Exhausted, Rin stumbled through her house's doors. This night was far more draining than the one before last. The cost of maintaining the Primarch was too high, yet despite fighting Lancer on equal terms, it was unclear why Fulgrim required so much magical energy. Maybe the weapon? The rifle, like from a sci-fi movie. The girl once again racked her brains, wanting to understand whom she'd summoned, but it didn't last; almost no strength remained, and the teacup before her nose tempted so.
Finally lifting her head from the table, Rin relaxed, enjoying the drink. Her Servant sat before her. Minutes flowed one into another, and when the summoner's mind was ready to resume pondering, its object interfered.
"Ask." In a soft tone, with a friendly smile, the so-called "Primarch" indicated he'd answer some questions—likely showing gratitude for sharing energy with him. It was his fault she was like an amoeba minutes ago.
"You're... from the future?" That was the only possible explanation that came to Rin's mind. How else to account for the plasma weapon in the Servant's hands, she didn't know.
"Correct."
"More specifically?"
"Early thirty-first millennium." Now, the Tohsaka heiress had to exert considerable effort not to lose face.
"...Twenty-eight thousand years..." Hard to grasp, considering human civilization's history spanned only five. "And you yourself?"
"In those times, humanity had spread across the entire galaxy." The Primarch looked up at the ceiling, lost in memories. "We surpassed all other races inhabiting it." Here Rin nearly choked; after all, she'd been directly told aliens exist. "It became so again, for from the twenty-fifth to thirtieth millennium came the Age of Strife. The mightiest Warp storms divided the worlds, beginning what was called the Long Night."
"What are these Warp-storms?" Rin would have a hard time taking the story seriously without knowing about them.
"Interstellar travel was possible by entering the Warp or Immaterium." The girl had new questions. About Psykers, to be precise. "A parallel dimension filled with the energy of minds and emotions. The laws there are changeable, and even time isn't linear. In a month inside it, you can cross the galaxy from edge to edge." The Primarch didn't specify that this was only under extremely lucky circumstances. "Areas where the Warp is extremely... chaotic are called storms."
"Moving through them is too dangerous, got it. And what ended this... Era of Strife?" And now, not just his eyes, but his face and even his body radiated pride and reverence.
"The Emperor of Mankind... my father." Suddenly, the reverie passed, and Fulgrim shook his head. "I think that's enough about me." Rin, who was about to protest, was cut off by a far from cheerful look. The Primarch didn't want to continue. "As for Emiya, are you sure about your decision?"
"Huh? Oh, Emiya... h-he just happened to be there by chance, how could I let him die?" Rin immediately averted her eyes, not wanting to see the reaction to her obvious lie. Still, her behavior had changed sharply the moment she saw the face of her hapless student. "Even if he saw your battle, it won't cause problems—no one will believe him anyway."
"And what about the rules of war? Witnesses must be eliminated, right?"
"Well, of course, but I'll allow myself a single exception." A realization pierced Rin's mind. "I'll allow... but Lancer's Master even interrupted the battle." Despite the weakness in her legs, the girl jumped to her feet. "We need to check on Shirou as soon as possible!" In her agitation, she called the boy by name, even though they weren't that close.
With a sigh, the Servant abruptly hoisted the summoner onto his shoulder. Due to the difference in their body sizes, she caused no inconvenience, and her weight was negligible. Rin didn't resist, since now wasn't the time. And when she gave the address where the boy lived, the Primarch bolted into a run. Internally, the girl was glad he didn't ask why she knew where Emiya lived.
Fulgrim's speed was high. His precise knowledge of the terrain allowed him to choose the shortest route, traversing both ground and rooftops. As they approached their destination in the northern part of Miyama, the Primarch sensed the presence of two Servants. One was familiar, the other new. Rin hadn't been wrong—Lancer had indeed decided to finish what he started.
Landing on the road in front of a large estate, the Servant set down his burden. The girl didn't even notice that her hairstyle was now just a memory and immediately rushed toward the magical disturbances that arose during battles between those summoned by the Grail. However, as the Primarch noticed, Cú Chulainn had already left the scene, and the remaining one was charging toward them. He must have scented them. A silvery silhouette leaped over the fence and immediately tried to cleave Rin with an invisible blade. From the hand position and the barely visible air swirls, it was clear this was a longsword. The Servant stepped in to defend his Master from the weapon.
In a fraction of a second, Fulgrim analyzed the situation. The strike's force promised to be strong enough to cleave even him in two. A Plasma Gun wouldn't help here—detonating plasma weaponry was absolutely not to be risked. So he had to strain his mind; at such speed, even a Primarch needed to engage full "Processor" computational power. Accounting for possible counters, the man began his response. An elbow strike, amplified by a body twist, hit the flat of the blade precisely, altering its direction. The timing of the strike and the enemy's flight speed were calculated flawlessly. The blade sliced the asphalt instead of Rin's body, and the summoner finally reacted, darting behind the man. The clash halted, and the intruders got a look at the newcomer Servant.
A short girl, no older than Tohsaka, was already in stance for another attack. Her golden hair reflected the silver moonlight, creating unimaginable shades of light. Her emerald eyes held a painfully serious gaze fixed on the pair. If not for her gear, it would be impossible to imagine her as a warrior, but the armor proved otherwise. The long dress covered in protective plates, breastplate, and plate armor gauntlets seemed archaic to Rin—and downright Stone Age to Fulgrim, probably. The warrior spent a second assessing the enemy. The Primarch, dressed in ordinary clothes, seemed strange to her—Servants in battle usually preferred their summoning attire. However, that was a minor detail; what mattered was how he parried the thrust. Such a maneuver showed he was inferior to her in speed and strength, but his precision and calculation were incredible. A dangerous opponent. Before the clash could resume, a red-haired youth burst from the estate grounds.
"Saber, stop!" he shouted, thinking the named one was attacking those who weren't enemies. "...Tohsaka?.." But seeing the back of the familiar girl, he stopped in confusion. "Teacher Fulgrim?" He spotted the man standing in front of her. And then Saber, ready to attack. "Wait, they're not our enemies!" She shifted her gaze to her Master but didn't take her eyes off the opponent.
"They are Master and Servant. Enemies." Nevertheless, the girl didn't rush to disobey her summoner—she had sworn loyalty. "Do you know them?"
"Yes, we're from the same scho... wait, you said Master and Servant? Tohsaka, does that mean you..." The magus made a barely noticeable motion to compose herself, though she couldn't fix the mess on her head. Finally turning around, she faced the young man in all her disheveled glory.
"Exactly right, Emiya. I am Rin Tohsaka, heiress of the Tohsaka family, hereditary magus, and Master in the Holy Grail War. At your service." She made a small curtsy, in which Fulgrim noticed a dozen inaccuracies—just from the sound, standing with his back to her.
"...What Holy Grail War?" Rin's eye twitched faintly at the question. "Another one..." The Primarch noticed that too, even as he kept watching Saber. She was mildly puzzled when the Servant suddenly smirked for no reason.
"How many times do I have to repeat it? Yes, now you have to fight other Masters to the death!" Rin's indignation knew no bounds. This... idiot refused to grasp that he'd stumbled into a deadly battle and that they were, essentially, enemies. "Even if you don't fight, the others aren't so naive!"
The scene unfolded in the living room. The quartet sat at the common table, but only half were conversing. Fulgrim smiled as always, and Saber maintained an impassive expression. They even resembled each other in that—their faces showed no change. Their thoughts were unknown, though Rin dimly sensed her Servant found the situation highly amusing. In just three short days, he'd gotten on her nerves more than Shinji Matou. Only she couldn't put the "uncle" in his place—his mastery of verbal filigree was unmatched, and all attempts only brought more headaches. By now, Rin had somewhat adapted. To her role as pretend niece, at least.
"Mind if I brew some Tea?" Fulgrim's barely audible question met the wary gaze of the warrior it was addressed to. She stared into the Primarch's face for several moments before giving a faint nod. With a slightly broader smile, the man rose and spent some time in the kitchen.
While the platinum-haired one fussed with the kettle and cups, Saber analyzed the potential enemy's capabilities. As she'd thought during the clash, his strength and speed were inferior to hers, but his other merits more than compensated. When her blade arced through the air, he moved at the perfect moment, with perfect force and perfect speed. The elbow strike line converged with the sword's side. She'd never encountered such a method against swordsmen before and wasn't sure she could replicate it even with a weapon in hand. "No, definitely not." The conditions required too perfect a calculation. Here, Saber noted how often "perfect" appeared in her thoughts. And it could apply not just to combat skills. Appearance, bearing, even the smile. All perfect. "That doesn't happen." Exactly—everyone had flaws, no matter how much one wished otherwise. So behind the perfect shell might lurk something... unknown. She needed to heighten vigilance.
"Please." The beverage's aroma interrupted the argument amid her musings, and the arguers, like her, felt the urge to try it.
Sipping her cup, Saber tasted sweetness with a light tartness in perfect proportions. "Tch." Perfect again. With considerable willpower—quite substantial, in fact—she set the cup down and stared intently into the purple eyes. From the eye contact, the man tilted his head slightly in a silent question, receiving an equally silent answer as the girl lowered her lids. Fulgrim himself, unfortunately, couldn't read minds like his brother Magnus, so he could only guess at the pantomime's source. However, the Primarch sensed instinctively that she feared him, for reasons beyond the formal enmity of the war. "Or not." Each sip weakened her displeasure, repeating over and over. In the end, the warrior at the table struggled with all her might to resist relaxing and immersing herself fully in the flavor.
"I don't recall my Tea ever having such an effect." A suspiciously pleasant change. But with no leads and the young people's bickering finally ended, the group headed to the other end of Fuyuki to present the last Master to the Church's supervisor and officially begin the Holy Grail War. En route, the Masters continued chatting, as did their Servants—the difference being the latter's lack of verbosity.
Saber, trailing behind, kept her eyes fixed on the Primarch's nape without neglecting her charge. She ceaselessly sought something to hint at the opponent's "contents." Fulgrim was little bothered by it but wouldn't tolerate it passively. Silently, he slowed slightly to draw level with the girl at the rear. A moment later, he produced... a thermos. Honestly appropriated from Shirou. As he unscrewed the lid, the aromatic assault made her nose twitch. But an faintly perceptible internal struggle followed... lost once the temptation drew near. Now the formerly wary warrior peacefully paced the pavement, sipping Tea. And only Rin, noticing the situation, wondered where her Servant had hidden the not-so-small item—and where he'd gotten it. These thoughts began to torment the magus with vague doubts, though they weren't fated to grow into more. The church appeared before them.
The house of the Lord's white walls seemed dazzling even in the night gloom. The air nearby felt lighter—that was the power of the religious sanctuary before the group. The sight of the structure finally gave Saber what she'd awaited for hours. Fulgrim's smile vanished, replaced by distaste. Clearly, the place displeased the Primarch. When the Masters entered, the Servants remained at the gate, forbidden from neutral ground. The golden-haired one turned toward the approaching road, while the platinum-haired one leaned against the arch he had no desire to pass—not due to the ban. Any devout believer would find the pose offensive to their faith, so clearly did the Primarch's attitude show.
"Archer..." The girl began.
"Fulgrim." But the man's voice interrupted. "I refuse that moniker." Though unshown, his interlocutor was surprised by such candor. Names weren't revealed so casually in war.
"...Fulgrim, you... don't like places like this?" She finally voiced the question, like Tohsaka a day prior.
"Too strong a word. I simply know well what faith can turn a man into." With faintly curious eyes, Saber urged him on. "Faith itself carries no evil—not every one is truer. But it becomes religion, and that turns to priestly tyranny. There will always be those who manipulate the gullible."
A native of the early Middle Ages, she understood what the Primarch meant but couldn't reject her deep-rooted belief in divine providence. She wasn't a zealot, but prayer had often calmed her soul. Though at some point, such practice lessened. Thinking on it, battle scenes and the suffering of common folk eroded the desire for pleas of aid and good. Instead came the urge to act—to achieve with her own hands what God wouldn't grant, no matter the prayers. Her musings were broken by the interlocutor's satisfied gaze. Her self-control had slipped in reverie.
"I see you understand. Mankind can hope only in itself and must believe in itself. Religion must be replaced by science and enlightenment. For civilization will dawn only when the last stone of the last temple falls on the head of the last priest." Lost in his own words like Saber moments before, the man withdrew. She didn't disturb him—their weight was obvious. They sounded different, as if the Primarch quoted someone important. When he emerged from his thoughts, he continued himself.
"Don't you think we still haven't properly introduced ourselves?" Self-control returned with his affable smile. "I am Fulgrim." "How does he convey intent so clearly without changing expression?" the girl thought before replying.
"Saber."
"No, no, no. No monikers. Your name. That's what I want to hear."
"You know it's best to keep them secret. Enemies can exploit weaknesses from your past."
"I won't stoop to that—base treachery isn't my way."
"Treachery in war becomes tactic and strategy."
"Surely you don't consider these sandbox games real war? Just fourteen participants. If the heavens aren't aflame, it's not war." But words failed, and the warrior held firm. "Fine, a little secret: a drop of your blood would reveal your past. Think you can avoid spilling any against me?"
She didn't. A fight with the current Archer would be unpredictable and leave wounds. But it hardly mattered—using her Noble Phantasm would reveal her identity anyway, so no worry over Omophagy. The issue was elsewhere: the situation offended her knightly code. Revealing one's name showed respect to a foe. Concealing it showed cowardice and contempt. And... "He doesn't seem like a liar." In her past, Saber had faced hypocrisy and deceit often. Recognizing it became vital, honing the skill keenly. Now, her gut spoke of the man's honesty. He'd already given his name, creating risk, but paired with recent musings, she decided to respond fittingly.
"Artoria." As she named herself, she meant to ask him not to spread it, but he anticipated, signaling wordlessly it was unnecessary.
"Pleased to finally meet you. Though I don't recall heroines by that name." The Primarch mused thoughtfully.
"...Pendragon." Her voice dropped oddly low—even she found it strange. But at least she'd unbalanced this impenetrable Servant. His eyes widened, making the purple more vivid, mouth slightly agape. Artoria didn't grasp how rare a sight: a shocked Phoenix. Leman Russ would have composed a saga preceding the event, mostly artistic fiction—or a cruder word starting with P.
"So that means..." That's why Saber's voice had weakened earlier. She expected a reaction like Iskander's brute. "...the great king..." It annoyed, but saddened more. A woman couldn't be king, so her life filled with lies that choked every breath. "...turned out to be a fair queen."
"Huh?"
Finally, the Masters left the supervisor's home, and the talk with him seemed to affect young Emiya. He was pensive; the priest's words echoed strangely in his head. "Rejoice, my son, for your wish is granted." Kirei's voice, laced with unclear subtext, enveloped him, drawing out his deepest thoughts—those Shirou preferred to dismiss. The promise to his father, his own desire to be a hero of justice. The youth wasn't foolish; he knew it barely feasible. Yet he wouldn't renounce his dream. It was his choice, his fate—to walk the path of saving the innocent.
"I've decided, Saber. I'll participate in the war to prevent innocent deaths. I hope I can count on your help." The youth spoke with strong resolve, receiving a restrained nod.
"I swore to be your sword. Our fates bound from the moment you summoned me, Master."
"Um, just call me Shirou—the Master-Servant thing doesn't suit me." He scratched his nape, confirming his embarrassment.
"Understood, Shirou."
"Heard that, Rin? Take notes." The Primarch chimed in—teasing the cheeky Master had become habit. He had to keep up appearances.
"Shove it..." Tohsaka rolled her eyes, then turned to the youth. "Emiya, now that you're truly a Master, understand this: from tomorrow, we're enemies. Today, I'll hold off attacking—as a favor. Only today." She spoke with a slight uptilt of her nose.
"In that case, you'll have to fight Artoria alone, Rin." Fulgrim spoke again, bewildering his summoner and Shirou, dismaying Artoria. Hers didn't show on her face, naturally.
"What 'Ar'..." It hit the magus. "You mean Saber?!" Now Shirou got it too. The subject herself felt mixed. Fulgrim refused to fight her, reason unknown. First thought: he deemed her unworthy. But their prior talk suggested otherwise. "And what 'Arti'?" Sensing the question, the Primarch glanced at her, mouthing "Conspiracy" with a mysterious smile.
"Who else? No reason to fight her."
"You, you..." Rin boiled. Pure rage. Finally snapping. "By Command Spell, I order! Servant Archer, from this moment, obey my every word without question!" The seal on her hand glowed; one of three lines evaporated, leaving a faint trace.
Silence fell over the quartet post-act. As Rin opened her mouth, danger sense cut her off. The Phoenix clenched fists, veins bulging. Jaw clenched steel-crushingly, producing clear teeth-grinding. Noble purple eyes darkened yet faintly glowed. All saw: the Son of the Master of Mankind was enraged.
"Rin..." His voice was icier than at summoning. The hidden threat chilled even Artoria's skin—she sensed intent keenly. "...First time, I'll overlook it. But if you ever..." Now the Masters couldn't suppress knee tremors. The Primarch's icy face chilled bones.
"...I'll kill you."
***
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