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The barren wasteland spread across as far his greyed eyes could view. A reality of swords, a life he had forged within his actions of life. The now achromatic hair falling down onto his skin, also affected by the extensive use of his power. Giant, mechanical cogs turning was the only sound produced in his hellscape; clouds above and a faint afterglow of light from an intangible source, which was nowhere to be found yet contained faint light, like a dream once held having vanished.
The so-called “archer”, the man in the centre of it all, stood in the solidarity of the land. He was used to it, after all. His dream, now nothing more than a ghost which haunts him, lead him down the pathway to all of this. An unofficial hero, a Guardian and a defense system for humanity’s collective unconsciousness. A contradictory existence in of itself, for example having a name, despite being nameless; or being of the archer class, despite in life having a more centred aptitude on magecraft. Memories spanning many eras, yet very few to claim as his own.
This Archer leaned against the sword closest to him, although it was just a mere projection of one. A faker, and his fake tools, his sole magic to call his own. The clouds in the sky gave him a past-time of observation, to take his mind off of….everything. All his regrets, all his emotions, all his fondness of the people he once loved, just silenced for a bit to give the man a break from this inescapable hell his existence derives off of….
But, things have changed from the time he had signed up to this life he gave long ago, and it came with opportunity. An opportunity which was hard to believe at first, but one which slowly grew on him. Maybe it was the similarities of such an opportunity to the dream he had set for himself, or the young master who was front and center for it speaking to him on a sentimental level, but he knew he had to take part.
The archer slicked back his hair, and then threw on his redcoat whilst the reality marble faded from existence, now in a training grounds of the Chaldea Laboratory-Observatory. He made his way over to the exit, as the coincidentally perfectly timed Master bursted in with a panicked look on his face. “Emiyaaa! Jaguar Warrior is at it again with all the food; Tamacat and Benienma have burnt out trying to deal with her!” The master called out to the archer Emiya, before realizing they were just in front of them. Emiya grinned a light bit, shaking his head in a lenient manner,
“Good grief, have I not mentioned clearly she’s not allowed more than seconds?”
This caused the master to look away with a guilty expression, causing Emiya to release a sigh and giving them a gentle pat to the head, “Leave it to me, I know exactly what she needs. After all…” Emiya silenced momentarily, before clearing his throat. “Just, next time, please make sure she stops before Tamamo Cat returns to the Throne.”
The master gave an eager nod in response, as Emiya left the training grounds, his redcoat flickering from his swift walk away.