The sketch of "The Soft Caress of Syr" is already finished. Please check it out at https://www.patreon.com/Rayish
Shirou followed Hestia, but his mind slowly drifted away from the cheerful voice of the goddess ahead of him. His gaze was slightly vacant, hinting that he was retracing fragments of old memories.
"Mr. Arther..." The name surfaced clearly in his mind. The elderly man he had met not long before arriving in Orario. His posture was slightly hunched, his messy brown hair and wrinkled face gave the impression of a wise old man who had weathered the storms of life. At the time, the man's words were simple yet profound—as if he understood the world more deeply than most.
Shirou frowned slightly. Could it be... that he was actually Zeus? The idea sounded insane, but not entirely impossible. According to Hestia's earlier story, Zeus was rumored to disguise himself as an old man and wander the world. And Mr. Arther's relaxed yet subtly instructive way of speaking did fit that description.
He took a deep breath, then sniffed to clear the tickle in his nose—a remnant of the spicy chili incident in the kitchen earlier. The lingering warmth in his nasal cavity made him grimace briefly before his thoughts returned to the mysterious old man.
But doubt soon arose. Shirou remembered how his nose—quite sensitive to the scent of magic—could always detect the divine fragrance of gods and goddesses he encountered in Orario. A unique aroma that couldn't be replicated by ordinary humans, a mysterious blend of power and something not entirely mortal. Even with Syr, who hid her true identity, Shirou could still clearly catch the scent of divinity.
Mr. Arther... was different. When they met, Shirou hadn't smelled anything hinting at the power of a god. Only the faint mustiness of old, slightly damp fabric mixed with the scent of corn he often carried. Not a single trace of divinity, not even a whisper.
"If he really is Zeus, then he's hiding it flawlessly... or he's not Zeus at all," he thought. After all, among the millions of old men wandering the world, the odds of that one being the king of the gods were slim. Logic said so—though his gut still couldn't entirely dismiss the suspicion.
He only snapped out of his reverie when Hestia's cheerful voice called him from the end of the corridor. "Shirou! Come on, you're falling behind!" the goddess exclaimed, waving at him.
Shirou sighed, brushed away his lingering thoughts, and quickened his pace. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he replied, though in his heart, the mystery of Mr. Arther still lingered in the corner of his mind.
Shirou strolled beside Hestia, trying to mimic a lighthearted tone despite his serious thoughts. "If I may ask... the power of gods is sealed by Arcanum when they descend to the lower world, right?" he said, pretending to admire the wall decorations they passed. "But how can Zeus disguise himself as an old man? Isn't that some kind of... ability?"
Hestia glanced at him briefly, then smiled faintly, as if this were a question she'd heard before. "Shirou, Arcanum is more than just a disguise. It's a god's domain. If Zeus truly used his Arcanum, Orario... could be flattened by his divine lightning in an instant," she explained, raising her hand and making a 'boom' gesture with her fingers.
The words sent a slight tremor through Shirou's heart. He imagined flashes of lightning, unavoidable, splitting the Tower of Babel and leveling entire districts. In his heart, he marked the warning: never provoke the gods. If a deity truly unleashed their wrath, the casualties would be beyond counting.
"So," Shirou concluded, rubbing his chin, "if Zeus uses his power to disguise himself, doesn't that violate the gods' agreement not to use Arcanum in the lower world?"
"Hmm~," Hestia nodded lightly beside him. "Exactly."
Shirou raised an eyebrow, probing further. "Then... can you disguise yourself as an ordinary human, Goddess Hestia?" he asked, leaning slightly to see her expression.
Hestia immediately waved her hand dismissively. "No, no... each god has different abilities," she replied with a smile. "I don't have a disguise ability like Zeus."
She began listing examples, counting on her fingers. "For instance, Artemis—she's an expert archer, her shots never miss. Hephaestus... she's a master smith, crafting weapons no blacksmith can replicate. And Apollo—" her tone suddenly turned disgusted, "—he can actually heal. Restore vitality... but well, he's Apollo."
Shirou looked at her with growing curiosity. "What about you, Hestia?"
Hestia only smiled mysteriously, then eagerly quickened her pace. "Then follow me! I'll show you a glimpse of my power!" she said, breaking into a light run while waving for Shirou to catch up.
Hestia kept walking briskly, glancing back to ensure Shirou was following. Her steps led them back to the living room of Hearth Manor. Shirou furrowed his brow, wondering why they had returned here.
Not to the sofa, not to the table—Hestia stopped right in front of the large fireplace at the center of the room. "Well... this is the place," she declared with a slightly dramatic tone.
Without further ado, Hestia crouched down, picked up one of the neatly stacked firewood logs from the rack, and began looking around as if searching for something. "Hmm... a needle... a needle..." she murmured softly.
Shirou understood. Without a word, he projected a fine needle into his hand. A faint light flickered briefly before he handed it to Hestia.
"Oh—thank you, Shirou," Hestia said with a quick smile. She held the needle in her right hand and, without hesitation, pricked the tip of her left index finger. A small red dot appeared, and a trickle of blood began to flow.
Shirou tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "Uh... Goddess Hestia? What exactly are you doing?"
"Just watch," Hestia replied curtly, her tone unusually serious. She smeared the blood from her finger onto the surface of the firewood, leaving a thin red stain contrasting with the dark wood.
With a firm motion, she tossed the log into the fireplace.
As the wood landed among the embers—fwoosh!—flames erupted, but these were no ordinary flames. They shimmered—a blend of orange, gold, and hints of blue, as if tiny particles of light danced in the air around them.
Shirou was transfixed, his eyes following every spark. Then he noticed something—a faint glow now enveloped Hestia's body, making her silhouette appear more majestic. Her face was no longer cheerful and mischievous as usual, but solemn.
Her aura had completely transformed, as if she were revealing a side of herself rarely shown to anyone.
Hestia remained kneeling before the fireplace, the flickering light reflecting in her eyes. In a calm yet deeply confident voice, she said, "I may not have Ares' combat prowess, Hephaestus' forging skills, or Apollo's healing abilities... but I have this fire."
Shirou, standing a few steps behind, slowly approached. With each step, warmth enveloped his skin—not a scorching heat, but a soothing warmth that seeped into his bones. He bowed slightly, his eyes filled with curiosity as he gazed at the flames. "What... is this fire?" he whispered, almost afraid to disturb the serenity.
"It's called Vesta," Hestia answered, her voice now solemn and deep, unlike her usual cheerfulness. "An eternal flame that has been part of me since Tenkai. A fire that will never extinguish, even without fuel."
Shirou let the words sink in, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames that seemed to beckon him closer.
Seeing Shirou's mesmerized expression, Hestia smiled faintly and stood up, brushing the dust off her white dress. "Then..." she said, shifting slightly to the side to make room, "try facing the fire directly."
She gestured for Shirou to stand right in front of the fireplace, as if wanting to see how the divine flames would react to him.
Shirou gazed at the flames for a moment before lowering himself to kneel before the fireplace as Hestia suggested. The warmth felt familiar—not just a heat that chased away the cold, but one that seeped into his heart, touching something he had long yearned for.
In an instant, the golden radiance from the flames grew brighter, enveloping his entire vision. The light was so pure and intense that all other colors around him faded, leaving him in a sea of warmth. It felt like being cradled in a thick, comforting blanket, slowing time itself.
As the glow gradually subsided, Shirou opened his eyes—and found himself no longer in Hearth Manor. The wooden floor had been replaced by neatly arranged green tatami, the familiar scent of dry straw in the air. The shoji screens were slightly open, letting in the soft spring sunlight that warmed the room.
"Senpai, you're awake..." A gentle, warm voice came from beside him, making Shirou turn. Sakura knelt nearby, her face serene with a small, affectionate smile.
Before he could respond, a light pinch landed on his cheek. "Taking it easy just because it's vacation, huh," Rin said, her tone half-annoyed, half-teasing. Her long hair cascaded freely, and though her words were playful, there was relief in her eyes—as if she was glad to see Shirou here, whole and real.
Shirou fell silent. His throat tightened. This sight... their voices... that warmth. Rin and Sakura—two people he thought he would never see again after being stranded in another world—were now sitting before him, so close.
Suddenly, the sliding door opened wide. "Congratulations on your graduation, Shirou!" Fuji-nee cheered, entering with a handful of handmade confetti, scattering it in the air. She wore casual striped clothing and beamed with her usual enthusiasm.
Shirou could only stare at them, his heart full yet aching. Deep down, he knew this wasn't real. He knew the fire—Vesta—had brought him into an illusion showing a future he might have had... a warm, peaceful future filled with companionship. A future he could never reach, because in reality, he had been sucked into the Grail's portal and stranded in another world.
Yet, even knowing it was just a shadow, Shirou couldn't resist indulging in it for a little while. Sitting among them, he let himself be swept up in the happiness that felt so real, if only for a moment.
Another shoji screen slid open softly, the sound of wood brushing against wood faint. Light seeped in from the gap, and Shirou turned curiously.
But what he saw next stole his breath. His eyes widened, his entire body stiffening.
The figure standing at the threshold was someone he had longed to see for so long... someone he thought he would never meet again in any world. Someone who had left long ago, leaving a void in his heart that never truly closed.
Kiritsugu Emiya.
With quiet steps, the man entered. His black hair was slightly disheveled as usual, his expression gentle yet mature, with a small smile on his lips. There was no sadness, no regret like in the past—only warm serenity.
"Shirou, congratulations," he said softly yet meaningfully. "I never thought... your path to fulfilling my dream of becoming a Hero of Justice... would be as a lawyer."
He took a deep breath, as if savoring his own words. "Perhaps... that path is far better than what I did." His voice was low but filled with sincerity.
Shirou swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Father..."
Kiritsugu's gaze softened, his eyes brimming with genuine pride. "I'm proud of you."
Those words... so simple, yet they felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders after years of carrying it. Warm tears welled in Shirou's eyes before spilling over, blurring his vision.
It was the sentence he had waited so long to hear... the one he had yearned for but never got to hear during his father's lifetime.
Fuji-nee, sitting cross-legged across from him, immediately noticed Shirou's change in expression. She clapped her hands once, then with her usual cheerfulness, tried to lighten the mood.
"Alright, alright! Instead of moping, since you rarely come home, tell us! How's life at the dorm? Fun, right?" she asked, leaning forward with sparkling eyes.
Shirou quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks and forced a smile. "Hm... I've met a lot of new friends there. Plenty of challenges too... but most importantly, it's a place that accepts me for who I am."
He chose his words carefully, masking the truth—that he was really thinking of the Loki Familia. He couldn't explain the world and the people he had truly met, but his heart warmed at the thought of them.
Rin, hugging her knees, raised an eyebrow. "What about your Magecraft? Did you forget all about it because of school?" Her tone was half-accusatory, her lips slightly pouted.
Shirou sighed softly but smiled faintly. "No. On the contrary, my Magecraft has improved a lot. I even have a student now." In his mind, he pictured Riveria, the High Elf's focused expression during their training sessions.
Sakura, who had been quiet until now, looked at him with concern. "Senpai... are you eating well there? You're not skipping meals, right?"
"I'm fine." Shirou nodded reassuringly. "In fact... I almost always cook breakfast with a friend for the others." He didn't mention Lefiya's name, but the elf's face flashed in his mind—smiling as she stirred a pot, occasionally exchanging glances with him.
Kiritsugu, who had been observing quietly, finally spoke. "When will you continue your journey?"
Shirou lowered his head slightly. "Soon..." He knew full well the illusion from Vesta's flames was temporary. His heart rebelled, wishing to stay longer, even as his rational mind reminded him this was all just a fleeting shadow.
"Then you must hurry," Kiritsugu said, his voice calm yet firm.
Shirou clenched his fists, looking straight at his father. "If I go... if I keep chasing our dream... and I never see you all again... what then?"
Kiritsugu met his gaze steadily. A gentle smile graced his face, but his eyes were filled with resolve. "Don't look back, Shirou."
The words struck deep into his heart, and before he could respond, the world around him began to fade. Colors blurred, and the voices of those he cherished slowly grew distant.
When his eyes opened again, he was back in front of Hearth Manor's fireplace. The warmth of the flames still enveloped him, but the air now felt empty. His breath was heavy, and a quiet sob escaped his throat. He bowed his head, hiding his reddened eyes. Even knowing it was just an illusion... the sense of loss was all too real.