Chapter Text
Prologue
"Are you done packing?" Asked Shirou to his adorable children.
"Ages ago!" Emma beamed, dropping her trunk with a plop.
"It's done, father." Norman said. The snow-white boy was holding a suitcase by her side, smiling, but unsmiling; everywhere Emma went, Norman von Einzbern came in tow as a package. It's a charming endeavor. Charming as a wintry forest in mid-spring.
Two months living together hardly thawed the icy glint in those aquamarine orbs, and the trenchant wit of the owner almost made Emiya Shirou a pitiful adult for all.
There's just zero trust between them.
"Well, let's get going then." In spite of himself, Shirou regarded his son with an equally genuine albeit strained smile. Fumbling through his pocket, he fished for his car key with a hope that he hadn't flung his scores through this family interpersonal communication tidbit.
"Shirou, the doors are locked."
Shirou looked up. At his moment of inner turmoil, Arthuria, his beautiful wife, emerged from the porch like a godsend, lifting their remaining belongings into the baggage, she urged them all to get in unless they wished to miss the flight.
Shirou gave Arthuria a nod approval, taking the house key. On the corner of his vision, Shirou caught Norman–the very model of a gentleman–silently opened the passenger-seat door, gesturing for Emma, and the girl accepted it not unlike a princess.
Shirou blinked.
They're so natural. As natural as a knight escorting his precious lady.
These past two months Shirou was admittedly halfway between disbelief and delight: his pert, tomboyish, but charming little daughter could embroil herself in elegance and grace insofar as her aristocratic blood would've marked it befitting. Then again, he had to remind himself, her mother: Arthuria, while thriving in men-garments–such as medieval armor–always exuded the perfect mannerisms which put all modern Queens to shame.
"Like mother like daughter I guess." Allowing himself a discreet chuckle, Shirou started the car's engine.
*
The scenery outside the windows kept changing as motley crowds and their psychedelic lifestyles furnished the streets.
Emma was humming herself funny, antennas bobbling in delight to her tune, as a giant smile adorned her mien.
"Are you excited?" Shirou gave her an amused glance from the rear-view mirror, finger tapping the dashboard– dancing along with her festivity.
"Yep! Hey, dad, is it true our teacher's son's name is–" A small hesitancy hung on her lips.
Shirou, not wanting anything more than to restore her great spirits, assured, "Tohsaka Ray. You've been dying to meet your new friend, aren't you?” By his words, there's an explosion of sunflowers.
"Absolutely! Don't you too, Norman?" Entangling their arms, Emma singsong.
Norman squeezed back, sporting a soft expression in his acquiescence, and Shirou was unpleasantly unsurprised the boy reserved such docility solely for Emma–which whom in contrast withheld mutinous contempt.
Emma giggled, ostensibly loving Norman's reciprocal sentiment; she placed her head into the crook of Norman's neck and resumed her previous carol. Thus, Norman's hitherto rigid countenance morphed into an angelic one.
As ever, those two cuddled as though they're tiny puppies bathed in showers of gerbera, where Shirou fancied none could possibly slip within their space of intimacy.
Geez.
Shirou felt a tiny bit of jealousy budded over their closeness, a bit grouchy his little darling had another favorite male, far too soon for his liking, then further basked in deeper melancholic to the prospect of being separated from them, his bundles of joy, after this.
They'd be live-in mage apprentices under Tohsaka household in Japan. Shirou knew he'd place them in good hands–Tohsaka Rin was his teacher in Sorcery as well– he'd still dearly miss them nonetheless. He'd love to move up with them but Shirou had to tie up some loose ends with his connections at work before settling in Fuyuki, his hometown, and to his dismay he predicted it'd at least take a year.
"Shirou, please pay attention to the road while you're driving." Arthuria's stern voice rattled him off his reverie. She pegged him a worried but understanding look and Shirou couldn't help an appreciative grin forming over her concern.
"Yeah, sorry. Thanks, Saber."
The road ahead glittered under the indigo sky. Inwardly, Shirou prayed they'd have wonderful learning experiences there.
It's a long journey across the globe, they landed by nightfall to Fuyuki hospitable temperate. Norman's body was aching, squawking from the fatigue, whereas Emma was still teeming with excess energy, or if possible, peppier than this morning. She's babbling on about her past vacations, a definite spring in her step.
Norman inclined his body slightly toward her, hoping against odds, she could share some of them: her ardor and valor, amidst his turbulent emotion.
One week ago, since Emiya Shirou had casually dropped the name of their future-teacher’s son, joy and despair, among others, had become his constant agitations.
He had, for once, voiced his doubt to Emma: There're millions of people named Ray, what chance was there for it to be their Ray?
"Oh, trust me!" Emma had blown a wet raspberry at him in mock humor. "My instinct told me: This's our Ray!" Even she had no proof or whatsoever, her confidence had a striking persuasiveness to it.
Norman had been credulous enough, filing any misgivings of his aside. They'd resurfaced in whole parcel, however, as how tidal waves on a full moon.
It's not he wasn't ecstatic to see Ray again in this second life. He'd love to trifle about with his best friend, he'd think: anytime. However, the world had never been kind to them. Naivety and tenderness had pulled them no nearer to survival, or happiness if ever.
He wondered, sometimes, whether the past him managed to attain a shred of happiness at the terminus of the Neverland? He's uncertain, a part of him still having nightmares at the prospect of his vulnerabilities, his inadequacy to protect Emma. Worse yet, how he's still clinging to her, afraid of separation, afraid of his own self, afraid of her overindulgence, which was pernicious in essence for what's rightfully his to be condemned.
Emma's acceptance and clemency were a nectarious delicacy as much as it's a baneful narcotic, for she sympathized with both good and evil, never to judge, never to blame. In plucking that forbidden fruit, he'd sunk his teeth in a luscious, heavenly harvest, which, while it'd quenched his thirst, thusly led him to the path of depravity. Perhaps, her compassion was actually bottomless and he wouldn’t able to suck it dry, nonetheless, once he lost her again, it'd be an insatiable craving, most agonizing, would be all left for him. Alas, he felt there's no greater abomination than his own susceptibility.
Deep down, a birdcage was holding him prisoner; its key, however, had never left his clutch, simply rusting from the bloods he'd shed.
Meeting Emma in his life was a miracle. Twice the reunions, that made thrice a jinx. Thus, if he were to weigh this fortune against his sins on a scales, would they balance out? Could there be much more joy in store for him? Could he?
The trip to Tohsaka residence was reminding him of their sepulchral errand to deliver Little Bunny.
Their interlocking arms heavy as gallows chains, as Emma had not let go since forever, his perfunctory reaction to her innocent question–concerning Ray–in their drive to airport had probably alerted her, and glued her close to him.
He'd built the notorious thick wall of his, plastering his perfidious smile on–and ostensibly Emiya Shirou had not the faintest brain matters to descry his little performance as the man had put the Ray subject to rest for the entire day. Truths to be told, Norman could do with ending this happy-go-lucky family charade as soon as possible–on the flip side, while appearing nothing short of buoyant, Emma would probe him a searching gaze every now and then.
Once he faltered, her fingers would affectionately caress his, and he would twiddle their thumbs gingerly in response. The profound exchange continued on until they reached their destination.
The Tohsaka manor stood on a hill–an acute slope by its right, and color lost in the blackness of night. High-fences snaked by ivy tendrils rimmed the estate. Devoid of perceptible lights, the architecture screamed to be haunted; albeit conceivably more accommodating than Gracefield House, the most nefarious abode.
Shirou pressed the doorbell. After a fraction of second, a woman's voice, amplified with broadcasting spell, echoed throughout the courtyard. "Come in. It's unlocked."
The gate opened with a creak, inviting them.
They crossed the garden's cobblestone and Emma's grip tightened on him as though to inject some assurances. She mouthed. "It'll be fine. Let's marvel him with a cheesy hug first thing!"
To someone that might be a stranger? Norman almost blurted out in spite of himself.
Her crazy idea was remote from buying his approval, and yet tickling his impish side to rouse, the notion of teasing Ray had always been a great distraction as any.
His imaginary Ray snapped back at him then.
A brief pause. Soon, an ill-disguised snort escaped him. Crinkling his lips upward, Norman whispered a small: "We'll see."
Before Emiya Shirou could open the front door, it swung outside with a fiendish force, almost grazing his nose and flattened it for good–by which Norman could be careless to be honest.
"Tohsaka!" Protested Shirou, thunderstruck.
A woman around her thirties materialized behind the grumbling man, adopting a welcoming stance, proud and fiery as royal cat. Her atramentous hair draped on her blazing blouse which was paired with a spruce skirt underneath. "It's been a while, Arthuria, Shirou. Oh dear me–" A glint of recognition sprung up; she then swiveled to them, stooping, looking much delighted. "So, you're Emma and Norman?"
Emma nodded enthusiastically, "Good evening, Ms. Tohsaka."
"Good evening, Ms. Tohsaka." Norman parroted in tandem, floating a congenial simper.
"Good evening. Me Tohsaka Rin, pleasure to meet you too."
Rin quickly ushered them inside, flickering all the corridor lamps golden with a wave of invisible hands. "It was a tiring journey, right? I've arranged the procedures and informed the Clock Tower. We can hop to the nitty-gritty stuff. Of course, after dinner." She spoke, maintaining eye contacts with them as well.
Guided by their host, Norman and Emma walked side by side, examining their new home. The decors were Baroque but not garish, obsolete yet functional: all of them indicating fine taste of the owner, and if there're tolerable clutters that shown life, Norman supposed they're byproducts of methodical and rational personalities.
Norman then stole a calculating glance from their to-be teacher in Magecraft. (Since Connie's traumatic engraving, It'd become a habit, out of necessity, to gauge every person's nature he met.)
By his evaluation, Tohsaka Rin carried herself well, professional and brisk, nevertheless, Norman thought she could take a leaf out of Isabella's book. She's quite a readable fellow.
Upon reflection, he'd prefer her this way, her being easy would work to his advantage after all.
*
Rin lead them to the dining room.
The table was already loaded with cuisine: array of fruits and cupful wines styled the vibrant recipe, on its centerpiece laid a bouquet of peonies displayed in Victorian soup tureen. It's a preparation of utmost meticulousness for her guests who'd traveled far.
"I promised a sumptuous feast, no?" Tohsaka Rin said, not a bit lacking in haughtiness to enunciate her culinary skills. "Please enjoy to your heart's content. I assure my kitchen will hold you up, Arthuria." She added, winking to the woman.
At her punchline, everyone, sans Norman, erupted in laughter.
"R-Rin!" Arthuria blushed, ostensibly affronted. "Good heavens! Is this how you treat a guest?"
Norman was a bit late in the commotion but soon enough the epiphany struck. Indeed, if there’s something he had learned in their short times together: it was that Arthuria's appetite was a force to be reckon with.
By then, the impression Norman had of a pulchritudinous, emotionless doll crumbled. He had valued Arthuria's calmness as an embodiment of transcendental serenity, nothing short of charismatic, and most of all, an admirable trait of sovereignty, hence she'd won his respect, in opposed to Shirou. Still, despite the disappointing exposition, or was it?–He'd rather peg it for an amusement of sorts–Anyway, Norman knew he'd make do with an extra blackmail material.
"Well. Where's your son, Tohsaka?" Enquired Shirou as the hilarity whittled off.
"He's upstairs. I'll go fetch him, do make yourself at home meanwhile." Rin threw an abstract look above and disappeared into the anteroom.
Not a few minutes later, Tohsaka Rin brought a familiar boy with her. His onyx fringe hid half of what equivalent to be a scowl. A moth-eaten tome securely held in his grip.
Yes. This's our Ray.
Emma's intuition had hit the mark.
She was already beside herself with jubilation, ready to soar in a full-throttle charge, whilst Norman was still flooded with emotion, belatedly realizing four times a wonder does happen.
"Ray, greet your fellow classmates." Rin nudged him lightly. His glower deepened, but before he could make some sorts of tutting noise, a splash of marigold and silver pounced him to the floor.
"Ray!" Croaked Emma, her eyes glassy and voice fruity, repeating his name with the same crispiness of sugars trickling into a candy jar–and Norman found himself to be her brittle accompaniment.
After a short moment of lapse, Ray let out a bristle, both hands trying to prise them off him in a fluster of movements that signified his discombobulation.
Sensing the awkwardness on his gesture, Norman and Emma cocked their heads upward.
There's a palpable flickering of vein on Ray's temple.
"Get off," He told them with much hostility, clearly not recognizing his previous comrades, friends and families. His glare was razor acute. It cut. Deep.
Norman would’ve really liked it better if Ray had gone on sprouting flames: 'The hell, are you nuts!? Who'd knock the lights out of someone you just met!' But it sadly never came.
He heard a tiny, tiny voice instead.
His, in a vicious tone.
'See? The world has never been sunshine and rainbows.'
Ranunculus
For I'm enchanted in your beauty.