When Medea opened her eyes, she found herself reclining in a place she did not recognize. Shifting her gaze, the Witch of Colchis warily surveyed her surroundings.
Her eyes fell upon the ornate, high-quality furniture of the chamber. With a grimace, she attempted to push herself upright to discern her location.
"...Nngh?!"
A sharp groan escaped her lips as a searing agony rippled through her entire being. It seemed the curse woven into her wounds still held fast, preventing her flesh from knitting back together.
'...Wait.'
She was currently a stray—a Servant without a Master. In the wake of her flight from Lancer, her magical energy reserves should have been entirely depleted. By all rights, her form should have already faded from this world, returning to the Throne of Heroes.
How, then, did she still manifest in the physical realm? The answer presented itself almost immediately.
As she focused on her internal state, she felt it: the distinct, thrumming weight of a prana path. It was a link through which magical energy flowed steadily into her. This, it seemed, was the anchor keeping her existence tethered to the world.
Struggling out of the bed, she stepped toward the door. Regardless of her condition, she could not afford the luxury of idle rest while in an unknown fortress.
'The one who established this provisional contract... they must be a magus of exceptional caliber to have brought me here.'
Furthermore, she could sense the distinct presence of another Servant nearby. It was safe to assume the magus who had retrieved her was already the Master of another hero.
Medea followed the silver thread of the prana path, moving toward the source—toward the Master who held her leash.
What could their motive be? Did they seek the forgotten mysteries of the Age of Gods? Or did they intend to secure an absolute victory in the Holy Grail War by commanding two Servants simultaneously?
No matter. The answer would reveal itself soon enough.
As a practitioner of High Thaumaturgy from the Age of Gods, tracing the flow of magical energy was child's play for her. She moved through the corridors with silent, spectral grace.
Before long, she reached a set of double doors where the presence of the Master was strongest. Within, she felt the unmistakable aura of the other Servant. They were together.
Steeling her resolve, Medea tensed her muscles, readying a spell at the tips of her fingers in case of an ambush. She reached out and slowly turned the handle.
The door opened with a faint creak. Medea peered into the room beyond.
"I told you, I hate carrots! I won't eat them!"
"That is quite enough. You will eat them. Do not let their appearance deceive you; you are far too old to be such a picky eater. Act your age."
"Berserker—!"
"The answer remains no. Ah, Caster. You are finally awake. Come, take a seat."
"......"
Medea stood frozen, her jaw tightening in sheer disbelief. There sat a young girl, casually taking her meal despite having brought an enemy Servant into her lair, and beside her stood a Servant who addressed Medea as if her presence were the most natural thing in the world.
What? Berserker? That man was a Berserker? He possessed reason? He was engaging in a coherent, albeit domestic, argument with his Master? Medea pressed a hand to her forehead, a headache blooming behind her eyes.
...This Holy Grail War was, evidently, quite insane.
***
Late night. The Tohsaka Residence.
In a basement workshop, a girl dressed in crimson, her hair bound in elegant twin tails, stood before a complex summoning circle.
"Preparations: complete. Timing: perfect. My prana waves are at their peak. It is exactly two o'clock in the morning. I shall summon Saber and claim the greatest prize, even without a catalyst!"
Stepping into the center of the ritual space, she looked down at the array of gemstones in her palm.
Closing her fist tightly around them, her expression hardened with absolute resolve. She extended her hand toward the circle.
"Let silver and iron be the foundation. Let stone and the Archduke of Contracts be the cornerstone. Let my ancestor be my great master, Schweinorg—"
As she began the incantation, the fluid mana leaking from her hands touched the circle, sinking into the chalk lines and igniting them with a brilliant, violet radiance.
"The gates to the four directions shall be closed. From the crown, follow the forked road that leads to the Kingdom!"
As her chant gathered momentum, the light emanating from the floor intensified, flooding the room with a blinding glare that threatened to bleach the very shadows from the corners.
As the ritual reached its crescendo, the girl opened her eyes, shouting the final words of power into the swirling vortex of prana.
"—Come forth from the Ring of Deterrence, O Guardian of the Scales!!"
A thunderous crack resounded through the manor.
A shockwave of magical energy erupted outward, scattering research papers like autumn leaves and kicking up a thick shroud of dust.
Yet, amidst the chaos, the girl let out a triumphant cheer as she looked down at the crimson brand etched upon the back of her hand—the Command Spells.
"Perfect! I've done it! I have surely drawn the strongest card! ...Eh?"
Her celebration was short-lived. She turned, squinting through the dust to behold her summoned Servant.
However, the center of the circle was empty. Only the settling dust met her gaze. Just as a cold dread began to pool in her stomach, a violent crash echoed from the floor above.
BOOM!
"What was that?!"
Startled, she scrambled up the stairs, heart hammering against her ribs. Reaching the upper floor, she lunged for the door of the living room.
Click, click!
"Is the door stuck? Oh, for heaven's sake!"
With a frustrated grunt and a sharp shove, she forced the damaged door open, the wood splintering under the pressure. She burst inside, surveying the damage.
The room was a ruin. Furniture was upturned and the ceiling was partially caved in. In the center of this wreckage sat a man clad in a red shroud, watching her with a mocking smirk.
She stared at him, bewildered, but then her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall. A realization struck her like a physical blow.
"...Come to think of it, the clocks in this house were set one hour ahead today. Which means... right now, it's one o'clock in the morning. It wasn't two..."
The gravity of the situation began to sink in. She gripped her head, her fingers tangling in her hair as a despairing wail rose in her throat.
"I've botched it again... The mistake is done, but honestly! Father, what kind of inheritance did you leave me...?"
After a few moments of self-pity and frantic mumbling, she slowly raised her head to look at the man in red who remained seated amidst the debris.
"By the way... just who are you?"
"That is the first thing you have to say to me? It seems I've been summoned by quite the absurd Master. Good grief... I suppose I've drawn the short straw this time."
"Ugh...!"
She took a sharp breath, her temper flared by his utter lack of consideration and his dismissive gestures. She swallowed her pride for a moment and focused on him.
"I am asking for confirmation. You—you are my Servant, are you not?"
"And are you my Master? You weren't even in the room when I manifested."
"Do not play games with me. You aren't some newborn chick that only recognizes the first person it sees as its parent."
She crossed her arms, forcing herself to accept the reality of the botched summoning. She looked him dead in the eye.
"Fine. I am only asking this: are you my Servant, and no one else's? It is imperative that we establish the hierarchy of our relationship immediately."
"Hmph. I can agree with that sentiment. However, where is the proof that you are even worthy of being my Master?"
In response, she defiantly raised her hand, displaying the vivid crimson markings on her skin.
"Right here. This is the proof of my contract, is it not?"
"...Haah. Truly, you leave me speechless. Are you being serious, young lady?"
The man shook his head, letting out a weary sigh as if he were dealing with a petulant child.
"What I wished to see was not some mere mark, but whether your character was such that I could offer you my loyalty."
With those words, the Servant stood and loomed over her. The girl looked up, her eyes narrowing.
"And? What does that mean? Am I disqualified in your eyes?"
"Hardly. Much as it pains me to say, I acknowledge you as my Master. However, I have conditions. I will not follow your orders from here on out."
"Combat strategy will be decided by me alone. That won't be a problem, will it, young lady?"
As he finished, he let the corner of his mouth curl into a taunting, unpleasant smirk.
Unaware that he had just stepped on a conversational landmine, the Servant returned to his seat and continued to mutter condescending remarks that grated on the girl's nerves.
Finally, the thread of her patience snapped. Her voice trembled with white-hot fury.
"That does it! You want to play it that way? Fine! I'll use it right now! By the power of the Command Spell—!"
She threw her hand up, the back of it glowing with a dangerous red light. The Servant's eyes widened, his smug posture vanishing as he nearly tumbled off his seat in surprise.
"Wait, surely you don't mean—!"
"Oh, I certainly do! You lack all sense of etiquette!"
"Stop! What kind of fool uses a Command Spell for something so trivial—?!"
"Silence! You are my Servant! And if you are a Servant, you will yield absolute obedience to your Master's decrees!"
FLASH!
A crimson light erupted from her hand, and a wave of concentrated magical energy scoured the room once more.
A heavy silence fell. As the prana settled, the Servant gripped his forehead, feeling the weight of the absolute geas now bound to his soul.
"You absolute fool of a Master! Do you have no sense? To waste a Command Spell on such a petty grievance!"
As he yelled in disbelief, the girl's face flushed a deep crimson, the weight of her impulsive mistake finally hitting her.
"Sh-shut up! I'm already regretting it! Anyway! Are you a Saber?!"
"...Haah. No. My class is Archer."
"Argh! You're not a Saber?! Dammit!"
"What a complete nightmare..."
...This pair, as it turned out, was not normal either.