Archive of Our Own

If not for its fateful outcome, that sequence of events could well be considered a miracle. 

“Saber, I'm feeding you the last of my mana!” 

A unique outcome, a chain of decisions so improbable that in most stories it would be dismissed as “impossible.”

Yet there they are.

Raising her hand high while bearing Shinji’s lifeless weight on her back, Tohsaka Rin roared the command like a commander in battle. 

“So blast that Holy Grail so hard, there won't be a single piece left!”

Crimson light burst forth from the hand of the Tohsaka heiress, spreading across the land and reaching her Servant. Saber gripped her sword, Excalibur, firmly, gathering energy as she fixed her gaze on the target, determined to prevent the tragedy of ten years ago. 

She refused to let the veil of destruction shroud Fuyuki once again. It was her duty, and if she had failed in Kiritsugu’s war, she would not falter again in Shirou’s.

She straightened her posture and adjusted her stance, the enemy in sight and specks of light fluttering over her armor. The dreams of the fallen and the hopes of those who are no longer here—the steadfast will of warriors infusing her scabbard once more.

The attack had to be decisive; Saber must not hesitate.

However, she couldn’t help but feel something obscene, filthy, and painful churning within her. To her misfortune, it was a sensation that was both familiar and, ironically, unfamiliar at the same time. As if something were being torn from the very depths of her soul—the abrupt breaking of an oath. A sharp, deafening pain—yet one that did not interrupt the incantation of her saving sword. Saber must not look away; she already had the willpower of two Command Seals forcing the unleashing of her full power—not to mention that this was precisely the plan she had committed to back at Shirou’s home.

But her heart—oh, her kind and concerned heart for her friend—because Tohsaka Rin is her friend—sought her out. A fervent, desperate need. A tiny ember burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, even as her countenance and actions had to remain cold and steadfast, like her reign at the end of the year.

The King of Knights bit her lip, holding back the energy she wielded for a few fleeting moments.

It was not her wish to fade away without knowing, at the very least, that Rin was still there; that all those sensations penetrating her soul and alarming her reason were mistaken; that the worst-case scenario—one she didn’t even dare to consider because she wouldn’t allow it—was becoming a reality.

She took a deep breath, yearning for calm in her wavering heart and putting off her duty just this once.

Saber, for a fleeting moment, looked away, searching for her. 

And that was enough, because even though she wasn’t an Archer-class Servant, her experience as a knight allowed her to sweep the area with her piercing gaze and identify what didn’t fit in an instant. 

Her spirit froze like the lakes of her homeland in the harshest winters, and her pupils contracted with disbelief and terror.

Like a rag doll abandoned in the rain, the motionless figure of Tohsaka Rin lay on the lakeshore.

Excalibur shone with an intensity never before seen. Whether it was the longings and regrets of the fallen that drove her attack, or, on the contrary, the mastery of that heart-wrenching emotion that heightened the already enormous burden of raising that sword, Artoria Pendragon did not devote a single thought to figuring it out.

The king closed her eyes tightly and took a step forward. Her grip, steady in appearance, was riddled with subtle cracks—the result of what was gnawing at the deepest, wildest part of her heroic spirit.

Energy flowed from within her and from her surroundings, but its original source was merely a drop in the ocean. 

Far too little for a skilled magus, practically fatal for someone whose vitality was spread thin across the use of multiple Noble Phantasm, Command Seals, and the very beat of her own heart.

In the tsunami that was that surge of light and hope for Saber, all she wanted was to find her way back to her Master.

“EX—!”

But she couldn’t. 

Because a king lives for their nation and dies for their nation.

Because what Artoria Pendragon desired mattered little or not at all when it was her Master’s very will that forced her to look away.

“—CALIBUR!”

In a world teeming with lies and deceptions, Emiya Shirou descends from the sky like a meteorite amid smoke and wrought iron. Traces of that petal-like shield vanish into the air while his gaze—unwavering and full of resolve—remains fixed on the target. He clearly observed how the King of Heroes extended his right hand into the air, conjuring a new weapon—one that was indecipherable even to him, an almost perfect imitator. But there is a hesitation—a subtle, fleeting doubt, a momentary reluctance to take a stand and demonstrate such power against what Gilgamesh considered little more than a fraud.

Emiya Shirou needs nothing more than that doubt to break through the fortress that was the ruler of Uruk. 

Gilgamesh believes, with good reason, that this mongrel would come to kill him. That his intention, regardless of the methods, was the same: to finish him off.

To his utter disbelief, the king finds himself overpowered by the beggar. Not only does Emiya Shirou not kill him, but he also eliminates any chance of escape the moment Bakuya severs his arm in a single stroke. Added to his disbelief is anger, but also the fervent emotion of recognition, the esteem for the fight, and the desire behind it—even when speaking of the enemy. 

Emiya Shirou is a fraud, a copy, a thief, a mongrel. 

“I’ll grant you this…”

However—

“At this moment, you are powerful!”

And he sees it. He sees his body contort from below, projecting the twin sword, Kanshō, into his left hand. He tries to retreat, take a step back, and find some way to turn the tide of battle. But just as Gilgamesh predicts the outcome of the black sword sliding against his torso, Shirou interprets his intentions with blinding clarity. 

The impostor roars.

“You aren't getting away!”

Like inevitable fate, victory is sealed as the sphere of reality shatters into millions of fragments. 

The ensuing series of events is particularly forgettable. The sky behind him is bathed in specks of light; he doesn’t need to confirm their source—he knows it’s Saber. At the same time, the remnants of the Holy Grail—stubbornly clinging to their form in the mortal world—grip the dying King of Heroes, who in turn clings to him, Emiya Shirou, as a final act of desperation and his outright refusal to fall without being saved or to drag the impostor down with him. 

As if! With the last of his strength, Shirou grips the remnants of a weapon.

Under no circumstances will he allow that man—the one he doubted deserved the title of hero—to escape once again.

“I’ll rip my own arm off if that’s what it takes!”

Do as you wish, but move to the left first.

Before Shirou could even raise his arm with the determination to follow through on his words, a vermilion beam of light flashed before his eyes. A single, powerful arrow pierced the center of Gilgamesh’s forehead, banishing him to the spirit world once again.

Disbelief washed over Emiya in those first few moments. He doesn’t understand it; it makes no sense that he’s alive—they saw him die, pierced by nearly a dozen weapons, for God’s sake—and yet, despite all his resentment toward Archer’s contempt for his dream, it’s undeniable that this man—his future—has saved him. Why? Yes, sure, he defeated the King just as EMIYA had asked him to, but that doesn’t mean they’re on good terms or that their mindsets have reached a state of mutual understanding. It’s contradictory and feels out of place, and when Shirou feels that, at the very least, he should be grateful, he—

“Agh—?!”

He falls to his knees.

It’s as if death itself were closing in on him. It’s the most scorching hell and the most piercing cold, an absolute rejection by every cell in his body of a part of himself that, until just moments ago, he recognized as his own.

He can’t catch his breath. No, it’s not like when Kuzuki nearly killed him near the shrine, nor is it like when Lancer pierced his heart. It’s different—like a fish that’s not just out of water, but off the planet, drifting in the void while burning to ashes and freezing to absolute zero. His teeth are chattering, red lines blur his vision, and any sensory perception in his left shoulder has been reduced to deafening agony. It hurts, it hurts so much. So much that he would rip his arm off to escape that sensation—a torture in itself.

But then, like the calm before the storm, Emiya Shirou achieves a moment of clarity. Brief, fleeting, ephemeral—but long enough for someone whose body is actively and violently rejecting a part of his being.

In that moment of lucidity, he reasons. It’s his left shoulder, and the only thing that sets that area apart from the rest of his body is—

The realization hits him, and terror consumes him.

“ARCHER!”

He calls out to him. It’s a total humiliation, but little or nothing could matter to him when every cell in his body is warning him that what was once there is no longer compatible with him. The question is, why not anymore? She is an exceptional mage—talented, passionate, and, above all, extremely protective of those she cares about. Shirou understood this as soon as the Holy War began, or perhaps he already had a hunch. It was that girl’s actions—from the smallest ones to those that amounted to an unpayable debt—that not only reaffirmed his fondness and attraction for the young heiress, but also made him feel things far more symbolic and profound than mere admiration.

Tohsaka Rin always told him how much she disliked being in anyone’s debt. That things come and go, and that mutual cooperation was the foundation for a fair truce without regrets.

Even so, she hid the fact that she had saved his life. That she sacrificed ten years of magic for him, someone who shouldn’t have been there that night in the first place. 

Even though they were declared enemies by their status as Masters, she never took advantage of his ignorance and protected him—even when his future self warned her that this could have disastrous consequences.

Even though she had a dream and goals to achieve, she decided to share a part of herself with him, breaking her own magical circuits—part of her very essence—and granting him an opportunity that, otherwise, would be nothing more than a fantasy.

That magical crest was not merely a visual representation of the connection between their mana supplies, but the true proof that, in the eyes of every other creature in the universe, Emiya Shirou and Tohsaka Rin were a single soul divided between two bodies.

Her warmth, emotion, and very life flowed through the shared circuit. Shirou would never admit it to himself, but that connection offered him a comfort he had refused to accept ever since that night beneath the ruins of Fuyuki. And it didn’t matter if he refused it, because the crest was still there—and with it, Tohsaka Rin’s existence anchored to his own. Even if Emiya Shirou believed himself unworthy of comfort and forgiveness, Rin’s mana would continue to flow through his veins. Stubborn and persistent, self-sacrificing to the point of exhaustion—no matter how much she refused to admit it. No, don’t misunderstand—Rin’s concept of sacrifice differs greatly from his own idea of self-sacrifice. However, Tohsaka is the kind of person who is willing to bet everything—her status, her magic, her legacy, her life—if she believes the outcome will be in her favor.

Emiya Shirou won, so Tohsaka Rin’s gamble was also a success. It had to be a success. But Shirou finds nothing. He exhausted insane amounts of magic during their battle, and he’s aware that, even with that, some of the warmth he loves so much—because yes, he admits it only to himself, he’s crazy about that sensation—should still be there. Faint, but still pulsing. A sign that she—that they—are still connected.

But not this.

“ARCHER—!” 

Both his mind and body feel heavy. He can barely stay conscious amid the searing cold in his shoulder, his body’s reaction to her, and the exhaustion from the battle itself. But the source of it all—the reason he won’t let himself collapse to the ground and decides to crawl on his shattered body if that’s what it takes—is far away, and he has to reach her.

“Take me…” He groaned painfully through clenched teeth. “Take me to her!”

His vision is reduced to shadowed edges with blurry spots. The rays of dawn are beginning to reach some of the darker corners, and the destruction of the Grail has left the air much lighter than it had been just a few hours ago. 

Even in the midst of his partial blindness, there’s no way that enormous red blur in front of him could be anything other than Archer.

Shirou bit his lip. At times, it seemed as though the pain in his shoulder was slightly more bearable—almost as if something else were intervening to prevent the worst possible outcome. Seizing those moments of clarity, the young man with reddish-brown hair focused all his strength on the imposing figure, showing no sign of being intimidated or overwhelmed.

His eyes burned, but he refused to let even the smallest tear fall.

“Take me to her…” he growled. The burning flared up again in his shoulder, and Shirou hissed. “...Please.”

It’s cold.

The water caresses her legs, creeping up the hem of her skirt. The ground at the water’s edge is damp and rough, scratching her smooth skin upon direct contact. Her right arm, outstretched from the position in which she fell, is barely recognizable—too pale even for her. She tries to breathe, or at least to do so properly. The air doesn’t flow; there’s no gentle current entering her nose, traveling down her windpipe, and reaching her lungs. Instead, it’s a light breeze that merely brushes her nostrils, and her chest rises only a few millimeters in an effort to deepen her shallow breath. However, she barely has any strength; her eyelids are heavy, and she isn’t even able to close the small gap between her lips. 

She’s cold—so cold.

She’s freezing, but her body isn’t shaking. There are no chills, no goosebumps, and no warm air escaping from her lips. She wants to move and get out of the water—it’s really uncomfortable, honestly—but she simply can’t. She has no strength—she doesn’t feel any at all—and it’s getting harder and harder to draw in air before letting it out. Something’s wrong; she knows it. Never in her seventeen years had she felt so weak, not even in the midst of her training to strengthen herself and increase her mana reserve. She tries to focus all her remaining energy on clenching her fist, to prove to herself that she can still do something—

Her fingers tremble, but they won’t close the way she wants them to.

The sun begins to bathe Fuyuki in light. It’s not that she’s facing the sunrise—honestly, she can’t even see the sky—but that subtle touch of the sun against her icy skin lets her know. Slightly warm, typical of the weather at the end of winter and the beginning of spring. It’s a gentle caress, but pointless if she thinks about it coldly: the tips of her fingers receive a little warmth while everything from her waist down is freezing.

What sounds like a weary laugh escapes her, reverberating in her chest.

Good heavens, how did she end up there? Did she make a mistake? Did she overestimate her mana reserves, underestimate Gilgamesh on the assumption that the Reality Marble was his predestined nemesis? Did she trust that everything would end quickly enough so as not to deplete even her own life energy in the process?

Don’t be ridiculous, Tohsaka Rin. A voice identical to her own scolded her from the depths of her mind.

She took a gamble, and for better or worse, she won. They destroyed that cursed Grail, defeated the King of Heroes, and saved Fuyuki from a tragedy worse than the one a decade ago. No matter the cost, the outcome was exactly what she—Tohsaka Rin—wanted.

And if she needs to pay the price to preserve this ending, she’s willing to do so. From the very beginning—from the moment she ordered Saber to destroy the Holy Grail even if she and Shinji were still trapped beneath enormous masses of deformed flesh—she was prepared for an all-or-nothing gamble.

Not having died in that situation was a miracle in and of itself—she still doesn’t fully understand how she managed to intervene—and an outcome like this, with her reflecting as her last remaining energy simply isn’t enough to keep her brain, lungs, and heart functioning, isn’t the worst outcome she could have expected, especially having participated in a Holy Grail War.

After all, at least it would be an honorable end. Protecting her hometown, upholding the name of the last heiress and magician of the Tohsaka family, Tohsaka Rin.

They achieved victory, saved Fuyuki, and averted a tragedy.

So, everything’s settled, isn’t it? 

But… what about Shirou…?

A sharp pain surges through her heart, like the finest of needles slowly piercing her flesh. 

Shirou, Emiya Shirou. That man who lacks even a shred of self-preservation, too kind for his own good, stubborn as a mule, naive and hypocritical to the point of exasperation, and burdened by a veil of guilt and responsibility that influences each and every one of his decisions. All in all, a stupid, foolish, ridiculous, idiotic man—

“Shirou…”

…And yet he is also a determined young man with unbreakable willpower, whose love for life makes him deeply compassionate and extremely loyal to his convictions. 

Tohsaka Rin doesn’t believe the world has been fair to many of the people in her life, including herself. However, unlike logical and rational thinking, Emiya Shirou is simply someone who accepts that injustice as part of his fate and responsibility. An insane way of thinking, to be sure, but one that has shaped him into the boy she is so madly in love with.

Because yes, she admits it—she loves Emiya Shirou. She loves his compassion and his strength, and although she finds his constant lack of self-care extremely concerning, she also sees it as something she should appreciate. He’s adorable, strong, and kind-hearted, ridiculously good at household chores, and has enviable culinary skills—and she’s sure he takes pride in them, because she’ll never forget Archer’s smile when she was surprised by how good his tea was. And no, make no mistake: just because Tohsaka Rin loves Emiya Shirou doesn’t mean she doesn’t recognize his obvious shortcomings—she insists she must help him learn to value himself—but she believed that, with enough time and persistence, she could help him with that. 

Don’t let anyone find out, but even Tohsaka Rin began to imagine that maybe a life with him wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

With her working hard on her development as a magician and him at home waiting for her. After a hard, exhausting day, stepping through the shōji and seeing him in his adorable apron with a plate of hot food on the table. It didn’t sound like a bad plan at all.

But now, in her current state, she won’t be able to pursue that idea anymore, will she?

“How silly of me…”

God, how embarrassing, daydreaming like that.

Her dreams are one thing; reality is another. 

She’ll die there, alone in the chill of the morning dew, exhausted after such a grueling battle, but with a peaceful mind knowing she’s accomplished her mission.

Although, if she could be selfish with one last request, the only thing she’d change is her loneliness. 

Tohsaka Rin, even with her skeptical attitude and the blush creeping up her cheeks every so often, acknowledges that Emiya Shirou’s feelings for her are no less serious than her own for him. For heaven’s sake, she’s in this situation because she agreed in the first place to break her own magic just to share it with him. At the time, she justified it by saying it was the only way. Now? Perhaps it was something destined to happen, even if the plan sounded too ridiculous and idealistic to be possible.

The point is, she loves him, and she’s two hundred—five hundred percent sure that he loves her just as madly, if not more so.

Perhaps it was a slightly manipulative thought, but considering Shirou’s lack of self-care, Rin believed that his love for her might help him stay alive. No, it’s not that she wanted to force him to abandon his philosophy, but she thought that if he loved her and knew she loved him too, he’d think twice before throwing himself headlong into a suicide mission.

If you can’t stay alive for your own sake, do it for mine. 

Emiya Shirou doesn’t truly value his own life, but he hates hurting those he cares about even more.

But if she isn’t there in the first place… What will become of him? As painful as it is, there are three facts:

Emiya Shirou loves her.

Tohsaka Rin serves as an anchor for Emiya Shirou’s existence.

Tohsaka Rin is dying.

So… what will become of him once she leaves this world? 

Yes, she has already accepted her fate, but she is terrified of not knowing what will become of him. That is why her final request is selfish—not because she doesn’t want to die alone—a common fate for many magi—but because she needs to set a few things straight with him before she goes. She refuses to leave without seeing him one last time.

So, please…

Hurry up.

He is the bone of his sword.

His body is steel, and his blood, fire.

He has create over a thousand blades, yet his hands will hold nothing.

At the end of the Fifth Holy Grail War, the heroic spirit EMIYA has nothing left to do. He cooperated in the destruction of the Grail and sent that returned king back to where he belongs. The last remnants of his existence shatter into stardust, a sign that his work is done and that leaving this world—and them—is inevitable.

However, the world mocks his naivety. That peace—or whatever you want to call it—is fleeting, a brief moment of tranquility before Emiya Shirou’s desperate cries reach him and issue a command. Under any other circumstances, he would ignore it. He owes him nothing, especially since he spared him the act of tearing off his own arm to avoid saving Gilgamesh. For those few seconds, EMIYA Archer is convinced that, no matter what this boy is planning, he has no intention of confronting him. His mind is on the act of fading away as he watches a new dawn rise over Fuyuki.

“Take me to her!”

…Until he hears his command, his plea. 

His existence as a human was long ago forgotten by time itself. Any trace of Emiya Shirou within him is nothing more than a fragment of an obsolete dream. Nevertheless, those days when he served Rin as her Servant were enough to refresh his memory. Perhaps not vivid memories, but rather fragments of emotions, of sensations that overwhelmed his mind and heart when they were still living, functioning beings. The pounding of his heart at the touch of her hand, the flush on his cheeks from her frequent teasing, the relief in his chest as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

Emiya Shirou was a young man in love, yes, but he was also someone who recognized and trusted Tohsaka Rin enough to hold back his concern until they met face-to-face again.

Besides, he noticed it. Sure, it became more than obvious once the boy unleashed Unlimited Blade Works in his battle against the ruler of Uruk, but an Archer is known for his excellent eyesight, and the mark on his left shoulder was damning evidence. 

Regardless of his opinions on Emiya Shirou—both as part of his past and as an individual in his own right—Archer could not deny his deep affection for Rin.

So curiosity got the better of him. He decides that, rather than proceeding with his plan to fade away silently, he might as well devote a few of the few seconds he has left to take a look at his former Master and mock Emiya for even doubting Tohsaka.

His gray eyes sweep across a wasteland, hills, and a forest before reaching the lake, and on its shore—

Archer vanishes.

She has her back turned. Her hair is tousled; her body slumped like a rag doll. There is no sign of the Holy Grail or Saber, and Shinji’s unconscious figure stands out against the very void itself in contrast to the vibrant red of Tohsaka’s outfit. The sun’s rays reach her torso, but not her waist and legs, which are partially submerged in the water.

His left shoulder still aches, throbbing and alien, as if it weren’t part of him, as if it were openly rejecting the bond rooted within it.

Still, it turns into a dull, barely perceptible pain. Because when Emiya Shirou is unceremoniously dropped as if he were a sack of potatoes, all his incredulous and terrified gaze can take in is that she is far too still.

“TOHSAKA!”

Emiya runs. He doesn’t know where he’s drawing his strength from, nor does he care in the least to explain it. All he does is run: run to close the distance; run to get closer to her; run so he can touch her and make sure she’s okay, that his mind is playing a terrible prank on him, and that she’ll tease him for getting so worked up over something so trivial. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Because the image before him, the pain in his left shoulder, and the piercing anguish radiating from his heart are insignificant details in the face of a reality that certainly doesn’t align with any of them. Because Tohsaka Rin is fine, because she wouldn’t do this to him—because she is, precisely, Tohsaka Rin. A smart, confident, genuinely kind, and protective girl—and above all, strong. Extremely strong—the strongest of all the people he’s ever met in his life.

Shirou doesn’t bother to land gently; he lets his knees slam hard against the ground as his trembling hands carefully turn her over—if he didn’t, she would surely scold him for treating a lady so carelessly. The mere touch of his fingers against her clothes alerts him to a very low temperature, devoid of the usual warmth radiating from her skin. 

His throat feels so tight that he has trouble breathing.

“Tohsaka…!”

He turns her over. He cradles her body against his own, not caring about the bruises, cuts, or any other injuries he might have on his own body. Whether he’s in pain or not, keeping her close—as close as possible—is his only goal. With a little more effort, he manages to pull her out of the water, unsure of what to do to at least give her a little more warmth. Before he can even think of anything else, soft whimpers catch his immediate attention. The air escapes completely from his lungs.

“Shirou…?”

For heaven’s sake… The young man felt his eyes burn. He bit his lip and swallowed hard before speaking. “Tohsaka, don’t talk. I’ll take you home, okay?” His left hand—the same one in which he felt a violent surge of rejection spreading to his fingertips—gently caressed her right cheekbone. Almost by reflex, Rin partially closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the sensation. Emiya pulled her closer to him. “Just—just stay awake, please.”

For a moment, the young man with golden-brown eyes had the impression that she wanted to laugh. Instead, he heard a soft hiss—an involuntary release of the little air remaining in her lungs.

“You… You won.”

Tohsaka Rin has no strength left; that’s as obvious to Shirou as it is to any astral being witnessing such a scene. Still, she’s just as stubborn as he is, clinging to the smallest things just to keep fighting. So she grips his rumpled T-shirt with her fingernails. It’s a weak grip, barely perceptible. Emiya Shirou doesn’t push her away. Instead, his hand slides from her face to cradle hers against his chest.

“O-Of course.” Deep down, Shirou curses the tremor in his voice. His voice can’t be trembling, because that means one of two things: he’s nervous or he’s afraid. “It was your idea, wasn’t it? It was obvious it was going to work.”

Tohsaka smiles at him—or at least tries her best to. Her exhausted gaze, her increasingly slow breathing, and the sickly pallor on her face paralyze him. “Good job… Emiya-kun.”

There’s a slight shift in her weight in his arms, as if she’s letting herself be carried more easily. Emiya’s heart freezes, his vision sharpens, and his grip remains firm. “I’ll take you home, Tohsaka,” he reiterated through clenched lips. “You’ll be fine, and…”

“Shirou.”

Every thought comes to a halt, as do his breath and the beating of his heart for that split second. She utters his name with such love, such devotion toward him, that any instinct to fight—to interrupt this powerful woman resting in his arms—would be nothing short of blasphemy, an attack on the person who gave him a purpose, a destiny beyond self-sacrifice.

That girl, that powerful mage of the Tohsaka family, that person who caught his attention so long ago and with whom he fell deeply in love in the midst of a war.

That girl who gave him a piece of her soul—and much more—as a bet in his favor.

That girl whom he cannot question when she looks at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world—which he isn’t, with her standing right in front of him.

That girl whom he loves desperately.

“I’ll go first…” 

What…?

“You’re not allowed… to follow me. Not until has passed…” Her voice breaks and grows hoarse. “A-A long time.”

Even with her senses dulled—as if she were underwater—Rin feels her body tense even more, her breathing becoming ragged, and his arms pulling her close to his chest, offering her a little of the warmth she’s no longer able to produce on her own.

Her vision is blurry; she can barely make out outlines, and all she sees are patches of more or less saturated colors. Despite everything, something in the back of her mind warns her that Shirou—even if she can’t look him in the eyes—is furious.

“You’ll be okay,” he said, turning a deaf ear to her words. “I’m not asking you—I’m promising you.” Upon hearing this, Rin’s gaze softened. Silly, silly Shirou, she thought to herself, a faint smile playing on her increasingly blue lips. That small change did not go unnoticed by the young man. “Rin!” 

She had heard her name come from his lips so few times, and yet, it sounded practically identical to how he said it.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she asked in barely a whisper. “Your body… r-rejecting me.”

A connection forged through the exchange of bodily fluids—the ultimate expression of a magical bond. At first, it was the only method that could grant them victory; in hindsight, it was the human need for mutual comfort in the face of a history filled with tragedy and pain. Perhaps it was all a matter of self-interest at first, but the fact that they were willing to do it already hinted at a deeper meaning. With him caressing her curves, holding her close to his chest, burying his face in her hair; with her brushing against his abdomen, stroking his face, clinging tightly to him. Every centimeter of skin and every strand of hair was explored mutually and consensually, and that small circle on Emiya Shirou’s shoulder was nothing more than a reminder of just how incredibly compatible they were—not only as magicians, but as souls.

Someone who needs to create and someone who yields to create. Two halves of the same process. To a certain extent, it was ridiculous how there could be no one more ideal for each of them than the other. 

That’s why it felt so warm—a foreign and unknown magic, yet one he didn’t reject at all. On the contrary, he accepted it and was overwhelmed by the sensation of a great flow of mana bathing his dormant circuits. 

The internal structure of his body had already grown accustomed to the presence of her mana, mutating and transforming to allow for a better distribution of its abundant energy. At the same time, closing the distance between them produced an effect similar to the merging of paths. Two routes became one, enhancing her nerve endings and making it almost a necessity to stay close to one another to perpetuate that sensation.

An excess of mana can be intoxicating and addictive, Tohsaka told herself as she watched him doze beside her, his arm still wrapped around her waist, leaving no escape routes. Were you that thirsty, Emiya-kun?

They’re both aware of it. They know how it should feel in a normal situation—how the flow, especially with such closeness, should resemble that of a river in the most vibrant season of spring. 

But once the source dries up, all that remains is an empty riverbed.

“I-I’m so sorry… Emiya-kun.”

Rin closed her eyes for a moment, offering him an embarrassed smile—something so unlike Tohsaka Rin that he couldn’t accept it. 

Emiya Shirou is no fool. Yes, he is an idealist to the extreme and, consequently, naive. However, he is no fool. He understands the implications; he simply refuses to accept them at face value, especially when they lead to something that contradicts his own philosophy. He will not seek out evil firsthand; he will believe in the goodness of people, and only once he has irrefutable proof will he take up arms in defense of what he believes to be right. For that very reason, he understands. He understands each and every one of those cursed words that escape Tohsaka’s lips; he understands the reason behind that pitiful smile; he understands perfectly why, no matter how much he insists he’ll get her out of there, she doesn’t accept his words. And just as she rejects his attempts to save her, his body rejects the existence of that current that once overwhelmed him.

Emiya pressed his lips together tightly; the sparkle in his eyes flickered for an instant, becoming slightly dull.

“You’ll be okay, Tohsaka,” he repeated, almost growling. “You’re okay, and you’ll be okay.”

What does it matter what his body is warning him? 

What does it matter if he couldn’t sense even a hint of the warmth in which he had willingly drowned himself? 

She’s still with him. She’s alive, breathing, and her heart is beating. She hasn’t left and she won’t leave. He can’t let that happen—he won’t let it happen. He’s already lost too many people, and letting her go—especially her—is something he’ll never do. Yes, tell him whatever you want—that he’s being selfish, a denier, an immature young man who refuses to accept that in conflict and war, there are losses. That in the world they live in, justice means the death of a few for the salvation of many. That all of this—the sight of her growing weaker by the day, her voice reduced to a whisper, her gaze barely focused—is a small price to pay for Fuyuki’s salvation.

But why does it have to be her? Why does it have to be the person with so many dreams and a future ahead of her? Why does it have to be him—the one willing to sacrifice his body and soul for others—who holds her in his arms as her life fades away? Why does it have to be her and not him?

Panic rises in his chest, silent and cold, a stinging sensation that burns him from within. His hands, stiff and rough, hold the girl he adores so much while he doesn’t know what else to do. He promised her he’d save her—yes—but how? 

A fleeting idea crosses his mind. Without a second thought, Emiya Shirou says it out loud.

“I love you.”

His voice is full of false confidence, a desperate attempt to suppress the fear inside him as he utters that taboo with all the sincerity he can muster at a moment like this.

“I love you, Tohsaka.” 

And he repeats it. He repeats it because, according to his flawed logic—which clings to any plausible method—saying those words will keep her with him. Because in a romantic story, the premise of perpetuating that love beyond a confession is what keeps people alive. Because if he has to make use of every available means and possibility, he will. It’s not just his love for her speaking—it’s the very debt of all his devotion to someone like him: her magic, her memories, her legacy, and her soul. If he can’t return that love in kind, if he lets her go just like that, without making every effort, then what value would there be in having saved him in the first place?

“So listen to me—really listen.” He blurted out with a lump in his throat. “You’ll be okay.”

“Shirou.” Her name slipped from her lips in a weary breath, lacking the typical Tohsaka firmness. “You’re such a fool…”

“Ha.” A muffled laugh escaped his dry lips. “Well, this fool is going to take you back home, okay? I promised you, and I—” His tongue swept over his lips, giving him a brief moment to stifle the pain in his words. “I don’t break my promises.”

He doesn’t break his promises, but they lie at the most remote peak of Fuyuki. He doesn’t break his promises, but he can barely keep his torso straight as he holds her. He doesn’t break his promises, but he feels Tohsaka’s breaths growing slower and shallower by the moment.

Despite everything, Emiya persists. He lifts her slightly until she’s sitting against him, her head resting on his collarbone and her hair tickling his chin. Even with the dirt still on her, the scent of her shampoo reaches his nostrils, offering him the comfort that the lack of mana had robbed him of. At the same time, he gently took her hand, intertwining their long, slender fingers—her pale, cold skin contrasting with his slightly tanned, warm skin. 

“A promise—” She pauses, inhaling as deeply as she can in a desperate attempt to draw in more air. Shirou, deeply concerned, looks at her anxiously. Amid her sickly complexion and chapped lips, a thin vermilion line stood out against the white canvas. Tohsaka feels it—that sticky, dense warmth trickling down the corner of her lip—and she sees it too: how hope fades from those golden-brown eyes and is replaced by a mixture of panic and uncertainty. Your heart is too big for this world, Emiya Shirou. “A promise… consists of two parts.” 

At this point, Tohsaka Rin doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t care if her body must consume itself to fulfill her final wish: if she must lose flesh and bone in the process, so be it.

Just as she demands of her own body, she starts from the lowest part. She can no longer feel her feet, legs, or thighs, but no, that’s not enough. Her hand trembles, but she can’t quite lift her wrist. So she continues: she draws mana up to her waist, and any trace of life below her diaphragm has vanished. She can neither feel nor move her legs, but since her plan was never to run away, she cares little or not at all.

Fortunately for her, the meager life energy she managed to draw from herself allows her to raise her arm. It’s a slow, shaky movement, but as soon as Emiya understands her intentions, he helps her without hesitation.

Rin smiles as she’s able to touch his face one last time.

“You’re an idiot,” she murmured with difficulty. “But… I guess I’m an idiot too if I like one.” The fluid continues to drip from her mouth, more and more profusely. The young woman thinks it must be a terrifying sight for him, so she hopes her touch will at least serve as a momentary distraction. “I-I’ll go first—that… That’s a fact.”

She hears the grinding of his teeth. “No, Tohsaka. You can’t, not like this, not this way—”

“And it’ll hurt.” 

Finally, she sees them fall. Crystal-clear drops, heavy and thick—an overflow of emotions that they, such young souls, shouldn’t be experiencing yet. Seeing Emiya Shirou cry for her is agonizing, yes, but also strangely moving. After all, she is the cause of such suffering, isn’t she? So human, so cruel and visceral—just like a human.

Her own blood chokes her for a moment.

You will suffer, Shirou. A voice spoke from within her. You will suffer as you have time and time again. They will leave you behind again, and it will break your heart again. 

He’ll think about what he could have done differently, the mistakes he made, and the opportunities he failed to seize. He’ll spend sunrises, sunsets, and twilights going over every single one of his actions, torturing himself over the insignificant things that, to that broken-minded soul, might have meant everything. He’ll flash a smile, but there will be no happiness behind it. Days, weeks, even months will pass in which the mere effort of opening his eyes will consume every part of his being. She felt it when their connection went beyond the emotional and reached the physical, and she’s even more certain of it now. She felt it when their connection went beyond the emotional and reached the physical, and she’s even more certain of it when she looks for a spark of life in his usually hopeful eyes.

“It’s going to hurt a lot.”

It will hurt for a long, long time. And it will be precisely his absence that will perpetuate that suffering.

“But…” He looks at her, silently begging her to stop. If she still had the strength to do so, she would shake her head. “The day will come when it won’t hurt so much.”

No, she isn’t telling him that the pain will get better. That’s an illusion, a childish lie told to those whose minds lack the maturity to understand the concept of death and loss. What she’s telling him—what Rin wants to make clear to him because she has to—is that, at a certain point, you get used to it. It will still hurt, of course it will, but getting out of bed won’t be impossible. Then, perhaps, combing your hair won’t be an unbearable task. At some point, enjoying a nice meal won’t seem like an unforgivable sin.

The pain will persist, as it must. And no one is telling you that you have to accept it and convince yourself that there’s some universal explanation or justification that gives meaning to your suffering. 

If the world were fair, everything would have a reason for being, and you wouldn’t have to endure the odyssey of finding that reason.

In the end, it all comes down to four words.

“And you will live.”

Not “well” or “badly,” just “will live.”

He will live as a suffering human being, as a boy who has lost everything time and time again, as a man who watches the woman he loves die in his arms without being able to do absolutely anything to prevent it.

But at least he’ll live. She tells herself. And with a heart like his… 

“That’s also a f-fact.”

She won’t force him to make her a promise. Promises are broken, and they also force others to shoulder burdens whose weight they often don’t realize until it’s too late.

A statement, on the other hand, leaves the entire burden on the person who made it. It makes others believe it blindly because, unconsciously, they assume that failure to fulfill it does not hold the believer accountable in any way.

If Tohsaka Rin sounds convinced and confident in her words, the only thing left for Shirou to do is decide whether to trust them. 

Rin feels the embrace around her grow more desperate, with one hand circling her lower back while the other presses her head against her neck. His breaths, unlike Rin’s, are irregular and ragged; the hesitation within him reflected in trembling sighs and clenched lips. She feels his hand running over her hair, but not the one squeezing her waist. Her chest… No, she doesn’t think she can stay there much longer.

The very second that thought crosses his mind, he speaks to her. “Don’t go.” Don’t leave me, those golden-brown eyes plead.

The vermilion thread finally reached Emiya Shirou’s tanned skin. At the touch, his body froze. Fortunately for Tohsaka, her hand was still close to his skin, so she caressed him. It was a strange touch, especially because, if it were up to her, she’d reach for his face, but she had no choice but to settle for brushing against his collarbone. Like a wet dog in the rain, Shirou lowered his head, his gaze hidden behind his unruly hair.

“Please…?”

“Ha…” something that didn’t resemble a laugh in the slightest escaped as a whisper from her pale lips. “C-Can you…?” The liquid momentarily blocked her airway, cutting her off. “…lift me up?”

One of the things she loves so much about Shirou is that, in the most critical situations, he obeys her without question. No, it’s not that she wants absolute obedience from him; it’s just that she finds it endearing, to a certain extent, how he prefers to listen to her first and then ask why, rather than the other way around.

Damn you, Emiya Shirou… How do you manage to make a lady’s heart race like this?

In her new position, Tohsaka’s arms—heavy and limp—rest on Shirou’s shoulders. Her knees are bent, while his own legs are slightly bent around her. His arms also wrap around her, steadying a body that looks more like a doll than a living person.

“Don’t leave,” he repeated. “Please.”

Her head is nestled against his collarbone; their breathing pauses for a moment. He pulls her closer to him, as if he believes that somehow this contact will be enough to keep her in this world with him for just one more second.

At this point in the story, nothing else matters to him. 

Emiya Shirou cups Tohsaka Rin’s chin and, without further ado, presses his lips against hers. Any painful thoughts are cast aside in favor of desperate logic. She had said that the exchange of bodily fluids was the preferred method for transferring mana; if that were the case, then he—

Nothing changes. Nothing comes from him, and nothing comes to him. Love, agony, and helplessness are all there—it’s not a matter of a lack of emotions, but simply that there is nothing to draw upon. According to the logical rules of the magical world, Emiya Shirou lacks the reserves that could give Tohsaka Rin even one more minute of life. Worse still, he can feel it: he feels his weakness gradually fading away, slowly and with a measured recovery, but any critical condition beyond the rejection of the mark on his left shoulder is already a thing of the past.

In other words, his own body refuses to obey his intention to yield that little bit of energy to the person in his arms. The very pleas of his heart are ignored by his innate instinct for self-preservation. No matter how much he desires it, his energy simply won’t flow to her, because his body prioritizes his own recovery and escape from this critical condition over saving someone else’s life. How ridiculous, right?

“No.” It can’t be true, it can’t be like this. It’s not working, it’s not working—why isn’t it—? “Please... Don’t go, Rin.” 

Her eyelids tremble, and finally even the dawn fades into the black veil descending before her eyes. 

“Thank you… Shirou.”

The metallic taste of her blood reaches her tongue just as she whispers those words.

If her gaze falls on that large red stain as she speaks, no one but she will know.

“For everything.”

“Tohsaka?”

There’s a slight change—minuscule, practically insignificant. But Emiya Shirou has always been an observer, an analyst of the structure of matter, and a staunch seeker of problems he believes he can solve. 

His lips murmur something that lies solely between the living and the dead; his eyes flash for an instant, and his body trembles violently at the sudden use of mana for a task that is, logically, unnecessary. His muscles burn, his lungs sting, his skin sweats, and his vision blurs. Even as every centimeter of his body protests such an act of folly, Shirou analyzes her. 

He scans her from head to toe, from the tip of her little toe to the helix of her ear, examining with extreme meticulousness every layer of Tohsaka Rin’s tissue, organ, and blood vessel. What on the outside is nothing more than a pale shell with crimson threads trickling down her chin contains, within, an organism that tried everything to stay alive for just one more second. Every path of the magical circuit corresponding to her legs had completely disintegrated; higher up, in the abdominal areas and near her lungs, the damage was less severe, but no less shocking to analyze. Shirou might not have been a magician specializing in medical magic, but the mere opening of her magical circuits—thanks to Archer’s intervention—gave him an idea of just how painful it must have been, not the blockage itself, but the forced rupture of the circuit.

There wasn’t a single place where her magical circuits hadn’t been fatally damaged.

The young man bit his lip hard, holding back the rage rising in his throat.

Tohsaka…

There was only one conclusion: she suffered—and she suffered greatly.

Tohsaka…

Her faltering words, her shallow breaths, the touch of her hand against his wounded skin. Every action was linked to Tohsaka Rin’s suffering and determination.

And he was asking her to stay, to suffer more because he—

“Rin…”

He was and is a coward. A coward who failed to protect his family in the past or the girl with whom, perhaps, he could have built a future.

He knows he has no right to do so, but he buries his face in her thick, dark hair anyway. He inhaled deeply, taking in every particle of her perfume and the scent of her shampoo before the Fuyuki mist carried it away. He embraced her and held her close against his battered arms and torso, all under the futile illusion that, in this way, she would still be there with him.

“Rin…”

But he couldn’t. He tried again and again; he wanted to give her a part of his life—his insignificant, miserable life—to keep her by his side, and yet she left. He abused her generosity and ended up killing her in the process. He is a murderer. He swore he would be a hero, that he would save everyone, that the only sacrifice he was willing to accept was his own, but—

His lungs are burning, his throat is closing up. He can’t catch even a whiff of Tohsaka Rin’s comforting scent or a hint of Fuyuki’s fresh air. There’s nothing. His vision is blurring, the only recognizable thing being two opaque, lifeless turquoise spots. She told him it would hurt, and, my God, how it hurts. But he thought that, perhaps, it would be bearable. That even a soul like his, exposed to constant loss, could face it with his head held high.

It’s not like that. It’s not like that, and the worst part is that it seems to hurt even more. And he doesn’t understand it—or refuses to accept the reason why he might understand it. Emiya Shirou loved his biological parents and grieved for them for years; he loved Emiya Kiritsugu as his second father, and suffered when he left, leaving behind endless mysteries and zero explanations for how he was supposed to go on living. 

Emiya Shirou loves Tohsaka Rin, and it was a different kind of love. Of course it was. A passionate, unbridled love, eager to experience new things and spend a great deal of time sharing those experiences. The idea—ironic in hindsight—of having a future with her—perhaps another alternative to pursuing his desire to be a hero—had been there from the moment she allowed him to take a part of herself to help him complete his struggle.

To be an official couple, to travel together, to rise through the ranks of the magical world, to live together, to explore new mysteries, to help those in need, and maybe—just maybe—

To get married and start a family.

Now all of that is nothing more than a fantasy, a fate they were never meant to have, and all because of his weakness.

She said it would hurt, but why does it have to hurt so much—?

“Brat.”

While the arms holding her close remained stiff as stone, his head lifted just a little toward the source of that voice.

EMIYA remains standing, still fading into particles of mana. Whether what’s keeping him standing is the rage boiling inside him, the irony of witnessing his worst nightmare, or the silent agony of what was once his human heart, he cares little or not at all.

The heroic spirit EMIYA has no unfinished business in this world; it should simply fade away, and he—

“Do you believe her?”

You will live. 

That is a fact.

How could he, having failed her so terribly, reject her words? 

His fingernails dig into his dark hair, clinging to it like a beast.

“I do.”

EMIYA watches him from a distance in silence. The wind buffets his long red coat, and ruffles his hair until it takes on a very familiar look.

Emiya’s heart barely reacts, and his gaze remains unmoving.

“Then suffer, Emiya Shirou.”

Let your heart break again. 

Let your lungs refuse to let you breathe. 

Let a lump block your throat so you don’t know whether to scream or sob. 

Let your soul become a violent, remorseful flame—a reflection of everything you fought for and failed at.

And live.

Not for him, not for his dream.

For her.

Emiya Shirou curls up into a ball, holding the lifeless Tohsaka Rin in his arms.

He caresses her features, combs her hair, kisses the top of her head. The absence of a nervous reaction or an adorable blush is what really breaks him.

Finally, he screams.