Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One moment, there was nothing. A comfortable, dreamless void. The next, reality returned as a cosmic car crash.

Existence didn't return with the gentleness of a sunrise; it slammed into me, an explosive ignition. Light, a searing, merciless white, burned against eyelids I didn't remember closing. A roar, the sound of a star being born in a cathedral, ripped through ears I hadn't been using. A current, raw and overwhelming, jumped a circuit I never knew I possessed, a river of lightning flooding my veins and humming with a purpose I couldn't comprehend.

My thoughts fractured. Memories, once a coherent stream, became a collision of two lifetimes. One was my own: the soft glow of a computer monitor, the taste of cheap coffee, the smell of rain on asphalt—a life of mundane concerns and comfortable fictions.

The other lifetime didn't arrive as a story I could recall; it was a full-blown sensory assault. The bitter tang of ozone from a projected blade, the weight of a blood-soaked shroud, the chilling finality in a dying man's eyes, the unending grey of a hill of swords under a steel sky. It was a life forged in fire and tempered in endless battle, built on a borrowed ideal that had ultimately shattered.

The violent symphony receded, leaving only the sound of my own harsh, unfamiliar breathing. The light softened to the gentle silver of moonlight filtering through a tall, mullioned window. The torrent of power in my veins settled into a potent thrum deep within my chest, a spiritual core that felt like a miniature sun.

My body was propped against a wall in a grand, dusty sitting room. Tall, dark wood bookcases lined the walls, and a cold fireplace dominated one wall. I was alone.

I pushed myself up. The movement was unnervingly fluid, an economy of motion that spoke of a thousand battles. My hands came up before my face—strong, calloused, the skin a shade darker. They looked capable of fletching an arrow or dismantling a firearm. I clenched them into fists, the immense, contained strength within them a terrifying new reality.

My breath hitched. A cold sweat slicked my new skin. The polished floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. I braced myself against a large mahogany desk, my knuckles white.

"Okay. Okay, just... think," I whispered, the voice a low, smooth baritone that vibrated in my bones.

My name is... My name was... The memory was smoke, a ghost I couldn't grasp. Then, flashes of EMIYA's existence burned through my own. The searing heat of an inferno that forged a boy's ideals. The cold weight of a trigger squeezed in the name of justice. The splintering crack of a neck under my hands. The hollow echo of a world saved and a soul damned. My own life, a flimsy sketch, was being violently painted over by his blood-soaked masterpiece. My knees gave out, and I slid down the side of the desk, my head in my hands, gasping for air that felt too thin.

For an eternity that might have been ten seconds or ten minutes, I stayed on the floor, caught in the grip of a panic attack fueled by a life I never lived.

Then, a thought, sharp and cold, cut through the noise: This level of distress is inefficient. It serves no tactical purpose.

It was an anchor. I latched onto it. Panicking wouldn't change the facts. I was a Servant, Archer, summoned for the Fifth Holy Grail War. And I knew the stories. My knowledge was a weapon.

My purpose couldn't be EMIYA's—a bitter, paradoxical suicide mission. It had to be simpler. Survive. To survive, I needed to play the part. I needed to wear the mask of Archer.

I pushed myself back into a seated position, my back against the desk, and waited.

The sharp click of footsteps on the grand staircase announced her arrival. The door to the sitting room was pushed open with unnecessary force. Rin Tohsaka stood there, framed in the doorway, her expression a mask of indignation.

"There you are!" she snapped, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "What are you doing? Lounging about? You were supposed to appear in the summoning circle! Do you have any idea how much of a mess you've made?"

I looked up at her, letting one corner of my mouth lift into a slight, humorless curve. Time for the mask.

"My apologies, Master," I said, my voice calm and low. "It seems the turbulence of your summoning displaced me. You should really check your ritual's alignment more carefully."

Color flooded her cheeks. "My ritual was perfect!"

"Clearly not," I countered, rising to my feet in a single, fluid motion. I stood a good head taller than her, a fact that only seemed to intensify the glare she fixed on me. "But no matter. The contract is formed. I am here."

She sputtered for a moment, crossing her arms defensively. "Fine! Whatever. Just... state your class. I was aiming for the best. You'd better be Saber."

The hope in her voice was a fragile, quickly hidden thing. "I am of the Archer class," I stated simply.

Her shoulders slumped just a fraction, the light in her eyes dimming. "Archer..." she muttered, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "Just my luck."

"Don't be so quick to judge," I said, the faint smirk returning. "The strength of a Servant lies not in their class, but in their Master's ability to utilize them."

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "Of course I am up to the task! I'm Rin Tohsaka!" She took a deep, steadying breath. "Fine. Archer will have to do. Now, your True Name. Tell me who you are."

Here it was. The amnesia excuse felt flimsy, a coward's way out.

"No," I said flatly.

Rin blinked. "What? What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean I will not be telling you," I elaborated, crossing my arms. "It's a tactical liability. To hand such a vital secret to a Master on the first day... it's foolish."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am your Master. You don't get to decide what's foolish."

"Don't I?" My smirk sharpened. "From what I've seen—a botched summoning, a lack of situational awareness, and a temper more suited to a child—I have serious reservations. Secrets are for adults, Master. And you have yet to prove you are one."

That did it. Her face went pale, her fists clenching so tightly her knuckles were white. The very air in the room seemed to crackle around her.

"You dare..." she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. She raised her right hand, and the Command Seals on the back of it flared with a brilliant, crimson light. "You forget your place, Archer!"

The smirk fell from my face. My posture straightened, my hands coming up in a gesture that was half-ward, half-surrender.

"Wait," I said, my voice suddenly urgent. "Stop. Don't be an idiot. Those are your most valuable tools! You only get three! To waste one on a petty power play now is the height of incompetence!"

"Silence!" she shrieked, her anger drowning out all reason. "You need to be taught a lesson! By the power of my Command Seal, I order you: Archer, you will obey my every command!"

The command inflicted no pain. It simply erased my will. A metaphysical shackle snapped shut, cold and absolute. My own consciousness thrashed against it, a ghost in the machine, but the body, this vessel of a Heroic Spirit, responded with the sickening fluidity of a puppet whose strings had just been pulled taut. My limbs moved without my consent. My knees hit the polished wood with a dull thud, my head bowing.

Rin stood over me, panting slightly, the glow from her hand fading, a triumphant, vicious smirk on her face. "There. Now you understand. You are my Servant. My tool. You will do as I say."

She savored the moment, then her expression hardened once more. "Now, for the last time. Tell me your name."

The invisible shackle tightened in anticipation.

I looked up from my kneeling position, my face a mask of strained sincerity. "Master," I began, the word tasting like ash. "Please. Do not give that order."

She scoffed. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Because my name is worthless information," I pleaded, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "It grants you no advantage. My skills, my abilities—that is what will win you this war. I will share all of that freely. My parameters, my skills, every weapon I can project. That is information with a true tactical advantage."

I paused, meeting her gaze. "Think of it as a challenge. A test for a brilliant magus. Deduce my identity from my actions. Isn't that a more fitting accomplishment for a Tohsaka than forcing a secret from a chained dog?"

She froze. Her gaze flickered from my face to the two remaining seals on her hand. Her anger was still there, a hot coal in her eyes, but a new, calculating light was warring with it. Proving her own brilliance was far more tempting than proving an authority she had already established.

Finally, with a sharp "Hmph," she lowered her hand.

"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Have it your way, Archer. I will uncover your identity through my own skill. It will be more satisfying anyway." She looked me up and down. "But don't think this changes anything. You made a promise. Your skills and abilities. Everything. Start talking."

The order was blunt, a clear reminder of the hierarchy she had just violently established. Still kneeling, I began to recite the information, my voice a flat monotone.

"And your Noble Phantasm?" she pressed.

"I do not possess a true Noble Phantasm," I answered truthfully. "My ability is a specialized sorcery. I can replicate and wield any weapon I have seen."

Rin absorbed the information, a flicker of frustration crossing her face when no immediate legend came to mind.

"Get up," she commanded curtly. I rose, the compulsion still a bitter taste in my mouth. She let out a weary sigh, the adrenaline finally fading and leaving a deep exhaustion in its wake. The summoning and the forceful use of a Command Seal had clearly taken their toll.

"We have a lot to do," she said, her voice losing some of its sharp edge, "but it's late, and my prana is low. I am not reckless." She looked at me, her expression stern. "Be ready to move at dawn. For now... just don't break anything."

She turned and walked out of the room without another glance, leaving me alone in the dusty silence. The confrontation was over. A line had been drawn, and a contract had been sealed in mutual antagonism. She had a Servant she couldn't trust but was forced to rely on. I had a Master I knew to be impulsive and dangerously proud, holding the leash to my very existence.

This Holy Grail War had started with a bitter, ugly compromise. And as the reality of my situation settled in, a cold certainty washed over me: survival was going to be much, much harder than I ever imagined.

Chapter Text

The old house settled around me with a groan of tired wood. Moonlight, thick with dancing dust motes, sliced through the cavernous rooms, painting long, distorted shadows on the walls. Rin had retired hours ago, leaving me to the unsettling quiet and the constant, nagging presence of my new existence. Servants don't require sleep, a fact that felt less like a benefit and more like a curse. There was no escape, no brief respite in unconsciousness from the memories of a man I was and was not, or from the metaphysical chain tethered to my soul. I could feel the Command Seal under my skin, a foreign object humming with a low-level current of absolute obedience. It was a leash, and its holder was a proud, impulsive girl who had already proven she was not afraid to pull it.

Standing still was intolerable. The instincts of the Counter Guardian, a being forged for eternal, thankless work, demanded action. I let my body dissolve into spirit form and began a silent sweep of the house. Rin’s bounded fields were intricate, woven like a complex tapestry through the mansion's architecture. I could feel the thrum of her prana in the air, a testament to years of dedicated study.

I spent the rest of the night in the training hall, the air thick with the scent of old wood and iron. I needed to know the limits of this body, to feel the line between my will and its ingrained power.

"Trace, on."

The words were a key, unlocking a circuit in my soul. I pictured a blade, simple and familiar. Kanshou. The married blade, the dark twin. The prana flowed, following a blueprint seared into EMIYA's very spirit. The air shimmered, and the black, hexagonal sword materialized in my hand, its weight, its edge, its history a sudden, solid fact. The cost was minimal, a sip of energy from my core. I traced its counterpart, Bakuya, the white fang, feeling the magnetic pull between the two blades. I swung them, the movement unnervingly natural, a dance of death coded into the muscles of this body. The steel hissed through the air, carving silent, perfect arcs in the darkness.

But a grim awareness of the future tempered the exercise. The key divergence was coming: the summoning of the King of Knights. In one timeline, she would appear and, in her confusion, lash out, dealing me a grievous wound that would hamper me for days. In another, I would hold her off, creating a stalemate. The thought of taking that blow, of being crippled from the start, was unacceptable. I couldn't rely on Shirou to stop her in time. I had to be ready to fight back. Survival depended on it. I ran through the scenario in my mind, over and over. Visualizing the Emiya household's layout, the distance from the gate to the house, the probable angles of attack. I mapped out my footing, my parries, the exact way I would position myself to shield Rin without getting cleaved in two.

But before Saber, there would be Lancer. A different, more pointed threat. And with Lancer came his Noble Phantasm, Gae Bolg. A spear that reversed causality. A guaranteed kill. How do you defend against a strike that has already landed before it is thrown?

Dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. Rin met me in the foyer. Her posture was stiff, her hands clasped formally behind her back. She didn't meet my eyes.

"We're patrolling," she stated, her voice all business. "I need to check the ley lines and get a feel for the city's prana distribution. Stay in spirit form unless I say otherwise. Don't draw attention."

I gave a simple nod and dematerialized, becoming an invisible, silent presence at her side. In spirit form, Fuyuki was a different beast. I could feel the thrum of life from the people walking by, the quiet hum of electricity in the power lines, and beneath it all, the slow, deep pulse of the land's own magical energy.

Our first stop was the Shinto shopping district, a bustling artery of commerce even in the early morning. Rin stood at the edge of the main thoroughfare, her eyes closed, concentrating. The smells of fresh bread from a bakery and grilling fish from a breakfast stall mingled in the crisp air.

"The flow of human traffic creates a current in the ambient mana," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "It's chaotic, but it has a rhythm."

"The rooftops offer the best vantage points," I said, my voice audible only to her. "Particularly the building with the green sign. A clear line of sight down the two main streets. An ideal location for a sniper."

Rin's eyes snapped open. She glanced up at the building I’d indicated, her expression unreadable. She hadn't expected a tactical analysis. "Good to know," she said, her tone clipped, and started walking again, her pace a fraction faster than before.

We made our way to the great Fuyuki Bridge, an expanse of steel and concrete spanning the Mion River. Here, the hum of the ley lines was a palpable roar, a torrent of power flowing beneath the mundane world. Rin walked to the center of the bridge, placing a hand on the railing.

"This is one of the most significant nexuses in the city," she explained, her voice taking on the confident tone of a lecturer. "It anchors the entire region. Any large-scale ritual, any major disturbance, it would be felt here most strongly."

As she spoke, I used my own senses, pushing my Clairvoyance beyond simple sight. I could see the river of prana she described, but I could also see ghosts within it—faint, lingering echoes of immense power. Scars left on the world from the last war. The phantom signature of a golden king's treasury, the holy light of a sacred sword, the corrupted taint of a monstrous grail. The visceral reminder sent a shiver through my spiritual form. This peaceful city was a graveyard, and we were walking on the headstones.

Before I could comment, she pushed off the railing and continued on. Our patrol took us into the quiet residential streets of Miyama Town. The contrast was stark. The broad avenues gave way to narrow, winding roads lined with traditional houses and neat gardens. The oppressive atmosphere of the city's magical imbalance seemed lessened here, replaced by a sense of fragile peace.

We stopped in a small park overlooking the city. Rin bought two cans of juice from a vending machine, a surprising crack in her professional demeanor. She held one out in my general direction.

"It's not like you need it, but... well, it's the thought that counts, right?" she mumbled, a faint blush on her cheeks.

I materialized my hand to take it, the cool metal a strange sensation. "The gesture is appreciated, Master."

We stood in silence for a few minutes, the distance between us slowly shrinking.

"I... may have overreacted last night," she finally said, her eyes fixed on the distant skyline. It was the closest she could get to an apology.

"You were testing my limits. And I was testing yours," I replied, my tone even. "I provoked you. I acknowledge that." I turned to face her, my expression hardening. "But it was still a foolish, emotional waste of your most powerful asset. A broad command like 'obey me' is notoriously difficult to enforce and easy to misinterpret. The only reason it works with such binding force is due to the sheer quality and quantity of your prana. You have immense talent, Master. Don't squander it on temper tantrums."

She bristled at the final remark, but the analytical praise of her abilities as a magus seemed to placate her. "It won't happen again," she said, a promise in her voice. The unspoken words hung between us: unless you give me a reason.

"So that sniper comment," she began, changing the subject. "How far is your effective range?"

"As far as I can see," I answered truthfully. "If my eyes can resolve a target, I can hit it. The limiting factor isn't distance, but the prana you supply for the arrow."

Her eyes widened slightly. "So if I used one of my jewels to power a single shot..."

"The resulting arrow would be less a projectile and more a localized catastrophe," I finished. "Powerful, but inefficient."

The conversation continued, a cautious exchange of tactical information. It was the first time we'd spoken like a team, and the feeling was a strange mix of progress and pragmatism. We weren't friends yet. We were allies of convenience, bound by a contract and a shared desire for survival.

As the day wore on, our patrol confirmed our fears. Reports of mysterious "gas leaks" were cropping up across the newer parts of the city. People were feeling faint, tired, their energy inexplicably drained. Rin, as the land's Second Owner, felt the truth of it—a widespread, systematic drain of life force. Not yet potent enough to kill, but slowly, insidiously gathering power.

"Someone is using the entire city as their workshop," she whispered, her voice tight with a mixture of scholarly fascination and righteous fury. "The sheer scale of it... it's audacious."

The next day, she went to school, and I followed, a ghost in the hallways. I watched the mundane drama of teenage life unfold, a world away from the war brewing in the shadows. I saw Shirou Emiya's earnest desire to help everyone, fixing heaters and taking on extra work. I also saw him with Sakura Matou. I watched her quiet, almost timid devotion to him, and his gentle, oblivious kindness in return. It filled me with a misplaced, cynical pity for the boy.

The trap was sprung after sundown.

A signature, brilliant and wild as a grass fire, appeared on the grounds. Lancer. I was already moving, materializing on a rooftop overlooking the courtyard as the blue Servant engaged a stunned Rin.

He was a whirlwind of crimson, his spear a blur of motion that pressed Rin back, forcing her to expend jewel after jewel just to stay alive.

“Hold him off, Archer!" she yelled, diving behind cover to prepare a larger spell.

Archer. The word echoed in the night. Just like that, she broadcast my class to a hostile Servant. A child. A talented, powerful, foolish child.

I dropped from the rooftop, landing silently on the pavement between them. "That's far enough, Lancer," I said, Kanshou and Bakuya already in my hands.

Lancer grinned, a feral, joyous expression. "So the Servant finally shows himself. And an Archer, no less. This should be fun."

He didn't wait for a reply. He exploded forward, a blue and crimson streak that closed the distance in a heartbeat. My conscious mind barely had time to register the movement before EMIYA's instincts took over. I brought the twin swords up in a cross-guard, the impact a thunderous crack that sent shockwaves jarring up my arms. The force was monstrous; I was driven back three feet, the heels of my boots carving grooves in the pavement.

Lancer flowed around me, his spear a relentless red blur. Every thrust, every sweep, was aimed with lethal precision. My own thoughts were a panicked scream, completely unable to keep up. I wasn't fighting him. I was barely surviving him. My body moved on its own, the centuries of EMIYA's combat experience a desperate shield against a superior foe. The clash of steel was a constant, high-pitched scream.

Clang! A thrust was deflected, the vibration rattling my teeth. Scrape! I ducked under a wide sweep, the wind of its passage tearing at my hair. Crack! He brought the butt of his spear around in a surprise jab that I only just caught on Bakuya's flat. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the white blade.

He was simply better. Faster, stronger, more fluid. He pressed the attack, giving me no room to breathe, no time to think. I was a man drowning, and he was the storm. My own will was submerged, and I could only watch as the ingrained instincts of the Counter Guardian fought back. My arms and legs moved, my blades parried, but it was all automated, a desperate subroutine running on pure survival instinct.

With a final, brutal overhead smash, Lancer brought his spear down on my guard. Bakuya, already weakened, shattered into a thousand motes of light, the prana dissipating with a soft hiss. For a fraction of a second, my right hand was empty. His eyes widened, sensing the kill.

He lunged.

"Trace, on!" The thought was a panicked gasp, a desperate prayer to the forge in my soul. A new Bakuya, identical to the last, shimmered into existence just in time to intercept the spear tip aimed for my throat. The cycle repeated. I was being worn down, my projections no match for a true Noble Phantasm. But with every shattered blade, with every desperate parry, my own consciousness began to sync with the body's muscle memory. My movements became a fraction less panicked, a fraction more deliberate. I was adapting, learning how to steer the war machine I inhabited.

Frustration boiled over into a snarl on Lancer's face. He could see it clearly: my footwork was clumsy, my strikes lacked the refined power of a true master, and my only defense was to endlessly replace the cheap blades he shattered.

"You're no swordsman," he spat, his voice laced with contempt. "You're a faker, just throwing out copies and praying one of them lands. What kind of pathetic hero are you?"

A humorless smirk touched my lips. "If I'm a pathetic faker," I shot back, my voice calm and cutting, "then what does that make the great Heroic Spirit who can't even finish me off?"

Lancer's composure snapped. A vein bulged in his temple, and his knuckles went white around the shaft of his spear. His pride, the pride of Ireland's Child of Light, could not stomach it.

"You're dead," he seethed, the words a low, guttural promise. "I was going to enjoy this, but now I'm just going to end it."

The air grew heavy, thick with a sudden, suffocating pressure. Blood-red energy, dense as syrup, bled from his body, coiling around the crimson spear like a living thing.

This was it. The moment of truth. My breath caught in my throat. Every calculation, every scrap of knowledge, every bit of prana I had all led to this single, irreversible moment. Would my gamble against causality hold? Or would my story end here, a footnote in a war I was never meant to be a part of?

"I'll be taking your heart!" he roared, and the world seemed to twist and warp around the tip of his spear. "Gae Bolg!"

He invoked the name. The killing curse gathered, a vortex of world-bending power ready to rewrite reality. I felt the universe hold its breath, ready to snap to a new future where my heart was pierced.

And then... nothing.

The blood-red energy, which had swelled to an overwhelming torrent, simply fizzled out. It dissipated into the night air with a sound like a deflating balloon. The air returned to normal. The spear in his hands was just a spear again. The curse had failed to launch.

Lancer stared, his blue eyes wide with an astonishment that was almost comical. He looked at his spear, then at me, then back at his spear. His ultimate technique, his sure-kill trump card, hadn't been blocked. It hadn't been dodged. It had simply refused to activate.

"What...?" he breathed, his confusion palpable. "How?"

Before he could recover, I acted. With his trump card inexplicably gone, Lancer himself was just a man holding a spear. I broke my stance and charged. The surprise attack forced him onto the defensive, and before he could rally, a massive explosion of Gandr shots from Rin forced him to leap away. He landed on a light pole, looking down at us with a newfound, dangerous curiosity.

"Well now," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "This just got interesting." And with a final look at me, he vanished into the night.

Rin rushed to my side, her face pale. "What was that? His Noble Phantasm... it just stopped."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, the constant drain from my conceptual defense finally ceasing. My thoughts raced back to the cold logic of the previous night. Gae Bolg's curse isn't the thrust of the spear; the thrust is just the formality that follows. The curse is the result: 'the heart is pierced'. It rewrites the world to make that outcome a reality. But the world, for all its malleability to magecraft, abhors a paradox. So, if you create a situation where the heart absolutely cannot be pierced, what happens? The guaranteed result becomes an impossibility. The world cannot resolve the contradiction. And so, the cause—the activation of the Noble Phantasm—is negated. Only in a world governed by the beautifully twisted logic of magecraft could such a defense work. Last night, I'd applied the strongest conceptual defense I could pull from EMIYA's armory—the absolute concept of 'unbreachable' from a divine aegis—onto the vest I wore, praying it would be enough. My wild gamble had paid off. 

"It seems he has a condition for its use," I lied smoothly, offering a simple explanation instead of a lecture on thaumaturgical theory. "He couldn't meet it."

The aftermath was a cascade. Lancer, having failed to kill me, went to tie up the loose end: the high school boy who had witnessed the fight. Shirou. Rin's curse as she realized what was happening. Her desperate race to Shirou's side. Finding him with a hole in his chest. I observed it all, a silent spectator, as she poured her own life into the pendant to save him. It was a foolish, reckless, deeply human act.

Rin stood up, wiping sweat from her brow, her work done. The pendant in her hand was dull, its power spent. "He'll live," she said, her voice strained. She swayed on her feet, the magical exertion clear. "That's... that's enough for one night. I'm exhausted. Take me home, Archer."

I gave a single, sharp nod, glancing once at the unconscious form of Shirou Emiya. I scooped Rin up—she was lighter than I expected—and made a leaping bound to the rooftops, disappearing into the night.

We arrived back at the Tohsaka mansion in minutes. The bounded fields thrummed a welcome, a perimeter of safety in a city suddenly at war. Rin slid out of my arms and all but collapsed into an ornate chair in her living room, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I remained standing, a silent red sentinel in the moonlit room. I let her recover for a minute, my senses scanning the perimeter out of habit. The silence stretched, filled only by her attempts to regain her composure.

"Master," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

"Quiet," she commanded, her voice sharp but frayed at the edges. She held up a hand, forestalling any argument. "Just... stop. I need a minute. I'm covered in sweat and blood, and I can't think straight like this." She pushed herself out of the chair, her movements stiff. "Give me ten minutes to wash up. Then we can talk strategy."

Without waiting for a reply, she left the room, her footsteps receding down the hall. I remained motionless, a statue in her antique living room. The order wasn't backed by a Command Seal, but it was an order nonetheless, and disobeying it would only lead to another pointless confrontation. It was more efficient to wait. It also gave her time to let the adrenaline fade, which would hopefully make her more receptive to cold, hard logic.

True to her word, she returned ten minutes later. She'd changed out of her uniform and into a simple sweater and skirt. Her hair was damp, and the exhaustion was still etched on her face, but the wild, frayed look in her eyes was gone, replaced by the focused gaze of a magus.

She sat down, her posture straight. "Alright, Archer. Report."

"Lancer is a professional," I stated, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "In our fight, a witness saw him, his face, and his Noble Phantasm."

Rin's head snapped up, her eyes widening as the tactical reality of the situation shattered her exhaustion.

"He's a proud warrior, but he's not an idiot," I continued, pressing the point. "A witness is a liability he cannot afford. He failed to kill his target. He knows that target is still alive because he probably felt the healing magecraft. He will go back to finish the job. Right now."

Rin was on her feet in an instant, her fatigue completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. "Emiya's house!"

We raced towards the Emiya residence, the cloying scent of blood and ozone growing stronger with every step. But as we rounded the corner, an eruption of pure, golden light washed over the neighborhood, so immense it felt like a star had been born and died in an instant. A new, overwhelming power signature flared into existence, a presence as brilliant and unyielding as the sun.

"A summoning?" Rin gasped, skidding to a halt.

"Get ready," I warned, my own circuits already humming. I knew this script. Lancer would retreat, and the newly summoned Servant, disoriented and hostile, would identify any nearby magus as a threat.

We didn't even make it to the gate.

A blue and silver blur shot from the house, moving with impossible speed. It was Saber, the King of Knights, her face a mask of cold fury, her invisible sword held ready. Her sea-green eyes, honed by a lifetime of battle, locked onto the most immediate magical signature—Rin.

Rin's breath hitched, her eyes wide as the figure charged. Her body froze, unable to process the sheer velocity of the attack.

But I was ready.

There was no time to think, only to act on the plan I'd rehearsed a hundred times in my mind. The circuits in my soul flared, the blueprints for Kanshou and Bakuya screaming into existence.

"Trace, on!"

Two blades, one black as night, one white as dawn, appeared in my hands. I threw myself forward, planting my feet between the charging King of Knights and my stunned Master. I raised the married blades in a desperate cross-guard just as the invisible sword, driven by the fury of a dragon, came crashing down.

Chapter Text

The world resolved into a singular, violent moment.

There was no preliminary clash, no testing of guards. There was only the sound of a hurricane striking a wall of steel. The force that crashed into my crossed blades was fundamentally different from Lancer's assault. His had been the sharp, piercing speed of a viper's strike. This was the raw, kinetic energy of a freight train, an absolute, crushing weight that cared nothing for finesse.

My arms screamed, the shock of the impact jolting through my bones and threatening to tear my shoulders from their sockets. The pavement beneath my boots cracked and spiderwebbed. I was driven back a step, then another, my body a desperate dam against a flood of pure, unrestrained power. Kanshou and Bakuya, my faithful projections, groaned under the strain, fine fractures appearing along their edges. This wasn't a duel; it was a siege, and I was the gate being battered down.

Saber pressed her attack, a relentless blue and silver engine of destruction. Her invisible sword, a blur of compressed air, rose and fell with the brutal efficiency of a guillotine. My conscious mind was a distant, panicked spectator. EMIYA's instincts were in full control, a desperate subroutine executing a single command: endure.

Crack! One of the blades shattered, dissolving into harmless motes of prana. I projected its twin in the same heartbeat, the new steel barely materializing in time to meet the next blow. It was a frantic, draining cycle. I was a flood wall frantically rebuilding itself even as the tsunami tore it apart.

I couldn't win. I couldn't even hold on for much longer. I could feel the immense build-up of prana from her, the golden light of a Mana Burst gathering for a strike meant to end this stalemate once and for all. This was the blow my mental rehearsals had warned me about, the one I knew I couldn't block.

Just as she was about to unleash it, a raw, desperate voice cut through the violent symphony of battle.

"STOP!"

The voice came from the wrecked doorway of the house. Shirou Emiya, clutching his freshly healed wound, stood swaying on his feet. The Command Seal on his hand blazed with a crimson light before fading, the single word backed by an absolute, irresistible power.

Saber froze. She was locked in place mid-swing, the golden energy around her dissipating, her face a mask of shock and violation. The connection between Master and Servant, a bond she had possessed for less than a minute, had been used to chain her will.

A wave of bitter, cynical relief washed over me. I lowered my cracked blades, my arms trembling from the strain. The idiot had actually done it. He'd saved us. He'd also just wasted a third of his power as a Master. Two new Masters, two Command Seals squandered on emotional outbursts in less than twenty-four hours. The amateur hour continued.

The ensuing negotiation took place in the Emiya family's living room. The air was thick with a hostility you could taste. Saber stood stiffly by the wall, her expression a mask of cold fury, her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to look at the boy who had just so crudely asserted his dominance over her. Shirou was pale and utterly bewildered, his eyes darting between the three supernatural beings who had turned his home into a warzone. Rin, ever the pragmatist, immediately took charge, launching into a crash course on the Holy Grail War with the air of a tired lecturer explaining a complex subject to a particularly slow student.

As she spoke, Shirou, acting on some deeply ingrained instinct of hospitality, offered us tea. Rin ignored him, but I gave a slight nod. The sight of me calmly accepting a cup of tea seemed to unsettle both him and Saber more than my blades had. I took a sip, the warm liquid a bizarrely mundane sensation in a world that had gone insane.

"To properly enter the war, you need to register with the overseer," Rin concluded, her tone business-like. "He acts as a moderator and provides sanctuary on holy ground. We'll go to the church in Shinto." Shirou was too overwhelmed to do anything but numbly agree. And so, a temporary, unspoken truce was formed, born of his confusion and her command.

Rin led the way, her posture rigid. Shirou stumbled along behind her, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and horror. Servants were real. And he was, somehow, a Master in a secret war to the death. He kept asking questions, his voice a low, desperate murmur, trying to find some logic in the madness.

"But why do we have to fight? If this Grail is so powerful, why can't we just... share it? Or destroy it so no one gets hurt?"

"Because that's not how it works," Rin replied, not even bothering to look back. "There is only one prize. Seven Masters. The math isn't complicated, Emiya-kun."

"But it's wrong," he insisted, his voice hardening with the simple, stubborn certainty that had defined his entire life. "There has to be another way."

Saber followed him like a silent, armored shadow, her distrust for everyone present a palpable force.

As we prepared to leave, I sent a quick, silent thought to Rin. 'I'm scouting ahead. The path is clear, but I don't like the number of blind spots. I'll ensure we have no surprises.'

She gave a barely perceptible nod, accepting the strategic logic. I dissolved into spirit form, a phantom moving through the Fuyuki night ahead of the group. The real threat wasn't on the way to the church; it was waiting for us on the way back. Berserker. A monster of a Servant. Saber was strong, but against that beast's raw power and his Noble Phantasm, God Hand, she would be worn down. She couldn't do it alone. My intervention was a necessity. A single, perfectly aimed Broken Phantasm would be enough to halt the fight. The plan was solid.

When the group arrived at the grand entrance leading up to the church, I was already there, an unseen presence. As Rin and Shirou went inside to meet the overseer, Saber and I were left alone in the cold night, the silence between us heavy and charged. This was my chance. I materialized beside her, my sudden appearance causing her to flinch and place a hand on the hilt of her invisible sword.

"Relax," I said, my tone serious and direct. "We need to talk."

"Your senses are among the finest, Servant of the Sword," I began, the respectful address catching her off guard. "But even you cannot sense what is already here, waiting in the shadows."

She turned to me, her green eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What are you talking about? The grounds are clear."

"My class provides me with a high rank of Clairvoyance," I explained, bending the truth. "I can perceive threats that are magically concealed. There is a monstrous presence waiting for us, a being of immense power, biding its time. It will attack the moment when our Masters return."

Her suspicion didn't waver. "And I should simply take the word of an enemy Servant?"

"I don't ask you to trust me," I countered, appealing to the one thing I knew she valued above all else. "I ask you to trust your duty to your Master. When this enemy attacks, we will be their only line of defense. A moment's hesitation, a second of infighting, will get them killed. We must be prepared to coordinate."

I had framed it as a temporary, non-aggression pact between two soldiers for the sake of their commanders. It was a language she understood. After a long, tense moment, she gave a single, sharp nod. "For my Master's sake, I will cooperate. But make no mistake, Archer. I do not trust you."

"Reasonable," I replied with a thin smile.

When Rin and Shirou returned, their faces grim from their encounter with the overseer, I was already in spirit form again. As we began the walk back, I sent another mental message, this one to Rin.

'There is an enemy waiting to ambush us. I have a plan in motion. Saber will engage in close combat. I will take a vantage point and provide fire support. Your job is to keep yourself and the boy safe from the enemy Master.'

I felt her tense, a surge of prana that was quickly suppressed. 'Understood,' came her clipped, mental reply.

An uneasy peace settled over the group as we walked, the kind that precedes a storm. And then, the storm arrived.

A child's singsong voice, dripping with malice, echoed from the yard. "Found you!"

Saber's eyes widened. She could feel it now, an oppressive, monstrous presence descending upon the property. I was telling the truth.

Standing near us was a giant of a man, more monster than human, his eyes glowing with a berserker's rage. Behind him stood a small, silver-haired girl in a purple dress, a cruel smile on her face.

"Go, Berserker," Illyasviel von Einzbern commanded. "Kill them all."

Saber was already moving. With a roar of wind, she met the giant's charge head-on. The clash was a titanic explosion of force that shook the entire neighborhood. Saber knew instantly that this cramped yard, filled with obstacles and with their Masters so close, was the worst possible place to fight this behemoth. With a powerful parry that sent Berserker stumbling back a step, she used her agility to disengage, leaping backwards over the fence and into the neighboring woods. Her goal was clear: draw the monster away, to a battlefield of her choosing. Berserker, with a mindless roar, crashed after her, splintering trees as he went.

"Emiya-kun, stay back!" Rin yelled, physically grabbing his arm. "Don't be an idiot! You'll die before you take three steps! Our job is here!"

Their attention was drawn to the Einzbern Master, who was walking calmly towards them. Shirou, seeing a girl who looked no older than a middle schooler commanding that monster, took a step forward, his protective instincts overriding his fear.

"You!" he called out, his voice shaking but firm. "Stop this! You're just a kid! Why are you doing this?"

Illya just giggled, a chilling, unnatural sound that made my skin crawl even in spirit form. "You're in no position to make demands, Onii-chan," she purred, the Japanese honorific sounding like a threat. "You should be more worried about yourselves."

"Einzbern," Rin spat, pushing Shirou behind her and raising a hand, jewels glinting between her fingers. "Calling your dog off won't save you."

While the Masters were locked in their standoff, I was already repositioning. I leaped to a tall oak on the edge of the forest, granting me a perfect, unobstructed view of the clearing Saber had chosen. It was a clash of titans. Saber, a blur of silver and blue, weaved between ancient trees, her invisible blade striking at the giant's joints and tendons. But her every blow was like a pebble against a mountain. Berserker was pure, unstoppable rage, his massive stone axe carving huge furrows in the earth and felling trees with every missed swing. It was clear Saber was outmatched in sheer power and was fighting a losing battle.

I saw my opening. She lured him into a downward swing that embedded his axe deep into the trunk of a massive tree. For a single, crucial second, he was overextended. This was my cue.  'Rin, now!' I sent the mental command.

I drew Caladbolg, its familiar weight a grim comfort.

"I am the bone of my sword."

The incantation began, reshaping the legendary blade, twisting it into a spiraling arrow of condensed, destructive power. I nocked it, drew the string of my bow, and took aim.

"Caladbolg II!"

Shirou felt it, a sudden, immense spike of power that could only mean one thing. An attack. An attack aimed right where Saber was.

"Saber!" he screamed, trying to run forward, to warn her, to do something.

Rin tackled him, throwing both of them to the ground. "Stay down, you fool!" she hissed, holding him down as he struggled. "This is part of the plan!"

The Broken Phantasm tore through the night with a sound like a comet, a spiraling vortex of energy that slammed into Berserker's exposed side. The explosion was immense, a localized catastrophe that gouged a massive crater in the forest floor and ripped a huge chunk of flesh from the giant's body, sending him staggering back.

Even before the arrow struck, Saber had sensed it. A surge of immense, unfamiliar prana from above. With a final burst of her remaining energy, she threw herself sideways, clearing the immediate blast radius just as the world behind her detonated. She landed heavily on the far side of the crater, her silver armor scorched and smoking from the proximity of the blast. She pushed herself to her feet, panting heavily, her grip on her invisible sword unsteady for the first time. The fight had taken a severe toll.

The battle came to a screeching halt. Illya, her playful demeanor gone, stared from the wounded Berserker to the exhausted but still standing Saber, her red eyes wide with surprise. Her gaze flickered up towards the forest where the shot had come from. She recalled Berserker, who was already regenerating, and gave us a final, chilling smile. "You're more interesting than I thought. I'll play with you again later." And they vanished.

Silence descended on the ruined yard, broken only by the hiss of steam from the crater's edge and the ragged sound of Saber's breathing. She limped back from the forest, her silver armor scorched black in places, her posture stiff with exhaustion. The fight had taken a severe toll, and for the first time, she looked less like an invincible hero and more like a weary soldier.

Shirou rushed to her side, his earlier fear overridden by a surge of desperate concern. "Saber! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I am functional, Master," she replied, her voice strained but professional. The formal title was a clear wall, creating a distance between them even as he tried to close it.

Shirou stared, his gaze flickering from his battered Servant to the colossal scar gouged into his property, then back to the spot where the monster had vanished. The scale of it was impossible. It was a force of nature. His mind, which had just begun to grapple with the idea of magi killing each other, was now confronted with the reality of beings who could level city blocks. His naive belief that he could somehow reason his way through this, that he could "save" everyone, was crumbling into dust. He turned to Rin, his expression desperate, pleading.

"Tohsaka... we... we have to work together," he stammered, his voice cracking as he gestured towards the exhausted Saber. "We can't fight something like that alone. No one can."

Rin, however, had spent the last few minutes reassembling the shattered pieces of her composure into the cold, impenetrable mask of a Tohsaka magus. The immediate danger was past, and with it, the need for cooperation. Now was the time to reassert control, to draw the battle lines clearly. She crossed her arms, her expression freezing over.

"Don't misunderstand this, Emiya-kun," she said, her voice sharp and devoid of any of the earlier camaraderie. "That was a temporary ceasefire to deal with a mutual problem. Nothing more."

"This is insane. You saw what Saber had to go through. You saw what Archer had to do. The only logical thing to do is work together. Individually, we stand no chance."

"Your logic is flawed because it stems from weakness, Emiya-kun," she said, her voice sharp and devoid of any of the earlier camaraderie. "An alliance with an amateur Master who can't even properly supply his Servant with mana is a liability, not an asset."

The insult struck Shirou harder than any physical blow. "That's not fair! I'm still learning this! But that doesn't change the facts. That monster... Berserker... he'll be back. You know he will. What's your plan then? Fight him alone? Let him pick us off one by one?"

"My plan is my own concern," Rin retorted coolly. "And it certainly doesn't involve shackling myself to a boy who thinks this war can be won without getting his hands dirty. Your idealism is a weakness. In this war, it will get you killed." She met his shocked gaze without flinching. "We are enemies. The next time we meet, I will not hesitate."

She turned and began to walk away. I dropped from the roof, landing silently beside her, and we left.

The journey back to the Tohsaka mansion was made in tense silence. When the heavy oak doors closed behind us, Rin's composure finally crumbled. She all but collapsed into an ornate armchair, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to her.

"You're exhausted," I said with a hint of concern. "Get some rest, Master. We can debrief and formulate a proper plan tomorrow, when you have a clear head."

She was too tired to argue. With a reluctant nod, she headed for her room, leaving me alone in the grand, silent house.

I stood motionless in the center of the room. The other players were too emotional, too naive. If I left the flow of this war to them, they would stumble their way into a tragedy. I couldn't afford to be reactive.

A small, cold, confident smirk touched my lips. It was time to make my first move.

I dissolved into spirit form and vanished into the Fuyuki night.

Chapter Text

Dawn broke over the Tohsaka mansion, painting the windows of the grand, silent house. For a being that didn't need to sleep, the long nights offered ample time for thought. My mind was a chaotic archive of two lifetimes, and amidst the memories of battle and bloodshed, a simpler, more curious thought surfaced. EMIYA, the man whose body I now wore, was a master of the sword. But he was also, legend had it, a master of the kitchen.

Standing in the kitchen, a strange sense of curiosity guided me. I let EMIYA’s ingrained skills take over. My hands moved with an unnerving, practiced grace, a dance of knife and pan that my own mind could only observe with a detached sense of wonder. It was a simple experiment—a way to connect with a part of this borrowed life that wasn't forged in fire. The result was a traditional Japanese breakfast: grilled salted salmon, tamagoyaki rolled into a flawless cylinder, miso soup with a rich, complex aroma, and fluffy, steamed rice.

The scent was what finally drew Rin from her room. She appeared in the doorway, her expression wary. The sight of the perfectly arranged meal brought her to a complete halt.

"You… cooked?" she asked, her voice a mixture of astonishment and suspicion.

"Servants have many talents, Master," I replied, placing a cup of freshly brewed tea beside her plate. "Conserving your energy is paramount. Please, eat."

She sat down cautiously, taking a bite of the omelet. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine pleasure crossing her face before she quickly suppressed it.

"It's... adequate," she declared, though the speed at which she ate told a different story. The meal passed in a comfortable, almost domestic silence, a fragile peace that was deeply unsettling to her carefully constructed world.

"I'm going to school," she announced after finishing, her professional mask firmly back in place.

"That seems unwise," I stated. "Your time would be better spent analyzing the 'gas leak' phenomena or reinforcing the mansion's bounded fields."

"And where do you think the epicenter of that phenomenon is most likely to be?" she retorted, her eyes sharp. "The school is packed with hundreds of unaware students. There is an enemy who has set up a large-scale bounded field to drain mana. Investigating and dealing with that threat is my duty as the land's Second Owner."

She picked up her school bag, settling the strap on her shoulder. "Besides, maintaining my normal routine is the perfect cover. Disappearing would just put our enemy on alert. I'm going. You'll accompany me in spirit form. We'll debrief last night when we return."

Her logic was sound, a seamless blend of duty and pragmatism. I gave a slight nod, dissolving into an invisible presence at her side as she left the mansion.

The scene that greeted us was one of utter devastation. The main school building had been reduced to a mountain of twisted steel and shattered concrete, smoke still rising in lazy plumes from the wreckage. Firetrucks and police cars cordoned off the area, their flashing lights painting the morning chaos in strokes of red and blue. Rin stood, slack-jawed, her mind racing to comprehend the scale of power required.

Her eyes scanned the crowd of shocked students and faculty, and then they locked onto a familiar figure: Shirou Emiya, standing with Sakura Matou. Snapping out of her stupor, her magus instincts overriding her shock, Rin strode towards them with a purposeful gait. She gave Sakura a brief, dismissive nod before grabbing Shirou's arm.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice low and tight. She pulled him away from the main crowd, behind the relative privacy of an ambulance. "Emiya-kun," she hissed, her face inches from his, her eyes burning with suspicion, "was this you? Did your Servant do this?"

As she confronted him, I took the opportunity to focus on Sakura. Her placid expression was a mask, but beneath it, I could sense a strange dissonance. Her magical signature was a cloying, saccharine sweetness wrapped around a shadow that felt impossibly vast and deep. For a fleeting moment, I felt the same cold dread as standing before a primordial beast. Then it was gone, hidden once more behind the guise of a timid schoolgirl.

"What? No! Of course not!" Shirou shot back, his own suspicion rising. "I thought this was you! This kind of destruction seems more like a magus's work."

"Don't be an idiot, this would have taken an obscene amount of prana!" Rin retorted, though the denial in his eyes was genuine enough to make her own shoulders sag with relief. "So if it wasn't you, and it wasn't me, then who..." Her voice trailed off as she noticed the absence of his armored companion. "Wait. Where is Saber? You came to a potential battlefield without your Servant?!" she admonished him, her voice a harsh whisper.

"I told her to stay home! I didn't know it was a battlefield!" he defended himself, then countered, "Where's your Servant, then? You're here alone too."

"He's here," Rin said, gesturing vaguely. "In spirit form. It's called being discreet, Emiya-kun."

Shirou's expression turned serious. "Tohsaka, listen. After I left you last night... I ran into Shinji Matou. He's a Master. His Servant, Rider, they were assaulting one of our schoolmates." He quickly relayed the events of his tense encounter, the fight between Saber & Rider, Rider’s apparent defeat and how he got Ayako to the Church for healing.

Rin's eyes widened as she absorbed the information, her mind clicking through the tactical implications. A third Master at their school. "Thank you for the information, Emiya-kun," she said, her tone professional. Then, the magus in her took over. "But are you an idiot? Why would you share such vital intelligence with an enemy Master? That's a mistake that could get you killed."

Shirou met her gaze, his own expression unwavering and completely earnest. "Because you saved my life, Tohsaka. You're a good person. I'm not going to treat you like an enemy."

A faint blush crept up Rin's neck. She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort about the naivete of his ideals, but no words came out. The simple, stubborn sincerity of his statement cut through years of magus conditioning, leaving her utterly speechless.

On the walk back, I broke the silence. 'While you were having your discussion with the boy,' I sent to her telepathically, delivering the jab and the report in one swift package to prevent her from immediately retorting. 'I took the liberty of investigating the site. No discernible magical residue from the destruction itself. A mundane gas explosion, it seems. The physical destruction of its anchor point caused the collapse of a large-scale bounded field.'

A flush of color rose on her cheeks before the tactical implications of my report sank in. Her expression shifted from indignant embarrassment to profound relief. "So, one less threat to worry about, then. And it resolved itself. How lucky."

When we arrived home, I prepared a pot of her favorite black tea. She accepted it with a grateful sigh, sinking into an armchair.

"Alright," she said, her voice regaining its authority. "Debrief. My assessment first." She took a deep breath. "Berserker is a monster. Not just in appearance, but in function. Saber was forced into a battle of attrition she could never win... and the Master, Illyasviel, was completely unconcerned. He is, without a doubt, the single greatest physical threat in this war."

She then turned her sharp gaze on me. "Your contribution was decisive, Archer. But your control was reckless. Saber was nearly caught in the blast radius." Her voice grew colder. "And on that note, you failed to mention your ability to replicate Noble Phantasms. A 'Broken Phantasm,' wasn't it? That is a trump card of the highest order, and you kept it from me. That is a severe breach of trust, Archer."

"Trust, Master?" I countered, my voice dangerously soft. The sudden shift in my tone made her flinch. "On our first night, you used a Command Seal not to give an order, but to inflict absolute subjugation. You turned me into a puppet, a slave to your whims, because your pride was wounded. Trust must be earned. You began our contract by demonstrating that it was a concept you had no interest in."

The accusation hung in the air between us, undeniable. A deep, angry flush rose on her cheeks, a mixture of shame and indignation. She couldn't refute it. She had done exactly that.

"And do you trust me now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, the question a desperate gambit to regain control of the conversation.

"I am beginning to," I admitted, my voice returning to its even, analytical tone. "The human who saved Shirou Emiya at great personal cost, with no thought for strategic gain... yes, I am beginning to trust her." I paused, my gaze sharp. "The magus who would waste a Command Seal on a temper tantrum? Less so. The only question is which one is my Master."

She stared at me, the words landing with the force of a physical blow. I had just verbalized the single deepest, most private conflict of her life.

I let the moment hang in the air before shifting my tone back to analysis. "Which brings me to my next point. You expended a Tohsaka family heirloom to save that boy's life. As a Heroic Spirit, I can never refute such an act. In fact, I respect you more for that single, human decision than for any display of magical prowess you have shown."

"You are a brilliant magus, Rin," I said, but my tone shifted, losing its analytical edge and becoming something quieter, more personal. "Take this advice, not from a Servant, but from a man who lived a long, long time after his own war was over. I have seen what happens when the logic of a magus is all you have left. It hollows you out, leaves you with nothing but a lifetime of perfectly logical, perfectly regrettable decisions. That compassion you struggle against, the part of you that saved Emiya... that is the most valuable thing you possess. It is not a weakness to be overcome. It is an anchor. Hold onto it. In this war, it may be the one thing that allows you to win without losing yourself in the process. I... have seen the alternative."

My words, coming on the heels of our confrontation, left her completely disarmed. She simply nodded, her mind clearly reeling.

"Your dismissal of the boy’s offer for an alliance was inefficient," I continued, pressing the advantage. "You showed him that profound compassion, and then you needlessly antagonized him. Compounding this was the incident with Lancer—shouting my Class Name gave the enemy free intelligence."

"As for my own performance," I added, "it was also flawed. I allowed Lancer's taunts to escalate our initial confrontation. And, as you correctly pointed out, I failed to be transparent about my full capabilities. These are not the actions of a partner and I apologize for that. And that must change."

I leaned forward. "We have new intelligence. We know the identity of Lancer. Caster is most likely the Servant behind the gas leaks incidents across town. Shinji Matou is a Master, but he is weak. Berserker remains the single greatest threat. Your analysis is correct; he is a monster. His Noble Phantasm, God Hand, likely requires twelve unique, high-ranking attacks to defeat. Neither we nor Saber's team can achieve that alone."

I sat back, my report finished. "The boy you saved, Emiya Shirou, is now a key player. Your compassionate act has already yielded vital intelligence. Now, we must logically follow through on that opening. A temporary joint operation, built on the mutual need to survive, is the most resource-efficient method to remove the single largest threat from the board. It is the logical outcome of this entire debrief."

I had laid the path, appealing not just to her mind as a magus, but to her heart as a human. "Think on it," I said, my voice softening almost imperceptibly. "The choice, as always, is yours, Master."

Chapter Text

The air in the sitting room was heavy with the weight of my proposal. I had laid out the facts, appealing to both the magus and the human sitting before me, and now I simply waited. Rin was silent for a long time, her gaze distant, her teacup held forgotten in her hands. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, the logical arguments warring with the ingrained pride of a Tohsaka. I had given her the perfect, logical reason to ally with Shirou Emiya.

And so, she refused.

"No," she said, her voice quiet but firm, the single word cutting through the silence. She placed her teacup down with a soft click, the sound echoing with finality. She finally met my gaze, and her eyes were not angry or defiant, but sharp and clear, the eyes of a Master who had just made a difficult, calculated decision.

"It's not that your logic is flawed, Archer," she elaborated, preempting my argument. "Your analysis of Berserker is likely correct. A temporary alliance would be the most efficient way to eliminate him." She leaned forward, her posture radiating a control she had not possessed a day ago. "But an alliance is a contract of trust. And while I may not consider Emiya-kun an enemy, I certainly don't trust him as an ally. Not yet."

"His Servant is Saber," she stated, her voice ticking off points with cold precision. "Her power is undeniable; we both felt it. But she is shackled to an amateur who barely has any mysteries of his own, let alone supply her with adequate mana. An alliance right now doesn't gain us a peerless sword; it gains us a starving lion and its clumsy tamer. We would be spending our own resources to support them. That is a liability."

She stood up and began to pace in front of the cold fireplace. "What you said... about my compassion... I accept that. But it's not something to be wielded blindly. I saved him because it was the right thing to do. I will not shackle myself to him because he might be useful. That is a fool's bargain."

Her gaze hardened. "I will not make an alliance from a position of perceived weakness. Not after one real fight. It's not a 'no,' Archer. It's a 'not yet'."

She had countered with her own superior, more cautious strategy. I gave a slight nod of respect. "I understand, Master. Your reasoning is sound."

"Good," she said, her tone shifting to business. "There's still daylight left. Sitting here and waiting is inefficient. We're going to investigate the 'gas leaks' properly."

I followed her in spirit form as she led us back out into the city. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows that seemed to claw at the edges of the bustling streets. Fuyuki was a city of dualities; the mundane world of shoppers and commuters blissfully unaware of the ancient, invisible war being waged in its arteries. As a spirit, I could feel the thrum of it, the low-frequency hum of the ley lines beneath the concrete, a power source waiting to be tapped.

Our destination was Fuyuki Central Hospital, the largest medical facility in the district and the primary treatment center for the so-called 'gas leak' victims. Rin, in her school uniform, was the picture of civic responsibility as she walked through the bustling lobby. She approached the main reception desk, her expression a mask of polite concern.

"Excuse me," she began, her voice perfectly pitched. "I'm Rin Tohsaka, from the student council at Homurahara Academy. We've been hearing reports of a number of people feeling suddenly unwell, and we're trying to track if there's a common cause. I was hoping you might be able to share some general information about any recent patients with symptoms of extreme fatigue?"

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and tightly-permed hair, looked up from her paperwork, her expression souring as she sized Rin up. "Patient information is confidential, dear," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "We don't just hand it out to high-schoolers playing detective. Run along now."

Rin’s polite smile didn't waver, but I felt a subtle, sharp shift in the prana around her. Her eyes, for a fraction of a second, seemed to glow with a cold, ruby light. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking with the receptionist's.

"I understand completely," Rin said, her voice dropping to a low, melodic tone that was almost hypnotic. "But of course, a public health survey for the city's students is an important civic duty. You want to be helpful, don't you? It would be irresponsible not to."

The receptionist's eyes glazed over for a barest instant. The tired hostility on her face was wiped clean, replaced by a placid, helpful blankness. "Oh," she said, her voice suddenly monotone. "Of course. A public health survey. It is my civic duty to help."

Her movements became stiff, almost robotic, as she turned to her computer, typed for a moment, and printed out a list. She handed it to Rin without another word. Rin took it, her polite smile returning, now tinged with the cold satisfaction of a magus who has bent the world to her will. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said sweetly, before turning and walking out, leaving the woman to stare blankly at her screen, the last few minutes already a fuzzy, half-forgotten memory.

As we walked away, Rin found a quiet bench in a small park, spreading the list out under the dimming light. Her brow furrowed. "It's not just random," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "The victims aren't clustered by residence, but by profession. Salarymen, office workers, all in the Shinto commercial district. The drain is happening at sunset, at their workplaces. It's the witching hour—a time of transition when the boundary between worlds is thin and a magus's power is at its strongest."

She pulled a pen from her bag and began making notes, cross-referencing the list with a mental map of the city. "If we assume the effect radiates from a central point, and the caster is targeting specific demographics... we can predict the next likely targets." She circled three major office buildings in the area. "These three have the highest concentration of potential victims fitting the profile. If Caster is setting up multiple workshops, one of them will be next."

Our hunt began. The first tower was a corporate bank, its lobby still full of late-night workers. Rin waited across the street while I scouted in spirit form. The building was clean, spiritually inert.

'Nothing,' I sent. 'No active ritual.'

I felt a flicker of her frustration. 'Wait. I can feel a faint trace of observation magic on the upper floors. She scouted it and rejected it. Too much human traffic, maybe?'

The second location was an older municipal building, quiet and mostly empty. Again, I swept through its floors. Again, nothing.

'Damn it,' Rin's thought was sharp with annoyance. 'My calculations were perfect. Why not here?'

'Patience, Master,' I sent back. 'This is how a real investigation works. It is messy.'

We approached the third and final building, a sleek, modern tower of glass and steel. Before we were even halfway down the block, the feeling of wrongness began to build. The faint, venomous trace we had been tracking grew into a palpable, cloying miasma of active thaumaturgy. Rin stopped a block away, her hand instinctively going to the jewels in her pocket.

"It's active," she whispered, her eyes wide. "The ritual is happening right now."

"I will investigate," I said, my form already beginning to dematerialize.

"Wait," she commanded. "I'm coming with you. I need to see the spellwork for myself."

"It's too dangerous, Master."

"That's what I have you for," she shot back, a smirk touching her lips. "Find me a safe way in. I'll be your eyes on the ground; you be my sword in the shadows."

I found an unlocked maintenance stairwell, and within minutes, we were standing outside the office floor in question. The air was thick with the hum of power. I phased through the door first. The scene within was chilling. Dozens of men were slumped over their desks, their faces slack, their eyes unfocused. Ethereal, glowing circles pulsed on the floor beneath them, siphoning faint streams of blue light from their bodies into a larger, coalescing sphere of energy in the center of the room.

And standing guard between the rows of desks were skeletal figures, each wielding a crude, bone-white sword. They were constructed from what looked like dragon teeth, their empty sockets glowing with a dim, malevolent purple light. Dragon-tooth warriors. Golems.

Rin slipped in behind me, her breath catching in her throat at the sight. Her eyes, however, weren't focused on the victims or the guards. They were locked on the intricate, swirling patterns of the magical ritual.

'Analysis?' I sent.

'It's a masterpiece,' she replied, her voice a whisper of horrified admiration. 'Complex, multi-layered, and almost perfectly self-sufficient. This is the work of a Caster from the Age of Gods. We're out of their league in pure magecraft.'

One of the skeletal warriors turned its head, its glowing sockets fixing on Rin's position. It raised its sword and took a stiff, scraping step forward.

Before Rin could even raise a jewel, an arrow, black as obsidian, simply appeared in my hand. There was no grand incantation, no flare of prana. One moment my hand was empty, the next it held a perfectly formed projectile. I nocked it on a bow that materialized just as silently. With a faint hiss, the arrow crossed the room and struck the golem square in the chest.

There was no explosion. The warrior simply froze, a network of fine cracks spreading from the point of impact. Then, with a sound like shattering porcelain, it collapsed into a pile of dust and bone fragments. The other golems didn't even react, their programming too crude to register the silent, instantaneous attack.

Rin stared at the pile of dust, then back at me, her expression a mixture of shock and dawning respect. "Good to know you can be subtle when you want to be."

'We have what we came for,' I sent. 'We should leave before they sense the disturbance.'

She gave a reluctant nod, taking one last look at the horrifying, beautiful ritual before we slipped back out into the night, leaving the workshop to its grim, silent work.

Back at the Tohsaka mansion, the dining table had become a war room. Rin spread a large map of Fuyuki across its polished surface, placing a small red pin at each location from the hospital's list. She added a larger, more menacing black pin to mark the office building.

"It's a ritualistic drain," she murmured, the earlier admiration in her voice replaced by cold fury. "Seeing it in action... it's not just gathering life force. It's cruel. The residual prana signature, the spell's very structure... it's designed to be spiteful." Her brow furrowed in concentration. "It specifically targets the male reproductive system, leaving the victims not only drained but permanently infertile. This confirms it: a female magus, likely the Servant Caster, with a deep-seated grudge."

She looked up at me, her eyes alight with the cold fire of a hunter. "And more importantly, this brings up another issue. The bounded field at the school was completely different. Its targets were indiscriminate—men, women, and children. It was a crude, wide net. This," she gestured to the map, "is a precision instrument. We're dealing with two enemies with a talent for draining fields."

I already knew Rider had created the field, but hearing Rin piece it all together from scratch filled me with a detached sense of admiration. This was how a true magus operated—with methodical, painstaking investigation. It was a cold, calculated process, a world away from the streamlined narratives I remembered.

"So where is her main base?" I asked, playing my part.

"Here," Rin said, her finger tapping the center of the map. "These workshops are just nodes, collection points. The main ritual needs a massive spiritual ground, a nexus of ley lines to act as an amplifier." She circled several areas. "The Church, my estate... and the strongest nexus in the region."

Her finger landed decisively on a single point on the city's highest peak. "Mount Enzo. The Ryuudou Temple."

She straightened up, her expression now one of grim determination, the magus fully in control.

"Archer" she said, looking at me. "Tonight, your mission is to scout Ryuudou Temple. Confirm Caster's presence. Assess her defenses, identify any other Servants, and learn the layout of her territory. Do not engage. Observe and report."

She paused, letting the weight of the orders sink in.

"We need a complete picture before we make our first move," she continued, her voice all business. "But first..."

She turned and looked at me, her serious expression unwavering. "...you will cook dinner. A proper strategist does not plan on an empty stomach."

I remained perfectly still, processing the sheer absurdity of the command. The Counter Guardian, a being forged in a hell of endless battle, was being ordered to make dinner. I briefly wondered if this was a common clause in the Servant contract. Was Lancer being tasked with laundry? Did Saber have to do the dishes?

"Of course, Master," I replied, my voice perfectly level. "What would you like?"

The trap had been identified. The huntress had her target. But first, she needed an appetizer.

Chapter Text

The Tohsaka mansion fell into a deep, exhausted silence behind me. Dinner was over, the dishes were clean, and my Master had retired, the day's magical and mental exertions finally catching up to her. My orders were clear: scout Ryuudou Temple.

I dissolved into spirit form, and the world shifted.

This form of existence was something my original, mundane mind could never have conceived of. It went beyond simple invisibility, becoming a phase shift, a change in my very frequency. I existed parallel to the physical world, anchored to the spiritual texture of Gaia itself—a connection, I reasoned, that prevented me from simply plummeting through the earth's crust towards its core. The physical world became a muted, grayscale photograph. I could perceive shapes and structures, but the vibrant details were gone, replaced by a different, more profound spectrum of senses.

In this form, I was blind to color but could see the very lifeblood of the world. The city of concrete and lights transformed before my senses into a beautiful, complex tapestry of mana. The ley lines were brilliant, pulsing rivers of energy flowing deep beneath the streets, and the ambient prana in the air was a shimmering, breathable atmosphere. In this state, a Servant was truly in their element, a shark sensing every current in an endless ocean.

As I drifted through the cool night air, my thoughts drifted back a few hours, to the final briefing in the dining room.

"I'm turning in," Rin had announced, stifling a yawn. "The investigation and that little display in the office building took more out of me than I expected. I need to be at my best tomorrow."

She had stood before the map, now littered with her notes and pins, the picture of a tired but determined commander. "Your orders remain. Scout Ryuudou Temple. Confirm Caster's presence, assess her defenses, and identify any other Servants. I want a complete intelligence report on my desk by morning so we can formulate a proper plan of attack. Do not engage. Do you understand, Archer?"

"Perfectly, Master," I had replied.

She had hesitated at the door to her room. "And Archer... be careful." 

My path took me over the skeletal, ruined remains of Homurahara Academy. I paused, hovering over the rubble. A grim thought, cold and logical, echoed in my mind. Why hadn't the original Archer done this? He knew Rider would use it as a bloodfort. A single, well-placed arrow, disguised as a gas explosion just as I had done, would have solved multiple problems. It would have destroyed the bloodfort, denied its creator a massive source of power, and crucially, it would have ensured that hundreds of innocent children would not be used as living batteries, their life force drained until they were almost liquified. On top of all that, it would have kept the junior Masters from wasting their time with the mundane distractions of school life, forcing them to focus solely on the war.

As I continued my journey, my enhanced senses picked up a flicker of something... wrong. A faint, malicious residue of spiritual energy, clinging to the area around the Emiya residence. It was weak but it was there. Lancer's visit, most likely, but it was an anomaly that needed to be checked. Shirou was too important a pawn to be left vulnerable.

I descended, my spiritual form creating no disturbance as I passed through the roof of his workshop. He was inside, struggling with his magecraft. I felt the chaotic, self-destructive burn of his circuits from across the room. It was almost admirable.

As I observed, I felt a familiar, powerful signature flare to life just outside. Saber.

"I know you are there, Archer," her voice, sharp and clear, rang out from the garden, devoid of surprise. "State your purpose. You will not be warned again."

Acknowledging her skill with a silent, inward nod, I drifted outside. I materialized under the moonlight at the edge of the lawn, my hands raised in a universal gesture of surrender. "Your senses are as sharp as ever, Saber. I mean no harm."

Saber stood ready, her invisible sword held in a low guard, her sea-green eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Has Tohsaka sent you to attack my Master?"

"On the contrary," I replied smoothly. "I was on a reconnaissance mission when I sensed a lingering malicious energy near this residence. I came to investigate, to ensure your Master was not in immediate danger."

Before she could question my flimsy excuse, the door to the workshop slid open. Shirou stood there, his face pale with exertion. "Saber? What's going on?" His eyes widened as he saw me. "Archer."

He looked from me to Saber, diffusing the tension with his mere presence. "Is Tohsaka with you?" He glanced past me, his eyes scanning the empty garden as if hoping she might appear. There was a flicker of hope in his voice, an unmistakable eagerness to see her.

A small, cynical smirk touched my lips. "Missing her already?" I asked, my tone light but cutting. "Don't bother. She will not consider any partnership until you can prove you are an asset, not a liability." My gaze drifted pointedly towards Saber, my lighthearted tone vanishing, replaced by a cold, hard assessment. "Can you support your Servant properly yet, Emiya Shirou?"

He flushed with shame, his gaze dropping to the ground. "No. I'm trying, but..."

"Trying is not enough." The words were harsh. I raised my hands, and with a faint shimmer of prana, two swords appeared in them. One was a black, hexagonal blade adorned with crimson markings; the other, its perfect white counterpart. Kanshou and Bakuya.

I tossed the twin blades to him. Shirou yelped, fumbling with the unexpected weight of the projected steel, his hands clumsy as he juggled them for a moment before finally securing his grip. They were heavier than he expected, humming with a power that felt both alien and deeply familiar.

"Do you know what these are?" I asked. "These are the blades of a man who pursued the ideal of being a hero of justice. A man who followed that single, foolish dream to its very end."

Shirou stared at the swords, his eyes wide with a strange, dawning recognition, as if he were looking at a memory he didn't know he had.

"The first step on your journey," I continued, my voice low and commanding, "is to make these your own. To understand their history, their meaning, their very essence." With a sharp snap of my fingers, the projected blades dissolved into motes of light. "Now. Project them."

He stared at me, then at his empty hands. He closed his eyes, concentrating. "Trace, on."

The air shimmered. A crude, warped shape began to form in his hands—a single, malformed sword that looked more like a bent piece of scrap metal than a Noble Phantasm. It flickered and died. He gasped, clutching his head as pain shot through his circuits.

"Pathetic," I said, my voice cold. A thought, an instinct from EMIYA's own bitter experience, surfaced in my mind. "What was I thinking? A sword can only be forged in fire."

I re-projected Kanshou and Bakuya, their killing intent sharp and clear in the night air. The cool metal felt like an extension of my own will. "Emiya Shirou. Project those blades, or die."

I lunged.

"Master!" Saber cried, moving to intercept me.

"Stay back, Saber!" Shirou yelled, stumbling backwards, his eyes wide with panic.

Saber froze. She looked from my eyes to my swords, her own senses as a warrior analyzing my intent. She could feel it—or rather, the lack of it. There was pressure, there was menace, but there was no true, murderous bloodlust. She took a half-step back, her expression a mask of tense conflict, trusting her instincts over her eyes.

I didn't give him time to think. I attacked, a whirlwind of controlled, precise strikes that filled the air with the hiss of displaced air. My breathing was calm and measured, a stark contrast to his ragged, panicked gasps. The flat of my blade slammed against his shoulder, the impact echoing with a dull thud, sending him staggering. I swept his legs out from under him, the damp grass staining his clothes as he fell. The smell of turned earth filled the air as I brought my sword down in a mock execution strike that stopped a hair's breadth from his neck. The cold of the steel radiated against his skin.

"Project it!" I roared, my voice echoing in the silent garden. "If your ideal is all you have, then give it form! Show me the substance of your dream!"

He scrambled away, his body screaming in protest, his mind a maelstrom of terror and adrenaline. I pressed the attack, giving him no quarter, no time to breathe. He dodged, he rolled, his movements clumsy but desperate.

"Look at you, scrabbling in the dirt! Is this the face of a 'hero of justice'? You can't save anyone! That ideal is a lie, a beautiful fiction that will leave you with nothing but blood on your hands and a soul full of regret!"

The memory of a sea of fire, of a smiling man pulling him from the ashes, flashed behind his eyes. He was on the brink of being broken, the cruel words of a real hero echoing the deepest doubts in his own heart.

He screamed, a raw, desperate sound that was not one of fear, but of pure, unadulterated defiance. "Even if it is a lie, it's not wrong!"

As the words tore from his throat, he threw his hands up. A torrent of prana erupted from his body. The air split with a sound of shrieking, forging steel and the sharp scent of ozone. Two identical blades—his blades, flawed and flickering but undeniably real—materialized in his hands, catching my own in a desperate, last-second cross-guard.

CLANG!

The impact sent a shower of sparks into the night, illuminating the raw determination on his face. He had done it.

I disengaged, stepping back and letting my own swords dissolve. Shirou remained on his knees, panting, the newly projected blades trembling in his grip before they too shattered into light. He swayed, completely drained, the sudden, violent opening of his magic circuits leaving him pale and weak.

Saber, who had watched the entire exchange with a warrior's stillness, let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her eyes, fixed on her Master, held a new light. It was shock, awe, and a flicker of something akin to recognition. She had seen that same impossible, reality-defying willpower once before—in a mirror, on a battlefield, long ago.

"Good," I said, the single word of praise feeling strange in my mouth. "You forced them open. You'll be weak for a few hours, but you've crossed the first hurdle. From now on, you'll be able to access your circuits at will."

I turned to leave, my work here done.

"Wait," Shirou called out, his voice raspy. "Why?"

"Because my Master needs a competent ally," I said without looking back. "Don't make me regret this."

I dissolved into spirit form, leaving a stunned King of Knights and a newly awakened magus in the moonlit garden. As I ascended into the night sky, resuming my original course for Ryuudou Temple, a final, faint sound reached me from the ground below.

"Thank you."

Chapter Text

The detour had been productive, but it was time to focus on the primary objective. As I ascended towards the peak of Mount Enzo, the spiritual atmosphere of the city changed. The gentle, ambient hum of Fuyuki's ley lines gave way to a palpable, oppressive stillness. This was a holy ground, and something had corrupted it.

My spirit form brushed against a Bounded Field of 'Rejection', a passive, draining pressure designed to un-make any creature of mystery that tried to force its way through. It was a perfect fortress, forcing any Servant to approach via the main gate.

I moved along the perimeter until I found the long, stone staircase. I ascended, senses on high alert, and there he was.

Silhouetted against the moon at the top of the stairs stood a lone figure in a traditional purple hakama, his impossibly long katana resting on his shoulder.

I materialized at the base of the stairs. "So, the Red Archer finally shows himself," his voice was calm, cultured.

I sighed internally. So Caster was watching our fight with Lancer. That mistake comes back to haunt us.

"You have me at a disadvantage, swordsman of the gate," I called up, my voice even. "You know my class, yet I do not know yours."

He seemed to find this amusing, a slight chuckle echoing in the still air. "A fair point. I am of the Assassin class. As for my name, it is a trifle, irrelevant to the purpose of my blade. Now, you have been summoned to this war. Show me the quality of your steel."

"If you insist," I said, projecting Kanshou and Bakuya. "Very well."

I charged up the stone steps, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He remained motionless until the last possible second. His first movement defied the very definition of an attack; it was a simple, fluid motion, the impossibly long blade of his monohoshizao moving in a perfect, glittering arc that was designed to intercept.

CLANG!

The impact was jarring. My brute-force charge was stopped dead by his effortless parry, a move that used no strength, only perfect timing and leverage to turn my own momentum against me. He flowed around me like water, his blade a constant threat that controlled the space, forcing me onto the defensive. Every time I committed to a powerful slash, he was simply... gone, his blade appearing at my flank as if it had always been there.

This is pathetic, I thought, a wave of cold depression washing over me. The memories, the skills, they're all here, a library of combat knowledge I can't properly read. My body knows the moves, but my soul can't keep up. The disconnect, the slight hesitation between instinct and action, is a gaping flaw. Against a true master like him, I was just a child playing with his father's sword.

"Too much force," he commented, his voice calm as he deflected a desperate slash with a flick of his wrist. "Not enough focus. Your blades are hollow things, Archer. Copies without substance."

We exchanged a dozen more blows, each one a stark illustration of the gulf between us. My movements were powerful but predictable. His were an art form, a dance of death refined to its absolute peak. Then, as quickly as it began, he disengaged, leaping back to his original position at the top of the gate.

"Enough," he said, his voice tinged with a clear note of disappointment. "You are no true swordsman. Your technique is a chaotic imitation, a brawler's desperate flailing. There is no art in your strikes." He rested his katana on his shoulder once more. "I am bored. I will await the Servant of the Sword. She may prove a more worthy opponent. Leave."

I accepted the dismissal with a nod. As I turned to leave, a horrifying, guttural choking sound echoed from behind me.

I spun around. Assassin was on his knees, his hands clawing at his throat, white foam frothing at his lips. His body convulsed violently. "What... is this...?" he gurgled.

With a wet, tearing sound that would haunt my nightmares, his chest exploded outwards. From the gaping, gory cavity, a new figure crawled out. It was clad in a black, skintight suit, its face hidden by a skull mask, its left arm a monstrous limb wrapped in crimson cloth. It cast aside the empty skin of Sasaki Kojirou. An anomaly. A parasitic Servant.

I had already dissolved into spirit form, my mind reeling in fascinated horror. This was not in any of the scripts. My first instinct was to follow it. But my second thought was of our conversation earlier. Do you trust me now?. She had extended a fragile branch of trust. She had to see this.

Focusing my will, I sent a sharp, precise jolt of prana down the psychic link of our contract. I felt her stir, her mind surfacing from dreams with a drowsy confusion. 'Archer? What... What's wrong?'

'Master, wake up. Now,' I sent back, my mental voice sharp and urgent. 'Anomaly at Ryuudou Temple. The situation has changed. Observe through my senses. You need to see this.'

I felt the connection solidify as her consciousness fully awoke, her sharp, analytical mind now a passenger behind my eyes. The new Assassin, ignoring my spectral form, turned and simply... vanished. Instead of fading or running, he simply melted into the stone shadows of the gate, his Presence Concealment so absolute that my senses, even in spirit form, were wiped clean of his signature.

'He's gone!' Rin's thought was a jolt of alarm. 'That level of Presence Concealment... it's far beyond what I expected. Be careful, Archer. He could be anywhere.'

I swept my senses across the temple grounds, a silent hunter searching for a ghost. Nothing. The mountaintop was silent, save for the wind whispering through the ancient trees. I moved forward cautiously, a phantom drifting through the main gate and towards the temple proper. The sense of dread grew with every meter.

Then, a sound cut through the oppressive silence. It was a single, sharp cry of anguish, instantly choked off, but it was enough. It came from the inner courtyard.

I raced towards the source, my spirit form phasing through ornate wooden walls and paper screens. I arrived to a tableau of tragedy. Caster was on her knees, and standing over the bleeding, broken body of her Master, Souichirou Kuzuki, was the anomaly. He had moved with a speed and stealth that was utterly inhuman.

Caster stared, her eyes wide with horrified comprehension. "You... you hijacked my ritual... You are one of the Old Men of the Mountain. True Assassin"

'Another Assassin?' Rin's thought was a sharp jab in my mind. 'But that's impossible. Only one of them can be summoned.'

Hassan snarled, a silent, guttural sound, and tightened his grip on the dagger. He made a sharp, downward flick of his wrist, not quite touching Kuzuki's dying form, but the gesture was unmistakable. Release me, it demanded. Or this man dies now.

Caster looked from her dying love to the monstrous Servant. For a moment, her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. Then, it crumbled into despair. With a scream of pure anguish, she plunged a dagger of her own—Rule Breaker—into her chest. The magical contracts binding her to this false summoning dissolved.

Freed, Hassan moved to strike her down.

"Not on my watch," I muttered, my thoughts a whirlwind. Better the devil you know than the one you don't.

I materialized, projecting a simple black key and throwing it with perfect accuracy. It struck the dirk Hassan had thrown, deflecting it into a stone lantern with a shower of sparks. He snarled, turning his attention to me.

He came at me, a blur of black cloth and murderous intent. I met his charge with Kanshou and Bakuya. The clash of steel rang out, but it felt different from my duel with Sasaki. Where the first Assassin's strikes were impossibly skilled, this new ones were crude, relying on brute force and an unnatural, jerky speed. I deflected a wide, telegraphed swing and kicked him back.

For the first time since my summoning, I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated confidence. I was faster. I was stronger. I was in control. My body moved with EMIYA's ingrained perfection.

'He's all aggression and no finesse,' I sent to Rin, a note of triumph in my thoughts. I ducked under a clumsy claw swipe and drove the pommel of Bakuya into his gut. 'I can end this quickly.'

I pressed my advantage, consciously forcing Hassan back, step by step, away from Caster and towards the far side of the courtyard. He was clumsy, predictable. But every step he took backwards was a step I took forwards, deeper into his territory.

'He's still luring you into a trap,' Rin warned, her thought laced with anxiety. 'Look at the ground! The pattern is different there, it's a focal point for the temple's ley lines! He's drawing you into a kill zone!'

Her warning came a fraction of a second too late. As I stepped forward to deliver what I thought was a decisive blow, I felt the shift in the ambient mana, a sudden, sickening drop in temperature. Hassan disengaged with a cruel, mocking laugh. I had been played. I stood, perfectly positioned, on the exact spot he had herded me to.

'The mana,' Rin screamed, her thought a jolt of pure panic. 'It's not him! It's below you! MOVE!'

Her warning, combined with my own senses picking up the sickeningly sweet taste of corruption I had sensed earlier, was all I had. I threw myself backwards just as the ground where I had been standing dissolved into a pit of formless, featureless blackness. A tentacle of pure Shadow lashed out, its tip grazing my side.

Agony. Not a physical wound, no but a cold that burned, a poison that sought to un-make my very soul. I stumbled back, clutching my side where my red shroud had been eaten away, the flesh beneath a dead, corrupted grey.

Hassan used the opening. He simply dissolved, his form melting into the stone shadows of the courtyard as if he were never there. Caster, her attention divided between me and her dying Master, spun around, her eyes wide with panic. "Where-?"

He reappeared directly behind her, with the silent finality of a predator revealing itself. His attack was crueler, more precise. The monstrous arm wrapped in crimson cloth slammed into her side like a battering ram, a sickening crunch echoing in the silent courtyard, the force of it lifting her off her feet and sending her flying across the courtyard. She crashed against the far wall with a sickening thud, her ward shattering around her.

She pushed herself up, blood trickling from her lips, her eyes locking on Hassan. He now stood directly over Kuzuki's body, the black, twisted dirk held high. He looked at Caster, and from behind his skull mask, I could feel the sheer, unadulterated cruelty in his gaze. He gave a slow, mocking tilt of his head, a silent taunt promising to desecrate the one thing she had left in the world.

A sound tore from Caster's throat, a sound of pure, heart-shattering anguish that was no longer human. It was the raw, primal scream of a goddess who had lost everything.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

She abandoned the precise, elegant magecraft she had wielded before. In its place was a cataclysm. I felt the ley lines of Mount Enzo ignite, a torrent of power rushing towards her as a violent, forced requisition. I could feel the spiritual signatures of the monks sleeping below suddenly flicker and dim, their life force being siphoned away to fuel this one, final, apocalyptic spell.

A pillar of incandescent, violet light erupted from her, a miniature sun of pure, vengeful prana that engulfed Hassan completely. The ground shook, and the roar of the blast was deafening even to my Servant ears.

When the light faded, a massive, smoking crater scarred the courtyard. Hassan was still standing, but barely. His monstrous left arm was gone, vaporized from the elbow down, and his body was a mess of scorched, peeling flesh. He stared at Caster, a new, grudging respect warring with the shock in his gaze, before he dissolved into the shadows and fled, a wounded animal retreating to its lair.

The monumental effort left her completely drained, on her hands and knees, panting for breath that wouldn't come. And the Shadow, ever patient, ever hungry, saw its chance. Dozens of black, oily tentacles seeped from the ground, wrapping around her limbs with the gentle, inexorable pull of a rising tide.

'Archer' Rin screamed in my mind, her voice laced with a frantic, horrified urgency.

I couldn't. The corruption from my own wound was a creeping, icy paralysis. I could only watch in horror as the Shadow began to consume her. It wasn't violent. It was worse. It was a slow, methodical absorption, her spiritual form dissolving into the blackness like ink in water.

It was only then, as my mind struggled to process the sight, that my Counter Guardian instincts, honed by an eternity of confronting threats to the World itself, screamed a warning. I couldn't see the mechanics, I couldn't understand the 'why', but I could feel the result with a terrifying, soul-deep certainty. I knew that her Saint Graph, the spiritual blueprint of the Heroic Spirit Medea, was flickering like a dying candle. Black, cancerous lines spread from where the Shadow touched her, rewriting her very essence. An alarm was ringing at the very edge of the World.

Caster, as a magus from the Age of Gods, felt it with a terrifying clarity that even I couldn't fully grasp. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from grief to a dawning, cosmic terror. She knew, with a certainty that even I couldn't fully grasp, what was happening to her soul, to her very legend.

'Rin, listen to me!' I sent, my mental voice a desperate roar. 'Something is terribly wrong! We can't let it finish! She can't be saved!''

'What are you saying?! Cut her free!'

I grit my teeth, the pain from my wound a searing agony. The corruption was a constant drain, a parasite siphoning my strength just to hold it at bay. It needed to be... erased. Annihilated.

I searched the armory of my mind, the infinite blades of my soul. There was one option. A weapon so toxic, so conceptually absolute in its destructive power that it was said to be able to kill even the unkillable. A divine poison to fight a conceptual one.

'Master... I am sorry,' I sent, the thought a cold, hard piece of steel. 'This is going to hurt.'

Before she could question me, I opened the floodgates of our contract. A torrent of her pristine, powerful prana surged into me. Through our link, I felt her gasp as the world swam before her eyes, the sudden drain leaving her dizzy and weak. 'Archer... what... are you...?' Her thought was a confused gasp.

The stolen power flooded my circuits, a pure, clean energy that momentarily pushed back the creeping corruption. It wasn't enough to heal me, but it was enough to act. I began the only incantation that mattered, the foundation of my soul, forcing the borrowed power through its filter.  I drew my bow, focusing on a single, gnarled arrow of dark wood.

"I am the bone of my sword," I whispered, the words a familiar anchor, calling upon Heracles’ legend, the venom of the Lernaean Hydra.

The arrow nocked in my bow began to change. A sickly, venomous green light pulsed from within it, the air around it shimmering with a toxic haze, a container for a curse, the very concept of a poison that rots immortality.

The Shadow reacted instantly. It sensed the gathering of this corruptive energy. Its consumption of Caster paused, its featureless surface churning as dozens of tentacles disengaged from her and whipped towards me with blinding speed. It had recognized the true threat.

Caster, held in the Shadow's grip, saw what I was doing. The terror on her face was replaced by a look of weary acceptance. She gave me a single, infinitesimal nod—a final plea.

'Archer... don't...' Rin's command was a faint whisper in my mind, her strength stolen by my own desperate act.

With my Master's fading protest echoing in my soul, I released the string just as the first of the tentacles reached me.

The arrow struck Caster's chest. There was no explosion of light or fire. There was only a flash of virulent green, and then... silence. Caster was simply gone. The creature recoiled with a silent, psychic shriek, its tentacles dissolving where the venom touched them as it retreated in pain and confusion, like a newborn predator that had just been stung for the first time.

A final, whispered thought, not my own, brushed against my mind. Thank you.

I collapsed to one knee, clutching my poisoned side, the enraged and heartbroken cry of my Master the only sound in the dead, silent courtyard. The board was shattered. The rules were gone. And I was alone, wounded, in a war far darker than I had ever imagined.

Chapter Text

The Shadow’s psychic scream vanished, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier and more absolute than any noise. My Master's enraged cry was a distant echo in my mind, drowned out by the roaring static of my own agony. The corruption was a living thing, a patch of anti-existence stitched to my spiritual flesh, and it was hungrily, actively, trying to devour me.

Pain was a luxury I couldn't afford. With a monumental effort, the Counter Guardian's experience took over, forcing my screaming senses into a cold, logical sequence: Triage. Assess. Report.

I forced myself to my feet and limped across the cratered courtyard to the still form of Souichirou Kuzuki. Caster’s final, desperate act of healing had been a miracle of raw power. The man’s life force was a flickering ember, but it was stable. A quick scan confirmed it: no magic circuits. A mundane, a civilian caught in a storm far beyond his comprehension.

Next, the temple below. I extended my senses, feeling for the dozens of spiritual signatures of the monks. Not dead. Just... empty. Their life force had been drained to a critical low, their souls submerged in deep comas from which they might never awaken. Caster's final attack had been fueled by their lives.

'Master,' I sent, my mental voice strained, harsh with pain. 'The civilians are alive, but in comas. The Master is stable, but needs immediate care. We can't clean this up. Call the Overseer. Report a multi-Servant engagement and request a clean-up crew for the civilian casualties. Now.'

There was a pause, then a wave of pure, unadulterated fury from her end. 'You will explain what you did, Archer!’

'Later,' I bit back, the effort of forming the thought sending a fresh wave of agony through me. 'Retreating now. Maintain the connection.'

Getting back to the mansion was an ordeal. I dissolved into a spirit form that felt frayed and unstable, like a signal breaking up. Every meter was a war against the creeping cold of the corruption, and through our link, Rin felt every agonizing pulse of it. Her earlier rage slowly gave way to a dawning, horrified empathy; a fraction of my torment was enough to silence her.

I materialized in the Tohsaka living room and the world tilted violently. My legs gave out and I caught myself on an ornate armchair, my form flickering like a faulty projection. The corrupted part of my shroud was a visible wound in reality—a patch of dead, grey fabric that seemed to drink the light from the room, the flesh beneath a horrifying, static-filled void.

Rin was slumped against the wall, pale and dizzy from my forced drain. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of anger and a new, terrifying concern, locked onto the wound.

Before she could speak, I extended a hand, focusing the last of my coherent energy. "My apologies for the forced drain, Master."

I reversed the flow. A small, carefully controlled stream of my own remaining prana—untainted by the corruption—flowed from me to her. It was just enough to clear the dizziness from her head and bring a touch of color back to her cheeks.

The act nearly broke me. The quarantine I had established around the wound faltered, and a fresh wave of soul-deep agony brought me to one knee.

"Archer!" Rin rushed to my side, her anger forgotten, replaced by the sharp, focused mind of a magus confronting an unknown. "The workshop. Now."

The basement workshop was a place of cold, clinical order. Rin, back in her element, crushed one of her reserve jewels, the raw, pure energy flowing into her and restoring her strength. She then turned to me, her hands glowing with the light of a diagnostic spell. She held them over the corrupted wound, and her face went pale. 

"There's... nothing," she whispered, her voice a mixture of confusion and horror. "It's not that I can't analyze it. It's that there is nothing to analyze. It's a hole in the data. A patch of spiritual information that simply isn't there."

She grabbed another gem, one of her finest, and channeled its energy directly into me. I felt the surge of power, but it was like pouring water into a black hole. The prana was consumed instantly just to keep the corruption from spreading.

"It's useless," she concluded, her voice tight with desperation. "The prana is just fuel for the quarantine. It's a stalemate."

We were out of options. I knelt in the center of the summoning circle—the very place our contract had been forged—the lines on the floor glowing with a faint, residual power.

"We can't dispel it," Rin said, pacing frantically. "We can't overwhelm it. We need to... to cut it out. A spiritual surgery."

"There is Caster’s Noble Phantasm in my arsenal," I said, my voice a low rasp, choosing my words with deliberate care. "One designed for the absolute severance of all magecraft."

Rin stopped pacing. The color drained from her face.  "A Noble Phantasm that... negates contracts? Mysteries?... Even Command Seals?" she whispered, her voice trembling with terror.

"Everything," I confirmed. "Its name is Rule Breaker."

The moment the True Name left my lips, Her eyes widened further, a flash of dawning comprehension replacing the fear.

"...The Noble Phantasm of the Witch of Colchis, Medea," she finished, the sentence a stark, grim revelation. "So that was Caster's true identity." She looked from me back to my wound, her expression hardening as she compartmentalized the new information. The brilliant magus was back in control, pushing aside the greater strategic questions for the immediate tactical crisis. "We'll have a very long talk about what other secrets you're hiding later, Archer. Right now, we focus on keeping you from dissolving into nothing."

"I can project it," I confirmed, my voice strained through gritted teeth. "But even mustering the strength to form the blade is an ordeal. With this poison eating away at my focus, I could never wield it with the precision required. I'd be just as likely to sever our contract—my only link to this world—as I would the corruption."

​​"I need your help, Rin" 

Her breath hitched, the full weight of my statement crashing down on her. "Archer..." she whispered, her hand trembling slightly. "The contract binding you to me... our bond... is the strongest piece of magecraft here. If I touch it to you..."

"You will sever our contract, and I will vanish from this world," I finished for her, my voice grim but steady. "Yes. That is the risk."

A tense silence filled the workshop. She looked at my wound, at the agony I was trying to conceal, then back to my eyes. In them, she saw no fear, only a grim, absolute trust in her. Her trembling stopped. Her expression firmed, the fear in her eyes hardening into a diamond-sharp resolve.

"Alright," she said, her voice quiet but unshakable. "I'll do it."

I focused, drawing on the memory of the twisted dagger, the pain in my side, a roaring inferno. "Trace, on."

The air shimmered, and the dark, ornate blade of Rule Breaker materialized in my hand. It felt cold, inert, a tool waiting for a purpose. I held it out to her, hilt-first. 

“I met her gaze, my own expression resolute. "You must be precise, Rin. Your target is not my body. It is the parasitic concept latched onto my spirit core. You must wield this dagger with the intent to cut it away, without touching the threads that anchor me to this world... to you."

She took the dagger. Its dark, twisted form seemed to absorb the light in the workshop. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her free hand coming to rest on my shoulder. She closed her eyes, her magus senses extending, feeling for the line between the sacred—our contract—and the profane—the corruption.

"Alright," she whispered, her voice now impossibly calm. "Don't move."

She raised the dagger. I closed my eyes. My existence now rested entirely on the precision of her hand and the depth of her skill.

She plunged the blade into the corrupted flesh.

The feeling was a sensation of... release. For a glorious, fleeting second, the soul-eating cold vanished from my side. The corruption, drawn to the powerful mystery of the Noble Phantasm, detached from my spirit core and flowed like a torrent of black sludge into Rule Breaker.

Rin cried out in shock. The ornate dagger in her hand was transforming. The dark metal turned a deeper, featureless black, and a network of sickly grey, static-filled veins spread across its surface. It began to hum with a malevolent energy, its very form becoming unstable.

"It's... it's dissolving!" she yelled, her eyes wide with terror.

The corrupted dagger began to melt in her hand like hot wax. Just as it was about to completely lose its form, a single, whip-like tendril of pure Shadow lashed out from the dissolving mess, aimed directly at Rin's face.

In that one moment of perfect, painless clarity, with the corruption momentarily gone from my body, I acted.

"DISPEL!" I roared, pouring every ounce of my will into a single command.

The projected dagger, and the shadow within it, instantly shattered into a billion motes of harmless prana a mere inch from Rin's horrified face. The malicious energy, with no host to return to and its anchor point forcefully deconstructed, simply ceased to exist. It was over.

Rin stumbled back, the residual shock causing her to collapse to the floor. The tension, the fear, and the sheer, focused exertion of the last few minutes left her utterly drained.

I looked down at the clean wound on my side. The constant, soul-eating cold was gone. It was a deep, grievous injury that would take time and a massive amount of prana to heal, but it was just a wound now. It was no longer a void. I was in pain, I was weakened, but I was whole again. I looked at my Master, pale and exhausted but blessedly unharmed, and a wave of something utterly foreign washed over me. It was a cynical, bitter, and deeply profound sense of relief. 

We had survived.

A heavy silence settled in the workshop, broken only by our ragged breathing. Rin, still sitting on the floor, was the first to speak. Her voice was quiet, stripped of its earlier anger, leaving only a cold, demanding clarity.

"Now," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "Explain. Everything."

I took a breath, the simple act a luxury. "The scouting mission took a detour." I recounted my visit to the Emiya residence, the confrontation, and the brutal spar that had forced Shirou's circuits open.

"Why, Archer?" Rin asked, her expression unreadable. "I'm not a fool; I understand your logic about making him a useful piece on the board. But do you realize you've actively strengthened an enemy Master we will eventually have to defeat?"

"Survival first, victory later," I countered, my voice flat. "A problem for another time. We needed him to be a more effective shield. Nothing more."

"Fine," Rin conceded, clearly not satisfied but willing to table the issue of the Emiya detour for now. "What happened at the temple? Start from the beginning."

I recounted my approach, the oppressive atmosphere, the Bounded Field of Rejection forcing me towards the main gate. "At the top of the stairs," I continued, "a Servant was waiting. Silhouetted against the moon, dressed in traditional hakama, wielding an impossibly long katana."

Rin frowned. "Another Servant? Who was it?"

"He identified himself as Assassin," I replied. "And he identified me on sight. 'The Red Archer', he called me."

Rin cursed under her breath. "So they were watching our fight with Lancer. My mistake. But Assassin? Guarding the main gate like a sentry? That makes no sense. Unless..." A flicker of speculation crossed her face. "...Could Caster have somehow bound him there herself? It would be highly irregular, but it would explain his presence..."

"He challenged me to a duel." I cut in, continuing my report before she could get lost in hypotheticals. 

"You engaged him?" Rin interrupted immediately, her eyes narrowing again, this time with annoyance. "Archer, your orders were clear: observation only!"

"And those orders were my primary objective, Master," I acknowledged, dipping my head slightly. "However, this unknown Assassin identified me on sight and issued a direct challenge. Refusing would have alerted whoever is controlling that temple to my presence and potentially compromised the mission's stealth aspect more than a brief, controlled engagement." I met her eyes. "I judged that a quick assessment of his abilities, under the guise of accepting his duel, was the fastest way to gather critical data about the temple's defenses before withdrawing as ordered. It was a calculated risk."

I described the brief, humiliating exchange of blows, Assassin’s clear superiority, and his dismissal of me as an unworthy opponent. "He told me to leave, bored. He would wait for Saber."

Rin processed this, her expression a mixture of irritation at my disobedience and grudging acceptance of the tactical logic, now compounded by the mystery of this unexpected Assassin. "And then..." Rin prompted, her voice tight. She already knew what came next; she had seen it through my eyes.

"And then he began to choke," I continued, my voice hardening as I recounted the grotesque 'birth' of Hassan from Sasaki's dying body. "That... thing... crawled out of him."

“True Assassin," Rin whispered, the name a chilling confirmation. "But how? The rules are absolute. Only one Assassin can be summoned per war."

“I have no explanation, Master,” I replied grimly. “All I can confirm is that the anomaly possessed the spiritual signature of a Servant.”

I then proceeded to recount the rest of the nightmarish events: Hassan's terrifying use of Presence Concealment, the scream from the courtyard, the tableau of Caster and her dying Master, Hassan's cruelty, Caster severing her own contract with Rule Breaker, my intervention, the fight, the Shadow's appearance, Caster's final spell, and her consumption. When I finally fell silent, the air in the workshop felt heavy, poisoned by the impossible reality we now faced.

Rin stared at the floor for a long moment, processing the full weight of the catastrophe. Finally, she looked up, her eyes devoid of their earlier anger, replaced by a cold, sharp focus that demanded answers. "So you killed her," she stated, the question stripped bare. "Why?"

"My instincts," I said, my voice low and strained. "Some deep, fundamental part of me... it was screaming. The Shadow felt... wrong. Like a contamination on a fundamental level."

Rin seized on the word. "Contamination?" She began to pace, her mind working furiously. "My diagnostics showed nothing, a void. What if it wasn't a void, but something so alien that my magecraft couldn't even register it? Something that doesn't just destroy, but... rewrites?”

Her word choice sent a chill down my spine. "Rewrites," I echoed. "Yes. That's exactly what it felt like." I met her gaze, the shared horror solidifying between us. "Master, based on that feeling, I have a theory about the true nature of the threat we faced. But first, to confirm if it holds water, tell me the standard magus understanding: how does the Holy Grail summon a Heroic Spirit?"

She looked at me, understanding I was building towards something specific. "The Grail is a vessel of immense power. It uses the prana collected in Fuyuki to create a connection to the Throne of Heroes, which exists outside of time. It then pulls the hero's soul from the Throne and anchors it into a prepared Servant class container in the present."

"That's the theory," I acknowledged. "But from the perspective of a Servant, of a being connected to that Throne, the reality is different, more complex. The Grail doesn't summon the true Heroic Spirit. The Hero Spirit remains on the Throne, inviolate. What the Grail summons, is a copy, an echo infused with the original's power and memories"

I let that crucial distinction sink in. "But a connection remains. A link between the copy and the source. When a Servant 'dies', our experiences, our memories... they're uploaded back to the main body on the Throne. It's a way for the Throne to ensure heroes continue to 'grow' even after death."

Rin's face went white as her own brilliant mind connected the dots, arriving at the horrifying conclusion my theory implied. "A two-way street..." she breathed, her pacing coming to a dead stop.

"You said it was 'rewriting' her," I said, pressing the point, needing her to see what I had only felt. "What if that contamination... that 'rewriting'... could travel back up that connection?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes wide. "You're saying... it was using her as a terminal? A bridge... to upload its own poison into the Throne of Heroes?"

"A cancer," I confirmed, the word feeling cold and heavy in the air. "A cancer in the very system of humanity's legends. That was the alarm I felt. An existential threat not just to this war, but to everything."

"An anomaly on that scale..." Rin continued, her voice trembling as she followed the logic to its final, apocalyptic conclusion, "...it would trigger a response from the World itself. A Counter Force event."

Rin stared at me, her mind finally grasping the scale of the choice I had made. The death of one Servant to prevent a potential apocalypse.

"This Shadow," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "This theory... that it could corrupt the Throne of Heroes itself... It's built on a lot of assumptions, Archer. A lot of speculation."

"It is," I admitted. 

"The founding families would never have created a system with such a catastrophic flaw," she argued, a hint of defiance in her voice. "It's too great a risk. There must be another explanation."

She began pacing, her mind working furiously. "Caster broke the rules. She summoned a false Servant. What if... what if the Shadow wasn't a third party at all? What if it was a punitive measure? The Grail's own security system, sent to eliminate a rule-breaker in the most absolute way possible? The 'birth' of Hassan, the consumption of Caster... it could all be the system violently correcting an error."

I stared at her. "A security system that uses a corrupting, all-consuming void? What kind of malevolent being would design such a thing?" My voice dropped, the next logical step a cold spike of dread in my own mind. "Are you suggesting that the thing is the Grail, Rin?"

The question hung in the air between us, a horrifying new possibility.

Rin stopped pacing, her face pale. "No... that's... impossible." But the doubt was there.

Finally, she shook her head, pushing aside the terrifying hypotheticals for a concrete course of action. "We're operating on incomplete data," she stated, taking charge once more. "Speculation is a waste of energy. Whether it's an unrelated monster or a corrupted Grail, the fact remains: this war is not what it's supposed to be. As a Tohsaka, it is my duty to investigate."

She looked at me, her eyes burning with a new, grim resolve. "The Einzberns and the Matous... the other founding families. We may need to confer with them, as much as I despise the thought. But first things first."

She walked towards the stairs leading out of the workshop. "I need to speak with the Overseer. Caster and her false Assassin are dead. An eighth Servant has appeared. A monster is eating Servants in the middle of the War. These are major violations of the rules. It is my duty to report them."

"Are you sure that's wise?" I asked, my voice a low warning. "The Overseer is supposed to be impartial, but do not mistake him for an ally."

Rin paused on the steps and looked back, a small, dangerous smirk on her face. "Of course he isn't an ally. That's why I'm going. I need to see his reaction when I tell him all this. I need to know what he already knows." Her smirk faded, replaced by a look of command. "Get some rest, Archer”.