At that hour, within a clearing at Ryuudou Temple, Emiya and Gilgamesh suddenly manifested. Having just escaped the confines of the Reality Marble, the two glared at one another with murderous intent.
Both were in a state of utter ruin. Gilgamesh's right hand had been severed, and his body was drenched in blood spilling from a deep, jagged laceration across his chest.
Yet Emiya fared no better; various blades remained embedded throughout his flesh. Gilgamesh, grimacing at the agony radiating from his arm, clutched the mangled stump as he fixed a piercing gaze upon his foe.
Observing his rival's distress, Emiya allowed a thin trail of blood to leak from his lips as the corner of his mouth quirked upward in a weary smirk.
"—Cough... To think you would resort to using the Sword of Rupture, even if only for the briefest of moments."
"Accursed... Accursed, accursed, accursed! Gah... That I, the Sovereign, should be humbled by a mere Faker...!"
Cough!
Gilgamesh spat another mouthful of crimson. Behind him, ripples of golden light manifested in the air—the Treasury's gates opening to reveal the armaments of the gods.
Emiya's expression hardened. Reaching into the depths of his soul, he projected his favored twin blades, Kanshou and Bakuya, and gripped them tightly.
Gilgamesh let out a hollow, mocking laugh at the sight.
"Ha! Do you truly believe you can endure this when your Reality Marble was the only trick you possessed?"
"...Perhaps. But since you were forced to draw that sword, does the victory not already belong to me, King of Heroes?"
Gilgamesh ground his teeth at the biting sarcasm, yet after a moment, he gave a slow, measured nod.
"...Very well. It is your victory, Faker. Content yourself with that much, and die."
Emiya gritted his teeth. Despite his defiant words, he knew he stood little chance of winning without the support of his Reality Marble. His prana was almost entirely spent.
Determined to resist until the bitter end, he began to draw upon the remaining half of the magical energy required to maintain his manifestation to fuel his projections. Suddenly, a chaotic black substance began to shimmer and writhe at the site of Gilgamesh's severed arm.
"What—!"
"...!"
The abyssal light clung to Gilgamesh's arm as prana surged toward the stump. Shock crossed the King's face as he grasped the area.
"Does it seek to consume me?! Hold—!"
Before he could react further, Gilgamesh was swallowed by the dark void opening within his own limb. Emiya watched the phenomenon with wary eyes.
The rift was identical to the one that had hovered in the sky, spewing curses upon the world. Emiya murmured under his breath as the realization struck.
"...The hole of the Holy Grail."
Rattle-clank!
"—!"
A chain suddenly lashed out from the black rift, coiling tightly around Emiya's arm. Straining against the immense pulling force, he dug his heels into the earth to maintain his footing. He looked up, his eyes widening.
Emerging from the hole, desperate to escape the gravitational pull of the void, was Gilgamesh. He gripped the other end of the chain, his upper body barely visible beyond the event horizon of the curse.
"...You!"
"...That half-formed thing...! Does it not even realize that a Servant cannot serve as a core?!"
"You intend to use me as an anchor to drag yourself out...!"
"I have no intention of perishing in a place like this! Endure it, you insignificant wretch! Stay where you are until I have returned to that side!"
"...Do not mock me! Trace On!"
Sacrificing a portion of his remaining manifestation energy, Emiya spoke the structural grasping chant. In his free left hand, he projected Bakuya, the white blade of the twin set. Gilgamesh's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as he saw the sword with its characteristic wave-patterned steel.
"—Faker, you wouldn't!"
"Begone from this world, Gilgamesh!"
"You—"
Crunch!
"FAKEEERRRR!!!"
Emiya brought the blade down with a single, decisive stroke. As the chain shattered, Gilgamesh was sucked back into the yawning abyss of the black hole. The rift, having lost its tether and failing to claim its master, collapsed into itself and vanished entirely.
Emiya stared at the crater left behind by the Grail's suction, then slowly turned his gaze toward the horizon.
The obsidian sky of night was gradually yielding to the first rays of dawn. He watched the brightening heavens in silence.
'So, it is over.'
He would likely vanish from this world now, his original purpose—the elimination of his past self—unfulfilled.
It was too late to act. Before he could strike, the prana sustaining him would fail, and he would be erased from this timeline.
With a faint sense of detachment, Emiya looked down at his hand, which was beginning to dissolve into motes of light. Just then, a familiar voice drifted from behind him.
"—Archer!"
"...Rin."
He turned to see Rin running toward him. He simply stood there, watching her approach with a calm, stoic gaze.
She skidded to a halt before him, catching her breath for a moment before looking up into his eyes.
"...Archer."
"...It is regrettable, but this is the end. Give up on the Holy Grail this time, Rin."
"..."
Rin bowed her head at his words. Then, she looked up again, her gaze firm.
She spoke softly, reciting a phrase that pierced the morning air.
"—I am the bone of my sword."
"...!"
Emiya's eyes widened. The words Rin had just uttered were his own—the foundation of his very existence. He briefly wondered how she could have known them, but the answer was simple. Through their Master-Servant prana path, their memories and records must have bled into one another during their shared dreams.
Emiya asked, his voice low.
"...How much do you know?"
"I haven't seen everything. I only realized you and Shirou were the same person quite recently. It was back at the Emiya estate, even before you returned that pendant to me—the one that was supposed to be in my house."
"..."
"Only then did everything I saw in my dreams start to make sense. I understood why you were so broken. I can even guess how you met your end. If that soft-hearted Shirou, who constantly helps others and ignores his own well-being, continued down the path I saw in those dreams—"
The conclusion was inevitable: betrayal at the hands of those he had saved.
Emiya found he could not answer, though his silence served as a confirmation. Her words had struck deep within his heart. Finally, he gave a slow nod and offered a bitter smile.
"...So be it. Indeed, I am the Heroic Spirit Emiya. Or more precisely, I am Emiya Shirou—the foolish hypocrite who dreamed of becoming a Hero of Justice and creating a world where no one has to suffer. My end was exactly as you imagined. Even after my death, I was betrayed by the very ideals I sought to uphold."
"..."
"And this state is the result. Even in death, I am forced to kill the innocent for the sake of protecting 'humanity.' I am a pathetic man who spent his life chasing someone else's dream rather than one of my own making."
"...What makes that a 'wrong' life?"
Emiya's voice trailed off at Rin's interjection.
"Exactly... what part of your life was wrong?! That you sought another's ideal? That you lived your entire life for the sake of others? Which part of that was wrong?!"
"..."
"Is it wrong to admire someone else's dream? Is admiration a sin? Is that it?"
Rin inhaled sharply, her eyes boring into Emiya's.
"It isn't! The act of saving someone is never wrong! How could it be? I know he's a fool who puts others before himself, but this is different! Was your life really a mistake? Was your admiration really wrong? If so, then why... why...!"
...Why did you yearn for that ideal so intensely?!
Her cry, echoing with the weight of her soul, forced Emiya's eyes open wide. Her words resonated within him, shattering his self-imposed cynicism.
His ideal was borrowed. It was a mantle passed down from his foster father, Kiritsugu Emiya. It was hypocrisy.
And yet... why had he yearned for Kiritsugu's dream of saving others so much?
He remembered that night, gazing at the moon with Kiritsugu. Hearing the dream of the man who wished to be a Champion of Justice... he had truly felt that such a wish was beautiful.
Emiya realized then: so what if the dream was borrowed? The fact that he had looked upon it and found it beautiful—that was no lie.
With that radiant thought in mind, he smiled. Seeing his change in expression, Rin spoke once more.
"...Form a contract with me again, Archer."
"...I cannot do that. I have no right to linger. My battle ends here."
"But! If you go back now, you'll just return to that cycle of suffering! You'll never be saved..."
"...This is quite the predicament."
Emiya scratched his head, looking genuinely troubled by Rin's tears. Softly, he called her name.
"Rin."
"..."
She looked up at him. Locking eyes with her, he gave his final request.
"...Take care of me. As you well know, I am a rather unreliable fellow. I would like for you to be the one who supports him."
"...Yes, I know!"
Rin's eyes widened, then she nodded vigorously through her tears.
"I'll work hard! I'll do my best to make sure he doesn't become a twisted man like you! I'll make sure he learns to love himself! So, you have to—!"
"...I know. I've found my answer. It's alright, Tohsaka. I, too—"
—will strive toward my path.
With those final words, Emiya's body dissolved into shimmering prana and scattered into the morning breeze. Rin watched the empty space where he had stood, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Looking at that vacant clearing, she remembered their first meeting.
—I shall make you regret those insults. Do not expect me to listen to your apologies when that time comes.
—Then by all means, Archer, make me regret it. I'll apologize then with no complaints.
—Hmph. Do not forget those words, Master.
"...What a jerk. You didn't even give me the chance to apologize."
She whispered to the wind, wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. She couldn't stay here forever. She had a promise to keep—Archer's final wish.
"—Tohsaka...!"
Just as she prepared to leave, Shirou's voice reached her ears. That idiot must have seen her note the moment he woke up and dashed straight here.
She brushed away the last remnants of her tears and turned toward the sound of his voice. But before taking a step, she paused.
There was one last thing she needed to say.
Looking back at the place where he had faded away, hoping he might still hear her across the threshold of the Throne, she spoke.
"...You really were the best Servant I could have asked for, Archer."
She knew she would never forget this moment—or him—for as long as she lived.
--------------------------
In the distance, the familiar figure of her school classmate appeared.
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