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The discovery of an Ancient Egyptian tomb dated to circa 3000 BCE, nearly a thousand years predating the Epic of Gilgamesh, found written records of an epic entitled Khepri. It detailed a young woman who specialized in weaving fabrics that learned of a magic that allowed her to control the lowliest of creatures (the descriptions for everything that she could control was not precise), and through the strength of her character and incredible capabilities for leadership she grows to be able to fight powerful beasts of fire, water, and the mind. Large portions of the tale seemed to be omitted, however the final chapter was among those that were stored, it detailed her fighting a golden man by taking control when no one else would and defeating the golden man through the power of the collective, and her subsequent ascension to godhood. Also found were details on the worship of the aspects of Ra…
-an excerpt from “The Gods of Early Ancient Egypt”
Early dawn has long been a magical time, it is intrinsically linked to the concept of change; it is the time for the changing of night to day, it is the time of bloom for flowers, it is the time of rise for the creatures of the day, the time for birds, for the worms, it is the time of rest for the creatures of the night, the time for rest for the wolf, for the deer.
Unfortunately, as much as dawn has been romanticized into a kind time, the magic it empowers is not as kind of an art. Or at least that was what Uryuu Ryuunosuke was gathering from the book he had pilfered from his parents.
It contained instructions, for what? He is unsure, but based off the sheer depravity of the materials necessary, the promise? It is tantalizing to behold.
Maybe he would give birth to something unholy, summon a demon that could teach him fascinating new ways to expand his artistry.
Maybe the ritual would resurrect something incomprehensibly ancient, and he would be able to learn ways to inflict pain so heinous that it was stricken from the pages of history sealed away with prayers to never return.
Maybe it would lead to his death, it mattered not, all that mattered was the completion of the ritual.
The clock struck four, he knew not why, but it was an important number. He had theories aplenty, maybe by invoking death the ritual would be made more complete somehow, but again it mattered not, the ritual must come to a close.
Crouching down in front of the child tied onto the floor he couldn’t help but laugh, he was so excited!
Months ago, he had found the leather-bound journal. It contained notes on a singular ritual, so clearly modified from the original that for many a page he had to shine light through the paper to determine which word was crossed off, and which word was written over the remnants of something being crossed off.
Weeks ago, he had felt a strange, almost psychotic need to complete the ritual that it entailed. He couldn’t hope to understand the mechanics behind the ritual, but the strange compulsion drove him to continue on no matter what frustrations he had over the directions.
Days ago, he had finally finished preparations.
Hours ago, he had found the family that would give their final act of service in witness to his magnum opus. He could not even begin to explain how the same drive to complete the ritual, also demanded that he use this family, but they had perfectly served him in his goals.
He greedily drunk in the air, the tension was palpable, the scent of blood on the floor was sweet in its own sickly way, the haze as he felt more than saw the metaphorical scale begin to tip.
He felt a twang deep inside of him, as if something that his whole life was built towards was happening, spinning around he took a look around the room, ignoring the wince of pain the child let out, he allowed himself to bask in the moment.
Dozens of motes of light rising from the ‘summoning circle’ of blood in the center of the room was the first signifier of his success. Ryuunosuke backed slightly as golden flashes of lightning licked out from wherever the motes came from, scorching everything it touched. The air above the circle thickened before then coalescing into a thin, wispy, white smoke that with every breath condensed into a more and more viscous, black smoke that weighed heavily on his mind. Small holes in the thick cloud started to form as a golden light forced its way through, first shining past him, and then on him. When he looked directly into the light, it seemed to burn his very soul, and yet, the light sang a song that ears could not hear, that the mind could not grasp, that the soul could touch, and yet, in spite of its impossibility it served to heal his very essence in a way that nothing ever had, caressed him in a way that no one ever could.
And in a moment, it all went away.
Blinking the spots from his eyes and ignoring the feeling of being pelted by sand, as if he stood in the midst of a sandstorm, Ryuunosuke stared at the kneeling form a step ahead of him. It was mottled with blacks and grays, constantly shifting, always restless. Long, tattered robes seemed to flow in a wind that shouldn’t exist, and yet seemed to nonetheless, implanting into the deepest recesses of his mind the feeling of sand on the wind, and carrying the scent clinical death. A soft blue glow that somehow failed to illuminate anything outside of itself formed an illusion of wings on the back, constantly shifting, always restless. But what was the most distinct, what every instinct that he had long honed in his pursuit to perfect his art was screaming in terror of, was the pair of golden lenses that stared into his soul, constantly shifting, always restless.
And, most terrifying of all, it didn’t look as if it approved.
Too giddy off the high of a rousing success to doubt himself Ryuunosuke forged on, dismissing the soft sobs of the young boy he had almost forgotten about in the excitement, he let an excited, all-encompassing smile worm itself onto his face.
A quiet buzz permeated throughout the room, a small twitch from the figure kneeling a step away caused him to be able to mentally articulate that that was the first movement it had made in the 30 seconds since the light faded.
A soft feminine voice filled the room, “I ask you. Who has summoned me to this plane. Sought me for a war beyond understanding. I ask your name. I ask, who are you.”
The voice put him in a trance, it put a comforting pressure onto his mind, silenced him into giving the owner of the voice a level of trust he did not know he still had left to give, “Um.” He shyly laughed, how could he follow up a word she said, he who would murder without thought, who was he to talk to someone who cared so deeply, “I’m Uryuu Ryuunosuke. I do odd jobs, and my hobby is serial killing. I prefer kids and young women.” He didn’t know where he was going with his statement, he felt as if it had just devolved into an awkward, anxious ramble that held no sustenance. A nervous smile was all he could do to try and smooth over his stumble.
“Not you.” His heart instantly constricted, it felt as if someone had wrapped it in garrote wire and was constricting it tighter than he could think as possible, his throat closed up the feeling of cotton filling his mouth, the previously comforting pressure shifted from a cool, silk blanket in a warm summer night, to tight bindings that left him unable to breathe.
He collapsed onto a knee as the figure passed by him.
Collapsed onto his side when the young boy was enclosed in a hug, the bindings that the serial killer had placed eaten away by a million formless black shapes.
Blinded by millions of tiny legs as the young boy stepped through a doorway that led to freedom.
Uryuu Ryuunosuke, thought himself a master in the art of dealing death. But he was too caught up on the idea of it being physical, he had never considered how strong the complete dismissal by someone who held your entire world in their fingers could cut.
The young boy’s legs trembled; his terror had not dissipated. In spite of the woman who claimed he was her Master promising safety, in spite of the monster that had killed his parents lay covered in things, in spite of being arms reach away from escape.
He felt the woman who claimed he was her Master come to a stop behind him, she whispered something to his mind that he failed to comprehend and yet understood the intent of, he grasped the hand she was holding out, wincing as she traced over the red marks that painted the back of his hand, he followed her as she stepped through the [DOOR], and relaxed on the hotel bed.
Sleep took ahold immediately. For he knew that right at this moment, he was safe. He knew that nothing would get past his Caster.
Nothing would get past his Khepri.
Gilgamesh was bored.
His master was boring.
His master’s aspirations were boring.
The people he’d seen so far that he was to fight were boring.
And as such he found himself in a park to clear his mind.
He could make a joke out of this about how Enkidu was impacting him far more than he realized, but even as a conceptual spirit he was afraid that his friend would hear and proceed to never let him hear the end of such a thought.
A short, quizzical tug on the connection between him and his master informed him that he would like to know where he was.
Gilgamesh couldn’t say.
After all, he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of the park.
Why would he?
Was it not part of his kingdom?
And so, he ignored his master’s questions, if the questions were important, he would use one of those command spells.
With all annoyances dealt with he returned to his stroll around the park.
Well almost all annoyances.
The insect, in spite of sharing similarities with a common fly there was no possibility of it being so, had been lazily looping around just out of reach of him since the moment he materialized in the park.
At first, he had opted to ignore it, certain what was most probably a familiar of some sort would leave, the master of the creature too terrified of someone as grand as him following the link and serving a just punishment for ruining a late-night stroll.
When the creature failed to leave, he decided to actually examine it beyond a cursory acknowledgement, it was fascinating.
It either lacked a link to the mage, or the link was so expertly hidden that even he had to commend whoever created the creature.
Every step forward he took, the creature flitted just far enough away, in just a specific enough common direction that the message was clear.
And so, Gilgamesh followed it.
He followed, barely noticing when the ground below turned from a finely manicured gravel, to a finely manicured grass. Barely noticing when the finely manicured grass gave way to a less tame patchwork. And when that less tame patchwork transitioned into a true forest floor.
Eventually the thick forest gave way to an open lake, and sitting on the close bank of the lake was a woman dressed in a black body suit under a gray overcoat that looked too physical to be a part of the Servant’s identity.
As he approached, he took note of the environment the woman had designed. The moon high above, casting an ephemeral silver glow on the entire area. A deep, crimson rug floated in the air, just above the sands of the lake shore. On the rug, an ornate, red-stained, gold trimmed, tea table with two equally as ornate cushions sitting opposite from one another.
As he came to a stop, the woman stood up and gave a shallow bow before indicating for him to sit across from her. He raised an eyebrow at the lack of a tea set, however a wave of her hand and two cups appeared.
“Do you have a preference?”
Her voice was smooth.
Not smooth as in silky, no, this was the type of smooth only leaders developed. It sounded as if it had been smoothed out by the sands of time and hardship, rather than the waters that coddled Tokomi and the Kotomines.
“Wine.” His voice in contrast was sharp, leaving no room for contest, for if one was to challenge the king, they must have the mettle to back up their ambitions.
A quick gesture and the cup closer to him transformed from a porcelain piece of fine China laced with gold, to a golden goblet accented with brilliant gems of all fashions.
“Do you have your own stock, I’m afraid I didn’t prepare a suitable wine for the occasion.”
He eyed the woman, even though he was still towering over her, she appeared uncowed. “Should a host not prepare for any reasonable request of their guest?”
She chuckled softly in response, “I am no host here.” She looked directly at him for the first time, her gold-brown-green orbs glowing in the moonlight, peering directly into him. She shook her head before turning towards the lake, “We are both guests here. We who both have once laid claim to all that laid under the sun. The grail, the mages who created it, this world; they are our hosts.” She conjured a tea pot and set it down, “Now sit, let us discuss topics meant only for us over a drink.”
Gilgamesh sat, and conjured himself a barrel of wine he found to be acceptable for now. He poured wine into his goblet till it nearly overflowed and brought the wine to his lips. As he expected, he found it, merely acceptable.
“The local culture’s studies on tea are fascinating, the level of care that has gone into the etiquette surrounding the act of consuming the drink paints a fascinating tale of the importance of the drink.”
The conversation was to start lightly it appeared, frustrating but acceptable, “Why do you bring this up?”
“Because I know what I fight for Gilgamesh.” Her voice was cold, were he a lesser man he would have been frozen in fear, his heart might even have given in out of sheer terror.
But he was no lesser man.
Gilgamesh growled in response, a deep throaty thing that seemed to permeate through the valley the lake found itself in. His ego meant that he would not, could not, take any insult standing down.
And that, that was a grave insult.
Were he a lesser man he would have lost his composure, struck her down where she stood.
But he was no lesser man.
The golden goblet bent under his grip, if she noticed she didn’t react, “I fight because my Master wishes for the fighting to come to a peaceful resolution, I fight for there to be a tomorrow that can be better.” She paused, “May I ask what your wish is?”
“No.” The noise was guttural.
She smiled, it was coy, and it served to aggravate him even more.
“Fine.” The smile at his words seemed to actually reach her eyes, “I fight for the grail because it is a treasure I do not yet have.”
Yet again the smile shifted, this time it hinted at a sense of knowing, hinted at her possessing knowledge that had not reached him. She shook her head and looked off, towards the moon, wistfully, “Is that all? You seek the pinnacle of mage craft simply because it is a treasure you lack? I almost pity you.”
Hearing that he was shocked out of his anger, the concept of pity was far from foreign to him, but for someone to pity him?
“What is the worth of a single life? What is the worth of an entire kingdom? Do you truly value something as replaceable as an artifact over the sanctity of life?”
He was still frozen when she vanished through the golden portal.
Still seated at his cushion.
Still mulling over what she had said.
It was several hours later that the break of dawn shook him out of his thoughts.
He stepped into the lair of his master still mulling over what she had said before his master stopped him, “Did you find anything useful?”
“Fuck.” Gilgamesh never caught her name.
Stepping out of the plane and out onto the staircase Saber felt a chill crawl up her back.
She kept an accommodating façade for Irisveil but internally she cursed. She recognized this feeling, the cold dead overtones, the constant pressure onto the sense of self.
She was being observed.
That in itself was normally not a cause for concern.
What was however, was the fact that it was clear by how the other passengers, and Irisveil held themselves that only Saber was the target of the observations.
Stepping into the rear of the vehicle to chauffer them throughout the city Saber maintained her placid façade, just how the pressure maintained in constant level, in constant focus directed towards her and her alone.
It made her skittish during the entire road trip, eyes constantly flickering between buildings, lingering for too long on dark empty alleyways, catching glimpses of clumps of black. She was quick to acquiesce to Irisveil’s request to walk around the city, to experience the joys of a world she had long been isolated from.
She tried to ignore the feeling, hoping that the fact that the observer had even made themselves known was an affirmation that they wouldn’t attack.
She tried to enjoy watching as Irisveil tried everything that seemed to catch her fancy for even a moment, the countless food stalls that had their stock picked for what they specialized in, the various stores that advertised their wares to the denizens of the street.
By mid-afternoon Saber had found herself carrying a load of nearly a dozen bags of various sizes, following a step behind her ‘Master’ as she continued to look around with a sense of childlike amusement.
“Oh!”
Saber looked at her inquisitively.
“Saber, lets go to the beach!”
Remembering a map that she had glanced at earlier, Saber did the mental math to figure out how long it would take at their current pace to get to one of the well-maintained public beaches, “We wouldn’t arrive till nightfall.”
Irisveil took that in stride, “Nonetheless, I think it would be great fun.”
Saber smiled softly before relenting.
Just as Saber had predicted, the sun was down to its last vestige, only a scant few streaks of light painted the night sky.
But even still, Irisveil enjoyed frolicking through the sea.
Enjoyed wading through, splashing around, soaking in the feeling, of the shin high salt-water.
Saber came to rest, several paces from the shoreline, when Irisveil stopped to gaze out to the open ocean.
“This was fun.”
Saber smiled in response, giving her the space to continue.
“This must be many girls’ dreams.”
“To be out in the market, a gentlemanly knight in tow?”
Irisveil turned her head to the side and smiled in response.
“But this is not exactly what you imagined?”
“No, I could not bring myself to pain him so.”
Saber raised her eye in response.
Before she could ask, “Happiness has always seemed to bring him pain.”
Saber understood, the sorrow that ghosted the edges of her true Master’s eyes spoke of a tiredness that she rarely saw among even the most blooded of her knights.
“What do you think of the sea.”
Saber understood the change of topic, “When I was king, the sea represented our enemies. It represented the eyes of the scouts which led to the blades of the armies that raided our shores. Now, I don’t know what to think of the sea, the eyes are ever present. And now our enemies don’t come from the sea, instead from the land and the sky.”
Irisveil seemed to wind up in preparation to say something before she let it go and let the silence serve to speak for them both.
Several moments later Saber felt the presence of a fellow Servant prodding her, asking for a fight.
She alert her ‘Master’ and they both agreed that they should accept the enemy Servant’s request for a duel.
She confronted Lancer in the middle of the docks.
Saber did it all, under the eyes of Caster.
Caster, many miles away, who gently coaxed a child to sleep that, despite knowing with complete certainty that he could not be safer, continued to suffer from sleep terrors depicting a man who had been consumed down to the bone, hunt him down.
Caster, many miles away, who watched as Saber revealed herself to be King Arthur.
Who watched as Alexander the Great came down on a grand chariot to announce his desire for conquest.
Who watched as Gilgamesh towered above the collection of legendary figures yet kept his eyes drilled on the moth lazily circling above.
Who watched as a man laid eyes on Assassin, an Assassin who should be dead twice over.
Once to Gilgamesh outside of his Master’s home.
Once again to Caster, mere rooftops away, being flayed to the bone, by bugs that defied normality.
Assassin, whose Master hid behind the shield of neutrality offered by the church.
As the last remnants of the night slipped away in favor of the first hints of the day to come.
As the sea let forth a gentle mist.
A battle raged.
Just above the peaks of the waves, floated a woman.
Glowing blue wings extended from her back, unmoving, yet keeping her completely still in the turbulent winds.
She was clad in a mixture of whites, light grays, and sharp electric blues.
And was outlined in a halo of gold.
Far above a man clad in gold and red armor, with hair of gold, and a gaze of crimson, glared down at the woman.
He was breathing heavily, anger flowing through his veins, spite keeping his mind sharp, fury keeping his will strong.
She in contrast, was languid.
Unbothered by the destruction that tainted the air surrounding them.
“Do you mind if I tell you a story Archer?”
In spite of the distance, in spite of the roaring of a sea rushing to fill in the holes left by weapons that caused reality to crumble, in spite of the winds continuing to whip around due to the innumerous explosions that rocked the sea, he heard her.
“You may.” And just as similarly, simply because he willed that he be heard over the cacophony of sounds buffeting them both, she heard him.
“In my time, the end of the world was not a question of if. Instead, it was a question of when.” She smiled a familiar smile, it was the same one that adorned her face when they first had met, under the light of the moon, by a lake that glowed in turn. “Due to this, it bred out certain characteristics from me, chief among them, a tolerance for inaction.” She paused for several moments, “In a world where every wasted action was another death, where every moment not spent further pursuing any method to stymie an oncoming apocalypse was yet another town burned, where every time I took a step back and let needless suffering occur was yet another avenue for the end of the world to come to fruition. I grew to hate inaction.”
Her gaze lasered onto Gilgamesh, peering into his soul, “Do you know what I see in you? I see a man who is plagued by sloth. It has gone past the point of mere inaction, instead, your rampant sense of superiority has made you nothing more than an imbecile.” She could not control the sneer that forced itself onto her face.
Gilgamesh took a moment to process that, ‘This spinless cur dares talk down on ME?’ In that moment he could not control his most base emotions, the word rage could not even begin to describe the magnitude of his fury.
Eyes dilated, muscles tensed, mind sharpened.
His entire body worked in concert with one goal.
Eradicate the peon who dared to question HIM.
In the distance, Tokomi Tohsaka was awakened by the early dawn sky taking on a brilliant red glow.
Elsewhere, the child who had been saved, watched with bated breath as an equally brilliant gold light surged to meet it.
Kariya, no family name, for he refused to willingly take on the Matou name, stared into the expansive night sky.
His breathing was choppy, fluids trickled down his throat, filling his lungs.
He knew death.
He had brushed paths with the grim reaper many times.
And he knew that the wraith had its claws tightly wrapped around him.
It was a pity he couldn’t deliver on the promise he had made to the lonely little girl.
He saw the wraith slowly stalk towards him.
Leaving the fading corpse of his Beserker behind, impaled by a pyre of polearms that held funny looking blades.
He lacked the energy to turn his head to look at the wraith as it claimed him.
It came to a stop, floating above him with an expected eerie silence.
“May I ask you what your name is?”
The wraith speaking startled Kariya enough to snap him out of his reverie, he forced himself to look at the ‘wraith’ and he started to notice how it she appeared to be far more material than what his first glance hinted towards.
“Kariya.” He coughed up simply, the woman clearly wished to accompany him in his final moments, and he welcomed the company.
She continued to patiently watch him, waiting for him to offer more, knowing that him giving only his given name painted a picture that she wished to see more of.
After some time, after several moments of listening to the chirps of crickets, the rustling of leaves on the nighttime winds, he relented, “Matou Kariya.”
“You’re not proud of your family name?” Kariya could hear the placid smile through her voice.
“No.”
He could feel her come down to a kneeling position beside him. “May I ask why?”
“No.”
She respected his wishes, again letting the sounds of the night wash over them both. He felt the moment Beserker finally let go of his grips on the material plane, dissolving into prana swept into the wind. They both watched as the final specks of light dwindled out, as Lancelot returned to the throne of heroes he now called home.
“Can you honor a dying man’s request?” She turned to look at him before nodding, he only saw the movement in the corner of his eye, still only having the strength to gaze up at the starry sky, “May I ask you to share your name?”
“The name I have been given, the name that I fight with now, is Khepri.”
He chuckled before wincing in pain, “I never stood a chance, did I?” She shook her head, “I thank you for giving a dying man some company before he passes.”
A quiet silence returned.
He couldn’t say he was satisfied. And she seemed to have noticed, “May I ask you one final question?” He gave off a weak smile in affirmation, “Why do you fight, what is your wish?”
A dreamy smile overtook his face, “There’s this young girl, she is warm and kind, everything that I am not; I wish for her to be happier than anyone else. For her, I would do anything, lay down my life, take a life, anything.” He let out a wet cough tinged with blood, “That’s why I fight, why I endure the pain my ‘Family’ has inflicted upon me.”
“May I ask for her name?” Kariya didn’t know why, but he trusted her, he knew not why but he believed that he could put his fate into her hands.
“Sakura, Matou Sakura.”
Khepri placed her palm upon his forehead, “I ask of you, Matou Kariya, may I, help you in achieving your wish?”
He knew it was a pipe dream, but the soft conviction of her voice, the gentle pressure of her mere presence, the graceful movements she showed during their fight. He for a moment believed it possible, and in that moment, he permitted her to fight on his behalf.
A soft burst of mana and his eyes closed, finally seeing the fabled lights of heaven.
Khepri stood up, and stepped through a door, she was only allowed certain levels of interference with the world not directly connected to the Grail War, but this, this was allowed.
The next morning Kariya woke in a hotel in effectively the middle of nowhere, his body felt rejuvenated, many longstanding aches gone, old bruises that never healed right smoothed over, broken bones that never set right made anew.
And his mind.
His mind was sharper than ever, no longer clouded by the effects of the crest worms, no longer suffering from the innate grogginess that a constant state of fear lodged into the mind.
But most surprising of all, was the simple fact that he was alive.
He looked around the suite he awoke in, the plush loveseat he slept in left behind.
What he saw caused him to collapse, sobs of joy wracking through his body.
And in the single bed of the suite, slept Sakura.
Blissfully unaware of the previous night’s events.
Gilgamesh gazed upon the trails of destruction that Ea had left in her wake, his prized possession, his personal sword had gouged a hole in reality during the fight with Rider.
He heard the parting of the air as a cut in space let out a woman who he had grown to know during the short war.
“Gilgamesh.”
He grunted in response; he knew it would be fruitless to fight her here and now. They had both familiarized themselves with each other’s tricks, and Gilgamesh wished to respect Alexander.
“Tell me about him.” He looked over to the woman, a woman who he held in equal respect to few others.
“A tale for a tale. I never learned of your name Caster.”
Caster obliged, “I was summoned as Khepri.”
Were he his master Gilgamesh would have questioned how it was possible that a divine spirit of such class could be summoned to the war.
Were he anyone else, the first question to come to mind would have been anything other than, “I was under the impression Khepri was a man.”
She waved him off, “My attire often obfuscated my body shape, and if you were to remove my hair it would be easy to mistake me for a male.”
Satisfied with her response he started to tell the tale of his interactions with the King of Conquerors, and how he grew to respect the man who had brazenly asked him to join him on his quest for conquest.
They gazed at the scene below them, watched as Saber battled with a late summon, an improper summon.
“This War has been long driven off its intended tracks,” Gilgamesh turned more directly to listen to Khepri. “May I ask of you again, what is your wish for the Holy Grail?”
He tilted his head in confusion, “Why ask now?”
“This War is over, the systems in place had been overstrained, first by summoning you, then by summoning me, and now, by summoning Avenger.” She gestured towards the fight happening in the ruins of the Church, “The Greater Grail was corrupted by him. The person who prepared my summoning found a journal that detailed how to summon a divine spirit, and bind them to [Heaven’s Feel].” Gilgamesh felt a pressure on the back of his head upon hearing the name, “My original self intercepted the summon and injected me here. Apparently, someone managed to finish his summoning, and this is the result.”
The point was obvious, “You were not meant to be a participant of this war?”
“No,” the silence that followed was deafening.
He pursed his lips in contemplation, “You don’t enjoy playing games, while you are perfectly willing to play the social games of politics, everything you do has a clear and direct purpose.”
“Wait but a moment and you will see.”
The church collapsed in on itself, a golden beam of light engulfed the structure, in its wake leaving nothing more than a massive crater.
But up above, in the sky laid, a massive red abyss. It circled above, peering down on the city, like the eye of an eldritch being beyond compare.
“I dare not burden my master with the levels of magical energy needed to prevent this oncoming catastrophe by myself. This is why, Gilgamesh, that I ask of you, what is your wish? What will you wish for when all is yours? Who will accompany you when none are left standing? I was not supposed to be summoned, my link, with the original Khepri, informs me of worlds where I was not. But it is not only the wish of my Master, but the wish of my own, that I help others create a better outcome.”
The torrential downpour of blood that was not blood signified the end of conversation. She had shared the hatred of the concept of sitting aside while others suffered. And it was no surprise when she vanished in a flash of golden light, likely to aid in what came next.
Gilgamesh continued to float above, thinking over what she said.
He had enough of a connection with his Legend to recognize what she was doing, and if she was telling the truth about her ability to peer into other worlds, it made sense why she was doing so.
But he questioned, had she done enough?
It wasn’t even a question.
The beauty of the sunrise was a nice constant.
Much had changed in the 4000 years since his life, but what made the sun peaking out from the horizon beautiful, still made it beautiful all these years later.
He never was one to admire the beauty of nature, that task fell more to Enkidu, but he felt it important to enjoy the sight at the current moment.
And on schedule, the woman who had captured his mind stepped in line next to him.
“I’m surprised you are still sustaining off your master’s mana, is he not but a child?”
She continued to look off into the sunrise before speaking, “I could ask you the same, the requirements to sustain yourself are far more than can be produced by a singular high-ranking magus.” She outstretched a hand, letting a moth come to rest on it, “I at least have the excuse of absorbing the mana of uncountable amounts of smaller life forms.”
“Wading through the very essence of six other Servants does wonders to your longevity, can I assume you did the same?”
She hummed in affirmation, “It is an unexpected development.”
“What do you plan on doing with your new lease on life?”
“I was summoned because the pleas of a child willing to do anything overrode the ecstasy of a serial killer.” The moth fluttered away, “The functions of the grail are a cruel mistress, for daring to enforce a moral path, I will be forced to exist in a world plagued by my actions.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair, “When I said that we were not the hosts here, that we hold no dominion over these lands, I said so in earnest. We are nothing more than prisoners; prisoners with immense power, but prisoners shackled to the rules of a game we did not design.” She turned to look at Gilgamesh, “I will leave the country, help mold the child I saved into a first-class magus, and hope that I can create enough of a stir, that the next time this ritual takes place…” she trailed off, it was clear what her intents were, she had made clear before that she played the long game, always in service of some greater goal. “You?”
Gilgamesh stared off at the rising sun, “I am not sure. I am thinking of walking across the world, seeing what remains of my great empire.” They let the song of the morning birds fill the space between them, “What are the others like?”
“Arrogant.” Gilgamesh chuckled before hiding it behind a scoff, “Prideful, all versions of you are prideful. But, the version of you that is modeled after the you that finished your journey is a righteous King.”
They sat there, silent, waiting.
Hours later they parted ways, not bothering to say their goodbyes.
Years later they met again.
Again, in a war not of their own design.