When I woke, the first thing I noticed was the sterile smell — that faint, sharp tang of antiseptic that clings to every hospital in the world. My eyes adjusted slowly to the pale light filtering through half‑drawn curtains. Around me, other children lay in beds, some sleeping, some staring blankly at the ceiling. Nurses moved between them with quiet efficiency, checking vitals, murmuring reassurances.
I tried to remember how I'd gotten here. The moment I reached for the memory, it hit me — fire. A wall of it, roaring and endless, swallowing everything. The heat, the smoke, the screams. My chest tightened and I shut my eyes, forcing the image away. When I opened them again, I was back in the hospital, the fire receding like a bad dream.
That's when I saw him.
A man in black, walking toward me with a measured, almost hesitant stride. Kiritsugu. I remembered that face — the faint, fleeting smile he'd given me when he saw I was alive. Now, up close, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked over me as if weighing something heavy.
He stopped at my bedside. For a moment, he just looked at me, as though searching for the right words. Then, in a voice that was calm but carried an undercurrent of nerves, he asked if I would rather be adopted by him… or be placed in the foster system.
I didn't answer right away. I thought about what I knew — about what would happen if I went into the system. About the danger of becoming nothing more than a pawn, a resource for someone like Gilgamesh to exploit. The choice wasn't really a choice at all. I lifted a hand and pointed at him.
He nodded, as if he'd expected that. Then he asked my name. For a moment, my mind was blank. Then it came to me, like something pulled from deep water: Shirou. I told him my name was Shirou.
He smiled — a small, genuine smile — and leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "I'm a magus," he said. "A wizard."
Even in the haze of exhaustion, the words lit something in me. Magic. Real magic.
The adoption process moved quickly after that. Papers signed, arrangements made. And just like that, I was Shirou Emiya.
The memories came to me like a film reel unspooling — moments with Kiritsugu, my father now. The quiet evenings, the awkward but earnest attempts at cooking that usually ended in failure, and the day I decided to learn myself, discovering a passion I hadn't expected. The small, ordinary moments that stitched together into something like a life.
And then… that night.
We were sitting together when he told me about his dream — how he'd once wanted to be a hero of justice, how the years had worn that dream down until it was little more than a memory. I saw the sadness in his eyes, the weight of disappointment in himself. I told him, with all the conviction I could muster, that if he couldn't be a hero of justice, then I would be one for him.
He laughed before I could finish, a short, almost disbelieving sound. His expression softened, as if my words had lifted something from him. "Yeah… I'm relieved," he said quietly. Then he closed his eyes, and just like that, he was gone.
I held onto that moment, that expression, like a brand on my soul. If being a hero could give someone that kind of peace, then I would be one — no matter what it took.
The world shifted.
EMIYA faith/denial began to play in my mind, the words threading through me like a mantra.
I am the bone of my sword. Steel is my body, and fire is my heart…
The landscape unfolded around me — a barren world of rust and gloom, gears grinding endlessly in a dark sky. The air was acrid, the ground dry and lifeless. Shirou stood there, walking forward, until he stumbled. A hand burst from his chest, then another, and a body began to emerge.
"I WILL NOT LET YOU CONSUME ME!" I shouted, the words tearing from my throat.
The world cracked. The dark sky split, revealing clear blue. The air turned fresh, the ground lush with green. The gears vanished, replaced by sunlight. Avalon gleamed before me, and the weapons scattered around me shone as if newly forged.
I turned to see Shirou Emiya smiling at me, a look of quiet approval on his face. Then he, and the old world, faded away.
I'd been close — too close — to losing myself in his memories, to letting them overwrite me. But I'd held on. I was still me. And I never wanted to go through something like that again.
When I opened my eyes, it was to the familiar ceiling of the shed. No swords, no shifting sky. Just me. I checked my circuits — they were running smoother than before. I projected a knife and felt almost no drain. A gun, and the cost was minimal. The merge had made me better.
Night had fallen. Perfect. Time to get back to work.
This time, I'd hold back. I set a self‑imposed limit — 50% of my ability unless I said the words "Trace, on." I tried to make it a Geas, but when that failed, I used self‑hypnosis instead. The effect was immediate — my circuits felt muted until I spoke the trigger, and then they surged to life.
Satisfied, I headed for the door — and was hit by a wave of exhaustion. The merge had taken more out of me than I'd realized. I stumbled to my room and collapsed onto the futon.
Morning came with the blare of my alarm. I made a mental note to buy a proper bed with Kiritsugu's funds. After dressing in my uniform, I went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
A knock at the door. Sakura. I let her in, asked her to set the plates. As she passed me, I saw it — a bruise on her neck. My hands stilled on the cutting board. Anger flared, hot and sharp. Unlike Shirou, I had no ties to Shinji Matou, no reason to look the other way. But I said nothing. Not yet.
Taiga arrived as I was finishing the food, her usual chaotic energy filling the room. I noticed the sauce bottles had been switched — her idea of a prank. I played along, using them without reaction. Her pout was almost worth the taste.
We ate, trading banter, Sakura giggling quietly at the exchange. Afterward, I left the dishes for later and we headed to school together.
At the gates, I parted from Sakura and went to my class, where Issei greeted me. We talked until Taiga arrived to teach English.
As I watched her at the front of the room, I felt something I hadn't in a long time — a simple, quiet appreciation for being here, for being part of this. I'd spent so long keeping myself apart out of fear.
I made a promise to myself then: I wouldn't let fear keep me from living. Not in this world. Not in any.