It was midnight in Italy. The distant sound of monastery bells echoed through the valleys, exuding a dreamlike and lonely resonance.
Caren stood before a half-open wooden door, her small figure stretching long and thin in the moonlight. She glanced back at the room, filled with prayers and oppression, where she had lived for years. Then her eyes turned to the stranger before her, who had just introduced himself as "Steve" and made the shocking declaration.
After a moment of overload and reboot, her mind's logical circuits finally started working again. The dull color in her precociously mature, heartbreakingly golden eyes slowly faded, replaced with the more complex gaze of someone scrutinizing a rare animal.
"...I have no idea what kind of miracle your brain is made of, but at least you seem more interesting than that old priest who makes me confess to the wall every day."
The girl delivered this judgment in her unique flat tone. It was entirely sarcastic, yet also the highest form of praise she could give.
She never asked about that ridiculous "mother" topic again, as if it were a dull adult joke. Reaching out with one pale, small hand, she gently pinched the edge of Steve's trench coat. For Caren, this small action was a huge decision—not born from hope, but from a survival instinct seeking "benefit and avoiding harm."
In her heart, the aged priest who was supposed to be her guardian always preached about God's love for the world, yet whenever he looked at her, a deep sense of disgust and fear filled his eyes. It was the instinctive rejection of the "daughter of a suicide victim"—a so-called "child of sin."
In contrast, this strange man before her, despite his odd claims and reckless actions, radiated warmth in his eyes she had never felt before—not some twisted greed, nor the scrutinizing curiosity towards a "sinner," but a pure, human worry for her as a child.
Caren was resilient and adept at enduring poverty and monotony, but that hardly meant she enjoyed being abused. If someone offered an "exit" called choice, why not take a step forward?
And so, on that moonlit night, two figures—one tall, one small—slipped soundlessly from St. Mark's Monastery. No one noticed, no alarms sounded, and soon they melted into the night.
The following journey was like a dreamlike adventure for young Caren. Steve didn't teleport her with any miracle magic, but, like ordinary travelers, took her to Japan by plane. Yet, every checkpoint, inspection, or suspicious glance was quietly brushed away by an unseen force—a "cosmic magecraft" that interfered with perception and existence itself. Their daring escape became an ideal, relaxing family trip.
The plane soared above vast seas of clouds. Looking down at the endless sky through the plane window, Caren felt the scale of the world for the very first time. Seated beside her, the "claimed future son" skillfully picked carrots out of his in-flight meal and gravely remarked, "Having likes and dislikes is a privilege of human evolution."
"...He's a real weirdo," she thought silently.
By the time she set foot on solid ground again, they had already arrived in Fuyuki City.
The city, miraculously spared from gas leaks, explosions, or disaster, was now bustling with postwar recovery.
Steve didn't take Caren to the Emiya household for refuge.
Instead, he brought Caren into the lively city and found a luxury apartment in the best location, boasting an incredible view.
Where did the funds come from?
For a Caster, that was a trivial matter. Without even resorting to complex alchemy, he picked up some pebbles from the roadside, snapped his fingers, and quietly performed cosmic-level transmutation. In a blink, those common stones underwent millions of years' worth of geological evolution, turning into pure gold ore.
Thanks to legal documents Kiritsugu Emiya had already prepared, the gold was discreetly laundered via reputable pawnshops, turning into a massive fortune—enough for years of comfortable living in Fuyuki.
"From today, this is our new home," Steve said with a smile in the bright and spacious living room to the slightly reserved Caren.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the night view of Fuyuki Bridge and the Mion River sparkled like a silver ribbon across the earth.
Caren, clutching her Bible, cautiously stepped onto the carpet as if it were a precious work of art. She looked around—nothing here resembled that gloomy, damp monastery. No moldy stone walls, no suffocating candle stench—only warm lights and soft sofas.
Though she nodded in response, the small hand gripping her skirt betrayed her inner turmoil.
After soothing Caren and watching her disappear into her specially decorated warm room, Steve returned alone to his own bedroom. Only then did the excitement that had sustained him finally subside a little.
Standing at the window, he gazed at the city lights and unconsciously thought of a distant name—Sion Eltnam Atlasia—his wife who had accompanied him for years in another world, witnessing humanity's journey to the stars.
Where was she now, having settled into her new life here?
Once the thought surfaced, he could no longer suppress it. Closing his eyes, he shifted his magic circuits into high gear, activating "Future Sight Simulation"—a cosmic magecraft not for seeing the future, but to peer into the present with clairvoyant clarity.
His vision instantly leapt westward, across land, sea, and desert, landing in the ancient depths of Atlas in Egypt. Yet, in that labyrinth filled with the air of alchemy and prophecy, he didn't see the familiar violet figure. He searched all data streams and life fluctuations, but found only emptiness.
No Sion. The genius alchemist, always smiling and calculating all possibilities, was nowhere to be found.
Steve was momentarily surprised, but could only laugh bitterly and end his search.
The spell dissipated, and his sight returned to the starry Fuyuki sky.
Why had he been foolish enough to look for her here?
This was the world of Fate, not his old home of Tsukihime. Here, the time axis diverged, and those who roamed the world of Dead Apostles didn't yet exist.
Based on the stories of "Case Files" and beyond, the young Sion of 2004 wouldn't even have been born in 1994.
"I was born before you; you were born after I'd grown old!'" Steve sighed at the moon. Even as a time traveler, the cruelty of fate was undeniable—the powerlessness of being unable to meet those you longed for in another world. His wife, who had once fought at his side, probably still existed here only as unformed potential particles.
Well...this long wait was, in its own way, what came with "retirement."
All he could do was be patient and wait for the right chance.
Suppressing his melancholy, Steve reminded himself: life, no matter what, had to continue. Now, fate had left him with a somewhat troublesome child to take care of—a kind of cosmic compensation, perhaps.
He quietly left the room and stood in the doorway of Caren's new bedroom.
The door was ajar. Through the crack, he could see the girl already lying in bed, clutching her Bible as if it were her only source of comfort. Yet here, in the soft bed, her breathing became calm and deep—the first peaceful sleep she'd ever known outside that cold, stone monastery.
Steve softly entered, tucked the blanket around her, and, seeing her innocent, tranquil slumber, felt his gaze ease profoundly.
Goodnight, Caren.
"Tomorrow, a new life awaits you. School, friends, and maybe a lot more trouble... But this time—you won't be alone."
He spoke as if making a promise—or perhaps just muttering to himself—before quietly leaving and closing the door.
Returning to his own bed, Steve, for the first time in a long while, felt drowsy. He still couldn't find Sion, and the future brimmed with uncertainties, but here, in this lively apartment, he felt a peace he'd never known before. He closed his eyes, thinking first of "the day of fate" ten years ahead, then tomorrow's breakfast menu, before sinking into deep sleep.
Perhaps tonight, in his dreams, he could once again see that sea of stars...and the violet silhouette waiting for him at its edge.
…
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