Chapter 4: Collateral
Previous Chapter: Shirou struggles in Ethics with Kuzuki and talks to Ayako Mitsuzuri during lunch. Assassin spoils an attempt by Kirei to murder Bazett and plants cameras around the church to spy on him. Aimée Dumas moves in with Shirou, claiming to be a friend of Sakura's.
The smell of smoke was nauseating. It filled his lungs without ceasing. Even if he refused to breathe, it would still permeate his pores and seep through his skin. Tears streamed down his cheeks, not in grief, but just because of all the ash.
He took a step forward. And then another. It was so hot. He remembered the time that he had tried to eat candle wax while the candle was burning. He had been so young then. But it had filled his mouth and burnt his tongue, scalding the skin and leaving it sore for weeks. He had sobbed until he could sob no more.
This was worse.
"Help me!"
He ignored the voice and kept on walking. The man who had cried out tried to crawl after him. His legs no longer worked having been crushed by falling debris and then burnt to the point where they no longer looked like they belonged to a human.
Oh, you dear Fuyuki,
Fuyuki, Fuyuki
It was hot. The same sensation that he had felt when he licked the candle, but across his entire body. His skin blistered at the temperature and changed colors as the flames licked against his skin. They were everywhere and there was no escape to be found.
Oh, you dear Fuyuki,
Everything is gone!
No matter which way he looked, all he could see was the flames. They rose as high as the skyscrapers once had. The flames burned unnaturally hot, nearly white and blinding in their glow.
"Somebody save me!" An elderly woman begged. She had given him a free lollipop once when he had tripped and scraped his knee in the park. "Anyone please! I don't want to die!"
He kept on walking.
Money is gone, dreams are gone,
Children sleeping in the dawn,
The entire city was on fire. Where had once stood a home, was now nothing but ash and bones. The flames had eaten it away burning through the wood as kindling and then the stone as well. They hate everything as if sentient– like a roaring dragon.
Nobody left to mourn or flee–
Everything is gone.
Once he had been scared of fire. The boy had gone to his mother and sobbed when a candle was lit after he had burnt his tongue. He had worried that the house would burn down like it did on TV. The faceless mother had held him to her breast and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. She had reassured him that even if that were to happen, the firefighters would come and save them and their home.
Every day was festival,
Ashes fall like April snow,
He looked to his right to see a burnt out husk of a vehicle, flipped over and burnt through, the metal melting like it was ice, running into pulls of molten silver that was tinged with red. The hose that was supposed to put out the flames had holes in the rubber. A pile of scattered bones lay next to it, all that remained of the so-called saviours.
No more dance, no more glee–
Everything is gone.
A bone crunched under his foot causing him to stumble once more. A hand brushed against his, pulling on him. Begging for salvation. For him to carry them. It didn't matter that he was only seven, he was the only person still able to walk, so he was the salvation that they sought.
His legs hurt, he had walked for miles. Hours perhaps. Slow trudging steps through the flames. His feet were burnt and blistered, every step hurt. His shoes were discarded a while back, the soul having been worn through and become half-melted.
The barrel's burnt, the bed is ash,
What was silk is cinder-trash.
"⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕!" A voice called out to him, cutting through the smoky haze. That was his name.
He turned to look at her. "Save me! Please!" She begged. Her red eyes were filled with tears, the bangs that once hid them from view having been burned away. All of her hair had been for that matter. Her skin charred and blistered, but she was alive.
And he knew her. He looked down at his own hands, burnt black and bleeding. He should help her.
Still, he kept on walking.
"I don't want to die! ⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕! ⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕⎕!"
She wasn't dead– injured, but mostly trapped. A building had collapsed on top of her, she was pinned in place by the rubble. If he went to dig her out, maybe they could both escape. But he didn't.
Even the rich are smoking bones,
The girls are dust in shattered homes.
The girl crying his name fell silent. A sob wrenched its way up his throat. He wailed and gnashed his teeth, but he didn't stop walking. He couldn't.
If he did, he would be dead.
It didn't matter how much his flesh burned or if his every step made him cry out. He couldn't stop. He wanted to live, and that meant walking.
His foot snagged against something and teeth grazed his angle, cutting through the skin. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his face buried in soot. His head spun at the impact, and he coughed painfully, trying to get the ashes out of his mouth. Instead, the only exhaust was blood.
He forced his arms up with all the strength he could muster, and rolled to the side. He looked up at the sky, the stars completely veiled behind the canopy of smoke. He tried to sit up, but there was no strength left in him.
Hold your breath and don't look back–
Everything is gone.
"He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!" He felt a hand against his chest.
The last thing that he saw was a smile more luminous than the sun itself. Black eyes that shined brighter than any flame as tears ran down his cheeks.
"Thank you! I'm so glad that I found you!"
Shirou blinked painfully, his heart racing. He could still see the flames flickering against the back of his eyelids. They were unnatural things. They had burnt so incredibly hot, but they had not spread. There was no containing the blaze, it had just fed until it was sated.
The survivor count of those who had been within the inferno was less than a tenth of the casualty count. But Shirou was one of those survivors. Thanks to Kiritsugu. They had both been saved that day.
To this day, nobody really knew what caused those unholy flames. The official story was a gas leak, but that hadn't stopped people from speculating what caused the Fuyuki fire. Some thought that the government was testing a new weapon, others thought that Korea had bombed them and we should march to war to retaliate. Some thought it was a terrorist attack.
Once, Shirou had asked Kiritsugu what caused the fire, and his response had been blunt and nondescript. "Magecraft,"he had grunted. "To be a magus is to walk with death." Shirou hadn't pressed him for further details after that. He had simply resolved to never let it happen again– by mastering magecraft himself…
He grimaced and sat up.
"Gahgk!" Shirou grunted in pain as he tried to force himself out of bed. It hurt. Why did it hurt? Had something happened last night that he was not remembering? His entire upper body was stiff and when he moved he could feel something pinching down on the nerves beneath his skin. It was particularly bad along his shoulders and spine. His legs weren't as bad, but also felt like he had ran a few miles yesterday– when he hadn't.
His fingers scraped at the floorboards and he grit his teeth, pushing hard even as biceps screamed in protest to make himself upright. He leaned back against the wall, the paper plastering itself to his sweat soaked skin as he leaned his weight against the wooden frame.
His eyes roamed his bare torso frantically, searching for some sort of mark– some sign of injury that explained the pain that he felt when he tried to move. But there was nothing. He inhaled sharply. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He hadn't even practiced his magecraft last night? So why was he in pain?
Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of a light knock sounded and then the door to his room slid open.
On the other side was Aimée. It took Shirou a moment to recall why she was here. She was dressed more conservatively this time, thankfully enough. She was dressed quite simply, wearing just jeans and a plain pink shirt. Her hair was wet and tied back in a pony tail.
"Oh good, you are awake," she smiled at him. "I've made some rose petal tea if you would like some."
Shirou nodded. The very movement made him want to scream. "I'll be out in a minute to get started on breakfast, thank you." his voice was warped as he tried to appear normal. She quickly left the room again, the door sliding shut behind her. He forced himself to stand on unsteady legs and hissed in pain at the movement. He could manage though, he had functioned under worse before. He had to make do.
People were counting on him. He needed to make breakfast, and he had school today. He had promised Shinji that he would clean the dojo for him today so that his friend wouldn't have to cancel their date with Amari.
He changed slowly and gingerly, his chest still screaming in protest, but he shut it out as he forced his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. When he was done, he stood upright, his back bent slightly and stiff to avoid jostling it. His arms held tight to his sides. Every step sent a jolt of pain through him as he made his way to the kitchen. He didn't know what was going on… and iit terrified him.
Especially because he had no idea of where he was supposed to look for that answer. Was it magecraft that did this to him? It had to be, didn't it? There were no marks on his body– no signs of penetration. It was a similar discomfort to muscle strain, but there was also that pinching sensation that made it clear it was something more.
If it was magecraft then how? The bounded field hadn't alerted him to an intruder and he had been fine, even if struggling when he practiced his magecraft yesterday. And it hadn't hurt the rest of the evening…
"Tea is on the counter," Aimée called out, not looking up from the book she was reading at the kotatsu.
Shirou gave a grunt in acknowledgement and poured himself a cup, loosely clenching the tea cup. Could it be Aimée who did this to him? The idea was ridiculous, but he couldn't help the intrusive thought. His first night under the same roof as her had him like this…
But to what end? He had offered to help her? And why come in and cause him pain? To what end? To be a magus is to walk with death. It was more likely that Shirou had accidentally activated his magic circuit while in the midst of a nightmare and fucked something up because of it.
And she still needed help.
He lifted the tea to his lips and took a slow slip. It was sweet, but mild. The taste lingered at the back of his throat. Warmth spread through his body as he drank. He exhaled softly, his breath lingering in the air, the sweetness on his tongue.
He sighed and moved to pull out the carrots from the fridge. Regardless of if she was responsible or suspicious, he would know more when Sakura came shortly to help him cook. He wasn't sure why exactly she insisted on coming every day, but he did enjoy her company.
And Aimée had called them a friend, so Sakura would know her if she was being honest. It could be some spell to control her, his inner cynic argued. He acknowledged the point, but he would see through it. He would meet Sakura at the door and ask her first about Aimée. And if she had been confounded, he would recognize the gaps and be able to proceed from there.
But for now, he would assume that she was who she claimed and focus on making breakfast. He took another sip of his tea, it was different then what he usually had– she must have brought it from home or something– but it was quite good.
He moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, pausing to sip at his tea occasionally. He was making miso soup with tamagoyaki and rice. The stiffness in his joints eased as he worked, perhaps he had been being overdramatic. It still hurt, but this was much more manageable. Whatever it was, it didn't seem like it would last.
The door to his home slid open and Shirou moved the heat to low so he could go greet Sakura. Just in case. He met her in the dining room, with Aimée there as well.
"Senpai," she smiled warmly at him before her eyes drifted past him to her friend. She looked back to Shirou immediately, her eyes wide.
"Sakura," Shirou moved closer to his friend's sister. "Are you hurt?" He asked as he really got a good look at her. There was an angry purple bruise on her cheek, and it looked like she had split her lip. "Was it–"
"I'm fine," Sakura reassured him, her eyes drifting back to Aimée again.
Shirou jolted at the reminder. Right, he needed to ask her about that first… Then he could worry about how hurt she was. After he knew if Aimée caused it. "Aimée said you recommended that she stay with me?" He hated how accusatory he sounded.
"Aimée?" She asked slowly.
Aimée giggled from behind them. "Do you not trust me, Shiroh?" her accent was thicker as she drew out the syllables. "I'm hurt, I thought that you were my hero."
Shirou flushed, but kept his eyes on Sakura. After a moment she nodded. "I did," she confirmed and the tension bleed out of Shirou. "I thought that you would be safe together."
"I don't mind," Shirou reassured her, wincing slightly as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If she's a friend of yours, then she's a friend of mine."
Sakura looked over at Aimée again, her expression indecipherable. "Thanks Senpai, I knew I could count on you," she settled on. "We should go work on breakfast. Sorry, I'm late today."
Her foot dragged against the floor, with every step. A pained wince every time she moved. "Sakura," Shirou grabbed her arm and stopped her. "You are hurt," badly. "What happened?" His voice was as hard as steel.
Her lip quivered. "I'm fine really. I j-just fell down the stairs."
"What the hell does Shinji think he is doing?" Shirou snarled. He knew that Shinji would sometimes take his anger out on others– his sister included, but he was never this bad. Usually, it would just be a bruise on the wrist from him grabbing her too tightly, or a bruise on her ankle from where Shinji had kicked her too hard.
But it was always minor, and Sakura had no issues with it. She would say that she had annoyed him and that Shinji sometimes didn't know his strength. So Shirou had left it at that… After punching Shinji in retaliation, of course.
"It wasn't him!" Sakura protested. "It's my fault" Her face was flush.
"What happened?" Shirou repeated, softer this time.
"I fell down the stairs," Sakura insisted stubbornly. "This doesn't have anything to do with Shinji. I really did this myself, so you can't get mad. You know how clumsy I am, Senpai! I fall and get hurt a lot, honest!"
Shirou pursed his lips but sighed. She was quite clumsy, he could attest to that first hand. When they were in the kitchen together, she had a habit of bumping into him constantly, having stumbled slightly. And on the way to school when they would walk together, she would somehow trip on nothing and Shirou would have to catch her.
And Shinji was never that excessive with Sakura. He would bruise her– even boasted of it once to try to get a rise out of Shirou. And succeeded a bit too well. But it was minor… And this was anything but that. A welt on her cheek, a limp in her leg, and now that he looked for it, he could see she was struggling to move her shoulder as well. He might have hit some freshman this bad before, but never his sister. He wouldn't do that… would he?
He had only seen her that hurt once before, and it had been from another tumble down the stairs nearly two years ago now. He had been suspicious then too, but had let it lie and it hadn't happened again. She must have actually just tripped.
Shirou let go of her arm. "Alright, I believe you," he decided. "Try to be more careful, and remember to hold the railing next time," he admonished her.
"You seem disappointed, hero," Aimée drew his attention away from Sakura. "Are the stairs not an enemy you can save her from?" She smirked playfully at him.
Shirou shook his head after a moment. "No, just worried," he answered, the words thick in his throat. It wasn't about saving her. He was glad she didn't need saving.
"It's wonderful that she has a hero like you to worry about her and help her avoid falling then." She spoke slowly, a strange note in her tone.
"Aimée," Sakura's rebuke was quiet but sharp. "Stop."
"Sorry," Aimée looked entirely unrepentant, despite her words to the contrary. "He's just too fun to tease."
Sakura gave her a long look that was clearly meant to convey something that Shirou wasn't permitted to know. "Let's go work on breakfast, Senpai," she decided, hobbling back towards the kitchen.
Shirou clicked his tongue and moved back in front of her. "Nuh uh," he wagged his finger at her. "You are hurt. I'll make breakfast. You hang out with Aimée and relax for a bit."
"I can still–"
"You cooked for me while my shoulder was hurt," Shirou reminded her. "Let me return the favor."
Sakura looked at him and then to Aimée again. "Fine," she huffed. "But just for today."
Shirou rolled his eyes affectionately and went back into the kitchen. He was not letting her help again until she could move normally without pain. He went back to cooking, loading the tamagoyaki into a pan so that they could cook. He drained the rest of his now somewhat cold tea, but that didn't stop it from making him feel warm. He needed to get the blend from Aimée so he could have it again in the future.
As he was working, the door slid open. Aimée stepped inside and paused, her nose sniffing. "It smells delicious Shiirou," she praised. "Don't mind me, I just came in to grab some tea for Sakura." She frowned. "You should have more too," she declared, pouring some into his empty cup without giving him the chance to respond."
"Thanks," Shirou nodded, picking up the cup with his other hand, his body only protesting slightly in spite of how bad the pain was earlier. "Breakfast should be done in about five minutes."
"I'll let Sakura know," Aimée gave him a quick smile and left, the door sliding shut behind her again.
When Shirou came out with trays of food in hand, Sakura looked a bit better. Her skin seemed to have regained more color and the bruise looked duller than he remembered. Perhaps it had been the lighting before?
"Here you go," Shirou set the trays down on the table. "I'm surprised that Fuji-Nee is not here yet."
"Fuji-Nee?" Aimée asked with a raised eyebrow as she began to ladle food onto her plate.
"My guardian, Tai– just Ms. Fujimura. She's been stopping by regularly since Kiritsugu died." He grimaced. "She is not going to be particularly pleased that you're staying here, but she doesn't actually have the authority to kick you out, so don't worry about it."
She smiled weakly at him. "If you say so, I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble after you've been so kind to me."
"Fuji-nee is always trouble," Shirou muttered quietly.
"Sakura?" He asked, looking over at her. Her plate was still empty. She was staring at him with wide eyes and her lip was trembling. "What's the matter? Is there something wrong with the food?"
"Senpai… your hand..?" She whispered, her voice fainter than a mouse's squeaking.
Shirou looked down at his hands, not understanding where she was going with this. His right hand looked completely normal, but his left… Was damaged. There was an angry red gash across it, although it looked like it had started to scab over. The skin surrounding the mark was angry and inflamed. It also seemed to be in a rather strange pattern. It was three marks.
They looked like a backwards c, one layered on top of another, each bisecting the others so they were stacking on top of each other. The finished product– the cut somehow looked like it had been inflicted by a spring of some sort, a long spiral.
He pressed the pointer finger on his right hand against it, almost as if in a trance but it hurt no more than when you poked at any bruise. How had he gotten such a wound and not noticed it?. "Weird," Shirou muttered. "Not sure how that got there. It doesn't seem too bad though."
"You should wrap it," Aimée suggested. "Otherwise you might give someone the idea that you like to hurt yourself."
"I wouldn't–" Shirou protested. But he could see how one would draw that conclusion. The spiral shape was not something that was easy to cut without doing so intentionally. And if he didn't know how he got it… it was only natural to assume that he just wasn't willing to share that he had hurt himself. "You know that I didn't, don't you?" Shirou pleaded.
"Of course," Sakura answered immediately and Aimée gave a slight nod. "But you still should wrap it."
Shirou sighed and stood back up. "I'll go do that then."
"Can you grab me a fork while you're up?" Aimée asked softly, her eyes meeting his. "I'm afraid I haven't quite gotten the hang of chopsticks yet." Shirou nodded and disappeared off into the kitchen to wrap his hand.
"Do you want me to tell him?" Shirou heard a whisper as he approached the sliding door again, his hand wrapped in gauze and a fork in his other hand.
"No," he could identify that one as Sakura. "I just… I want him to be safe."
Shirou pulled the door open and they fell silent in an instant. He reclaimed his seat and held out the fork to Aimée. "Thank you," she leaned close before turning to her food.
The front door of Shirou's dining room was thrown open with a loud crash, as carelessly as possible. "SHIIIIROOOOU!" a voice sang out. "I thought I smelled food!""
"Good morning Fuji-nee," Shirou greeted her, with Sakura echoing him after a moment of pause.
"I am starving… Who is that?" Fuji-nee trailed off as she took in the table's third occupant. "Shirou, did you have a girl over last night?"
"Aimée Dumas," She gave Taiga one of her dazzling smiles. "And yes, he did," Her eyes glanced over at him before she covered her mouth to hide her giggle.
Traitor. Fuji-nee spun on Shirou, her arm lashing out towards him. A chopstick flew from her hand and struck him square in the forehead. Ouch.
"Shirou!' She screeched as high as the cat she was named for. "You can't just have girls over like some sort of womanizer! I raised you better than that! And in front of Sakura too!"
"She's actually Sakura's friend–"
"You're too young to be a father, mister! I don't want to have any little Emiya's to babysit yet! I taught you to be more responsible!"
"Can I explain?"
"And you little miss harlot–" She jabbed her finger into the chest of Aimée who still looked nothing but amused despite the woman screaming in her face. Shirou wasn't exactly feeling particularly compelled to redirect her wrath bath to him
"Nope, guess not," Shirou huffed. He turned to Sakura and folded his hands together. "Help. please?" He mouthed at her.
Sakura sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ms. Fujimura," her voice was soft and calming and it got Taiga to fall silent. "Aimée is here because… she's my friend." Aimée reached under the kotatsu and grabbed Sakura's hand.
She turned slowly to Sakura. "She is…?" She sounded skeptical, her eyes narrowing as she looked between the three of them.
Sakura nodded slowly. "I asked her to stay here with him…"
Fuji-nee folded her arms under her chest. "You asked a girl to stay with Shirou?" She gently placed a hand against Sakura's bruised cheek. "Did she beat you up until you agreed? I won't let her hurt you again."
"No," Sakura shook her head adamantly. "She's been good to me. This is my fault."
Fuji-nee huffed. "If you say so…"
She turned back to Shirou and Aimée. "You can stay," she conceded reluctantly. "But no hanky panky will happen under my roof! And if I get even a whiff of it, you'll be out on the street before you can say sorry."
"Thank you," Shirou exhaled, his ears red. He ignored the phantom touch of her lips against his cheek that had a part of him rebelling against that condition. It's just her culture.
"You have nothing to fear from me," Aimée reassured her. "I care far too much for Sakura's well being." What did that have to do with him and her doing… stuff…?
Fuji-nee beamed for some reason at that response and immediately started to dig into her food. "So Dumas, how long will you be staying for?" She asked between mouthfuls.
Aimée frowned. "As long as you'll let me? I'm not entirely sure, but I would imagine that I will remain in Japan until I turn 18. I can try to get my own place but…" She wrang her hands together nervously. "I'm afraid I'll need to take advantage of Shirou's hospitality as long as he'll allow."
Taiga hummed. "And when do you turn 18?"
"In a little over nine months?" Aimée winced.
"Ah so you're Shirou's age!" Taiga declared. She was apparently, almost exactly even given that he turned 18 in ten months.
"Am I?" Aimée gasped. "I'm glad to know that I'll know someone…" she trailed off.
"You plan on enrolling at Homurahara?" Sakura asked quietly.
"If I could…" she whispered, just as softly. "I wouldn't want to impose but… I kind of left in the middle of the school year."
"I'll talk to the principal," Fuji-nee declared loudly. "It might take a few weeks to get things handled but if you have your transcripts then you should be fine."
"Thank you, Ms. Fujimura," Aimée said and they returned to eating again.
"Fuji-nee," Shiirou asked as he rose to clean the dishes. "Ï wanted to ask if you could give Sakura a ride to school today. She hurt her leg when she fell down the stairs and it's a bit far to walk."
"You don't have to," Sakura argued. "I'll be fine, honest. I can just walk with Senpai."
"Sakura…" Shirou stared at her, trying to will her into accepting.
"Shirou…" She stared back, unwilling to back down.
"I agree with Shirou," Aimée chimed in. "You shouldn't walk on that leg, the last thing you want is to get hurt again."
"I'm fine, I don't want to be a bother–"
"Of course you can ride with me Sakura," Taiga interrupted them. "You might need to stay a bit late after school and take it easy during archery, but it's not a bother at all."
Sakura looked at Shirou, and for a moment he thought he saw a frown before it was gone. "Thank you Sensei," she bowed.
–
Heretic. Noel had left for Fuyuki the same day that she got the assignment from the Cardinal. She had immediately used a sacrament of the sacred incense to persuade a kindly old couple with a cottage in the countryside that she was their granddaughter and had been living with them since her parents died when she was 12. Another sacrament used to convince her class at Homurahara that she had been there just as long.
Heretic. Those sacraments were only meant to be used to hide dead apostle activity. That was the reason they had them. Not to hide in the shadows and partake in a heretical ritual. Amongst mages.
There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch. Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord: and because of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before thee.
Heretic. The Bible explicitly forbids this. She was going to be summoning a familiar spirit using the craft of wizards. Given that the familiars were formerly human it could be argued as necromancy as well. And God had told Moses that these were abominations and that the practitioners would be cast out. Would she have a place in the church after this, regardless of if she won the war? The Bible suggested that she shouldn't…
Heretic. She would be as much a heretic as Ciel though, as cold of a comfort as that was. Her partner. The one who had murdered everyone she loved and cared about. A Dead Apostle who only lived through that wretched necromancy that God had explicitly forbid.
Heretic. They wouldn't be the same though despite the fact that Ciel's sins were greater. Because as unfair as it was, Ciel was the most powerful executor in the church. She was able to take on Dead Apostle Ancestors. And Noel did not have that kind of power herself– so she was replaceable.
But the Cardinal believed in her. He had heard God say that it needed to be her who went to Fuyuki. That it had to be her who bore this sin and brought salvation.
Heretic. Noel had never heard the voice of god herself though, something she knew made her abnormal among their ranks. She just wasn't capable of it. But the Cardinal had heard… and she would obey. She might not be the best catholic, but she would still follow the commands– not when they put their faith in her.
Noel wandered over to her bag, pulling out the bags of blood she had been given by Bartholomew Bestino before she left. It took a mage to conduct a summoning, something that she was not and no one but Ciel in the church would claim to practice magecraft. But by using the blood of one in the summoning circle, she should be able to summon a servant all the same.
"Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ," Noel repeated to herself, the words like a solemn anthem.
She knew that this was wrong– that this went against all the tenants of the church. But she had to do it. She would suffer and lose everything. For if this was what God had called her to do then was that not just obeying his command? And to do that should bring her joy, for it would win her christ.
Heretic. She punched her black key through the side of the blood bag. The wrongness of it was startling. The black keys were sacred sacraments to fight the forces of the dark. To pursue heretics like her and Ciel. To kill vampires.
And yet… she had used it so casually in the place of scissors. The blood that coated the top of the blade curdled her stomach as she looked at it.
She bit her lip painfully and began to pour the blood into the pattern she had carved into the stone floor over the basement. Another heretical act that one was– using a black key as an ordinary chisel. But it was all for Jesus… and that made it okay, didn't it?
But if our unrighteousness commend the righteousness of God, what shall we say? Is God unrighteous who taketh vengeance? (I speak as a man) God forbid: for then how shall God judge the world? For if the truth of God hath more abounded through my lie unto his glory; why yet am I also judged as a sinner? And not rather, (as we be slanderously reported, and as some affirm that we say,) Let us do evil, that good may come? whose damnation is just.
She paused. That was her favorite passage. The one that proved Ciel belonged in the depths of hell. It did not matter if their evil acts glorified God. It did not matter if the truth of God increased through her lies. That would not stop her from being judged as a sinner.
And now it was undeniably twisted towards her. Her spite for the girl who was as much a victim as her turned into the very knife held at her own throat. She was the sinner. She was the heretic who would lie and act unrighteous to bring God glory. And in the end, it would be her condemnation, her damnation.
She should have never accepted the offer. The Cardinal shouldn't have asked her…
But it had been the Cardinal… and because he heard the voice God commanding her. That had to count for something didn't it? Not for the first time she wished God would respond to her prayers and give her some sign.
Noel Aizome was pretty sure that if she asked God for a sign the same way that Gideon had, she would be waiting a year for that fleece to soak. But the Cardinal had heard for her…
Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse: the blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you today; and the curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn aside from the way which I command you today, to go after other gods which you have not known.
The Cardinal had heard God command her. And the Cardinal spoke with God's authority in the church, did that not mean that she was in the right? It would be a sin to not obey him. A sin that would see her cursed with far worse than she would receive for being a heretic.
And she might actually have the power to stand up to Ciel.
Noel rose back to her feet and stepped into the center of the summoning circle. For better or worse, she could do this. Now all she had to do was say the words and she would have a servant. A being who was said to be as strong as a Dead Apostle Ancestor. Even now, as her body rebelled and her soul screamed heresy, a part of her could hardly wait.
"Heed my words," Noel declared with a confidence that she had never felt before and still didn't now. "My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny." She could imagine the look of disgust on the face of Cardinal Noi if he were to see what she was doing. Ciel got in trouble for even using the term magical energy in place of holy energy when they were first taken in by the church.
Noel had no actual will of her own here, she could hope that the ritual wouldn't care about that as long as she said the words in time. She didn't want to do this… but she had too… God wanted her to. He wanted her to have this power. "If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then a-answer me"
A scream was wrenched from Noel's throat interrupting her chanting. It hurt so horribly. Her nerves were transformed into plant matter, growing into sharp thorns that pierced her flesh from the inside. Her blood grew cold, sending a deep chill through her flesh. Her entire body felt like it was made of glass and all it would take to finish her off was a gentle breeze. She felt as fragile as she did when Ciel had been Elesia.
This was wrong. What they called magecraft. It was killing them and offering up pain beyond measure. How could they not see that what they were doing was evil? How could the church accept Ciel in their ranks when she did this to herself? This was wrong. Evil. Heretical. Mages might not be as bad as dead apostles, but they were still undoubtedly evil.
That was why Roa had chosen a mage to be his vessel.
"I hereby swear—" Noel's vision shut off without warning. It wasn't just dark, but absent from everything. It wasn't that she saw black, but nothingness itself. A sensation impossible to describe. A hollow void that just felt empty. Her eyes no longer worked or sent signals to her brain. It's just part of the ritual.
If Ciel can endure magecraft, then so can I.
"I shall be all the good in the world." The only words in this ritual that did not feel heretical. "I shall defeat all evil in the world." That was what God had called her to be— all of his followers to be.
Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
"S-seven heavens clad in three great words of power." One heaven, one god. The mages were fools. That was why her ears popped and her flesh fell off in thin strips as she spewed this vile blasphemy. The world itself knew that the ritual was wrong, coming from the mouth of the great deceiver– or more accurately his agent– the Third. "Come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of the Scales!"
A pained sob tore its way out of her throat now that the ritual was done, unable to tamper it down any longer now that she no longer had to risk interference. Weak. Ciel never cried out, even when being killed. She collapsed to her knees as pain coursed through her mortal frame. Everything hurt but…
At least she would have the power to finally stand up to her. To hunt him down and extract her revenge on that monster. She could go on hunts without Ciel having to hold her hand when she had a servant. They were powerful enough to even defeat Ciel afterall. The thought was tantalizing.
The pain slowly began to abate, but her vision did not return. Was she permanently crippled by using the heretical craft? Was god punishing her for using sorcery and claiming it was an act of god as he had with Simon? She remembered the story of Simon the Sorceror—how he flew above the city with heretical magecraft, claiming to ascend by God's will. And how Peter had cast him down. "Let him fall, Lord," he had said, "so the deceived may be saved." Claiming heresy as an act of god was always punished.
Was that why her vision didn't return? Divine punishment. "It's not fair," Noel spat. "Why am I punished but not Ciel? She uses magecraft and is a murderer! She's a fucking undead monster!"
Her vision slowly restarted, as if it was a computer turning on for the first time after a blackout. At first things were blurry, her vision unfocused and useless. She could hear something in her ears that resembled a voice, but she couldn't make it out. All she could see was the color pink.
Things slowly got clearer. First she could make out that the pink she was seeing was a humanoid figure. Likely her servant. They looked to be shorter than Noel was too, although it was a bit hard to tell kneeling at their feet. They were petite, dressed in a pink gown with pink hair.
Her eyes were a beautiful blue. "A-are you my familiar?" Noel asked shakily, trying to regain her bearings. Her servant was young, younger than even her. She looked innocent, a bit like a child in the joy that was obvious in her countenance.
Her servant grinned at her.
And Noel screamed.
–
Shirou cracked his neck as he looked around the shooting range that he had just finished cleaning. He had been at it for about an hour after archery practice let out, and the sun had already set over the horizon.
He should be heading home. He actually had someone waiting for him there for once. And wow was that strange to think, it had been just him for so long. And now there was someone else– a cute girl at that. She might be waiting on dinner now– he had made Aimée a bento when he made the rest, but dinner was another story. She might need his help.
And yet, Shirou hesitated.
He couldn't stop his gaze from drifting towards the bows. All lined up neatly inside of the storage closet that he had opened the door to. It was such a nice night, and it had been a long time since Shirou had shot in a proper range. He might have his formal robes for kyudo here with him, but he could still take a few rounds.
And no one would have to know.
It was a childish temptation, one that served no value to his goals. But it could be fun… And it would delay him returning home. He did like Aimée but it was a big change for the boy who had always enjoyed his solitude.
"Just one round," Shirou muttered, heading into the closet to grab a bow and quiver of arrows. He just took the first one off the shelf, not caring who it belonged to normally. He wasn't worried about damaging it, he would leave it better than he found it when he was done.
He stood at the far end of the range and pulled the bow string back to his ear, arrow knocked. "Leftmost point of the bullseye," Shiirou called his shot. He let the arrow fly.
Thud. The arrow struck the target with resounding force. Sure enough, it was exactly where Shirou had aimed– on the border between the x ring and the ten point range, exactly on the equator.
Yet, Shirou still frowned. Not because the shot was bad– it wasn't– Shirou did not miss. But because the bow was– or more specifically, the string was. The string was too soft, and slightly frayed. It was going to snap soon.
He should just put the bow back and let whoever normally used this bow deal with it. Or he could replace the string himself. But Shirou did neither of those things. There was an easier solution, afterall. Well, easier wasn't the right term– but one that he preferred.
Magecraft. More specifically, a strengthening spell. He could simply strengthen the natural properties of the polyester so that it would not snap and would regain its peak elasticity. He wasn't supposed to use magecraft where others could see, but he was the only one at the school right now, and he could just remove its effects before he went home. Besides, he had missed his practice yesterday thanks to Aimée moving in with him.
To activate their magic circuits, every mage had a trigger. His was the sound of a gunshot, the hammer cocking back and then firing forwards. A trick to make him feel like he was on the edge of death. Every time it made his head spin a bit, but it put him in the trance necessary to utilize his craft, so it was worth it..
He concentrated on his prana once the trigger activated. He tried to grab the steel rod and jam it into his spine, to reshape the nerves into a magic circuit. But it hurt. It always hurt, but this time was different.
The prana coursed through his entire body from the tips of his toes to the very strands of his hair. All of it burned as if he was submerged in molten lava. "Gaaah," Shirou grunted in pain, overcome as his body seized up.
But Shirou was a magus, and a magus had to maintain their focus when practicing their craft or they would die. He could worry about why he was in pain or recover from it later. To abandon a spell midway was the height of foolishness, no matter how much his body was eating itself up. Pain was an old friend to a magus.
The rod clicked into place Strengthen the polyester, Shirou thought as he guided the flow of prana from the root of his spine up through his body to his fingertips. This time for whatever reason, the trail of prana left a residue as it moved, as if passing through checkpoints.
And it was easier to direct its flow for whatever reason. The prana seemed almost eager to obey his commands, moving through his body with greater ease than it ever had before. Strengthen the polyester. Shirou thought to himself as his prana flooded into the bow string. More elasticity. More durability.
He cut off the flow, careful not to overdo it as the prana barreled forth through a pathway in his body.
Shirou couldn't stop himself from laughing. He had done it. Easily even. It might have hurt, but wasn't that just a sign that he was doing it correctly? To be a magus is to walk with death. He pulled back the bow string without bothering to place an arrow on it.
The string was stiffer, but he still had the strength to pull it back, and it still stretched just as far. He let go of the string. Thwip. The air cracked as the string snapped back to its resting position. His fingers burned in its wake, the tips of them rubbed raw by the force the bow had unleashed.
Shirou's lips twisted up into a half smile. It worked. It really worked. Far better than any strengthening magic he had used in the past. He could feel the almost supernatural strength in the bow string. The easy elasticity. It almost felt like real magecraft.
He loaded an arrow onto the string, Deep breaths. In and out. "Southernmost point on the bullseye," Shirou called his shot once more. He pulled back the arrow to the ear and his eyes flickered shut. He could see it already in his mind's eye. The exact path that the arrow would take to hit the correct spot. His finger twisted slightly, almost a subconscious reflex. And he let the arrow fly.
BANG! It sounded more like a bullet than an arrow, moving so quickly that it displaced the air around it, the air rushing together to form a sonic boom in its wake. When Shirou opened his eyes, the arrow was not where he had aimed it in the target– only the second time that he had ever missed.
Although calling it a miss might be a stretch.
The arrow had hit the spot he aimed, but kept on going. It went not only through the foam covering on the target but the wood it was stretched over. And the wall behind it as well.
Shirou stared, mouth agape for a moment. Had he done that? It was completely beyond rationality. Bow and arrows were not capable of that. And his strengthening had never done anything of the sort before. He had strengthened countless pipes and had best he could get them to not dent when struck with a hammer. He had strengthened a lightbulb and it got about twenty percent brighter.
This was what twenty times the strength of a normal bow string? He wasn't sure that even a sword would cut the string anymore, despite how poorly kept it looked.
Shirou looked down at the bow in his hands in reverence. He had done that. However, his look also revealed something far more concerning.
The fact that the wood was cracking, not having been designed for shooting an arrow at mach 1. If he had strengthened the bow as well, that would not be a problem– or if his strengthening had just functioned normally.
But it didn't.
The bigger problem though was the initials that he only now noticed were engraved on the inside of the bow. A.M.
This was Ayako's personal bow, not a school one.
Magecraft had to remain a secret, that was the foremost rule all mages had to adhere to. Even Shirou who knew so little of the moonlit world had been taught that from the first time he heard the word magecraft. You had to cover all evidence of any magecraft, no matter the cost.
And Shirou was incapable of doing so.
There was a hole in the target that he couldn't patch. And a hole in the wall. And a bow about to snap. All three things had to somehow be covered up.
And Shirou could cover zero of them. Sure, he could strengthen the bow, but the crack was visible. And there was the risk of him overdoing it and either making the thing explode or making the bow supernaturally strong as well.
And that one was much harder to replace than the string.
For a moment, Shirou considered telling the truth without mentioning magecraft. Making it seem like he had forgotten how to use the bow and missed badly. Claim that he handled Ayako's bow so poorly that it got damaged and offer to buy her a new one.
Shirou dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. The holes in the board and the wall were too large for that to be at all believable, and Fuji-nee knew that Shirou still shot on occasion. She wouldn't believe for a second that he was that bad, even if he could convince anyone else.
So what to do? He could replace the paper coverings on the wall of the range. He would have to do it on both sides to hide the hole entirely, but that only solved a third of the problem. The range was already outside, so it's not like anyone would notice the hole until the covering was damaged again.
But that still left the target that wasn't so convenient to replace, and the bow that he could never fool Ayako with a replacement of.
Shirou wanted to scream. This is what he got when he indulged in something so frivolous, just because he felt like it. Now he had to clean up a mess that he caused and hurt someone to help himself.
The opposite of what a hero would do.
"What choice do I have?" Shirou sighed. He moved back inside and grabbed a duffel bag out of the closet. "Sorry Mitsuzuri, I swear I'll make this up to you." He stuffed the bow inside before heading over to the target.
There were plenty of ghost stories in Fuyuki. A random target missing in the night would be strange, but far less strange than letting people see the shape of this one. And nobody who didn't know about magecraft would ever think that it was more than just a very strange and very petty thief. They would say the same about Ayako's bow.
And they would be mostly correct.
Shirou couldn't exactly take the target home though, it was too big for him to walk with it, and certainly too big for it to be considered inconspicuous. He would have to destroy it and then dispose of the evidence.
And after that replace the wall coverings. He was in for a long night. Hopefully, Aimée wasn't planning on waiting for him to eat.
For a moment, he considered using strengthening to destroy the target. When he overloaded the spell in the past, the objects he was strengthening had exploded. Metal pipes bursting into shrapnel, glass lightbulbs bursting, even a piece of paper would still look like it had gone through the shredder afterwards. He could destroy the target in an instant with that method that he often achieved accidentally.
Or he could accidentally do what he did with the bowstring and it would wind up harder than steel, and he would never be able to destroy it, or hide the existence of magecraft.
So the long way it was.
A much more exhausted Shirou finally left the archery range two hours later, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The target was in 30 fragments lying at the bottom of the dumpster in the parking lot, and the hole in the wall was hidden behind new coverings to patch the hole in the wall's outer layers. It was far from a perfect solution, but it was the best way that Shirou Emiya had to cover the after effects of magecraft.
He began the slow walk home, with the light of the moon to guide his way. The streets were mostly empty as he went, the quiet of the night eerie, only interrupted by the occasional sound of a car driving by and the chirping of owls.
Shirou blinked in surprise as he rounded the corner. There was someone else out this late at night. Two someones in fact. One of them looked like a child, maybe around ten or so. She work all purple, a winter coat and a fuzzy hat that came down over her ears. Her hair was as white as snow. Her expression was one of wonder that could only be seen on a child.
Her companion, perhaps her mother stood out more though. She was dressed in all white with the exception of a blue strip over her forehead and the blue undernearth that was uncovered only where her breasts were and at the hem of the gown. The gown she wore in white was long and billowy, but looked more like something a maid would wear than a princess. She also had a rather poofy hat that looked like a deflated chef's hat. She was frowning slightly, her brows furrowed.
Shirou was walking the opposite direction as them so it was no surprise that their paths crossed. "You better summon yours soon, Brother, or else you'll die." The little girl cheered, almost giddy at the idea as she moved past him.
Shirou reacted on instinct, lunging out to grab her sleeve. "What do you– Aaaahhh!" He cried out.
"You will not touch her," her companion snarled, her hand clamping down on his left wrist. Her grip was like an iron vice– clamping down on him with inhuman strength. She squeezed hard and his fingers spasmed, losing their grip on the girl. He felt like his wrist was stuck inside of a hydraulic press, a pressure unlike anything he had ever felt in one spot instantly.
"Sella," the little girl chided like the adult was just a cat. "Play nice." At the command of the child, she let go of him, pushing his arm away as if she was disgusted she had to touch him at all.
"Th-thank you," Shirou huffed. He tried to move his fingers but found them unwilling to cooperate. Had she broken his wrist? Just like that? It was obvious that she had to be a magus but still… Shirou had felt like a real mage earlier when he made the bow shoot with the power of a gun… and it was still incomparable to what she could do with her hands.
He had so far to go.
The girl smiled at him, her red eyes gleaming. "It wouldn't be any fun if we killed him now. You have to let him summon his first so he can play with me! Then we'll kill him!"
His blood turned cold at her remark. "I'm not your enemy," Shirou protested. "Please– I don't know what you are talking about."
"Playing the idiot suits you, big brother," the little girl decided. "But do not expect me to believe it."
"I'm not playing anything," Shirou snapped, cradling his broken wrist to his chest. "I have no idea what I am supposed to be summoning!"
"Your servant," the girl supplied, tilting her head slightly, unsure of what to make of him.
"That does not explain anything," Shirou growled. "I do not need a servant. I can do my own chores."
She giggled at that, her companion remaining stony. "You're funny brother. A Heroic Spirit doing chores, heh. Imagine that."
"What is a Heroic Spirit?"
"You really don't know?" She leaned forward, her face just inches from him. "That's… uh… no fun."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, nor do I know who you are. I think you have the wrong person."
She squinted at him. "But aren't you Shirou Emiya? I was so sure I had the right one."
Say no. Give her a fake name and tell her that you're just a random mage. "I-I am…" His mouth did not listen to his brain.
"So you're a Master in the Holy Grail War. You need to summon your servant then, brother."
"I'm not a Master of anything and I don't know what this Holy Grail War is!" Shirou shouted.
She reached up and put a finger against his lips. "Shhhh," she shushed him. "It's supposed to be a secret. You don't want me to have to kill everyone in this neighborhood, do you?"
Shirou swallowed painfully. This was a coldblooded mage, he couldn't be fooled by how she looked like a child. And he couldn't forget himself, not if he wanted to escape this situation alive. Not if he wanted to stop her from hurting more people. He curled his fingers. "Can you tell me what the Holy Grail War is?" His voice dropped an octave.
She folded her arms over her chest and puffed out her cheeks. "Ugh. This is so… not fun. Go ask the overseer or something. Sella, we're leaving. I'll be back later brother, summon yours by then."
Shirou exhaled in relief, before his heart rate sped up again. "Who is this overseer?" She was still threatening to kill people, and him. He had to stop her, even if that meant partaking in this Holy Grail War. He couldn't let this villain calling herself his sister… he couldn't let this child hurt anyone. He had to save them.
She glared at him, although it seemed to be lacking in vigor, especially compared to the one she had called Sella's glares. "The Priest from the last war!"
"From the church in Shinto?" Shirou asked slowly. It was the most logical answer, while there might have been other churches in Fuyuki, that was the largest one by far.
"I think so," the girl confirmed. She turned around to avoid facing him. Sella made no move to follow yet, choosing to remain directly between them, her eyes watching him like a lion. "Bye now big brother. I'll be back in a week to kill you!" She cheered again, and then began to skip away.
Sella watched him for a moment longer before following her master.
Shirou considered pulling the bow out of the duffel bag. She had threatened to murder him and others. The wood would only hold up for two more shots at most, but he could take her out. He could save those people. If he waited a week to find her again, who knew how many more dead there would be. His hand moved to the zipper on his bag.
He pulled it away, standing there and watching them walk out of sight. He had no arrows to shoot anyways. And Sella was far stronger than him.
His fists clenched at his side. He wanted to scream, but that might convince her that someone had overheard them and they would need to die. "Saving everyone includes saving her," Shirou reminded himself. And as far as he knew, she hadn't killed anyone yet.
And she called him her brother.
Was she family?
The one he had lost before the fire?
He remembered his parents in vague pieces, but never with details beyond a warm smile or that his mother had red hair? Could he have forgotten entirely about a sister? She would have been just a baby when the fire occurred?
A flash of red eyes in the flames made him want to hurl. Or she could be the one he abandoned…
It didn't matter. He was Shirou Emiya now, not whoever he had been. He would be a hero of justice, and he would save that girl and those she threatened. His sister.
He supposed the only way he would get answers would be to follow her instructions and visit that church in Shinto. He could only hope that she was true to her word and would not visit him again until after Sunday.
–
She walked down the streets of Fuyuki, her hands held behind her back. It was her first time here, but the city still did not fail to make her feel sad.
It was honestly remarkable how well the city had recovered from the incident that ended the last Grail War. The rebuilt Shinto was sleek and modern. And it was thriving, the population already fully replenished, and then some. The people here went about their daily lives without a care in the world.
It was a testament to the strength that ordinary humans possessed. They were far from as powerful as mages were, but just like an ant colony, when they worked together, they could accomplish wonders on par with their mystics. And they could live in peace. That was more than she could say for mages who constantly clawed at each other's throats in pursuit of the Root.
It reminded her of a better and more peaceful time in her life. Before her house of cards had been brought crashing down around her. "If only," she sighed wistfully. That time was gone though, and it could never return.
"What do you think, Liz?" She asked her companion without bothering to look at them.
"A lot of people are going to die," Liz answered gruffly. "There will be no avoiding that."
"Indeed," the girl hummed. "Äll we can do is aspire to make their sacrifice meaningful. If I win and achieve the miracle, then it will be all worth it in the end. Soon, they will no longer have to live in fear of death."
"The threat of death never goes away, Master," her servant scowled. "But at least it will be lessened."
"You are of course correct, Liz," she agreed. "But mundane threats are not the same."
They turned to the right and were back into the commercial district. "Anything you want Liz?" She asked idly, not caring about the answer.
"Can I get that jacket?" The usually unflappable Liz sounded embarrassed, his head ducked in shame.
She looked at the leather jacket through the window that was on display. The price tag was ridiculous, far more expensive than it had any reason to be. "You won't be able to wear it," she reminded her servant.
"Not in public, but I still want it," her servant muttered quietly. It was all part of her grandfather's scheme, to force her servant into that ridiculous garb that she had once been forced into herself. To hide their presence from enemy masters. She could understand the sentiment– it made sense tactically, but it still would fail to hide them from her enemies.
She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I don't see why not then," she decided. It might be expensive, but her family was rich. Ludicrously so. If she had been able to bring those funds with her when she had lived in that village she could have improved so many lives.
Instead, she had ruined so many more of them. Never again.
She clicked her tongue and followed after Liz who had barreled through the door eagerly once she had agreed to buy it. He didn't bother to look around the store any further, his eyes set on the prize as he ripped it off the display and ran to the counter to check it out.
His impatience was honestly endearing, so different from what she had known at home. Well aside, from the spoiled brat. But her servant was anything but spoiled, a tragic figure really who had been denied their place. Who had scorned their family.
It was a fitting pairing of master and servant.
She handed the cash over to the man at the register without comment. He was a young man, in his teens probably, with a pimple on his chin and dark hair. His eyes roamed her womanly figure hungrily. It wasn't surprising that he lusted for her, she had been fortunate enough to inherit the figure of her ancestors. Wars had been fought over one of them.
She giggled at the thought, and the guy at the counter flushed. "Here's your receipt, ma'am." He thrust the paper into her hands, ignoring the person actually shopping.
Her fingers flicked to the bottom where a number was written. Her lip curled at the thought. She made sure that he was watching as she dropped the receipt in the trash.
She had been on a date just once before. Adrian… dark hair and a thin mustache over his lip. Beautiful blue eyes and high cheekbones. It had been fun… And now he was dead. And whose fault was that again?
She shut out the thought and exited the store, she couldn't dwell on it. The last thing she wanted to do was lose her grip here. "Shall we stop for dinner? It's getting a bit late," food was always a good distraction.
"Can we get those burgers again?" Liz asked eagerly. "Those were good."
"Don't you want to try something new?" She teased. "We had those yesterday." And probably another three dozen times since his summoning. Her servant had never eaten one when they were alive, but it had quickly become his favorite food.
She was not quite as partial to them as he was. "How about we get Japanese food since it's closer, we can do burgers another time." She might have framed it like a suggestion, but she knew that they would not give her any pushback. Liz might be haughty, but they were also too prideful to argue over something so silly.
They entered the first restaurant they saw, one called the Blossom Heritage. It didn't look like much, a bit run down and a smaller building. The cushions on the benches were cheap, and some of the tables squeaked. But she knew that looks could be deceiving. Klara's place had not been a hotspot either, was rundown and Klara had struggled to make ends meet. But the food was incredible, and there was not a better staff around.
"This place is a dump," Liz declared loudly, sharing none of her reservations. Eyes around the room turned to look at them, including those of the staff.
She winced. "You need to behave," she scolded him. "The disguise loses its potency if you draw attention to yourself. As grandfather says, you should be seen not heard."
Her servant at least had the decency to look abashed but still crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.
"Sorry about that," she apologized to the waitress who had come to take their order.
"It's no bother, I promise I've heard worse before," she waved off the apology. "Can I get the two of you anything to drink?"
Her eyes roamed the menu for a minute. "I'll have a kurozu," she decided after a moment of deliberation.
"And you ma'am?" A glare pinned the waitress in place, her hands starting to shake at the intensity of it.
"Just refer to him as Liz," she chimed in. This happened every time they went out… if only home wasn't even more unbearable.
"Oh," the waitress flushed, her eyes absorbing Liz in disbelief. "My apologies Sir– Liz… I did not mean to cause any offense."
Liz relaxed slightly, but still glared. "I'll have a ramune," they barked out as if it was an order.
"I'll be right on that, sir, ma'am. Unless you are ready to order now?"
"Can you turn the TV up?" She asked. Her servant was in one of his funks again and would no doubt make for terrible conversation. Even if her servant was willing to chat, she still might prefer the TV.
It was a miracle of modern technology. To think this is what humans were capable of without magecraft, and yet mages had been unable to figure out a widespread spell that produced the same effect. They could broadcast an event live to almost anywhere in the world, and millions could watch it as if they were seeing it themselves.
What more would they learn to do in the future when the shackles were finally removed?
"That is the twenty-fifth missing child case this week." The reporter declared. "Surely, our police are closer to finding a culprit?"
"The police are not willing to share any information on an ongoing investigation. But you can rest assured that our finest are working tirelessly to find the one responsible and bring them to justice. The children will be found and returned to their families. We merely ask for your patience."
"And what do you say to concerned parents who worry that their child might be next?"
"Our police are on high alert, ready to apprehend the suspect if he acts again. You do not need to fear."
"You told us that yesterday, and another six children have been reported missing since then."
"That's all the time we have for today. No further questions. I am a kidnapper to catch."
She sighed and swirled her drink, watching the liquid cycle. "Foolish mage," she scoffed derisively. "To think that you thought this necessary…"
"Huh?" Liz jolted. "Are we finally going to fight someone?"
"Not quite yet," She sighed. "But the Holy Grail War appears to have truly begun in earnest now."
She drained the rest of her drink. "Soon it will all be over, and the world will be forever changed." Even if I am not there to see that change. "Only time will tell if it's for the better or if things become far worse again."