Chapter Text
Fuyuki's church was quiet.
Late afternoon light filtered through stained-glass windows, scattering muted colors across wooden pews and stone floor alike. Risei Kotomine stood near the altar, hands folded as he finished his prayers with slow, practiced motions.
Even in stillness, his thoughts did not rest.
The Fourth Holy Grail War had begun to stir beneath the city's surface. He could feel it in the air: subtle distortions, faint surges of prana threading through leylines he had monitored for decades. Soon, the Masters would move openly. Soon, blood would be spilled.
A sharp, frantic knocking cut through the silence.
Risei opened his eyes.
The sound came again: loud, uneven, lacking even the courtesy of restraint expected at holy grounds.
He exhaled slowly, irritation tightening his brow.
"Coming," he muttered, turning toward the heavy wooden doors.
The knocking stopped just as he reached them.
He pulled one open.
"I ask that visitors show respect for—"
The words died in his throat.
A young woman stood in the doorway, swaying.
She was pale. Sweat dampened strands of blonde hair clinging to her face. Her glasses sat crooked, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls. One hand braced against the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Risei's expression hardened with concern.
"…Are you alright, miss?"
Her eyes tried, and failed, to focus on him.
"Help…" she murmured.
Then her knees buckled.
Risei moved instantly, stepping forward and catching her before she struck the stone steps. She was lighter than expected, her body slack in his arms.
He carried her inside and laid her carefully across a pew, checking her pulse, scanning for wounds, signs of poison, curse residue—
His gaze froze.
Faint, glowing markings crawled along the exposed skin of her hand.
Command Seals.
Risei's breath stilled.
He drew back her sleeve just enough to confirm it.
A full red mark covered most of the arm and he could see the traces of an identical one on the other hand, still covered by her sleeve.
"…So she is the Seventh," he murmured.
He had not sensed her approach. Had not heard reports of this particular participant. Yet the proof was etched directly into her flesh.
Chosen by the Grail.
For a brief moment, his eyes narrowed in calculation.
But the look softened just as quickly.
Whatever role she played in the coming conflict, she was still unconscious. Still human. Still in need of aid.
His duty as a priest came first.
Gently, he lifted her again and carried her deeper into the church, toward the side rooms prepared for shelter and treatment.
"Rest," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
The doors closed behind them, sealing the quiet sanctuary once more.
Fuyuki City looked… aggressively normal.
Pedestrians passed by storefronts lit in soft evening glow. Cars rolled through intersections. Neon signs flickered to life one by one as dusk crept in.
A tall, thin man in a long white coat stepped out of a pet shop, juggling a plastic carrier cage under one arm and a bag of supplies under the other, alongside several suspiciously shaped metal components sticking out of a paper sack.
Caster, he thought loudly, striding down the sidewalk.
A familiar, female, composed voice answered inside his head.
I understand the structural applications of most of the parts you purchased, the Servant said. Power conduits. Stabilizers. Miniature turbines. But I fail to see why you required an animal enclosure… or three varieties of feed pellets.
He smiled to himself.
Ahhh, that just shows your lack of faith in my genius, dear Caster.
There was a pause.
…I beg your pardon?
He straightened, chest puffing out as he continued mentally.
That cage is an absolutely vital component of our strategy! Without it, the generator simply wouldn't function at peak efficiency!
Generator?
Oh yes. Very cutting-edge. Organic. Sustainable. Slightly fuzzy.
The Servant did not immediately respond.
You'll see. You'll all see. This is merely the first step. Once everything is assembled at our base, and once my machines are fully operational, victory in this so-called Holy Grail War will be inevitable!
His grin widened as he walked.
Then we seize the Grail, return me to my home dimension, and after that—
He raised a finger dramatically.
—I will finally use my technological genius and my powerful Servant to—
"--conquer the Tri-State Area!"
The words had already bursted out of his mouth at full volume when he realized he was screaming.
A couple walking past flinched.
A child tugged at his mother's sleeve and whispered far too loudly, "Mom… that pharmacist is yelling at nothing."
The mother did not slow down.
"Don't stare," she muttered, steering the child away at double speed.
He blinked.
"…Oh."
Inside his head, Caster cleared her throat.
Master. You were speaking aloud.
He scowled and muttered under his breath, "Well excuse me for being passionate about world domination."
A location-based conquest that no one here understands, she added dryly.
He huffed.
The Servant sighed, softly, the way only someone indulging an eccentric genius could.
Very well, she said. I remain… curious to see what you are attempting.
His grin returned instantly.
Excellent! You won't regret it. This plan is foolproof!
Another pause.
Historically speaking, when people say that—
The mental link cut off as he marched onward, humming triumphantly, cage rattling faintly at his side while evening shadows stretched long across the street.
Evening had begun to settle over Fuyuki.
Streetlights flickered on one by one as a boy walked alone along the sidewalk, school bag slung over one shoulder.
Shirou [REDACTED] kept his hands in his pockets, humming softly as he followed a familiar route home.
Or… what was supposed to be familiar.
He paused at the mouth of a narrow alley.
"…Huh."
He tilted his head, squinting down the dim passageway between two buildings.
This should be faster.
Probably.
He stepped inside.
Two turns later, the alley forked.
Three turns after that, the buildings looked the same.
"…I'm lost."
His pace quickened.
The walls felt closer. The air cooler. He broke into a jog—
—and ran straight into someone.
"Oof!"
He bounced backward and landed on the pavement, bag skidding beside him.
"Ow…"
Rubbing his head, he looked up.
"Sorry, I wasn't looki—"
He froze.
The figure standing over him was tall. Broad-shouldered. Wrapped head to toe in heavy work clothes: thick jacket, gloves, boots dusty with grime. A hood shadowed most of their head.
Over the hood sat a cartoonish polar bear mask, its painted smile frozen and cheerful in a way that felt deeply wrong in a dark alley.
Behind the eye holes, pale white pupils glowed faintly.
Shirou swallowed.
"…S-sorry…"
The figure crouched slightly and offered a gloved hand.
"You okay, kid?"
The voice was tired. Flat. Not unkind.
Shirou hesitated… then took the hand.
"I—I think so."
He was pulled back to his feet with surprising gentleness.
"Didn't hurt you, did I?"
"N-no, sir."
The boy bowed quickly. "I'm really sorry. I was running."
"…Mm."
The masked man straightened.
Shirou fidgeted with his bag strap. "Um… actually… I kinda got lost."
"…This area's a maze."
The man glanced down the alley, then back to him.
"I can walk you out."
Shirou blinked. "R-really?"
"Yeah."
"…Thank you."
They started down the street together.
For a while, only their footsteps filled the silence.
"So," the man said eventually. "Where you headed?"
Shirou gave the neighborhood name.
"Live there?"
"Uh-huh."
"How old are you?"
"Seven."
"School okay?"
"…Yeah. I help clean sometimes."
"…Sounds busy."
Shirou shrugged, smiling faintly. "It's fine."
They reached a quiet residential street not long after.
Rows of houses. Fences. Warm light spilling from windows.
"That one," Shirou said, pointing.
The man stopped.
Shirou bowed again, deeper this time.
"Thank you! Really! I'm sorry for bumping into you."
"…Don't worry about it."
The boy turned and hurried to the front door, disappearing inside.
The porch light clicked on.
The masked figure remained still until the door closed.
Then he turned back toward the alley.
"…So," he said quietly, voice carrying into empty air. "…was that the kid?"
A ripple passed through the space beside him.
A tall figure formed from light and prana, he stayed still while his red coat was moved by the wind.
"Yes."
"What do you want to do?" the masked man asked the servant.
Silence.
Then—
"…Nothing."
The masked man tilted his head slightly.
"…Nothing?"
"The one I wished to eliminate," the Servant said, voice calm, sharp at the edges, "was a foolish boy who dreamed of becoming a hero without understanding the cost."
A pause.
"That," he continued, "was simply a child."
"…So?"
"…So it depends on how this war unfolds."
The man turned and began walking.
Behind him—
"…Are you satisfied?"
He stopped.
"…What."
"You just saved someone. By most definitions, that qualifies as a hero."
The masked man scoffed.
"…I'm not a hero."
He started forward again.
"Just a tired soul."
The Servant watched him for a moment.
"…Interesting."
Then, softer—
"At last. A Master who understands himself."
His form blurred, dissolving back into invisible spirit particles.
The masked man disappeared into the dim streets of Fuyuki, footsteps steady and unhurried.
A tired man shuffled down the sidewalk, briefcase hanging loosely from one hand, tie crooked, shoulders sagging under the weight of another long day.
Streetlights blurred in his vision.
"…I just want to sleep," he muttered.
Then he noticed the sign.
A brightly colored placard stood crooked near a lamppost.
REST AND PLEASURE — FOR THOSE WHO SEEK IT.
An arrow pointed toward a narrow side street.
He blinked.
"…Huh."
Curiosity, and exhaustion, won.
He followed the arrow.
The alley opened into a small, discreet building tucked between taller structures. Warm light glowed behind frosted windows. A stylized emblem hung above the door.
He hesitated only a second before stepping inside.
The interior resembled a high-end lounge more than anything seedy: velvet carpeting, soft music, scented candles burning low. At the front desk stood a striking woman in a tailored suit, posture perfect, smile practiced.
"Good evening," she purred. "How may we help you unwind?"
He swallowed.
"…I, uh. The sign outside."
"Of course." She leaned forward slightly. "We specialize in… indulgence."
"…What kind?"
She tilted her head. "For the right price, the finest companion we offer."
She slid a small card toward him.
He looked at the number.
"…That's—!"
He stopped himself.
His shoulders slumped.
"…Fine."
She smiled wider.
Payment exchanged hands.
"Upstairs. Third door on the right."
He nodded and climbed the steps, pulse quickening despite his fatigue.
The door opened.
Inside waited a woman reclining casually on the edge of the bed, long pink hair cascading over her shoulders, dark yellow eyes glinting under dim lighting.
He forgot every objection he'd had.
"…Worth it," he breathed.
She smiled as he entered and closed the door.
Minutes later, the door opened again.
Rider stepped into the hallway, stretching lazily.
"Honestly," she said to the receptionist, "for a working man, that was over far too quickly."
The receptionist snorted. "Good riddance. He wouldn't stop staring at me earlier."
"Hmph." She crossed her arms. "You and that ridiculous disguise. This place and the Grail are the only reasons I agreed to cooperate."
The receptionist's smile twisted.
Skin rippled.
Limbs elongated.
The suit sagged as flesh flowed like wax, reshaping into something taller, with a stitched body and heterochromiatic eyes gleaming with warped amusement.
"I told you," the creature chuckled, voice no longer feminine, "you should relax. I'm enjoying myself immensely in this world."
Humans.
Magi.
Servants.
So many toys.
She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "You're disgusting."
He laughed.
Then pushed open the door to the room, stepping inside with an eager hum.
"…Now," he murmured, flexing his fingers, "let's see what we can make out of the next one."
The hallway lights flickered.
A young man jogged down the early morning street, breath ragged, legs burning with every step. His black tracksuit clung to his back with sweat, dark hair plastered to his forehead.
I'm dying, he complained into the strange, invisible channel in his mind. Pretty sure human bodies aren't meant to keep doing this.
A calm, cutting female voice answered immediately.
You can still run. One more kilometer.
He groaned aloud. "You said that the last kilometer!"
A few pedestrians glanced at him as he staggered past, muttering to himself, but he barely noticed. His thoughts drifted, unwillingly, back to the night everything had gone wrong.
Flashback
It had been raining.
Neon lights blurred across wet pavement as he sprinted through narrow alleys, lungs screaming, shoes splashing through puddles. Behind him came soft, steady footsteps, too close.
"Why—why does this keep happening to me?!" he shouted, glancing back.
A tall figure pursued him, wrapped in a black cloak that fluttered with each stride. Where a face should have been was a pale skull mask, empty eyes locked onto him.
Assassin.
The boy didn't know how he knew the word: only that terror made it feel right.
"I just got here!" He cried. "I didn't even steal anything this time!"
The masked figure didn't respond.
He whipped around, pulling the short leather lash from his sleeve and snapping it forward in desperation.
It wrapped around the pursuer's arm.
For a split second, hope flared—
Then Assassin yanked.
The boy was dragged forward and hurled sideways into a brick wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Pain exploded through his ribs as he slid to the ground.
"Ghk—! Okay… okay, that's… still not the worst…"
Something fluttered from his pocket and landed near his hand.
A sheet of paper.
He blinked at it.
…When did I have that?
Strange lines were drawn across it, interlocking curves and symbols forming a circle. He didn't have time to think about it.
The cloaked figure approached slowly.
"H-Hey," He wheezed, pushing himself up on one elbow. "So, uh… any particular reason you want me dead?"
A distorted, echoing voice answered from behind the skull mask.
"You saw something you should not have."
The young man stared. "That's it? That's the reason? I don't even know what I saw!"
Silence.
"…Figures," he muttered weakly. "Could you at least make it quick? I'm kind of exhausted."
The assassin raised an arm.
Blood dripped from the boy's scraped knuckles and splashed onto the paper.
The circle glowed.
Light flared violently across the alley floor.
Wind roared outward, whipping trash and rain into a spiraling cloud of smoke.
Assassin halted, body tensing.
"A summoning…?"
The boy blinked as heat rushed up his throat, a strange prickling sensation crawling across his skin.
"Ghk—why does my neck feel tingly?!"
From inside the smoke came a woman's voice: cool, amused, and sharp as steel.
"…How pitiful."
The boy coughed. "Wow. Rude."
"I was called by this?" the voice continued. "A trembling lamb."
"Hey! I'm doing my best here!"
The smoke parted.
A tall woman stood before him, violet hair flowing down her back, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Her figure was wrapped in a sleek bodysuit that looked more suited for battle than fashion, and in her hand rested a long crimson spear—
Which was currently skewering the masked attacker straight through the chest.
Assassin froze.
Then dissolved into black mist.
The boy stared, jaw slack.
"…Whoa."
The woman withdrew her weapon in one smooth motion, turning to examine him with an appraising look.
"You are weak."
"That is the second time someone's said that in five minutes!"
"Hmph." Her lips twitched faintly. "Do you wish to remain so?"
He swallowed.
"…No."
"Then I will forge you into something worthy."
"F-Forge me how?"
She smiled.
It was not comforting.
End of flashback
Back in the present, he nearly tripped over his own feet.
After that, he thought tiredly, I found out I wasn't in my world… I was actually in another another world. Holy Grails, mages, heroic spirits… and apparently I signed up for the deluxe survival course.
"Which is torture," he muttered aloud.
Training, Lancer corrected. A simplified version.
"Simplified?! I think my soul left my body three blocks ago!"
People on the sidewalk stared as he staggered past, yelling at thin air.
He gasped for breath and kept running anyway.
Somehow.
In some terribly cruel way—
He was still alive.
The café was warm and softly lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the clink of porcelain cups and cutlery. Steam drifted up from kettles behind the counter, carrying the scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries.
One of the servers moved between the tables with practiced efficiency.
She wore a neatly pressed uniform: a cream-colored blouse, dark green apron embroidered with a small leaf emblem, and a matching ribbon tying back her messy green hair. A name tag hung crookedly at her chest, half-hidden beneath a stray lock.
There were faint freckles on her cheeks, and her sharp eyes kept flicking from customer to customer, cataloguing half-empty cups and cooling plates with clinical precision.
A man stepped inside, brushing rain from his coat.
"Welcome," she said, already grabbing a menu. "Right this way."
She guided him to an empty table by the window, set the menu down, and gave a polite nod before moving on.
At a corner seat sat a woman in modest clothing: a thick sweater, gloves folded neatly on her hands, posture stiff and proper despite the relaxed atmosphere. The server approached again, notebook in hand.
"Have you decided what you'd like to order?"
"Yes," the woman replied quickly. "Tea… and the apple tart."
The girl scribbled it down.
"Coming right up."
Before she could turn away, the woman tilted her head, studying her more closely.
"You're quite young to be working," she said, voice carrying a soft, maternal edge. "Don't your parents worry about you?"
The girl blinked once. "I don't have parents around."
"Oh…" The woman clasped her hands together. "That's terrible. And such a small thing too. You must work very hard."
"…I manage."
"You should be careful. The world isn't kind to girls like you."
The server offered a thin, polite smile and took a step back.
"I'll bring your order soon."
Suddenly—
Her wrist was caught.
Strong.
Much stronger than she expected.
She stiffened as gloved fingers tightened around her arm. The woman leaned forward and, with unsettling calm, pushed up the sleeve of the uniform.
White bandages ran from forearm to wrist, disappearing beneath the cuff.
"…My," the woman murmured.
Her tone was wrong.
Too flat.
Too interested.
The girl looked down at her arm, then back up.
"It's a chemical reaction," she said casually. "I was testing something. Didn't get the result I wanted."
Which was true.
Mostly.
The woman's eyes searched her face: slowly, thoroughly, like she was weighing something invisible.
Then the grip loosened.
"Oh," she said brightly, as if nothing strange had happened at all. "You poor dear. Be more careful next time."
"…I will."
The server slipped her arm free and backed away with a shallow bow.
"I'll get your tea."
She turned and walked toward the counter, the faintest crease forming between her brows.
Behind her, the woman lifted her cup again, smiling gently into the steam.
In the café's narrow back corridor, behind a door marked Staff Only, the girl leaned against the wall and flexed her wrist.
"…Ow."
It wasn't serious, just a dull ache, but the grip had been far stronger than it looked.
She tugged at the sleeve of her uniform and began peeling away the bandages around her forearm. Pale skin emerged, marked with old scars and faint discolorations: evidence of reckless testing, spilled concoctions, and experiments that had gone slightly too far.
"At least she didn't look at my hand," she muttered under her breath.
She unwound the final strip.
Beneath it, etched into her skin like living ink, was a symbol shaped like twisting vines and leaves: three marks forming a strange, botanical crest.
She stared at it for a second.
"…Still creepy."
With a quick motion, she wrapped the bandages back into place and slipped her sleeve down just as footsteps approached.
Elsewhere, under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, the woman from the café walked alone through a narrow alley.
Her steps were slow. Thoughtful.
"…Children shouldn't hurt themselves like that," she murmured.
She paused.
"Do you think she was telling the truth?"
She wasn't speaking to anyone visible.
A ripple passed through the air beside her.
A woman with long green hair materialized soundlessly, white horns curling from her head. She wore a dark teal kimono patterned faintly like scales, a folded fan resting against her shoulder.
"Yes," the Servant replied calmly. "I sensed no falsehood."
"Good." The woman nodded. "I dislike liars."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"Children these days are much more honest than adults. Easier to trust."
The horned woman hummed in agreement.
A sudden rustling noise reached them.
Scratching.
High-pitched squeaking.
Both turned.
Across the street, in a small park, a tall, thin man in a lab coat was engaged in what could only be described as… combat.
With a squirrel.
"Come back here!" the man shouted, waving a metal rod in one hand and clutching a box of wires in the other. "This is for the greater good!"
The squirrel leapt from a bench to a trash can.
The man tripped over a bicycle.
The former mother stared.
The horned woman stared.
"…."
"…."
"…Should we go back to our base and have tea?" the woman asked calmly.
"Yes," the Servant answered without hesitation.
They turned around and walked away in perfect sync.