Archer watched from the rooftop, arms crossed, red cloak swaying in the night breeze. Below, the warm light spilling from the house framed a simple scene—Taiga laughing too loudly, Rin smirking over her tea, and her, the girl who should have been a boy, sitting there like she actually belonged in this life.
He had seen a thousand versions of her before. A thousand paths walked, a thousand regrets piled on top of each other. But this Shirō Emiya—the one sitting at that table, casually allowing herself to be bullied by her so-called friends—was something new.
Not quite Artoria Pendragon. Not quite Shirō Emiya. A fusion of two legends, tangled together by fate, reforged into something else entirely.
He had been so close to ending her. Back at the temple, when she stood there, blade in hand, charging forward without hesitation. He had thought about it, truly. One well-placed arrow. One clean shot through the heart. A mercy, really.
But something had stopped him.
Maybe it was the way she moved—not with Shirō's reckless self-sacrificing stupidity, but with a warrior's instinct, a king's purpose. Maybe it was the way she learned as she fought, adapting with frightening speed. Maybe it was the way she refused to give in to blind idealism, forging her own path instead of being crushed under the weight of an impossible dream.
Whatever it was, it had stayed his hand.
And now, standing there, watching her exist in a world that should have rejected her outright, he felt the barest flicker of something dangerously close to hope.
She was already different.
The boy he once was would have wasted time floundering in doubt, agonizing over every step, desperately trying to justify his ideals even as the world bled around him.
This girl?
She was carving her own way forward, unshaken by the past, unchained from the same mistakes.
Perhaps, just perhaps—
She would succeed where he had failed.
[—(/-\)—]
The door clicked shut as Taiga left for the night, her usual whirlwind of energy finally departing and leaving the house in silence. Shirō exhaled, stretching slightly before slumping into a seat. The past few days had been nothing short of exhausting, mentally and physically. The fight with Berserker, the shocking revelation about Illya, the awkward but inevitable confessions to Taiga and Sakura—each event stacking atop the last, pressing down like a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying.
And then, without so much as a whisper, Archer materialized in the room.
This time, she wasn't startled.
That was new.
"Ramen," he said, as if that were a completely normal greeting.
Shirō blinked at him, giving him a flat, unimpressed look.
Rin sighed. "You really need to stop treating Shirō like your personal chef."
Archer shrugged, clearly unconcerned.
Shirō didn't argue. With an exasperated shake of her head, she pushed herself up and made her way to the pantry kitchen, pulling out what was needed. It was easier to just make it than to deal with Archer's unbothered persistence.
Rin leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Alright, let's get down to business. We don't have time to waste."
Archer remained standing, arms crossed, the ever-present smirk on his face never quite disappearing.
The Holy Grail War was shifting. Caster was dead. With her gone, Assassin had also disappeared—the old swordsman holding his ground at Ryuudou Temple had simply faded into nothing.
That left Berserker, still a massive problem with eight lives remaining.
And then there was Lancer.
Shirō placed the boiling water into the cup, letting the noodles soak. "So, Lancer's still out there."
Rin nodded. "We don't know what he's thinking or if he even has a Master anymore. Caster was the one controlling him last, but now that she's gone, there's no telling what he'll do next."
"He was working with Archer to save you from Caster," Shirō pointed out, stirring the ramen absentmindedly.
Archer made a noise somewhere between acknowledgment and amusement. "Don't mistake it for kindness. He fights for entertainment more than anything else."
Rin frowned. "Still, we have to be careful. If he's unchained now, he could be a real problem. Lancer's dangerous when he's actually trying."
Shirō sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "And Illya… we still have to deal with her. Berserker is stronger than anything I've ever faced, but if we work together, we might stand a chance."
Rin tapped her fingers against the table, deep in thought. "It's not just about fighting her. Illya herself is an unknown factor. She could be waiting for another opportunity, or she could be reconsidering entirely. Her disappearance after Archer's reveal about Kiritsugu… that wasn't just retreating, that was hesitation."
Shirō swallowed. She didn't want to think about Illya right now, not when there were still so many unanswered questions—so much she didn't know.
Archer's voice broke the silence. "So, 'Shirō-chan'…"
"Shut up."
Rin smirked, hiding a chuckle behind her hand.
Archer continued like he hadn't heard the interruption. "Are you still with us? Still intent on following this path?"
Shirō met his gaze, unwavering. "Of course."
There was something unreadable in Archer's eyes, something almost approving, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.
"Hmm," he mused, shifting slightly. "Alright then. If you're serious, we should start gathering information on Lancer. Whether he's with us or against us, we'll have to face him sooner or later."
Rin stretched, standing up from her seat. "Then we should get moving. We don't have time to sit around waiting for enemies to come knocking."
Shirō exhaled, staring down at the cup of ramen still in her hands. It wasn't much, but it was warm, filling, a brief moment of normalcy in the chaos that had become her life.
She took a quick bite, setting the cup down before standing up.
"Alright," she said. "Let's go."