The girl with calm eyes watched Aslan emerge from the basement, then lifted her foot and followed him. Now she could truly say she had nowhere left to go. Uncle Kairya had abandoned her, and she longed to escape this family. She was, in the eyes of both houses, an outcast.
The pure white light radiating from the man in front of her—the light of miracles she had once seen—drew her in. If she continued to follow this "big brother," would she witness even more miracles?
In truth, Aslan felt awkward facing this little girl. He had no idea how to interact with someone her age. It would be a lie to claim he didn't pity her, but how was he supposed to express that? Should he simply walk up and say, Little girl, come with me, big brother?
That would basically make him a shady man luring a child with candy—something guaranteed to earn him a pair of silver bracelets from the police.
Though he was 1,500 years old, Aslan insisted he was "always an 18-year-old boy." Still, it felt wrong to have the mindset of an old grandfather. Most of the people he dealt with were over a millennium old, and it had been a long time since he'd interacted with anyone whose age had only one digit.
What's more, most of the beings he knew weren't even human. Even as children, their physical strength far surpassed that of human youngsters. And Aslan himself—before awakening his dragon blood—had been far stronger than any ordinary person. The truth was, he knew next to nothing about caring for a human child.
He was beginning to think he should buy a few parenting books.
When they emerged from the basement into the main building, flames already roared around them—set by Aslan earlier. Over the crackle of burning wood, two voices could be heard. One belonged to an adult, panicked and shouting for help, cursing that such a fire could even happen to a family like theirs.
After all, wasn't their patriarch a magician? Shouldn't putting out a fire be simple? The flames spread unchecked. Perhaps the old man really was past his prime, unable to handle even this small blaze. But then—why hadn't he appeared yet?
The other voice was younger, obviously a boy's, though rasped and hoarse from the smoke.
"Sakura! Sakura! Where are you? If you hear your brother's voice, answer me! Ahem!"
Aslan raised an eyebrow. The only one here who could call the girl behind him sister was the world's future scoundrel—Matou Shinji. The "future" part mattered; after all, the boy hadn't grown up yet.
At the very least, he'd come out on his own to search for a sister with no blood relation to him, while his father was at a loss. That alone was commendable. Once the fire was done, all the family's magical tomes would be ashes. Without access to magecraft, perhaps this child might walk a better path.
Given that the boy was risking his life to find his sister, Aslan decided to spare him. Without his intervention, no one inside the barrier could leave unless Aslan permitted it—and the only breach in the barrier was now a deep pit of ruins from the Noble Phantasm's attack, where survival for an ordinary human was near impossible.
Aslan uttered a single fae word. It drifted like a speck of light through the ruins, settling on the boy. The child had no magical talent, no ability to inherit Aslan's powers, so Aslan had no intention of taking him in.
That didn't mean he'd never see the magical world again. If the organization founded in Antarctica ever appeared in this world and operated normally, the boy might find a place there—assuming he became a technological genius.
But that was not Aslan's concern for now.
Oh? Lancelot?
The fire wouldn't kill him, but in his current state, he'd need a long rest. That was probably a blessing for his half-trained Master, Kariya. The battle at the docks on the first night had already consumed too much of Kariya's strength.
Kariya had no natural talent; controlling Lancelot at all was draining his life away. If every fight ahead was as intense as that first one, he'd never survive to the end. One or two more like it, and Lancelot would drain him completely.
Kariya might become the first Master in history to be forced out of the Grail War by his own Servant.
Because the fire Aslan had set was imbued with magic, it spread far faster—and burned far hotter—than any ordinary blaze. By the time the fire brigade arrived at the Matou estate, only fragments of the building's frame remained. The firefighters connected hoses and began their work, but quickly assessed that survival was unlikely. No matter how much water they poured, the flames resisted.
With a fire this fierce, no rescuer could safely enter. While saving lives was every firefighter's duty, their own safety couldn't be ignored.
"What a shame," the captain muttered grimly. "I heard the whole family was home. I doubt anyone survived."
He was about to confirm the casualty report when a small, swaying silhouette emerged from the flames.
"Quick! Save them! There's still someone alive!"
The captain sprinted into the inferno, scooped up the child, and carried him out to the waiting ambulance. A doctor examined him quickly: some burns to the respiratory tract from smoke inhalation, minor skin burns from the heat—but nothing life-threatening.
The doctor exhaled in relief.
-End Chapter-
Visit the Patreon!!
Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!
[email protected]/TrashProspector