Shirō took a deep breath, steadying herself as she stared up at the long stretch of stone steps leading to Ryodō Temple. She could feel the tension in the air, the oppressive weight of magic lingering like an unseen mist. Illya was up there. Rin was up there. There was no telling what was happening, but she knew one thing—she had to move. She had to get to them now.
She took her first step forward, only to stop dead in her tracks as a figure materialized in front of her, blocking the way.
The man was tall, dressed in a worn yukata that hung loosely around his lean frame, his long dark hair cascading over his shoulders. A katana rested in his grip, held casually, but Shirō knew better than to mistake that for carelessness. His stance was relaxed, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his presence, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. His eyes, golden and lazy, swept over her with mild amusement, as if she were an unexpected but welcome guest at his doorstep.
"Well, now," the man drawled, tapping his sword lightly against his shoulder. "A beautiful lady in a wedding dress showing up at my humble little stairway? What a rare treat."
Shirō narrowed her eyes. Wedding dress? She glanced down, remembering only now that she was still wearing the tattered remains of the white gown Caster had forced upon her. Blood had dried across the fabric, the once-pristine silk ruined, but it still clung stubbornly to her frame.
She clenched her fists. "I don't have time for this. Move."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but you see, that's a problem. This stairway? It's mine. And I can't just let anyone go waltzing up like they own the place."
Shirō could already tell what kind of person he was. He had the same air as Gilgamesh—someone so confident in their own strength that they could afford to be playful. But there was something different too, something less arrogant, more... detached. Like he was merely here because he had nowhere else to be.
"Your Master is dead," Shirō said flatly.
The man didn't deny it. If anything, he grinned. "Sharp one, aren't you? Yeah, she's gone. But a Servant doesn't just stop because their Master dies. At least, not immediately. I've got some time left in me. Thought I'd spend it properly, holding my ground like I was meant to. Makes for a poetic ending, don't you think?"
Shirō exhaled sharply. "If you're out of mana, then this fight is pointless. You're going to disappear anyway."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Miss Saber," the man said, wagging a finger. "You see, it's not about winning or losing anymore. It's about seeing things through. I was summoned to hold this place. And until I can't anymore, that's what I'll do." He gestured lazily at the steps behind him. "So if you want to pass... you've gotta impress me."
Shirō's patience was already thin, and this man was testing it. "I don't have time to waste proving myself to you."
He chuckled. "That's a shame. I was hoping for a bit of entertainment before I fade away. A good fight, a little flirting, maybe even a last drink—"
Shirō was already moving before he finished his sentence, closing the distance with a burst of speed. Her instincts screamed that he was dangerous, that he wasn't just standing there for show. But she didn't care. She couldn't waste time.
Their blades met with a sharp clang, the impact sending vibrations up her arms. She pushed forward, trying to break through, but his swordplay was effortless. He parried her attacks like it was nothing more than a dance, his movements precise, fluid, and frustratingly relaxed.
"Not bad," he mused, tilting his head slightly as he sidestepped her next strike. "Fast, strong, but a little too tense. Loosen up, Saber-chan. You'll live longer."
Shirō gritted her teeth, pressing forward with more aggression. But no matter how much force she put behind her strikes, he adjusted, matching her without ever seeming to exert himself.
Then, with almost infuriating ease, he flicked his blade, redirecting her momentum and sending her stumbling back down a few steps.
She caught herself, breathing heavily, her grip tightening around Excalibur.
He yawned. "So serious. I get it, you're in a hurry. But I did say you had to impress me, didn't I?"
Shirō wiped the sweat from her brow. "What do you want from me?"
He rested his sword against his shoulder again, considering her. "Hmm. Maybe a bit of passion. Not just the whole 'I have to save my friends' bit, but something deeper. You fight like someone carrying a weight they don't fully understand. Like someone acting the part rather than living it."
Shirō hesitated.
He smiled knowingly. "Ah. Hit a nerve, did I?"
She exhaled sharply, adjusting her stance. "I don't care what you think about me. I am Saber. I have a duty. And I will fulfill it."
His smile widened. "There it is."
He lunged. Faster than before. This time, Shirō barely blocked in time, the impact sending a shockwave through her bones. She dug her feet into the ground, refusing to give way.
"Better," he murmured.
She pushed forward.
Their swords clashed again, the temple stairs echoing with the sound of steel meeting steel. Shirō didn't know how long the fight lasted, but with every passing second, she could feel something shifting. The hesitation, the doubt, the lingering echoes of another self—another life—were fading away, burned away by the heat of battle.
She wasn't just acting like a Servant anymore. She was Saber.
And she was done wasting time.
With one final clash, she forced his blade aside, stepping in close and pressing the tip of Excalibur against his throat.
A beat of silence.
Then, he laughed. A deep, genuine laugh.
"Alright," he said, raising his free hand in surrender. "I'm impressed."
Shirō held her ground. "Then move."
He sighed, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. "Go on, then. Don't keep the little princess waiting."
She hesitated only for a second before rushing past him, sprinting up the stairs without looking back.
Behind her, the man watched with an amused smirk, his grip on his sword loosening as his form flickered slightly, his time running out.
"She might actually be interesting after all," he mused to himself.
And with that, he turned his gaze back to the sky, waiting for the inevitable.