuki’s sharp voice interrupts my fiscal calculations over her safety. “Besides, I pay most of the rent, so you should be the one worrying if your ass is gonna get kicked out.”

Wait, that’s true, but she can’t actually be serious about staying, there’s just no way that’s any good for her. From a pragmatic standpoint, there’s no reason to help me at all.

“But—”

“To be a magus is to walk with death, you know that adage after reciting it a billion times to your dumb students. Do you really think I’m going to miss out on the highest class of evocation I’ll ever see in my life and ditch my bestie while she’s trying to fight for her life?” When she puts it that way, I still feel like she’s prioritizing the wrong things in this situation, so…

“Um…” I have to interrupt. She’s being stupid.

“For an assistant lecturer, you sure are stupid.” Natsuki folds her arms. Aren’t you being the stupid one? She doesn’t have to risk her neck for me, but if she doesn’t care about the consequences, well… Stopping her at this point would be way more problematic than productive. “I’m staying and that’s that.”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” I admit defeat. If I had to tally all my losses, she definitely has the winning record, but this loss hurts more than I’d like… But there’s no point in contesting the result. “Anyway, I’m going to get started on the ritual prep.”

Getting up from my chair, I make my way to a closet. Natsuki follows, a faint smile on her face. What a brat.

“You want to help?” I briefly turn around to look at her before I rummage through the contents of this unorganized closet. I usually did most of the chores myself, but Natsuki currently had more free time as a student who was done with exams, so the closet being in this state was… expected, I guess.

“Yeah.” She looks excited, as if the previous argument didn’t even happen. What a fickle girl…

“Here.” I grab the vacuum from the closet depths and shove it in her hands. “Clean up the ritual room, I know your pets like to lurk in there all the time. I want it spotless.”

Natsuki looks at me like Sawamura got hit by a car, before accepting her fate. If she kept them out, she wouldn’t need to be cleaning, now would she?

“Oh, before you do that, is that vial of my blood still in the fridge? I might need a bit.” Might as well use it for something, even if it’s a bit gross.

“Yeah, it’s under the microwavable dinners.”

That is not the answer I would have liked to hear.

“What did you do the last time you went grocery shopping?”

-------

It doesn’t take very long other than double-checking Natsuki’s work in cleaning the spare ritual room, because if my summoning ends up being tainted by one stray fluffball hair I will make her wish she flew back to Japan. And if there is anything I have learned from my five years of being an assistant lecturer, it is is how to draw a magic circle precisely with very little time on the clock. The blood proved to be unnecessary after all.

Though, there is one problem…

“Hey, Erika, you said you needed a catalyst, right? Where is it?”

“I didn’t think I could afford or get one in time, so I’m…” A hesitant pause. Natsuki’s gaze bores into the depths of my soul and I would really like for her to leave the room right now, so I can both do this blasted ritual and not feel judged. “I’m winging it.”

“Wow, Kanzaki Erika, model student and assistant lecturer, bullshitting an important ritual?” The look of feigned shock on her face pisses me off. Could you know when not to tease me, for crying out loud? “Color me surprised.”

Still… You know what? That’s a real good idea. I’m already leaving it to chance, so…

“Fuck it, you’re right. I might as well bullshit the whole thing right?” Just like my Clock Tower entrance exam… Well, there’s nobody here to tell me what I’m going to do is wrong. The Command Seals on my body prove I’m inevitably going to be successful at summoning something.

“Language, Eri—Wait, that is definitely not what I said!”

“You know, Natsuki, Waver Velvet said a monkey with circuits could do it. I’m going to prove it.”

“Wai—” With that, she’s ungraciously shoved out the door, and I lock the door with the most satisfying click of my life. And now there’s time to think, and most importantly, recheck the summoning ritual. If I adjust the lines for my magical foundation, maybe what I get will be more in line with my actual intent than the whims of fate…

I glance at the words proved by Mr. Velvet. High-speed incantation? More like high-speed translation.

As for the matter of the catalyst, well… It’d be nice if I had someone of a similar ideology as Natsuki and I. So with that in mind, I glance at my watch, hoping that all of this won’t take me past the proper time to perform the ritual.

Oh. Of course. The watch. I take it off my wrist and put it in the middle of the circle. It’ll do. It has to do.

Air howls like a typhoon. My circuits hum, my vision sharpens. What lies in the eye of the beholder is within grasp.

I glance at the watch on the floor, the centerpiece to this

disaster

ritual

.

It is time.

“So ni gin to tetsu. So ni ishi to keiyaku no taikou.
Oritatsu kaze ni wa kabe wo.
Shihou no mon wa toji, oukan yori ide, oukoku ni itaru sansaro wa junkan seyo.

Mitase

Tojiyo

.

Mitase

Tojiyo

.

Mitase

Tojiyo

.

Mitase

Tojiyo

.

Mitase

Tojiyo

.
Kurikaesu tsudo ni godo.
Tada, mitasareru toki wo hakyaku suru.

—Tsugeru.
Nanji no mi wa waga moto ni. Waga meiun wa nanji no ken ni.
Seihai no yorube ni shitagai, kono i, kono kotowari ni shitagau naraba kotaeyo.

Chikai wo kokoni.
Ware wa tokoyo subete no zen to naru mono,
ware wa tokoyo subete no aku wo shiku mono.

Nanji sandai no kotodama wo matou shichiten,
yokushi no wa yori kitare, tenbin no mamorite yo—!”

[Kuroyuki]

Akechi Tohsaka u
15th of December, 2004 V
Himitsu to Hanazono “Akechi’s Apartment Complex” f
Afternoon (Phase 1-2) H
W
After leaving Father, I got to work on finding potential ways to find the Einzbern masters. The easiest one for me would be to just wait until I see or hear about silver-haired women. However, by that time I’m sure our enemy would have also heard about them. I guess I could see if my personal connections hear anything. I’ll notify them later. b

My other idea… I looked at the scattered mountains of papers in my work apartment. Customs documents, plane weights, and ship manifests that were all liberally acquired from “helpful” clerks after leaving Father. The issue with that is combing through all of this information in a timely manner will be difficult. A potential lead beats no lead. Might as well work on this later. 5

For now, I need to prepare to summon my servant. Family notes check, mercury to make the circle, and finally a few filled jewels for me to save some of my prana. Now all I need to do is wait for the optimal time. I have approximately an hour before it’s 2:00 PM. D

As soon as I thought that, my cell phone rang. Flipping open my thin and stylish phone, I spotted a familiar number for me. Without even thinking, I accepted the call and said my words.

“Darling?”

[Bloble]

Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Main Campus) - Sagittarius Hall
Morning (Phase 1-1)

Even when doing something as simple as giving out an address, Alexandra Chimeragenos continued to be unnerving.

The moment the tall woman - tall enough to make Michael feel like a child again - left the room, he sighed, deflating somewhat, before realizing the gesture could be misconstrued as an insult.

"Ah, um."

He turned and somewhat sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, his ears a bit redder than before. He quickly shuffled over to the table of folders, left his note there, and copied down the contact details Erika had left.

"Guess I'll be seeing you all soon, then. After the matter of catalyst collecting, and whatnot."

Michael met each person's eyes and nodded goodbye, leaving Bazett for last. He hadn't missed her tenseness. Even moreso than him, she was probably holding back confusion and no small amount of frustration. Unfortunately, there was unlikely to be time to talk about it over drinks at the pub. He could only spare an encouraging smile.

"May your summonings bear fruit."

With those words, Michael left behind the lecture hall and the oppressive atmosphere within it.

He walked through the hallways, folder tucked under his arm, without really thinking too hard about anything. In the blink of an eye Michael was outside, surrounded by the mundane world, standing in the parking lot next to his car. He unlocked the door and ducked into it, then put on his seat belt and stared at the steering wheel for a moment.

He slowly lowered his head, resting it on the wheel, feeling the cool leather on his forehead.

Michael shuddered once, twice. The third was almost a spasm, as the emotions he'd been keeping suppressed lashed out all at once. He very nearly screamed, smashed the horn, and countless other foolish things that would attract stares and unwanted attention. Instead he merely sat there, waiting for the shaking to stop, before wiping his tears, sitting up straight, and pulling out onto the streets of London.


Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
Central London - Streets
Morning (Phase 1-1)

Michael's Volkswagen beetle was an antique. It sputtered and had poor fuel efficiency and was woefully under-powered compared to the average vehicle of the modern era. It was also dirt cheap, surprisingly easy to maintain, and he loved it to bits. Even at the best of times its primitive frame did little to shut out sound, but his height necessitated that he leave the sunroof open at all times or suffer from neck cramps. As such, he was made privy to the varied sounds of revving motors, screeching brakes, and fragments of passerbies' conversations as he drove to his apartment.

It was the perfect background noise to calm the nerves.

There were many courses of action to ponder, but to before any of that, Michael flipped open his cell phone and dialed a number. He pressed it between his shoulder and ear and glued his eyes to the road, waiting for the dial tone to cease. It didn't take long.

"WHO IS THIS?" Came the too-loud answer. "I'M BUSY."

"Terribly sorry," said Michael. "But you're about to be busier. I've a small request."

"YOU WHAT? LISTEN HERE, YOU MEATHEAD. I'M NOT STICKING YOUR BLOODY ARM BACK ON AGAIN."

Michael winced. The voice of his roommate ripped through the headset, crackling and popping and threatening permanent damage to his ear drums. Not that he wasn't used to it. "Nothing like that, old chap," he said. "All I ask for is a possibly illicit item of historical value, and for you to move out for say, two weeks."

"DON'T YOU 'OLD CHAP' ME; YOU'RE NOT MY GRANDFATHER. WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"It's an assignment. On home ground this time. Long term, and rather dangerous."

"GO FUCK YOURSELF. I'M KICKING YOU OUT. I DIDN'T PAY FOR THIS."

"Charles, I-."

"I'M THROWING YOUR STUFF OUT THE WINDOW. ALL OF IT."

"Charles." Michael cleared his throat and took a right turn onto a roundabout. "I've paid the last six months of rent."

"...YOU'RE PAYING FOR MY HOTEL TOO. AND THE TRAIN RIDE TO WALES. AND ANY PROPERTY DAMAGE."

"Naturally."

The talk continued for another few kilometers, and concluded with Michael's ill-tempered room mate swearing up and down that he was moving out and finding his own apartment come first opportunity. All in all, however, it had gone better than expected. Michael had shared what little he was allowed to without giving away the War's existence, and in return...

"FORGET ABOUT IT," Charles had advised. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT SUMMONED OR WHY, BUT IF A BROKE, UNDERACHIEVING FIRST-GENERATION STUDENT IS YOUR ONLY HOPE FOR A CATALYST, YOU'RE NOT GETTING IT. USE A SYMBOL INSTEAD. PLATO WAS AN ASS, BUT HIS THEORY OF FORMS IS CLOSE ENOUGH TO FORMALCRAFT THAT EVEN YOUR BRAIN DEAD BEHIND CAN HACK IT. PICK A SHAPE YOU RESPECT, AND YOUR GHOST LINER WILL PROBABLY RESPECT IT TOO."

A symbol he respected? A ghost of a smile, a genuine one this time, played about the corners of Michael's mouth as he turned onto the narrow street leading to his home.

That, he could manage.


Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
East London - Apartment 5009
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Michael had expected to come home to an empty building. Instead his front door was crowded with pigeons, pecking at something buried under a mass of feathers. He shoo'd them away and came face to face with a small stone gargoyle, about the size of a bird, that stared at him with a disapproving glare that instantly reminded him of Alexandra.

"Oh. You work fast, Lord Chimeragenos."

He wasn't sure what to say next. The thing was clearly animated, some form of familiar that the Lord obviously wanted to use for communication. It wasn't a phone, but it was better than nothing. And yet, somehow... he felt flustered, as if staring at Alexandra herself.

"Well please, come in." He unlocked the door and the gargoyle cracked open a pair of stone wings, somehow flapping inside despite being too heavy to stay in the air.

The apartment wasn't pretty at the best of times. Michael was rarely home for long enough to keep the place clean, and Charles wasn't the sort who cared about silly things like personal hygiene, washing dishes, or taking out the trash on time. Michael's routine upon returning from a mission was to throw open the windows and scrub down the walls and floor, moving onto the furniture and upholstery as needed until the place was liveable again.

This day, however, he was short on time. So he decided not to polish the doorknobs.

The bulk of the afternoon was spent preparing. Any half-decent magus had the essentials for summoning lying around somewhere: quick-dry paint, reference textbooks for common circle designs, and guides to proper arrangement of symbols. Michael wasn't a half-decent magus, but his room mate was, so he helped himself to the now absent Charles' supplies. He cleared the living room of all furniture and laid down a mat, onto which he carefully traced out a magical summoning circle according to the instructions. No sense in scuffing the floors.

Sure, Velvet had said any monkey could do it, but that was no reason to be lazy.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Michael had finished the circle. It stood out in the otherwise mundane surroundings, a slightly messy but undeniably occult collection of symbols and letters, most of which Michael barely understood. An old CRT monitor buzzed merrily, shoved into one corner of the room along with the chairs, carpet, and sofa. The walls on Michael's side of the living room played host to printed out and framed pictures of cats, dogs, and brightly coloured birds. Charles' side was papered over with maps of countries and cities, some of which had been drawn on with bright marker, pen, and highlighter. A tall grandfather clock was the oldest piece of furniture in the room; everything else was new or cheap or both. Most of the light - and fresh air - came through the screen door to the balcony, which Michael had thrown open for ventilation.

The stone gargoyle sat perched outside the apartment, on the balcony's railing, watching the process with a stony glare.

"Should I set out candles?"

Michael pondered the question, and many others. What would the spirit be like? He had absolutely no idea. Perhaps it - they, he reminded himself - would be picky. The might want a sacrifice of blood or flesh, or if they were royalty, a suitably extravagant appeasement that would assuredly be beyond his ability to procure. The folder, which he'd thoroughly digested over the past hour, said a Heroic Spirit would not necessarily be benevolent. If he summoned a tyrant like Attila the Hun or Nero Claudius, he would possibly have to subdue them with a Command Spell or face imminent demise. It wasn't a pretty thought. He would have to rely on his chosen catalyst to summon an appropriate spirit.

In the end, no matter who it was, Michael was confident that he'd be able to get along with them.

...probably.

He stared at the circle and sighed. How did the words go again?

"Let silver and steel be the essence..."

Steel. Shattering bone. His magical circuits sparked to life.

"Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation..."

His body burned from the inside out. The edges of Michael's vision dimmed, casting a shadow over the room even though it was the middle of the day.

"Let blue be... the colour..."

Michael stopped. Staring at the glowing paint, his words caught in his throat. The circle's glow faded and everything returned to normal, except...

His heart wouldn't stop beating loudly and quickly. A hammering in his chest that brought with it immense pain. He couldn't. He couldn't say another word, couldn't take another step forward. Couldn't take the plunge, knowing what was to come, knowing he had no choice, knowing he would have to kill again.

Michael's chosen catalyst was the last memory of his father: a gleaming heirloom longsword inlaid with delicate veins of silver, each part of which had been imported from around the world. The blade had been forged in Damascus, from pure meteoric iron, and the wood of the hilt was great English yew. And most importantly, an oath had bound that sword to the Blackmore name. An oath to queen and country, to serve and protect, and to dedicate one's life as a knight.

That sword clattered to the ground.

Michael retreated into the kitchen. He reached into the fridge - freshly restocked in anticipation of a new tenant - and withdrew a can of cheap beer. Then he shuffled past the inert circle and out onto the balcony. It was empty except for a cheap plastic chair, that groaned and creaked as Michael sank his weight into it. He cracked open the can and took a gulp. The bitter taste wasn't half as disgusting as the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the ache spreading from his heart to the rest of his body. The ache of insufficient resolve.

London was spread out before him, ugly and beautiful - and his responsibility. There was no choice to be made. He had to protect it. And yet...

Michael set down the half-finished bottle and fished out his phone. One more call. One more, and then he would stop struggling.

He looked aside at the miniature gargoyle, his fingers hovering over the number keys, and it glared back at him. Now that he looked closer, it was almost cute. Though, he still couldn't imagine Alexandra as anything but scary. "Might I have some privacy, please?"

It gave no response.

"It's either this or the broom closet, I'm afraid."

The gargoyle spread open its wings and launched off the railing, ascending slowly to join the mass of birds in the sky. Michael watched it rise until its form was indistinguishable.

"Wait on the roof!" Michael called after it. "I'll fetch you when I come up to feed the birds!"

When he was sure it had gone, he re-entered the apartment and shut the door, also lowering the blinds. A summoning, Michael decided, was best done in a dark, slightly spooky room. A phone conversation less-so, but he didn't want a Lord eavesdropping on a personal call.

Not that it seemed she knew how a phone worked.

He had to dial the number three times; his shaking fingers kept making mistakes. When the call finally went through...

"Hey," he said weakly. "It's me."

[Sei]

Aila Einzbern
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The hands of time steadily march on.

With all preparations complete, I stand alone in my room. Though there are certainly better areas I could be performing this ritual, this is easily the one I feel the most at ease in. It's small, littered with references and texts, and a bit dark save the modest amount of light coming in through the window. There are certainly better places that I could be doing something as grand as this... However, as inhospitable as it may be, this is the kind of environment I am most comfortable with. The closest thing to a "home" that I can possibly think of.

I gaze at the summoning circle drawn on the center of the floor. It's crimson color elicits a sudden pain in my chest, causing me to grip the earthen figure tighter in my hand. The bloody sprawl rules my vision until I manage to close my eyes. Holding the catalyst closer to my breast, I focus on my own heartbeat and try not to think of the countless bodies I've had to climb over. "I am alive" I say to myself. "I am alive because my heart is still beating. My body still bears life."

I draw breath into my lungs. The cold air gives me vim and the silence fills me with a strange vigor.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock...

I'm finally here.

After these twelve short years, I've finally arrived at this- the moment I was created for.

How should I feel? Should I be happy? Overjoyed? At the very least, I should feel some form of accomplishment. But, honestly, I'm not quite sure if I feel anything at this pivotal moment. Instead, I'm finding myself likening my motions to that of a well-oiled machine. I'm merely carrying out my programming. There isn't an ounce of emotion in anything I'm doing now. I'm just watching events unfold from the prison of my own body.

The hands on the clock continue to tick, but the sound is no longer reaching me. Instead, I find Lady Irisviel's- Mama's- words repeating in my head. Then, and only then, does something occur to me.

"I want to live..."

Sifting through all the nonsense in my head, I reaffirm an idea that resides within my very core. I want to live... Not merely in the sense that I want to preserve my own life, but in the sense that I want to accumulate as many experiences that I can within the time I've been allotted. I want to see "life"... To understand myself, those around me, and all the different things that connect us. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. But, I truly believe that participating in this war can really open my eyes to what it means to be alive. ...And... If by some grace I even manage to make it all the way to the end... Maybe, just maybe... I'll be able to make a wish that's all my own.

My wavering confidence forces a smile on my face. Briefly touching the crimson wings on my back, I step forward and enter the circle. I place the sacred figure at the center and subsequently start to channel magical energy into the written formula. Then, with a few words, I begin the chant that would bring forth a legendary soul from the throne of heroes. I recite the words just as I've always been told. However, as those fateful words are effortlessly regurgitated into the air, I find myself kneeling... Resting on my knees, hands clasped together, praying for the first time in my life.

I don't want to die. These words repeat in my head without rest as tears start to streak down the sides of my face. Never before have I been so keenly aware of the beating of my own heart. I try to regain myself, but I fear it's already too late. All the pain, fear, and anxiety I've been holding inside has taken control and now I'm trying to appeal to whatever higher being may listen.

My lips continue to tremble, but words cease to come out.

The seals on my back flare up as magical energy begins to pour out of my body.

My mind goes blank.

The room starts to fill with light.

When all is said and done, the ritual is completed. My vision is stolen from me and replaced with impenetrable white.

My heart races. My chest tightens.

Faced with my own destiny, my fingers intertwine firmly as a single audible plea fills the void.

"Please... Help me."

[Kuroyuki]

A Certain Phone Call
15th of December, 2004
Evening (Phase 1-2)

Ring…

Ring…

*Click*

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Darling?”

“Yeah. I was going to say something like ‘Honey, I’m home’, but… it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“You would think you would get used to it by now, but I guess not. How was the mission?”

“Wonderful. India’s lovely this time of year. I wish I could’ve taken you with me, but...”

“I would’ve loved to go too… I’m sure it was a lot warmer than here. You didn’t get hurt right?”

“Not a scratch. When I told the target that I didn’t want to worry you, he very graciously surrendered without a fight. But enough about me: how have you been faring?”

“How nice of the target. I haven’t been up to much, but I guess I’ve been delivering coffee to Erika a bit more recently. Poor girl has too much work...”

“Eri - oh. What are the odds… you have friends in strange places. I ran into her today, actually. She looked like a rabbit surrounded by wolves.”

“The more friends, I have the better right? Well I guess you were bound to run into her eventually if you are in the Clock Tower. I swear she never leaves the place... So where did you guys meet?”

“One of the lecture halls. Didn’t have the chance to stay long, because… well… I’m sorry. There’s only one reason an Enforcer would get called to the main building.”

“Of course in one of the lecture halls… But really another mission so soon? I thought you just finished one...”

“... sorry. Here I am, calling you with bad news when you have your own problems to deal with. It’s not taking me out of the country, and it should be over in a few days, but still... I just wanted to hear your voice at least once.”

“It’s fine. It was just nice to hear you again after a while. Stay safe on your mission okay?”

“I… heh. Well now that you’ve said it, Dear, there’s no choice but to come back in one piece. So you stay safe too. Promise me, if anything should happen, just call and I’ll be there. Even if it’s the other side of the world.”

“I don’t think I’ll be in danger on the other side of the world any time soon, but I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t forget to call me if you ever need healing, I still don’t think your roommate is that good of a healer...”

“He’s… well, no you’re right. But it’s fine. I’ve said it, right? I’ll definitely come back. So, after this is all over… let’s go on a trip together. Somewhere warm and bright.”

“That would be nice… I’ll hold you to that promise. So absolutely come back okay. Otherwise, I’ll hunt you down from the dead.”

“Of course. I promised you back then, didn’t I? That I’d never do anything to make you cry. A knight never breaks a promise to his d-darling. Goodbye, Akechi.”

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

*Click*

[Bloble]

Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
East London - Apartment 5009
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"..."

Michael sighed. The conversation had been painful in many ways. Akechi's voice was a balm for the soul, a calming influence in the chaos of the day. But... talking to her like that, withholding information, lying... keeping his own suspicions hidden...

That carried with it a different kind of weight.

But, it didn't matter. He'd gotten his answer. Even if it was a painful one.

Michael stood straight for what felt like the first time in hours. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, casting aside his doubts over the course of several seconds.

He could do it. No, he would do it.

Michael changed out of his culturally appropriate disguise and into his only well-fitted suit, after a quick shower. He combed his hair, shaved, and generally prepared himself. Then, as the sun was beginning to set, he faced the circle once more, as an Enforcer.

When Michael took up his sword once more, his grip was solid. He picked it up by the hilt, shifted it to a reverse grip, and plunged it into the floor in the center of the magical circle. It sank deep between two planks of wood, standing upright without shaking.

He stepped back and blasted open his circuits with nary a wince.

Command Seals blazed red. The circle lit up, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.

"Let silver and steel be the essence!"

Why had he been chosen?

"Let stone and the archduke of the contracts be the foundation!"

Why had the Grail given him those marks?

"Let blue be the colour I pay tribute to!"
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall!
Let the four cardinal gates close!"

It was clear as day now.

"Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching into the Kingdom rotate!"

He did have a desire.

"Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword.
Submit to the becoming of the Holy Grail.
Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth!"

London. His name. His duty.

"An oath shall be sworn here.
I shall attain all the virtues of all of Heaven;
I shall have dominion over all the evils of Hell!"

But, more than anything...

"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power!
Come forth from the ring of restraint!
Guardian of the balance!"

Michael Blackmore's wish was to protect her smile.

[Ayakashi]

Heroic Spirit ???
Throne of Heroes (?)
Timeless

An empty space, devoid of any light and darkness. That is where the daughter of the Heavenly Disc sleeps, eternally.

Yet as eternal as her sleep may be, there is one awakening which transcends timelessness and reaches her, stirring her spirit. A window upon an era opens, bringing in with it a beckoning breeze, a beckoning prayer. That era, it is one where there is no more use for her, no need left for reforms or revolution -- indeed, the time of the Sun came to an end a long time ago... and not just the Sun; the Age of Gods itself is history, having ceded place to the Age of Man. In such a world, it is needless for the likes of her to exist.

Yet she is being beckoned, nay, she is being implored to come.

"I want to live."

It isn't a statement limited to keeping one's life. No, it embodies the very concept of 'being alive'. The wholesome experience of being 'human'. It was strange, perhaps even a little bit funny, that this prayer which beckoned her anew, a miracle amidst mortals, was the very same as the passing ideal she regrettably could not fulfil before dying.



------

Caster of White
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)


As the blinding light which accompanied her arrival fades, she opens her eye and gazes upon the world she's stepped into.

A bedroom. It may be visually different from the bedrooms of her time, or even, the bedrooms of those bearing a pedigree like hers... but there is no mistaking this for anything else other than a bedroom. There is no decoration or fancy ornament adorning the place, but then perhaps the myriad of books and texts could be said to be a decoration of sorts -- a scholar's way of giving life to an otherwise barren refuge.

Please... Help me.

"..."

Her silent gaze falls upon said 'scholar', the architect of her summoning. It is a teenage girl, or rather, someone that looks like one: it is easy to tell that this girl was not naturally born, rather, she was an artificial creation, an entity woven together and given life to by magecraft: a homunculus.

None of this however is the cause of her silent gaze or slightly open lips, that hint at surprise. No, rather, it is the summoner's posture which is the source of it all: hands clasped, head lowered, kneeling on the floor as if worshipping the deity that appeared, the young girl's form is reminiscent of a praying devout's. It is no new experience for a God, yet to think that even upon this era of the Godless, she would be offered a prayer on her very arrival... what kind of Master had she stumbled on? Certainly not the typical magus. None would welcome their summoned Servant in such fashion, and the way this girl had uttered her words was so pure, simple and innocent... a far cry from the classical magus. Caster's curiosity had been piqued, making her want to learn more about her contractor.

But first of all, with how things were, it was no way to hold a proper conversation. Caster gently reaches for the girls clasped hands, inviting her to get back on her feet.

"Rise, for I have heard and answered your plea."

Though the nature of the words spoken could be construed as authoritarian, it was with a kind and comforting voice that Caster said them. Perhaps then, if she obliged to this gentle command, it would be Aila Einzbern's first time beholding her Servant.

"Though I have no doubt about it, I ask this for formality's sake... are you my Master?"

A body sculpted in shape and curves to be the ideal composite of abundance, grace and charm; a bright presence, commanding like the Sun yet never overwhelming or oppressive, but rather warm to the point that all those bathed in it could easily forget the coldness of solitude and sorrow. A splendid motherly figure if one were to condense it all down to a simple description.

Her golden irises glow in the afternoon sunshine as they reflect the rays filtering past the window. Their mystical shine surpasses even the majestic gold that adorns her white and black outfit... and within that shine, lies the proof of a desire to know more than just wherever this is her Master or not -- this vivid expression of her curiosity goes much deeper than that.

[canaki]

The spirit yet to be called Archer
Forever, never, and now
Somewhere or nowhere

" -- your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword --"

There is a voice, calling me from afar. Or was this a voice I remember calling me? It is hard to tell.
A summon to become a servant, to serve a magus participating in a war over an omnipotent wish granting device. The magus who calls me.

One could say your wishes define who you are. What you seek and hope to reach. What you rage and despair stems from. What drove you to live one more day.
Meanwhile, how people saw you to be defines who you were. What you achieved, and what you failed to. What humanity observed you to be, until the day you perished.

As a long deceased spirit, I am what my legends tell me to be. What I wish is no longer relevant to what I am -- unless I answer this summon.
This chance to fight for a wish.
A wish? My wish. What could I wish for?

Death is static. My soul was devoid of any burning heat I had in life.
Yet, this call rekindles a familiar pain. Sorrow. Longing. Regret.
Why would anyone want someone crushed by despair as their servant, when there surely are other worthy heroes? I have only continuously averted my eyes from the consequences I brought upon myself, wallowing in misery.
What could a dead man possibly wish for? I have already lived my life, met my end, there is nothing I could --

-- so am I going to look away, once again?
In life, in death, and after death? In this timeless eternity?

The dead cannot change. Not truly.
Oh, we may be different from how we were in life. Or how we were said to be. Even then, we can only fill in whatever container our summoners -- in this case, the grail and the magus -- have prepared for us.
We cannot change our fundamental being.

But, if my cowardly habit to shy away from what I fear is not a truly integral part of who I am... could I... ?
If I could redeem even a single one of my many mistakes, is that not a opportunity I must grasp at?
Even if we cannot fly, we must still leap in hopes of reaching further.
This time, I must fight to the end. I must try, I mustn't give myself excuses.

"-- Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth! --"

There is a voice, calling me from afar. The call to a battle, a pull towards the material world.
The trickling of a familiar desire, to protect what you hold dear in your heart.

I shall answer this order, though this must have been a forgone conclusion; if I had not decided to answer, there would be none of this unending, yet instantaneous indecisive pondering in the first place.

With a mind made up, I knew what my wish, the reason I will fight, the goal of my temporary life as a servant has to be.
-- For this, I shall slay everything that stands in my way.
Everything, including any weaknesses within myself.

Come forth from the ring of restraint!
Guardian of the balance!"

For this time, this one last time.
Mine eyes shall stay open to the very end.

--------------------------------------------------------

Archer of Blue
15th of December, 2004
East London - Apartment 5009
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

A blinding flash of red, followed by a thudding footstep announced the successful summoning of Michael Blackmore's servant.




In the previously unoccupied summoning circle, there was now a cloaked man standing, facing downwards.
His expression hidden by his long hair hanging around his face, blocking off the dimming light of the slowly setting sun, he seemed to be looking at the sword standing undisturbed by his summoning, as if taking in the details of what served as a catalyst to call for him.
As the circle's glow faded away, he blinked, and with a deep breath, finally looked up to take in the rest of the room he was summoned in. With some faint curiosity etched upon his face, the man swept his gaze over the doors, the furniture, and the electronics, while lingering on some of the pictures hanging on the walls.
At last, he turned to face the magus standing right in front of him.

"... ..."

After a moment of intense staring, he gave himself a small nod, and finally started to introduce himself.

"Good afternoon. I am a servant of the Archer class. My good sir, you must be the magus who summoned me?"

Archer's gaunt face cracked into a crooked smile.

"I must apologize if you were hoping for a proper knight, summoned by your handsome sword. I may have been a knight in life, but I was far from the ideal knight most would wish for.
Still, if you are my master who called upon me, I shall dedicate every single ounce of my wit and skill to achieve our victory in this war."

With that declaration, Archer bowed with a flourish, sinking down into a kneel.

[Sunny]

Heroic Spirit ???
Throne of Heroes (?)
Always

In a certain place, at no certain time. The woman idly read a book of her own life. An endless collection in an infinite library, every book a record of herself, and no two alike save for the very beginning and the very end. Virtually without exception, they were quick reads - novelettes or short stories at most.

If the woman had been able to understand how long it had been, she would have thrown herself at the walls in boredom and tore the library to pieces. But eternity and an instant had no distinction there.

An exercise for the aimless reader.

Q: What is she waiting for, exactly?

For someone to reach her, perhaps.

The woman had no great catalyst and almost nothing to ensure a successful connection to her records. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was a Heroic Spirit nearly guaranteed not to respond to any catalyst in the first place. She had no great love for a single item in her life, not even the thing she sweat and bled over, and she gladly left them to the devices of those more suited to them.

It didn't bother her to give up everything. Rather, she had no attachment to what she'd left behind in the first place. After all, the only thing the woman ever entrusted to the world that meant anything to her was her thoughts, incomplete and unfinished as they were.

But it made her dreadfully difficult to reach. A Heroic Spirit of the margins, the in-between, the annotations. A legend just out of reach, even when called for.

Q: What is she waiting for, exactly?

A battleground suited to her, maybe.

The woman was no warrior, hardly the first one would choose to fight on the front-line of any conflict. To even prepare herself and reach a functional state would require a great deal of thought and ingenuity. It was a rare arena that had a place for one such as her.

Q: What is she waiting for, exactly?

To be honest, not even she knew what she waited for.
It was likely she never had a reason to wait to begin with.
And so she waited, and read, without end.

Or she would have, were it not for a tantalizing distraction. A new sound in the world of only turning pages. The familiar, comforting, mechanical tick of a watch where time had no meaning. She followed the noise to a small nothing of a thread, intruding on her isolation.

She poked at the thread, curious. It was a weak connection at most. It wasn't seeking her out in particular. It had no specific preference for who it reached, and for that reason, no particular appeal to anyone. Yet for that reason, it was able to reach her.

Q: What is she waiting for, exactly?

...Ah. Yes.
Something that excited her.
Someone that interested her.

A meager, threadbare lifeline in the sea of imaginary numbers. An ephemeral nothing attached to a slim hope.

Who was she to deny something so... so...

--------

Caster of Blue
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

A flash of blinding, burning red light. A violent displacement of wind and heat, scattering the orderly, cleaned ritual room. The precisely-drawn circle glowed with ever-intensifying light until it was all Erika could do to look away as it washed the entire room in light.

The pressure of building magical energy intensified, narrowing to an ever-finer point, until the glow began to subside and the surrounding area was clouded in a thick, heavy smoke. It was some time before the smoke began to dissipate, revealing...

An empty circle, the bright red charred a darker hue, but with no Servant to show for it.
Had the ritual failed?
Had Erika's makeshift catalyst failed to reach a Heroic Spirit at all?

"...Hm."

A soft, foreign sound from the other side of the room, in the far corner. A tall blonde girl was there, her small back to Erika, clad in a long white coat not unlike a doctor or scientist.

She was kneeling, inspecting some of the papers that had been strewn about, unceremoniously dropping each page to the ground once she was finished with it. Her arms were covered by long black gloves, disappearing into her sleeves.

Then she was striding to the opposite floor, rapping her knuckle on the wall, her head tilted as she listened to it. She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back the way she'd came. Her path intersecting with the summoning circle, she stopped and folded her arms, looking down at it.

It was possible this girl couldn't sit still. Even while investigating the circle, she shifted her weight every other moment, changing her posture in some small way.

Finally, she turned to Erika, her large, blue eyes narrowing and focusing for the first time on the young magus. Or rather, her large, blue left eye focused on her. Over her right eye, a strange device had been strapped like an eyepatch, with an array of different lenses spread out around a black goggle lens that revealed only a small, white pinprick where her iris would be.

The pressure of her gaze was immediate. As if she was looking right through the shorter woman, from head to toe, without any expression at all.

With a soft whirring noise, one of the lenses was rotated over the goggle, replacing the black lens with an ominous, glowing red one as the woman strode over with heavy, purposeful footsteps. Close enough to look Erika directly in the eyes, her face unreadable.

"...Beautiful," she breathed, her eye glowing brightly as she invaded Erika's personal space, her expression melting into a smile that warmed her entire face, and her revealed eye practically sparkling a mere inch from her new Master's. When she smiled, she looked barely Erika's age, if not younger.

After a few moments, she stepped back, hugging something close to her chest, and bursting into a fit of delighted giggles. "It's simply adorable! What a clever little idea! Ahaha..." She held it out in both gloved hands. It was the watch Erika had used as a catalyst.

"To give yourself over to such an interesting experiment..." her servant - Caster - murmured appreciatively. "You absolutely must be my Master."

[Katie]

Erika Kanzaki
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Scarlet light and thick smoke. The ensuing coughing fit does little to help matters, eyes forced shut with every wheeze. Even so, I eventually manage to keep them open, clouds of ash subsiding and settling until the room is visible. Much dirtier, but visible.

And yet, there is nothing.

Maybe I got too hasty with myself, believing Mr. Velvet’s words. Sheer, panicked arrogance led me to a dud. So, if there’s anyway to rectify the situation, first I have to check…

I briefly check for my Command Seals. Still there. Then, I just have to do the ritual properly and—

"...Hm."

I turn around. I have to, because that’s definitely not Natsuki, so there is only one inevitable conclusion at hand. The person behind me, absolutely, has to be my…

All thought comes to a screeching halt as I watch her kneel on the ground, skimming and tossing aside Waver’s papers. Much taller than I expected. The coat she wears looks awfully familiar, not too out of place in this day and age.

But when she looks at me, her gaze meeting mine, behind all of the lenses that cover one of her eyes, I know. Still, she closes the distance, and when we’re practically nose to nose, it takes everything I have not to take a step back and yield. Regardless of how uncomfortable I am, I have to maintain a strong front.

"...Beautiful."

"It's simply adorable! What a clever little idea! Ahaha..."

"To give yourself over to such an interesting experiment..." her servant - Caster - murmured appreciatively. "You absolutely must be my Master."

I know that look very well. There’s a certain type of student, who, when you talk to them, have a vested interest in what you’re saying. The ones born to learn, endlessly curious about the world and its wonders. The kind that put a smile on any teacher’s face, because they care about what you’re saying. A very select few who still have a spark of curiosity in a self-interested age.

I can’t help but smile at that. Even if my Servant can’t be more than two hundred years old with that getup, even if ultimately, her personal Mystery might be the least of them all, I have someone I find pretty as a person. That’s more than enough, considering the asinine manner in which I summoned her. Lucky, even.

“Experiment?” Was that referring to the Holy Grail War? If so, well, that’s just less than voluntary. But, regardless of that… “And yes, I’m your Master. Erika works fine.”

There’s no point in maintaining a relationship like that. The word familiar doesn’t give the being in front of me any justice. As far as I can tell, I’m looking at a living, breathing person, given flesh and sapience anew. The word master just has an incredibly unpleasant connotation to it.

Besides, it’s just weird thinking about how this taller, excitable woman would be calling me Master…

“Judging from how you dress, I assume you’re…” The words die in my throat. I have no clue. Her scientific attire is at odds with everything I’d imagine a Servant to be. But, I’d have to assume the method I used to summon her played a role, so if I keep that in mind with her unusual appearance…

“Caster?”

[Dranes]

Gendou Matou
15th of December, 2004
Morning (Phase 1-1)

"Of course, I figured it wouldn't be that easy," The young Matou shook his head at the man's explanation, "Guess I'll bring anything weird your way then."

With a heave, Gendou picked up his own jar, the teeth making an audible clink as they touched the fragile casing. He never really thought about it but was it possible for these things to get stuck in the jar if they hit a side hard enough? Well, not like he was about to waste one of these teeth just to find out, probably not though, it's not like Kishi had a taste for glass...at least not as far as he knew.

"Still, Tick, Rat, Buck? Nice theme you guys got going. Maybe I'll get a handle of my own soon enough."

Turning on his heel, he took a step forward before stopping abruptly.

"Ah, right, fair's fair. Name's Gendou, be seeing you around."

With a single wave, Gendou moved off once more, wasting no time.

There was still preparations to be done after all. The teeth had to be deposited, catalysts checked, blood collected, catalysts checked again and of course make suitable preparations for the guest of honour for tonight.

After all, it was a special afternoon.


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Gendou Matou
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"Hellooo? Anybody in here?"

The answer was 'of course not', it wasn't exactly visiting hours for this particular crypt...or was it better to call it a catacomb? Either way, the padlock wasn't much of a problem, even for a sub-par mage such as Gendou Matou.

London was home to a number of these subterranean areas, be it for for burying the dead or just using them as stables for their horses in ages past.

Crazy British.

Not a place he'd like to live in for sure but it was necessary, summoning back home would be a bit too noisy for his liking and it lacked the 'charm' needed for this particular ritual. It was a definite step down from his actual base of operations but such as it was, the need for secrecy and all that.

But such areas did provide the perfect spot for unscrupulous mages to practice their craft or for when someone needed a little privacy for one reason or another. Leylines and affinity while normally of concern, Gendou would pay no heed to it. This place had another quality to it that was necessary.

But well, it's not as if this place was quite extraordinary in either of those aspects. Above average and affinity? He was no necromancer, that's for sure, bones held no meaning to him and the dreary environment that he had managed to find himself was simply depressing. The walls were simple bricks, the paint having peeled off long ago, with coffins half open and others in disrepair just like the rest of this man-made cavern.
Ah, and then there was the smell.

The stench of death hung in the air, the corpses having long rotted away and yet something else still lingered in this hell.

A perfect spot then.

It had taken a bit of time but he managed to find the perfect spot, not for himself but for the spirit he was aiming to bring into this world.

With a clink of glass and metal, two containers were placed on the floor and his coat along with them. It would get more dirty being left on than on this dusty floor, that much was obvious.
And then a red splash of liquid.

Soon the jar of crimson had been emptied, transformed into a dark crimson circle, etched into the rock floor. It was simple, just like his 'teachers' had told him to do, but a necessary first step in the ritual. Blood was a good conductor for this or so he understood it, human or animal.

Soon a being unlike any other would be brought forth.

Next was the smaller jar, heavier than the first but for good reason. Fingers ran across the contents, it was but soil and yet it held within it something from the past. Blood had been spilt on this simple dirt, it had witnessed countless wars and fed on the fallen.

This would strengthen him, for war is his art.

With the utmost care, the soil overlapped the blood, an augmentation to the summoning circle one might say. It would strengthen the spirit and bring about a stronger connection.
And now the final piece.

Gendou opened the small metal container. Within there was a stone with three marks or bumps, it seemed quite normal for what was needed for the summoning of a servant.

But looks could be deceiving, as is normally the case in magi dealings. This was Gendou's ace, his trump card for this war, a one of kind item. This was the『　』, an existence that should not be and yet is. It could only be described as a miracle, the single existing indicator that such an ancient war is waged. An item where the phrase 'seeing is believing' would hold more true than in any other circumstance.

Masters in the Holy Grail War look for catalysts to summon forth servants, a powerful relic will lead to a powerful servant. The issue of course is where a relic does not have a strong connection to a servant, then dumb luck is all that one can rely on. Whether the Tohsakas and Einzberns had overcome this obstacle was an unknown to the Matous and as was so common between the three families, none of them cared about the other in reality. Gendou however...the sub-par mage who would be more at home with alchemy than magecraft, he had managed to find it.

A key to the servant he needed for this war. A servant that would fight for him.

Every condition had been met: the land, the time, the catalyst. A final question remained however.

Would he survive this?

Well, there would have to be no mistakes.

Gently placing the fragile rock in the middle of the summoning circle, he stepped back.

The simple sound of the cicadas in summer fill his mind, perhaps typical considering his heritage but a sound of simpler times, caused the scarlet seals to light up even through the bandaging around Gendou's left arm.

Something stirred within.

The cleaned bandages were turning a bright red as he held his left hand out.

Even now, he couldn't catch a break. They writhed, they tore, gnashing at each other if not him but...

It didn't matter.

It was time.

The beginning of the end.

"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let white be the color I pay tribute to."

"Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."

This world would be judged.

"Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me,
and my fate shall be with your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail.
Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth."

"An oath shall be sworn here.
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heavan;
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell."

By his hands.

"From the Seventh Heavan, attended by the three great words of power,
come forth from the ring of restraint,



Protector of the Holy Balance!"

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

“Experiment?”

“And yes, I’m your Master. Erika works fine.”

”I don’t think many magi would call out to a Heroic Spirit with something like that,” Caster answered with a playful smile as she passed the watch back to her summoner. Her gloves were smooth and cool to the touch, with none of the warmth that her smile radiated.

“And even fewer Servants would answer. Thanks to you, now we know who you’d get! A new answer is always more preferable to confirming the one we already knew!”

If she was upset or even disappointed about being chosen by mere chance or an act of reckless bravado, it didn’t show on her face. She was still hyperactive, tilting herself from side to side to look around the room, her arms clasped behind her back.

After all… Had you used a better catalyst, I’d never have gotten to be here in front of you right now.

The strange servant folded her arms as Erika continued, closing her eyes with an affected serious expression. Even the white pinprick on her goggle lens narrowed to a closed line.

“Mm. Mhm, mhm,” she nodded, making thoughtful noises as Erika talked. She held the serious pose for a few seconds, until her shoulders began to tremble, as if the effort of holding the pose was too much for her. Her facade melted again into a giggling fit, hugging her stomach tightly with both arms until it subsided.

Ah, I’d better make another adjustment…

“Erika. Erika. Erika. There, nicely stuck in my head now. Nice to meet you, Erika!”

“Judging from how you dress, I assume you’re…”

“Caster?”

She stepped backwards in two exaggerated steps, her hands clasped behind her back, and then collected herself with a small cough. “Right. Let’s do this correctly, then. I don’t know if I dress the part, but all the same…”

With a grace that her previous behavior didn’t suggest, she seized the edges of her coat, curtseying with a gentle, elegant air. “Servant Caster, such as I am. Just Caster will do, for now. It really is a pleasure to meet you, Erika.”

She lifted her head, demurely, only to tilt it with an excited grin. “Now then. I want to see everything! Immediately. I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait!”

[Leftovers]

In her sleep with no awakening, she dreams of eternity.

She grasps at sunlight from the bed of a primeval sea. She counts the days in grains of sand on a nameless shore. She watches time grind down the bones of the earth and wonders if what she sees is real, or had once been, or is yet to be. And when she realises that it is all of those and none, and that a moment captured like an insect in amber becomes eternity, and that the grains of sand she gathers will always spill through her fingers before long, it is then that she is truly afraid.

Where the things she once knew have vanished, when the names and faces of those she held dear have faded, after she has lost sight even of her own self, her heart endures. Not knowing who "she" is, she knows that these emotions are her own. The fear and the longing that accompany her in the time beyond time are the last untarnished fragments of who she once was.

She wanders into the dark unknown and finds her footsteps in the sand leading her to the place from which she began or which she never left and understands that infinity can be found in a vast expanse as much as in the palm of a hand so long as she is forced to tread it. And she will walk that endless path in every moment that was and will be, chasing after what she cannot find, and her tears will become an ocean, and she will sink to the bottom---

---and she will reach out,

-----and grasp at sunlight from the depths,

-------and wonder if those faint wisps of light will ever cross infinity to reach her.

Did they ever reach her? Did she ever reach them? She struggles to remember but her mind has eroded, grinding against the whetstone of eternity, and all she has is this black-and-white dream and a desperate wish for something she can no longer recall.

She piles up stones for what was lost, and the cairns become mountains, and what was lost does not return.

Because she longs for it, it shall never be. But in truth, even if it did, she would not recognise it.

Small prayers sink to the abyss of her despair. The hope that she holds onto is not one of salvation. An illusion that can only be seen in the far distance, a light to which the moth flitters, and no matter how far she blindly strides towards it they will never meet. Ever she seeks the answer to a question without purpose. After all, that which it signifies cannot exist in this world.

Dust will raise mountains and mountains will become dust and she will still count in the grains of sand on a nameless shore the time until this dream ends and she sees that light again.

Once, her prayers that lay scattered in the depths began to rise and float to the surface like so many ephemeral bubbles, and her body had felt weightless as air, and she had poured out all of herself and reached towards the light, and she had broken the surface and felt its warmth in her fingertips. As she held it in her hands she had recalled who she was, and what she sought, and the nature of her endless dream. But then eternity rewound itself, and the waves washed over her footsteps in the sand, and she could not remember anything at all.

The dream is true—the only thing that's true, so long as someone dreams it. And she can not awaken.

.

.

.

.

Berserker of Blue
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

The whirlwind of ether died down as abruptly as it had stirred. With a soft sound, bare feet touched the solid rock at the middle of the summoning circle. Hair still afloat about her as though she had just completed her descent from some distant heaven, the woman in white closed her eyes, arms stretched out to her sides even as she held a spear longer than she was tall in one hand, and took her first breath in a very long time.

She had done it. She had really done it. This vessel - and how strange it felt to occupy it! - was proof enough. Even as the Holy Grail filled her mind with information she knew that she had achieved a miracle. Her chest swelled with much more than the air she did not truly need: the sweetest taste of hope.

Thus elated, the Servant opened her eyes, and almost lost it all there and then.

"Oh heavenly father---!"

Nearly dropping her weapon in shock, Berserker gaped at her surroundings with wide blue eyes, not trusting her mouth to speak while she slowly scanned the chamber she was in. When her gaze fell on the immense gateway and the three obsidian pillars before it she couldn't contain a less-than-heroic whimper that squeaked past her lips. By the time she had turned a half circle and her scrutiny fell upon the white-clad figure standing behind her, she had not yet blinked.

But then she did. And then she looked up.

And up.

"...ah?"

Not a second after her involuntary exclamation she brought a hand over her mouth as embarrassment overrode her previous apprehension. The stern eyes of who could only be her Master stared her down without a single trace of amusement in them. Some impression she must have made!

"Ahem."

Composing herself before the woman that had summoned her, Berserker hoisted her spear to her side and with what she hoped was proper decorum recited the words of the contract that came naturally to her lips:

"Declare, O magus. Are you my Master?"

[Bloble]

Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
East London - Apartment 5009
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

It was a conflagration that momentarily burned away Michael Blackmore's self-control.

The light, the noise, the miracle, they brought to mind old stories, those that had become seed beds for years of childhood dreams. For that moment, as the Grail reinforced his amateur ritual and brought forth a Servant, Michael was a young boy again, giddy with excitement and wonder.

Ah, he marveled, as the red light faded and a single footstep signaled the arrival of an otherworldly presence in the otherwise mundane apartment. This is a Hero.

Then the Servant, Archer, swept his gaze across the room and landed on Michael. He could not see into or past those eyes. A great uncertainty very nearly took hold of him, only withdrawing the moment Archer knelt and delivered his self-deprecating introduction.

That smile. Those words. That bent knee.

Oh, Michael realized. He is a person.

Just like that, he could move again. And so he did.

"I am your Master, Archer, but I am not your superior. The name is Michael Blackmore."

Michael sank down onto one knee, reaching the same level as Archer. A friendly smile bloomed across his face.

"And, from one improper knight to another: It is an honour."

He extended a large hand, bridging the centuries-long divide between them.

"Servant Archer. If you would fight for my wish, then I'll fight for yours."

[Kirby]

There is a thing perfect in its disorder
Born before heaven and earth.

All things return to the Origin. Such is the immutable law of this world.

Silent and void
It stands alone and does not change,

And yet she was here. Banished from life and death. Lying within this forest, dark as the depths of the sea, lights like distant stars shimmering above. Here, she waits.

All pervading and unfailing
It is capable of being the mother of the world.

A timeless void. An abyss to which there was neither beginning nor end. No death. No rebirth. No release. No sound but voice, a voice that cries out.
“Your being shall serve beneath me, and my fate shall rest upon your sword.

She wonders, idly. What is this, then? A curse? A punishment?

I know not its name
So I call it the ███

No matter how much time passes, a memory shines bright. A light that remains within her memories.
"—Answer me.”

That never again, would she lay her eyes on anything quite as beautiful—

◆

15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

For a second, it was as if there was nothing. And then, as if all sound had disappeared from the world.

A torrent of power, of shimmering light. Wind coalesces in the circle, shrouding the figure within it in a brilliant blue glow.

The wind settles, and the lights die down. And she descends, a silhouette illuminated in the afternoon sun. In flowered robes and flowing hair that dance in the settling wind. Lightly, one foot over the other, as if descending from flight, sending bare ripples along the blood pooled at her feet. She turns, her eyes closed, an expression that of utmost serenity and grace. She opens them and—

"—Heya!"

…

A stunned silence.

...Wait a minute. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, is it?

It’s not?

“I… uhh…” I frown. The boy just stares at me wordlessly, and the utter silence of it all starts to settle in. It feels almost uncomfortable. Did I do it wrong? No, I definitely did do it wrong, didn’t I?

“Err… sorry. I mean— gimme a minute.” I look about myself, getting a bearing for my surroundings. The boy before me looks positively mortified. Wait, is he bleeding? Am I standing in blood right now?

“Ah!” I clap my hands together. I got it! “Can you just leave this room and come back in, so we can try this again? And, um, pretend you just saw me for the first time when you do?”

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"Can you just leave this room and come back in, so we can try this again? And, um, pretend you just saw me for the first time when you do?"


Arwyn nods meekly, still somewhat disoriented. While he didn't see the reasoning behind it, there was no reason not to comply with the strange girl's request. He could just…ask her later? Maybe…?

Wincing as the pain of his bleeding arm began to settle in at last, he staggers to his feet, and tactfully closes the door behind him. He wonders what she was doing. Or what he was doing, for that matter.

…Was he supposed to know when he should come back in? Was she going to call him? Did he just decide on some arbitrary timing? That couldn't be it, could it? What would even be the point in that? But then, what was the point of this?

He tried to make sense of the entire situation, but only confused himself further.


Drip. Drip. Drip.


Bright red fresh blood overflows from his wounded arm and spills steadily onto the floor of the hallway. Hurriedly, he tries to press it down with his other hand. It wouldn't do to make a mess here, and create extra work for the caretaker staff. Guiltily, he decides on cleaning the stains as soon as he can.


"……"


Standing here for so long was only making the problem worse.


Drip. Drip. Drip.


"…M-may I come back in now?"


He wonders why he was asking for permission to enter his own apartment.