Chapter 3: First Lessons and Fading Doubt
Dawn's pale light filtered through the tall windows of Chaldea's medical wing, painting the room in muted gold. I awoke to the soft, rhythmic breathing of Mash Kyrielight, curled in a chair beside my bed with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her lavender hair caught the light as she stirred, eyes fluttering open.
"Good morning," she whispered, voice still heavy with sleep. "How do you feel?"
My chest tightened at her concern. The warmth that pulsed within me last night had settled to a gentle ember, more comforting than alarming. I let my fingers brush hers. "Better," I replied, and meant it.
She offered a tired smile. "Breakfast arrives soon. Doctor's orders."
I'd barely slept—my mind whirled with yesterday's revelations: my rebirth, the summoning accident, the Grand Order's mission, and the faint echo of that unnamed power. But Mash's quiet presence anchored me.
"Thank you," I said softly. "For staying."
She looked away, cheeks coloring. "I couldn't very well leave you alone in this state."
Before I could respond, the door hissed open to admit Dr. Roman and Director Olga. The two of them moved with brisk efficiency—Roman carrying a tray piled with steaming bowls, Olga scanning her tablet as if sizing me up.
Roman set the tray on a side table. "Oatmeal and fruit—to help with recovery and manage any residual side effects." He placed a bowl before me and straightened. "We have a full schedule today: medical tests, orientation, and then your first meeting with your servant."
"Servant?" The word landed like a thunderclap. Despite the explanation sessions, it still felt unreal that I, a supposed Master, would command a Heroic Spirit.
Olga met my rising panic with a steady gaze. "Yes. Today, you'll summon Artoria Pendragon. She's been briefed on your—unique circumstances and awaits you in the training chamber."
My heart stuttered. The legendary King of Knights, the very embodiment of chivalry—standing before me, a novice Master? The pressure threatened to crush me. But Mash placed a hand on my arm, warm reassurance.
"You'll do fine."
Her faith steadied me more than any pep talk. I nodded and lifted the spoon, determined to face the day.
—
An hour later, I stood before the bronze pedestal in Chaldea's summoning chamber. Runic circles glowed beneath my feet, and the air thrummed with summoned energy. Mash stood to my right, her shield strapped to her back. Olga and Roman lingered near the control console, offering last-minute advice.
"Remember," Olga said, voice firm, "focus on a clear image of the Heroic Spirit you wish to summon. But don't overthink it—let your instinct guide you."
I took a deep breath and placed my palm on the summoning seal. In my mind's eye, I saw golden armor, crimson cape, and the resolute gaze of a king who bore the weight of destiny on her shoulders.
"Artoria Pendragon," I whispered.
The seal flared, light spiraled upward, and a figure materialized within the runes—a woman clad in silvery-blue armor, sword sheathed at her side, hair like liquid night. For a heartbeat, she stood silent, assessing me with cool eyes that flickered between challenge and curiosity.
"I am Artoria Pendragon," she said, voice echoing like steel. "You are my Master?"
My throat tightened. "I—yes." I forced steadiness into my tone. "I'm Aion."
Her gaze sharpened the moment she heard my name, as if some hidden memory stirred in her core. But she bowed once, sending a ripple through her royal composure.
"Very well, Master Aion. I await your command."
The simple ceremony of summoning was over, but the weight of it pressed on me like armor twice my size. I studied her—her posture unwavering, yet I sensed a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
"Artoria," I began, voice low, "thank you for coming."
She inclined her head, still wary. "Our bond is forged by the Grail's will, not gratitude. State your orders."
I swallowed. I had none. No tactical plan, no storage of commands. Just the urgent need to connect, to prove myself worthy.
"Mash, would you… advise me?" I turned to my companion. She stepped forward, shield at rest but ready.
"Start simple," she suggested. "Ask her about her past. Show respect for her honor."
I squared my shoulders and faced Artoria again. "Tell me, Artoria Pendragon—how do you bear the burden of a king's duty?"
Her eyes softened for the first time. She sheathed her sword with a slow, deliberate motion. "Duty is my burden and my purpose. I did not seek power, but when wielded to defend, it becomes a virtue. You, Master, have inherited great responsibility. Learn to bear it wisely."
In that moment, I felt her trust forging slowly—her words imbued with grace and expectation. I nodded, determined to rise to that standard.
—
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low over Chaldea's gardens, I sat with Mash at the edge of a marble fountain. Artoria had left for her own training schedule, but her presence lingered in my mind like a promise.
"I almost froze," I admitted, staring at the ripples chasing each other across the water's surface.
Mash smiled gently. "Most Masters do at first. A Heroic Spirit is no simple tool; she's a legendary soul with her own will. The bond grows through mutual respect."
I reflected on Artoria's regal bearing and the flicker of vulnerability beneath her armor. "I want to earn that respect."
Mash's expression turned playful. "Then don't chase her honor immediately—show her you fight for her, too. Defend her in training, share your fears, and let her protect you when things get rough."
I considered Mash's words and felt something shift inside me—a spark of hope. The path ahead would be fraught with impossible battles and tangled emotions, but at least I now had a guide, a shield, and a king who might one day choose to trust me fully.
As twilight settled and the fountains' glow cast dancing reflections on our faces, I finally uncovered a quiet truth: no matter how unprepared I felt, this new life—and the impossible power stirring within me—was my chance to rewrite every ending I feared.
And I would not squander it.