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Published:
2023-12-15
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2023-12-26
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2/2
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A Summoning Miracle

Summary:

Illyasviel has known ever since That Man never came back that she would be expected to fight in the fifth Holy Grail War. She didn't expect to summon her servant months in advance. But she will obey. Just for a chance at revenge...

Notes:

So, I came across a very beautiful and tear-inducing comic a while ago, and I had to write something based off of it. I might write more based off of it in the future, but for now all I have written is two chapters. The second one is going to go up on Christmas day.

Chapter 1: Summoning

Chapter Text

Illyasveil von Einzbern was cold. She shivered as she paced back and forth in her chilly room. All the rooms in Castle Einzbern were. Jubstacheit had never seen the need to install anything as mundane as a heating system, or even a fireplace. What need was there of warmth for homunculi who could operate in freezing temperatures without diminished capacity?

Illya hated the cold. 

It had been cold ever since That Man had taken Mama away. She could remember her mother’s hands, warm and soft as they fussed with her hair, or adjusted the lapels on her coat. She wasn’t like the other Einzberns, after all. She could still feel the cold, even if she wasn’t harmed by it. 

The walls were bare, lit only by the thin windows, and the floor was weathered flagstone. The only piece of furniture was a small twin bed, with a faded and threadbare blanket. It was a cold, dark, dreary room. It was Her room, the one place that she could go to to be by herself. Even Jubstacheit left her alone while she was there. Illya’s eyes didn’t even take in the decorations as she paced back and forth. 

The contents didn’t matter. Today was the day that everything would be worth it. The day she could finally summon her servant, and begin to take revenge on the boy who had ruined her life. 

Illya’s hands curled into claws as she remembered the boy that Kiritsugu Emiya had abandoned her for. Some no-name orphan that he’d left her in this cold, dark room for. She’d show him. Kiritsugu was dead, but she’d kill the boy he’d adopted. Make him suffer as she had suffered. 

A knock at the door jolted Illya out of her thoughts. 

“Mistress Illya?” 

The young homunculus smoothed out her coat, and brushed a hand against her hat, making sure that it was sitting properly on her head. Then she took a deep breath. “Is it time?”

From behind the door, the answer she’d longed for came. “Yes. Master Acht is waiting in the summoning room for you.” 

Illya flung open the door, striding through with purpose. Sella had just enough time to get out of the way before she was hit by ten pounds of wood. Not that Illya particularly cared. If Sella really cared for her, she would have gotten her a rug. Or gone to Japan and killed that boy. 

“Mistress!” Sella called as Illya strode off down the corridor. The rest of the castle wasn’t much different from her room. If there had been tapestries on the wall once, they had either moldered with age or been taken down. The stone clacked beneath Illya’s boots as she moved, headed for the staircase. 

The summoning room was at almost the exact opposite point in the castle from her room. Why Acht had put it there Illya had no idea. It wasn’t like she could support the manifestation of anything but the weakest of heroic spirits on her own. 

Although, she thought wryly, even a weak heroic spirit would be more than enough to burn this castle to the ground. 

No one accosted her as she strode through the halls. Most of the Einzbern homunculi were content to act as if she didn’t exist. Those that did acknowledge her looked at her with something between pity and anger. 

Illya hated it. 

She bit back the sharp remark that leapt from her throat as a worker’s eyes passed over her and he clicked his tongue. Two more months. Two more months and she would leave and never have to return again. 

Before long, she was standing in front of a pair of iron-wrought doors, easily three times her height and engraved with formalcraft circles designed to withstand impact from A-rank magecraft. They were perhaps the only things in the castle that could withstand a serious blow from a servant. 

As Illya approached, the only two homunculi she tolerated flanking her, the massive black doors slid open silently to reveal the ritual chamber beyond. 

It was just as cold and stark as the rest of the castle. It was large, though, almost as large as the dining room that could host fifty people all at once. The walls were lined with metal torches, burning with an alchemical fire that cast the room into a bright, cold shade of blue. The only other distinguishing feature of the room was the ritual circle engraved in the floor. Interestingly, a hunk of rock with a small piece of golden metal wedged into it was sitting in the circle’s center.

When Illya crossed the threshold, a shiver ran up her spine, and a weight settled on her shoulders. She could almost feel the many generations of Einzberns watching her, judging her. Fuck off , she thought. I’m winning this grail in spite of you, not because of you.  

“Thank you for coming, Illyasveil,” Jubstacheit, the current head of the Einzbern family, tapped his—largely ornamental—cane on the floor, the sound ringing throughout the chamber. “I have found a catalyst that will ensure our victory in this Grail War.”

The retort rose from Illya’s throat before she could stop it. “You said that about King Arthur’s Sheath.” 

Jubstacheit raised an eyebrow. 

Illya shivered, almost taking a step back, and fell silent. 

“This time, I have found something rather more… awe-inspiring. A piece of the altar that the Greek demigod Heracles was burned on when he ascended to Olympus.” Jubstacheit waved a hand at the rock. “As you are far more committed to our cause than your traitorous father, I have no doubt that this catalyst, empowered by a fragment of the grail, will be sufficient to bring us victory.” 

Illya’s hands clenched tighter, until it felt like her nails would break the skin of her palms. 

Jubstacheit waved Illya forward, and stepped back, his well-pressed suit rustling in the still air. Illya swallowed a nervous gulp, all of a sudden wondering what would happen if things went wrong. If she somehow summoned someone else. The grail would take the catalyst into consideration, but she’d heard about the mishap in the second holy grail war, when a catalyst thought to be a piece of Karna’s lance had instead been part of one of Arjuna’s arrows. 

Obediently, she raised her hand, and began to chant. 

Silver and iron to the origin. 

As Illya spoke the first words of the ritual, she imagined a sword stabbing through her heart, and a line of fire opened down her back. 

Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone.

The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg.

Continuing her chant, the young homunculus let power pool in her hand, before tipping it over and letting it impact the silver that had been prepared. It flooded the outer circle, slowly creeping inwards.

The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate.  

Illya took a deep breath, and then let her prana, her magic, surge. It leapt inward, clawing hungrily at the magically reactive catalyst in the center of the circle, and with an effort of will, she leashed it.

Shut (fill).

Shut (fill).

Shut (fill).

Shut (fill).

Shut (fill).

Her prana was raging. It knew what it was needed for, it wanted to do what she needed it to do. But she couldn’t let it do that. Not yet. If all she was doing was creating a familiar, it wouldn’t matter. But this wasn’t any familiar. This was the Servant that would bring her victory, and the head of the boy that had stolen her father. 

It needed to be perfect.

Repeat every five times.

Simply, shatter once filled.

The torches illuminating the room flickered as the climax of the chant approached, the blue light flickering and going a pure, stark white for a split second, before going out. The ritual continued, now lit only by the glow produced by the circle.

Jubstacheit continued to watch, his face now wreathed in shadow. 

――――I announce.

Your self is under me, my fate(doom) is in your sword.

In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.

Illya almost cried out in pain as the pull of the ritual grew more and more intense. She knew it would be stronger this far out from the grail war itself, but not this much stronger. It felt almost as if someone had replaced her spine with a live wire. But she grit her teeth and continued, even as her prana snapped at the leash and her magic circuits burned her from the inside out. 

An errant thought flitted across her mind, the briefest distraction from the pain.

I wish Mama was here.

Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead.

You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――！

As the last words left her lips, Illya let go of her control. Her prana leapt forward like a hungry dog, tearing at the catalyst in the center. A blinding white light built, and Illya stared into it, eager to see what her Servant would be like. 

A sound like a ringing bell echoed through the room, and a wave of force, almost the physical impact of the bell, slammed into Illya, sending her stumbling back and knocking her hat loose. Jubstacheit weathered it with no more than a frown, but Illya’s maids were thrown off their feet. 

Then the light calmed, and became gentler somehow. It no longer hurt Illya’s eyes to look at it. It slowly condensed into the shape of a person, a slim woman, perhaps a few feet taller than Illya. Slowly, the obscuring glow dimmed; revealing flowing red and white vestments and a tall, cylindrical hat. 

Illya’s breath caught in her throat.

The young homunculus was frozen, eyes unblinking and her heart beating like a jackhammer as the last of the light faded, revealing pale skin, and white hair. Skin and hair the same color as hers. 

The woman opened her lips, and a voice right out of Illya’s dreams came out. 

“I am Servant Caster. I ask of you, are you my master?” The woman opened her eyes, and Illya found herself staring into a mirror. Red eyes. For a moment, no one moved. Then, Illya’s chest heaved in a hitched breath. 

“Mama?”

The Caster cocked her head. “Illya?”

There was something on her cheek. Illya blinked, trying to dislodge whatever it was that had gotten in her eye. Then she hurled herself forward, any dignity forgotten as her mother opened her arms to catch her. 

“Mama!” the young homunculus cried, burying her face in her mother’s belly as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Illya clung to Irisveil von Einzbern as if she would vanish at any moment.  Sharp joy waged war with bitter grief in her heart. A thousand and one words struggled for dominance in Illya’s throat, but only one made it onto her lips. “Mama!”

“Oh Illya…” Irisveil stroked her daughter’s head with one hand, the other cupping her back, just like she used to do when she was six years old. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

The young homunculus shuddered at the hauntingly familiar touch. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Then, hesitantly, she pressed her head against her mother’s hand. 

It felt… warm.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“I don’t see why we have to do this.” Illya pouted, crossing her arms. 

“I know you don’t like Kiri, but the Fujimura family are one of the premier mundane powers in the city.” Irisveil said from the passenger seat of the car. Sella had refused her attempts to drive after they’d gotten to Fuyuki city from the airport in under thirty minutes. 

Illya did her best not to grimace as her mother continued to call that man by her ridiculous nickname. She remained adamant that Kiritsugu wouldn’t have given up on her, no matter what. “Just like I wouldn’t, my little princess.”

“We don’t need a mundane criminal syndicate to help us win the war, Mama.” Illya couldn’t tell which part she despised more. The criminal, or mundane part. Both were reprehensible, in Illya’s eyes. 

“You’re right.” Irisveil cheerfully confirmed. “Why, with my powers, it’s entirely possible that I could create what it is that Jubstacheit wants!” Illya’s lips twitched upward as Sella flinched in the driver’s seat. 

“But…” Irisveil continued. “Most Magi don’t even think about mundane methods of doing things. And people notice more than you think.” 

“Those mundane methods weren’t enough to save you,” Illya muttered, clasping her hands together. 

“I know.” Irisveil leaned back, reaching a hand over the top of her seat. “But the more time we spend preparing, the more time we get to spend together.”

Illya reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. It was warm. It always was, and she could never get enough of it.

“And to that end, I need you to listen in on my meeting with Mr. Raiga. Can you do that for me, Illya?”

Illya nodded. “Be careful, mama.”

“I’ll hop into spirit form if things get dicey!” Irisveil chirped, squeezing Illya’s hand before letting go as the car pulled up beside the Fujimura estate. “Now, let’s go see what we can figure out about the city!”

Ten minutes later, Illya had moved to the front seat of the car, where a speaker had been placed. It was connected to a wireless microphone that her mother was wearing, and unless the Fujimuras were going to some truly impressive lengths to secure their meeting room, they’d be able to hear every bit of it, according to Irisveil.

Illya had offered to watch through a familiar, but Mama had said that the microphone would be “less obvious”. She regretted not contesting that decision as her Mama walked through the door to the Fujimaru estate, turning politely to greet someone just inside the door as it closed behind her. 

Illya’s fingers came up to her hair and started combing through it, ready to separate off a section to use for a Storch Ritter. The Bird was already halfway formed, ready to fly off and be Illya’s eyes when her mama’s disappointed frown flashed through her mind. 

Her hand dropped back to her side, her hair falling back into its natural state.

“Has the meeting started yet?” Illya asked as Sella fiddled with the knob on the side of the speaker, an electric crackling rising and lowering in pitch. 

“I don’t think—” Sella’s response was interrupted by a sharp crackle from the speaker, and then voices cutting in. 

“—understand, I was most surprised when you reached out to us,” An older man’s voice came through the speaker, so clear that it felt almost as if Illya was right next to him. That would be Raiga Fujimura, the man that her Mama was there to see. “I was under the impression that the Einzbern had cut ties with Kiritsugu, you see.”

Sella sat back in her seat even as Illya leaned in. 

“I was under the impression that it was Kiritsugu who had severed those ties,” Irisveil responded, her voice calm, almost diplomatic. There was a sharp inhale from over the microphone. “Or at least, that was what the head of the family told me.”

“Of course he’d say that.” Raiga’s voice deepened, as if under strain. “Kiritsugu said that he never forgave him for his failure.” 

“His failure?” Illya took a deep breath. Maybe now Mama would see just how deeply that man had sunk; how badly he had betrayed them all. 

“I don’t know the details,” Raiga said, a scratching sound accompanying the words. “Kiritsugu was rather private, even when his health was failing. He wouldn’t even let me take him to a hospital. Said there was nothing that they could do. Sometimes I think he wanted to die.”

“Serves him right.” Illya muttered bitterly. 

“But apparently Kiritsugu couldn’t follow through with retrieving the item the Einzberns asked him to get. He said that it had been broken in a way that made it dangerous just to just be near, nevermind use.” There was a dull thump from over the speaker. Illya’s mind whirled. 

“The grail is dangerous?” Sella whispered, the words feeling almost taboo. If the grail was broken somehow, and that had made Papa break his word to the Einzbern, then…

“We can’t trust him.” Illya said, folding her hands in her lap. “He was friends with that man, after all.”

Sella glanced at her, then back to the speaker, before nodding. “You’re right, mistress.”

“But… we should examine the grail for ourselves. It should manifest beneath that temple on the mountain, correct?” Illya smoothed out her skirt. “If there is any deficiency in the grail, it must be corrected.” 

Leysritt frowned, and shook her head. “Hard work.” 

“Most likely,” Illya agreed. “But I will not fail in this Grail War.”

“-wouldn’t explain, just that he’d taken care of it.” Raiga’s voice rose as the conversation in the car fell off. “He said it was the cause of the Fuyuki fire ten years ago, though.” 

Illya’s hands clenched into fists. The fire had one association in her mind: that boy, who had convinced that man to abandon her. 

“You’re absolutely certain that it wasn’t Kiritsugu that cut ties?” Irisveil asked. “From what I remember, he was an eminently practical person. Maybe he didn’t want to face whatever consequences there would be for failing the Einzbern.” There was another thump, and then a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, like the sound of a sword being drawn. 

“That’s twice now you’ve debased my friend’s character.”

“My apologies, I’m just trying to understand what could drive Kiritsugu to abandon his daugh—”

“Abandon!?” The sudden volume was so loud that Illya almost flew back from the force of it. Sella immediately leaned over, her hands fluttering over Illya as Raiga continued to roar. “Abandon his daughter!? Is that what you think happened!?”

“I’m not certain. All I know is that he never returned to castle Ein—”

“Well it wasn’t for lack of trying, I’ll have you know!” Raiga roared, a loud clatter coming over the speaker as the man did something. Illya blinked, her hand half-raised in the motion of shooing Sella away. 

What had Raiga just said?

“I told him, year after year, that he should stay in Japan, look after his health; that we’d be happy to retrieve his daughter for him.” Raiga kept speaking, and Illya found herself listening, even as her mind yelled at her to shut off the feed. He was lying. He had to be lying. “But he refused. Said he ‘had to do it himself’. He was a stubborn bastard like that.”

“He couldn’t be satisfied with the kid he pulled from the ashes of his dreams,” Raiga’s voice was quiet now, and Illya strained to hear it over the microphone her mother was wearing.

“He wanted his daughter back, too.” Someone choked back a sob in the car. Distantly, Illya felt a tightness in her chest, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the words that Raiga Fujimura was speaking, going against the ironclad truth that had formed the foundation of Illya’s existence for five long, cold years.

“And your family never even let him see her, no matter how much he begged. Every single year, before Illya’s birthday, he’d take a plane to Germany, with a present for her, and every single year, he came back still holding it.”

Distantly, Illya realized that someone was tugging at her coat. She brushed them away, continuing to stare into the speaker. 

“I never saw Kiritsugu Emiya cry before he retired. But he was weeping, those last few years each time he came home without his daughter.” 

Illya unbuckled her seat belt, threw open the car door and leapt out of the vehicle. She hit the ground running, heading for the Fujimura estate. She almost destroyed the doors with a burst of magical power, but the heavy oak slid open easily as she shoved her way through. 

He’s lying. Illya’s thoughts raced as she ran through the hallways, focusing on her mama’s magic signature and the bond they shared. He has to be lying. There were people in the manor. Some of them were standing in front of her. It was almost trivial to burst through them, sending them sprawling as she continued towards where the liar was. 

With one last shove, she forced open the door.

The room was well-decorated, bamboo pots in each corner, scrolls on each wall, and a decorative screen opposite the door. A low table formed the centerpiece, although it had obviously been in better shape. Irisveil was sitting at one side, her head bowed and shoulders hunched. On the other, an old man stood, his features sharp and hair graying. The front of his kimono was wet, obviously from the tea pot that had been spilled across the table.

“You’re lying!” Illya yelled, thrusting a finger at the old man, who could only be Raiga. 

“What?”

“Illya?” Irisveil’s head popped up, before she rose herself. “I’m so sorry Mr. Fujimura, I’ll—”

Raiga Fujimura raised a hand. “Wait. You’re Illyasveil?”

“I am.” Illya strode forward slowly, her legs quivering with every step. “And I want you to stop lying.” 

The old man’s brow raised. “What am I lying about, young lady?”

“About my father!” Illya spat the words with as much venom as she could muster. No one commented on how her voice quivered as she spoke. “I—I know he abandoned me, I know he didn’t care for me. I know he did. So stop pretending that he didn’t!” 

Raiga’s face fell, his lips curving into a deep frown. “They really haven’t been kind to you, haven't they.”

“Mr. Fujimura, I apologize so much for Illya barging in like this. We agreed for her to stay in the car while we talked.” Irisveil rose and wrapped a hand around Illya’s shoulders. The young homunculus almost collapsed into her mother’s embrace. It was warm, it was comforting. It was solid. Illya clung to it like a man adrift at sea. 

“Wait.” Raiga raised his hand, before walking behind the decorative screen. When he emerged half a second later, he was carrying a box wrapped in bright white wrapping paper. There was a red bow on one corner. Illya’s eyes never left the package from the moment she saw it.

“When I received your request for a meeting, Ms. Einzbern, I had this brought out of storage.” Raiga lifted the package towards them in both hands, bowing slightly. “It would be my honor to give it to its intended recipient, even if a few years late.”

Irisveil reached out to take it. 

Raiga pulled it back almost instantly. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you with this, but your family has let this girl think that her father hated her for twelve years.” 

Irisveil nodded, before patting Illya on the back; pushing her forward slightly. 

Illya moved forward in a daze, her eyes still locked onto the wrapping paper. It was the same color as her hair. The bow was the same color as her eyes. With trembling hands, she reached out to grab it. Raiga smiled down at her as she slowly pulled it in. Her gaze caught on a small tag, attached to the bow.

For Illyasveil von Einzbern, It read, the handwriting small and spidery. A finer daughter than I deserve. The “E” of Einzbern had been replaced with a Э, a cyrillic letter. She’d been so fascinated by that letter when she was six, always writing it when she signed her name. Mama had told Papa that trying to teach her Russian, Chinese, and English at her age was too much. Papa had told her that it was better to learn languages early. 

There was a thump as Illya’s legs gave out, and tears began to flow freely down her face as she hunched over the present she had never received and cried. 

“Papa,” Illya choked out as her fingers dug into the wrapping paper. “Papa!” A familiar weight wrapped itself around her shoulders, and Illya turned to hurl herself into her mother’s embrace, her body wracked with sobs.