Sunlight hit her face, warm and golden, prying her from the abyss of unconsciousness. Shirō's eyelids fluttered open, her body aching, her mind still sluggish.
Where am I?
The world stretched out before her in rolling green, vast and endless. Hills rose and fell like waves frozen mid-motion, blanketed in emerald grass that swayed with the whispering wind. The sky above was an unbroken blue, soft clouds drifting lazily across it.
She was alone.
No ruins, no temple walls, no bloodstained battlefield.
She shifted, wincing. Her body still bore the weight of her wounds, though the pain was dull, distant. She glanced down—
The damn wedding dress was still on her. Torn, smeared with dried blood, the once-pristine white now sullied by battle. She scoffed. Great. Just great.
At least her wound was closing.
Her hands instinctively pressed over her abdomen, where the sharp, searing agony of Excalibur's self-inflicted strike had been. The gash had nearly sealed itself, though the soreness lingered.
Good. She had no intention of dying.
She exhaled, steadying herself—
Then froze.
Because there, in the distance—
A lone figure.
A girl.
Slender, small, her steps hesitant yet purposeful. She moved toward something—
A stone.
A stone with a sword embedded in it.
Shirō's breath caught.
No way.
That sword—its shape, its presence—
It was Excalibur.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up, carrying her forward, the grass cool beneath her bare soles. But before she could get closer, the girl turned—
And Shirō stopped dead in her tracks.
The girl's face.
It was her.
But not her.
Not Shirō Emiya.
Not the war-torn warrior who had fought and bled and endured.
No, this girl—
This was the other her.
The one that had emerged when everything changed. The one she saw reflected in mirrors but never truly recognized.
The King of Knights.
Shirō swallowed hard, something raw twisting inside her. Is this a dream?
The girl—no, Saber—turned back toward the sword.
She hesitated, hovering before it, her small hands trembling just above the hilt.
"Should I pick it up?"
The voice did not come from her lips, but Shirō felt it. A whisper threading through her bones, as if echoing from the depths of time itself.
"If I don't… the people will need a king."
Her fingers ghosted over the hilt, reverent, uncertain.
The weight of expectation loomed over her, heavy, suffocating.
Shirō could feel it. The burden. The silent plea of a kingdom desperate for salvation. The chains of duty tightening around a child who had never been given the chance to be anything else.
She wanted to speak.
To reach out.
To stop this.
But she couldn't.
She could only watch.
The girl took a breath.
"I'll put myself after the kingdom."
With that—
Her hands clamped around the hilt.
The world shuddered.
A pulse, deep and resonant, rolled across the land, like the very earth recognized what was about to happen.
And then—
She pulled.
The sword did not resist.
There was no struggle.
No moment of doubt.
Excalibur slid free like it had always belonged in her grasp, like it had simply been waiting for her return.
Golden light erupted from the blade.
A brilliance that swallowed the sky, the land, everything. It surged outward, a wave of pure radiance so bright it burned—
Shirō's heart pounded. She could do nothing but stare, awed, overwhelmed.
In that instant—
The girl was no longer just a girl.
She was something more.
A legend. A myth. A symbol.
"For the people..."
The light shifted, curling around her form, reshaping her.
"I'll shut down my true self—"
The warmth in her gaze vanished, her expression turning to something colder, harsher.
"And emerge as their King!"
The glow intensified, engulfing everything.
Blinding.
Consuming.
And then—
Nothing.
Shirō's eyes snapped open.
She was lying in her futon.
In her room.
Sunlight streamed through the window, soft and familiar. The air smelled of home—wood, paper, the distant scent of tea.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sheets, grounding herself. Her body still ached, her wounds still faintly pulsing with dull pain, but she was alive.
She was back.
Yet the dream—
The memory—
Still clung to her like an unshakable ghost.
Shirō ran a hand down her abdomen, fingers brushing over smooth, unbroken skin. The wound was gone. The pain lingered faintly, a ghost of what had been, but she was intact.
She exhaled, shaking off the weight pressing on her chest. Dwelling on it wouldn't help. What mattered was that she was here.
Alive.
She stood, pushing back the futon and stretching out her stiff muscles. Her wedding dress was still draped over her like some kind of macabre reminder. Yeah, she needed to get out of this thing.
Digging through the modest wardrobe in the corner of her room, she found the clothes she had bought just a few days ago—nothing fancy, just a plain white T-shirt and jeans. Simple. Comfortable. Normal.
That was what she needed right now.
Once changed, she stepped out of her room, following the familiar scent of tea wafting through the house. The living room was bathed in soft morning light, and there, lounging on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, flipping through a magazine like she had all the time in the world—
Rin.
Shirō tilted her head. "You had breakfast yet?"
Silence.
Rin didn't even look at her.
Okay. That was weird.
Shrugging, Shirō turned toward the small attached kitchen—
Only to be violently grabbed by the shoulders and shaken like a damn maraca.
"Don't ACT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!" Rin snapped, her grip vice-like.
Shirō blinked, dazed. "Uh, I guess I'm alive? That's a win, right?"
"THE FACT IS YOU ALMOST DIED, YOU IDIOT!" Rin kept shaking. "AND I HAD TO USE MY EXPENSIVE GEMS TO HEAL YOU!"
"Eh, sorry?" Shirō offered weakly, feeling like a ragdoll in her grip.
"That isn't enough!" Rin huffed, finally releasing her before dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You're indebted to me, so as compensation—become my Servant."
Shirō stared. "…Aren't you being a little too obvious, Tohsaka? You just want me as your Servant."
"Well, yeah! But that's not the entire point!" Rin crossed her arms, scowling. "We had to strike a deal with Lancer to save you! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?! Not to mention you beat Archer like a damn dog—"
"I'm actually proud of that."
"—thus," Rin pushed forward, ignoring the remark, "you are indebted to me."
Shirō exhaled through her nose. "Fine. I'll continue working with you, but not as a Servant. I'm an independent citizen of Japan, after all."
Rin growled.
Before she could argue further, a familiar voice cut in.
"Coffee," Archer said, materializing into the room with a bored expression. "With extra sugar. And cheese bread."
Shirō frowned at him. "I thought Heroic Spirits didn't need food."
"We don't."
"Then why—"
"Just do it, Saber," he glared, arms crossed.
Shirō sighed. He was still mad at her.
[—(/-\)—]
The door slammed open.
"BREAKFAAAAAST!"
Shirō flinched as Fuji-Nee practically exploded into the room, arms raised as if she were announcing a world war. The sheer force of her voice rattled the windows.
"Shirō, I demand breakfast!" she declared with the confidence of a true freeloader.
Rin, who had just taken a sip of tea, nearly choked. "Fujiwara-sensei?! What the hell are you doing here?"
Fuji-Nee paused, eyes narrowing at Rin as if she'd only just noticed her existence. "Eh? Tohsaka-san? What are you doing here?"
Archer, invisible in his astral form, watched the scene unfold, casually chewing on a piece of bread.
Rin crossed her arms, staring at the older woman with a suspicious look. "No, really, Fujiwara-sensei, what are you doing here? What was that about breakfast? Don't you make your own breakfast? Or are you just some kind of freeloading parasite?"
Fuji-Nee scoffed, puffing up like an offended housecat. "Of course not! I was totally here to check up on Emiya's cousin! Right, Saber-chan?"
Shirō, who was already at the stove preparing food, glanced back, smiling innocently. "Of course."
Rin narrowed her eyes.
Fuji-Nee beamed. "See? Saber-chan understands! But, uh…" She glanced between Shirō and Rin again, her face darkening with suspicion. "What are you doing here at Emiya Shirō's house? Aren't you a freeloader, Tohsaka-san?"
Rin recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "Excuse me?!"
Shirō, to her credit, kept her focus on the food.
Rin regained her composure, sitting up straight with a very smug smirk. "Saber is indebted to me for life."
Fuji-Nee blinked. "Oh?"
"Indeed," Rin continued, flicking a strand of hair behind her shoulder. "I saved her life."
Fuji-Nee squinted. "Oh? How, pray tell?"
Rin's smirk twitched. "None of your business, sensei."
A long, painfully awkward silence followed.
The only sounds in the room were the faint sizzle of food on the stove and Archer's muffled chewing in the background.
Eventually, Shirō placed breakfast on the table, her cooking as immaculate as ever—golden tamagoyaki, steaming miso soup, freshly made rice, and crispy grilled fish.
Despite the tension, neither Rin nor Fuji-Nee were the type to refuse good food.
So they ate.
And stared at each other.
And ate.
And stared.
By the time the plates were cleared, Fujiwara Taiga stood up, brushing off her clothes.
"Well," she said, stretching, "this was fun!" She clapped a hand on Shirō's shoulder. "As always, Saber-chan, your cooking is divine. Don't ever get married, so I can keep eating here for free!"
"That's a terrible thing to say," Shirō muttered.
"Eh, whatever! Thanks for the meal!" Fuji-Nee shot Rin one last side-eye before strutting toward the door. "Tohsaka-san, I see you."
Rin rolled her eyes. "Congratulations, sensei. You have functional eyesight."
Fuji-Nee smirked. "Later!" And just like that, she was gone.
Shirō sighed, rubbing her temples.
Rin exhaled deeply, sipping her tea. "Your guardian is absolutely insane."
"You get used to it," Shirō muttered.
Archer materialized, arms crossed, still chewing on his bread. "Honestly, Saber, I almost feel sorry for you."
Shirō shot him a deadpan look. "You're still eating?"
"Of course." He smirked. "Your cooking is divine, after all."
[—(/-\)—]
Shinji screeched like a child denied a toy, his voice echoing through the Ryūdō Temple. "Why the hell didn't you attack Tohsaka?! We had the perfect chance! What the hell, Gilgamesh?!"
His fists balled up as he stomped after the golden Servant, his face red with frustration. Gilgamesh, however, didn't even glance his way. He simply walked ahead, ignoring Shinji's pathetic tantrum as if the boy were nothing more than a buzzing insect.
"Hey! Are you even listening to me?! Answer me, you useless king!"
Gilgamesh stopped.
For a moment, everything was still. The air around them became heavy, thick with a suffocating pressure.
Then, in a blur, Gilgamesh snatched Shinji by the collar, lifting him off the ground with a single hand.
Shinji choked, his hands scrambling to pry off Gilgamesh's grip. "H-Hey—Wha—?! L-Let go, you—!"
"Listen well, you miserable mongrel," Gilgamesh said, his voice low, sharp, and carrying an edge that sent an instinctive chill down Shinji's spine. "You have no right, no authority, no standing to command someone like me."
Shinji's breath hitched. "B-But I'm y-your Master—!"
Gilgamesh laughed. A cruel, condescending laugh. "You? My Master? Don't be ridiculous. That priest simply asked me to lend you a hand. Nothing more." His red eyes glowed with something dangerous. "And if you continue to irritate me…" He slowly tightened his grip. "I'll kill you."
Shinji's face turned pale. "Ghk—!"
Then—Gilgamesh dropped him.
Shinji collapsed onto the temple floor, gasping for breath, trembling as he scrambled away on his hands and knees.
Gilgamesh, meanwhile, paid him no more mind. His gaze lifted toward the sky, toward the vast, endless expanse of stars glittering above the temple.
Rider was dead.
Caster was dead.
Assassin was dead.
Lancer was no threat—he was already under that priest's command.
That left only three.
Berserker.
Saber.
Archer.
Both of the final two were fakers.
Gilgamesh smirked.
Ah, how he longed to erase those mongrels from existence.
[—(/-\)—]
Shirō spent the entire day with Excalibur in her hands. The holy sword was still unfamiliar to her, despite everything. Its weight, its presence—everything about it felt both right and wrong at the same time.
She sat in the dojo, the sunlight slipping through the windows, casting a golden glow on the polished wood. Her fingers traced the blade's edge, not out of hesitation, but out of wonder.
This sword…
This was King Arthur's sword. The blade that led knights, protected a kingdom, and defined a legend.
And now, it was hers.
She didn't know how to feel about that.
Rin had left for school early in the morning, leaving behind a list of instructions, warnings, and an unspoken "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Archer had been coming and going, appearing whenever he felt like it, never saying much. He would lean against the dojo's entrance, arms crossed, occasionally throwing a comment her way.
"You look ridiculous sitting there like that."
"So Excalibur still feels heavy? Guess you aren't as much of a Saber as you thought."
"At least try to hold it properly. You're embarrassing yourself."
Shirō ignored him for the most part. She wasn't in the mood to deal with his attitude today.
She wasn't sure what she was in the mood for.
All she knew was that Excalibur was in her hands, its golden light faintly pulsing, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do with it.
TBC