The temple courtyard was still in the early light, the kind of stillness that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. Mist clung to the stone steps, curling around the weathered statues and the low walls. Somewhere beyond the treeline, a bird called once, twice, then fell silent.
Shirou worked in that silence, setting a new section of wall into place. The rhythm of it — measure, lift, set, check — was grounding. The black‑and‑gold armor was gone; today he wore only a simple shirt and work pants, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with mortar. The Steel‑Eyed Raven had no place here. Not this morning.
He didn't hear Medea approach, but he felt her presence — a subtle shift in the air, the faint scent of herbs and ozone. She stepped into view with a tray, steam curling from two cups of tea.
"You work like the world isn't already sharpening its knives," she said, her voice carrying that wry lilt she used when she was half‑teasing, half‑testing.
He set the stone, brushed his hands off, and took the cup she offered. "If I stop, I'll start thinking about them."
"And if you think too long," she countered, "you'll start planning for them. That's when you scare me."
He met her eyes over the rim of the cup. "You knew what I was when you chose me."
"I did." She smiled — not the sharp, dangerous smile she wore in battle, but something softer. "I just didn't expect to like you this much."
The warmth in her tone caught him off guard. For a moment, the weight in his chest eased. He'd worn the Raven's mask for so long — the cold precision, the calculated fear — that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen without it. Medea had a way of making him remember.
Later, when she left to tend to her workshop, Saber appeared at the far end of the courtyard. Her steps were measured, her posture as straight as ever, but there was something in her eyes — a searching quality.
"You've changed since the War began," she said without preamble.
"Everyone has," he replied, keeping his tone even.
"Not like this." She stopped a few paces away, studying him. "You walk as if you've already decided who must die next."
He felt a flicker of unease. Saber wasn't one to make idle observations. In canon, she'd been slow to judge, careful with her words. For her to speak so directly now… the timeline was shifting. Again.
"I decide who needs to live," he said. "The rest… is the consequence."
Her gaze sharpened. "That's not the boy I met."
"No," he admitted. "He wouldn't have survived Dracula."
She didn't answer, but the silence between them was heavy. As she turned and walked away, his mind was already racing.
That's twice now. First Rin, now Saber. They're noticing the edges. In the original timeline, Saber never would have said something like that this early. My presence is accelerating things — changing them in ways I can't fully predict. If she's already questioning me, what happens when she starts connecting the dots? Also, what did she mean by the boy she met? I can't have been acting that different from our first meeting, does she have memories from a previous war? Food for thought.
He thought of the battles fought in full view of civilians, the way he'd let the cameras catch glimpses of the impossible. The Association thought it was reckless. The JSDF thought it was arrogance. Both were wrong. Every public display, every impossible feat, was a stone in the foundation of something far larger. Something only he could see the shape of.
A ripple in the air pulled him from his thoughts. Subtle, but unmistakable — the bounded field flexing, like a muscle reacting to a touch.
Medea reappeared at his side, her expression sharpening. "They're not trying to break in," she murmured. "They're knocking."
"Then let's see who's at the door."
Three figures stood at the temple gates, black coats immaculate, hands visible but tension coiled in their stances. Enforcers. The leader, a tall man with close‑cropped hair and eyes like polished stone, stepped forward.
"Shirou Emiya," he said. "We're here to debrief you on recent… events."
"You mean the part where I destroyed a military unit in full view of the public?" Shirou asked, voice mild.
The man's jaw tightened. "The part where you endangered the secrecy of magecraft."
Medea's smile was pure silk. "If you're here to posture, at least bring better lines."
"We're here to determine if you're an asset… or a liability," the Enforcer said.
Shirou sipped his tea, unhurried. "You'll find I'm very good at being both."
They think they're here to intimidate me. They don't realize they're already part of the story I'm writing. Every word they speak, every step they take, is another thread in the tapestry. When the world finally sees the whole picture, they'll remember this moment — the day the Association came to my door and left with nothing.
The "debrief" was short. They asked questions they already knew the answers to, took notes they'd never show him, and left with the same tight expressions they'd arrived with. At the threshold, the leader paused.
"You're being watched, Emiya. By more than just us."
Shirou met his gaze. "Good. Saves me the trouble of introducing myself."
The man's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more. The three of them vanished into the mist.
When the gates closed, Medea tilted her head. "You enjoyed that."
"Maybe a little," he admitted.
She studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Just don't enjoy it too much."
She thinks it's about ego. And maybe part of it is. But the truth… the truth is bigger. Every time I show them what I can do, every time I refuse to hide, I'm planting seeds. Seeds that will grow into something the Association can't control, something the world can't ignore. They'll call it arrogance, recklessness, even madness, they're right, it's insane.
That night, as the temple settled into quiet, Shirou stood at the edge of the courtyard, looking out over the city. Lights glittered in the distance, each one a life, a story, a potential witness.
The timeline was shifting. Saber's suspicion, the Enforcers' visit — none of it had happened this way before. He was walking a path no one else could see, and every step took him further from the canon he'd once known.
But Medea's presence at his side, the warmth in her voice, the way she anchored him — that was new, too. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to keep him from losing himself entirely.
For now, that was enough.
Far below, in the streets of Fuyuki, a small team of JSDF operatives moved through the shadows, their orders clear: find the Steel‑Eyed Raven. They didn't know he was already watching them.