The golden-crimson light of the summoning circle began to burn brighter, more intense than any before. The air thickened—each breath heavier, warmer. It wasn't just magical pressure this time. It was divinity.
Shirou's grip tightened on the Lancer card, but his knees were already buckling.
A sharp breath escaped him as the energy drained like a siphon, faster than Avalon or the Lesser Grail could replenish. His vision blurred at the edges.
"Shirou," Florence warned, stepping forward.
"I'm—fine," he muttered, swaying slightly.
He wasn't.
Romani reached forward instinctively, but Florence stopped him with a hand—her gaze locked on the circle.
The floor glowed like molten gold, the runes rising into the air like burning mantras. It was beautiful and blinding and too much.
Shirou's legs gave out. He hit his knees, barely keeping upright with one hand braced on the floor.
Then—
The light stilled.
From within it, a figure emerged—walking through radiance like it was sunlight parting around him.
He wore black and gold armor, ornate yet unburdened, every edge sharp and refined. A mantle of crimson feathers framed his shoulders, flowing like fire in slow motion. At his heart, a radiant red jewel glowed faintly against a white lotus crest.
His pale hair fell around a calm, unreadable face, and his emerald eyes, bright and ancient, scanned the room like a storm in still water.
In his hand, he held his spear—not raised in challenge, but held with purpose.
He stepped forward—and as he did, the pressure lifted, easing the weight on the room, but not the awe.
He looked first to Arjuna. Their gazes met in silence.
Arjuna's golden eyes narrowed just slightly.
Karna simply nodded. "Arjuna."
"…Karna," came the quiet response.
No hostility. No tension spoken aloud. Just the slow churn of history unspoken.
Then Karna turned.
Shirou was still on his knees, panting faintly, skin pale.
Karna walked to him and lowered himself to one knee, extending a hand—not to help, but in solemn acknowledgment.
"You summoned me," he said, voice deep and unwavering. "I am Karna, son of Surya. Lancer-class Servant. I stand with you."
Shirou, head swimming, forced himself to lift his gaze. "...Welcome."
Karna inclined his head once more.
Florence was already kneeling beside Shirou, checking his pulse with brisk precision.
"You are not summoning the last one tonight," she said sharply.
Romani crouched on the other side, nodding. "She's right. No more. You've pushed too far."
Yan Qing winced. "We're all impressed. Doesn't mean we want to see you face-plant next time."
Shirou tried to push himself to his feet, hand braced against the counter. His legs trembled, his muscles protesting every movement. But he gritted his teeth and reached toward the last card in the box.
Florence caught his wrist—not harsh, but firm.
"Shirou."
"We cooked for them," he said stubbornly, meeting her gaze. "I don't want one of them to feel left out. I said we'd eat together."
Yan Qing exhaled softly, tilting his head. "We get it. You've got a sense of fairness a mile wide."
"But if you pass out in the middle of summoning the last one," Romani added gently, "that's not fair to anyone."
Arjuna folded his arms. "Pacing matters in battle. This is no different."
Karna, still standing beside him like a silent guardian, gave a small nod. "They are right."
Even Achilles, ever the carefree one, leaned back in his chair and tapped a spoon against his bowl. "Look, man—you want everyone to eat together? Fine. But you should eat first, rest a bit, and then summon. That way, while you're explaining everything, we can eat. No interruptions. Makes sense, yeah?"
Shirou frowned. He hated how much sense that made.
"But—"
Florence narrowed her eyes just slightly. "Shirou."
He looked around the room—six Servants, all powerful, all different, yet each one watching him with a kind of steady regard.
Not just as their summoner but as someone they were beginning to trust.
He sighed, shoulders sagging.
"…Fine," he muttered. "I'll eat first."
Florence released his wrist.
Romani patted his shoulder lightly. "A wise retreat."
Yan Qing smirked. "He says that like he didn't have backup from five of us."
Shirou sat down at the table as Florence quickly brought him a full bowl and poured him tea. The scent of the meal he'd worked so hard to make filled the room—warm, grounding, real.
The others waited. No one complained. No one pushed.
And Shirou, weary but surrounded by allies, ate.
.
The clink of chopsticks and the occasional slurp of broth were the only sounds for a few minutes—Achilles digging into his food like he'd just come back from a marathon. Which, knowing him, was entirely possible.
"This stuff is amazing," he said around a mouthful of rice. "Seriously, what's this seasoning? It's got that salty-sweet kick, but then bam! Umami!" He grinned and pointed his chopsticks at Shirou. "You made all this?"
Shirou, still catching his breath between bites, nodded. "Yeah. Cooked while the house was still quiet with Florence."
Yan Qing whistled softly. "Didn't expect you to be the domestic type. You're full of surprises."
Arjuna sat with silent elegance beside him, hands folded in his lap. "This cuisine… It's Japanese?"
"Yeah," Shirou said. "It's what I grew up with."
Romani raised a brow as he studied the spread. "I've heard about traditional Japanese meals but never had one in person. Structured. Balanced. Almost ritualistic."
"It's comforting," Florence added, already analyzing every spice ratio on instinct alone. "Efficient, too."
Shirou paused as he noticed something. He looked around.
"Wait… why is Achilles the only one actually eating?"
The Rider blinked mid-bite. "What? You said I could!"
"No, it's not that," Shirou said, shaking his head. "It just feels weird with all of you standing around watching. Sit down. Please."
There was a moment of silence. Then—Romani pulled a chair out and sat without complaint. Yan Qing leaned over the table more casually and took a seat too. Even Arjuna lowered himself slowly and respectfully.
Karna remained standing, but Florence nudged him with a faint sigh. "Sit."
He obeyed without a word.
Shirou nodded, satisfied. Then started to stand. "Do any of you want some tea? I can—"
Before he could finish, Florence pressed a firm hand to his shoulder and pushed him gently but decisively back down into his seat.
"You're still eating," she said flatly. "I'll make the tea."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not."
Romani held up a hand. "I'd like a cup, if it's not too much trouble."
Florence glanced at him. "Oolong or roasted green?"
"…Roasted," he replied after a beat, caught off-guard.
Florence nodded once and turned, already moving toward the stove with surgical precision.
Yan Qing smirked. "I'm starting to think she was royalty in her past life."
"No," Florence called back. "Just efficient."
Achilles raised his bowl again. "I love it here."
Shirou let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the tension in the room slowly melted.
.
The scent of tea drifted softly through the room, delicate and calming. Florence poured with precise care, her movements efficient but somehow elegant. The steam curled around the cups like a quiet spell settling over the kitchen.
Each Servant had accepted their cup—Romani swirling his gently before taking a sip, Yan Qing sipping without comment but nodding appreciatively. Arjuna held his properly, posture impeccable. Karna sat silent, cradling the warmth between his palms. Achilles grinned, already halfway through his first cup with a second ready beside his bowl.
Shirou, having finished his food in record time, looked around the table.
"The food's going to get cold," he said. "If we're going to do this, we should finish the summoning now so we can all eat together."
Florence gave him a warning glance from across the table. "You just finished. That's not resting."
Romani raised an eyebrow. "She has a point."
"Are you sure about that?" Yan Qing asked, sipping calmly. "You looked like you were going to pass out a couple of minutes ago."
Shirou gave a tired—but genuine—smile. "I feel better now. Still a little tired, yeah. But I'm good."
He did look better. Color was back in his cheeks. His voice no longer trembled. Still, Florence moved, her hand subtly shifting—
But Shirou was faster. He reached into the box and pulled out the final card before she could intercept him.
Saber.
He didn't close his eyes this time. He simply looked down at it and spoke from the heart.
"Someone noble," he murmured. "Thoughtful. And male."
The card shimmered in immediate response.
Florence sighed and backed off, arms crossing over her chest.
The summoning circle ignited—not in a blaze, but in pale silver and pale blue, like moonlight reflected on steel.
There was no storm of magic, no oppressive pressure—just a quiet strength unfolding outward.
And Shirou knew—Saber had heard him.
The summoning circle glowed with cold, silver-blue light, steady and unwavering, like moonlight cast across a frozen battlefield. There was no pressure this time—just a quiet certainty, as if the world itself paused to make room for what was to come.
The light shimmered outward, then folded in on itself like glass bending without breaking. From within it, a tall figure stepped forward with calm precision.
He stood clad in dark armor laced with pale runic silver, edged with angular plating that hinted at both old magic and futuristic design. His cloak swept behind him, midnight black trimmed in violet, and two blades hung at his sides—one long and glowing cyan, the other smaller but just as refined.
His short, steel-blue hair was neatly combed back, and a sharp pair of glasses perched on his nose. He was regal, poised. Noble.
And his eyes—icy, piercing blue—looked over the gathered room without a flicker of confusion or arrogance.
He bowed slightly at the waist.
"Saber-class Servant. Sigurd." His voice was calm, deep, and utterly composed. "I have responded to your call."
Shirou, still seated with an empty bowl in front of him, straightened in quiet relief. "Welcome, Sigurd."
Sigurd's eyes locked onto his. "You are the Master?"
"I am."
Another nod, almost reverent. "Then I am yours to command."
Florence, standing beside the kettle, gave the new Saber a quick glance and hummed approvingly. "At least this one arrived without any flair."
"Wouldn't call that 'without flair,'" Yan Qing muttered. "He looks like a walking runic monolith."
Romani smiled faintly. "But he's exactly what was asked for."
Arjuna's gaze lingered on Sigurd longer than necessary. Karna, as always, said nothing.
Achilles raised his tea cup. "You missed tea, but not the food. Welcome to the chaos."
Sigurd stepped forward and then, surprisingly, offered Shirou a slight smile. "You look exhausted. Let the rest of us eat. You've done more than enough."
Shirou let out a long, tired breath and leaned back in his chair.
The room was full now—seven Servants, all waiting, all watching.
And for the first time that night, everything was complete.