Standing in the streets of Fuyuki City, 2017, Steve was still weighing Zelretch's advice: "Get to Antarctica as soon as possible."
Should he materialize the Shadow Border and dive straight into action, or find somewhere to prepare for the inevitably arduous big job ahead?
In this world, I am no more than a lone tourist. I'll have to tread with utmost caution.
But—fate's script never unfolds as the actors envision it.
Just as Steve was mulling over his options, a sudden, powerful magical resonance—one so strong it seemed to echo with a brand on his very soul—rang through his mind!
This sensation was altogether unlike the vague, collective prayers of millions he'd felt on the Throne of Heroes. It was clear, singular, targeted—a point-to-point call from a specific beacon.
This is—Servant Summoning using a Relic!
Interest flashed in Steve's eyes.
On the eve of human rationality's freezing in this universe so unlike his own… someone had actually tracked down a relic connected to him, and was enacting the summoning ritual.
More astonishing than even Zelretch's Second Magic.
Who could it be? And why?
This sudden wave of fate swept aside all his plans in an instant.
"…Interesting."
He gave a small laugh, and—without hesitation—answered the call resonating from the depths of his soul.
I accept.
The moment he responded, an irresistible force gripped him.
Fuyuki's streets dissolved instantly into fragmented data streams. His body atomized, shattering into countless sparkling motes, sucked into an unseen vortex toward unknown coordinates.
It was a forced transference, transcending space and dimension—the advent of a Heroic Spirit.
When awareness returned, he found himself in a vast workshop brimming with futuristic tech.
All around were massive calculation devices and complex alchemical mechanisms, their ghostly blue light filling the air with the scents of ether and ozone.
Beneath him, a summoning circle more intricate and precise than any seen in any Holy Grail War slowly faded as its last Hadean sparks died out.
His eyes were drawn to the center of the circle.
There stood a figure so breathtaking he forgot to breathe.
She was a girl in the characteristic white-and-purple uniform of the Atlas Academy. Her long, flowing lavender hair, smart glasses, and almost porcelain-pale complexion made her ethereal. Her expression mingled surprise, astonishment, and disbelief at least ten times stronger than Steve's own.
Sion Eltnam Atlasia.
It was her.
She who had shared a century of solitude with him in the original world. She who had witnessed humanity soar to the stars—his one and only wife.
She looked younger than in his memories… but, well, being a vampire, she wasn't really that young. A trace of a genius's nervous confidence still clung to her face.
But Steve would never mistake that unique aura of soul.
"…A failure? Impossible!"
Sion glared at the stranger before her, diving into a logical flurry worthy of a genius alchemist. "The result of 3,672 calculations cannot be wrong! The artifact's target is absolute! The summoning spell was perfectly keyed for Rider! Why… why did a Caster come out!?"
She looked down at her own feet, muttering.
Steve followed her gaze… and couldn't help but stiffen.
There was Sion's white-stockinged foot, planted half a step inside the edge of the now-vanished, impossibly complex summoning circle.
…I see.
Steve instantly understood.
This was a casebook-perfect summoning incident, worthy of pride in the annals of magical history. Wasn't this just like that iconic scene where Rin Tohsaka summons Archer in the Fate/stay night timeline?
The problem wasn't the artifact, nor the spell.
It was the summoner herself.
Having accompanied Steve through another world's lifespan—witnessing his transformation from human to savior, then passing as the Sainted Widow—Sion's connection far exceeded that of an ordinary relic. The instant she stepped onto the circle as catalyst, the strongest fate transcending timelines forcibly reversed the summoning's direction.
What's more, Steve had responded, even if only by accident, to a soulmate's call.
As a result, the uninvited Caster had brutally squeezed out the original intended—Captain Nemo—and become her legitimate Servant.
As Steve was wrestling between amusement and irritation over such a turn of fate, a clear magic connection swiftly formed between him and Sion.
He felt a familiar magical energy—infused with the subtleties of Atlas alchemy—slowly seep into his spiritual core.
At the same time, Sion gave a small, painful cry.
She raised her right hand—three vivid red Command Seals, symbols of absolute authority, had appeared on her pale skin.
A contract—complete.
"…Alright." With a glance at the Command Seals, Sion finally accepted this absurd reality. Adjusting her glasses, she regained the calm and reason expected of an Atlas alchemist.
"I'm not sure what went wrong… but since the summoning contract holds, I am your Master, Sion Eltnam Sokaris." She eyed Steve critically. "Now then, unwanted guest who answered my call—state your name. Who are you?"
Though her air was calm, curiosity and suspicion danced in her eyes behind the lenses. Seeing her, Steve's boredom and melancholy—born of peaceful days—vanished without a trace.
With a faint smile, displaying the grace befitting a Caster, he offered his new Master a textbook-perfect formal salute.
"Summoned in answer to your call. I am Caster, Steve."
"From today on, I shall be your sword, and your shield."
"Pleased to meet you, Master."
Thus begins a new, unexpected, yet fated tale.