The Dragon Chief
There are those who embrace destiny; those are the people who change the world forever... yet there are others, who do not embrace their destinies, but defy much more than even Fate...
What does one feel when all is lost? How is one supposed to feel?
As her body dissolves into motes of prana that slowly flutter into the air, all she could do is lament her many regrets. She has so many accomplishments, only to be drown in many more failures. But what was she supposed to feel now...?
DIE. DIE. DIE.
Two sets of memories assault her mind, both only diverting from each other at the beginning of the Fifth Holy Grail War of Fuyuki City. As a thousand images flash through her mind, lamentation gives way to confusion. What exactly was going on, she wonders yet could not voice. The few warm memories of sharing a wondrous meal in the Emiya household with Emiya Shirou's friends and family are offset by a multitude of different images. Through her eyes, she sees the cruelest imitations of war, feels the tortures of devilish magi, and endures the very corruption of all that is evil...
...All that is evil? Ah, she remembers now, digging through her dual sets of memories. Angra Mainyu, the sum of all evils...
DIE.
...She sees things not meant for even immortal eyes. Her now oh-so-fragile and surprisingly human mind flinches and cries as madness fills her very being. Only a soft golden warmth within her keeps the darkness from consuming her in her totality. She knows what its source is. She knows it as well as she knows her own body. But at the same time, it should not be here, not after how twisted she has become. But it is here. Within her—
—Sludge flows everywhere. All around her, the black shadows bubble and claw at her. It is a crawling chaos, slothfully trying to consume her. Only that which remains within her keeps her fragile mind whole. She tries to call out its name, to banish the darkness. But she finds that she cannot utter its name even as the dark mud slowly wraps around her mouth and neck, choking and suffocating her. Even as her eyes fill with mad lunacy, even as her cheeks are streaked with tears of regret, she cannot call out its name in her mind.
DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE.
She has forgotten so much, leaving her with so little. The blackness burns at her, consuming what little she remembers. The images within her mind burn, like a film rail that has been cut and set on fire, burning and melting into nothingness, leaving only blankness in its wake.
Twinkle...
What is for dinner tonight Shirou? Hm? Who is Shirou? Who am I? Where am I? What is dinner? Tonight? What date is it? What is a date? There is darkness everywhere, why can't I see anything? Why can't I open my mouth? Why...? As it surrounds her, soft speckles of bright, white lights drift around her. She cannot see these cool, soothing lights, but as they make contact with her body, they fade. No, they are melting... is this... snow?
Twinkle...
Something stands in the distance. Ah, it is someone, a girl. She knows her; the distinctive white, silky hair, intelligent, red eyes, and soft, understanding smile. She... she struggles, trying to remember; the pieces of her mind fit imperfectly. She knows this girl! The girl... she... she served her once? No, someone like her, perhaps? The girl is glowing with bright, white light, calling to her...
...But does she want to reach for the girl? All she could feel within is pain. Why prolong it when the darkness could swallow her whole and end it right there? Why indeed?
She does not linger. She is a woman of action. The closer she is to the girl, the more she could identify of her—and the more her memories reforge themselves. A white crown... a silvery robe, constructed of gold... outstretched hands... As the girl moves closer, the cooler her body feels. The mud no longer burns at her skin. Snow? The whiteness drifts towards her, driving the blackness away.
...die...?
...She leans forward, her hands penetrate the mud. It drips from her fingers, but the girl grasps her. She pulls her out of the darkness and embraces her. What is going on? Why cannot her ears receive any sound? The girl in white is saying something, whispering it to her. But she could not understand. She wants to, doesn't she? Yes, yes...
...The white light envelopes her, devouring her without pause. But she feels... peace? Is this what peace feels like? How long has she yearned for it—
“—Oof!” She gasps as she collapses onto the ground. Ground? She looks around her, seeing only wild flora that she cannot recognize completely. She looks down at herself, seeing a strange, aquatic blue gown donned onto her body, torn in many places. On her lap rests an intricately woven scabbard, sheath for a golden sword. Her heart warms as her eyes take into the sight of this beautiful weapon. A sense of familiarity washes over her, one that she recognizes as longing.
Instinctively, her arms wrap around the scabbard, basking in its healing warmth and pulling it close to her body. Her chest presses against the cool, golden surface and she lets out a soft, agonizingly comfortable sigh. She belonged with this scabbard, this sword, this...
...She frowns, staring down at her arms. The comfortable blue fabric that covers her arms have many tears and many burns in it. Her mind could categorize each individual scratch and pock mark. She sees slices, slashes, thrusts, burns, explosions and many other signs of battle. She swallows slowly, heart pounding audibly in her chest. Is she a warrior then? Why does she so long for peace?
But such thoughts are not for her, at least not now.
A rustling around her shakes her from her reverie. She smiles grimly, remembering that she is still in an unknown jungle, with only part of her memories. If she is really a warrior, then perhaps she is even in enemy territory?
Through the branches and leaves of green, yellow and brown, she sees a coming darkness. Ah, it is so faint, yet so like the darkness that, just moments ago, was choking the very essence of her being out of her mortal shell. A frown mars her visage once more—she sees the darkness clearly now, in the shadows of the forest. A group of these things, almost one hundred in number, approach her. They look like they should be dead, wearing tainted, bloody armors covered in rust or decay...
...As they sense her, see her, their howls pierce the air. Somehow, she knows what to call them.
Darkspawn.