Pain.
A bone-deep agony, as if his entire body had been taken apart and stitched back together wrong.
That was the only sensation that existed when Shirou Emiya regained consciousness.
Then the world forced itself in—damp air mixed with the scent of soil and green growth, the thunder of a waterfall pounding somewhere nearby, and—faintly—voices in the distance.
"Finn… looks like he's awake."
A cool, spring-clear woman's voice brushed his ear.
Shirou's eyes snapped open. His body tensed on instinct, right hand clenching at empty air—muscle memory honed on the edge of death, reaching for a weapon that should have been there.
But his palm held nothing.
What met his gaze wasn't the burning ruins of Fuyuki, nor the stone path of Ryuudou Temple.
Instead, a vast dome of giant crystals arched overhead, faintly luminous. They were embedded into towering rock walls dozens of meters high, turning this underground expanse as bright as day.
"Where… is this?"
He pushed himself up, only for dizziness to stab behind his eyes.
His memories were a mess. He remembered the end—forcing himself onward to uphold the ideal of being a "hero of justice," burning through his last sliver of mana inside Unlimited Blade Works.
So… he hadn't died?
Or was this the Throne of Heroes?
"This is the Dungeon's eighteenth floor—the Labyrinth's Paradise. For the unlucky, it's practically heaven."
A voice answered—light in tone, yet steady.
Shirou turned. His pupils tightened.
Around him stood a group that even a layman would recognize as powerful.
The speaker was a small, blond, golden-eyed Pallum—childlike in stature, but with eyes that carried the calm wisdom of countless battlefields.
Beside him stood a woman with a staff, long emerald hair, and pointed ears—an Elf, noble and severe in presence.
But the one who drew Shirou's attention most was the blond girl closest to him.
She wore light silver armor. Her golden hair fell like a waterfall to her waist. Her eyes—pure, clear, almost unnervingly unclouded—were fixed on his hand.
On the calluses there.
The kind left by years of gripping a sword.
"I'm Shirou Emiya."
He drew a slow breath, forcing his body's discomfort down, and offered the most harmless smile he could manage. "Sorry. I don't understand what's going on… but—did you save me?"
"We picked you up off the road!" a bright voice burst in.
A lively girl with tanned skin and short hair leaned in close, eyes wide with curiosity. "I'm Tiona! That's Captain Finn, that's Riveria, and that's Ais!"
The girl called Ais gave the slightest nod—barely a greeting.
"Picked up…" Shirou gave a wry smile.
"That's right. Near the entrance to the eighteenth floor." Finn raised a thumb, smiling. "Mr. Emiya—this may be rude, but I have to ask. Which familia are you with? Why aren't you carrying any equipment… and why do you have no trace of a god's blessing?"
"Familia…? Blessing…?"
Shirou blinked. The words meant nothing to him.
The air tightened, subtle but immediate.
"Oi. You serious?" a rough, impatient voice cut in.
A wolf-man with lightning-like markings on his face—Bete—pushed off the tree he'd been leaning on, scowling. "No divine blessing means you're just a normal human. How the hell does a normal human end up on the eighteenth floor? Unless you fell from the sky."
"Bete. Don't be so rude." Riveria's brows knit as she reprimanded him, then looked back to Shirou. "Still—crude as his words are, he isn't wrong. This is the middle strata. Even veteran parties can't afford carelessness here. A normal person appearing in this place is… extremely abnormal."
Shirou fell silent.
He understood it now.
He'd crossed worlds.
It wasn't hard to accept—he was a magus. Parallel worlds were not unfamiliar theory.
"I… guess I got lost," he said at last, offering a deliberately vague answer. "I don't remember much from before I woke up."
"Amnesia. Classic excuse." Bete snorted. "Whatever. A weakling like you is just dead weight on the way back to the surface."
Finn studied him—quiet, piercing, weighing truth from lies.
But in the red-haired boy's eyes, he didn't see malice.
Only something unexpectedly straightforward… and calm.
"Regardless," Finn decided, "the Loki Familia doesn't leave people in dangerous territory once we've found them. We're resting and resupplying. When we move, we'll take you with us to Orario—to the surface."
"I'm grateful." Shirou exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders.
And then—
Bzzzz—
An unnatural tremor shivered through the air from the forest at the edge of their camp.
Finn's thumb twitched.
"Contact!" His voice turned razor-cold. "Three o'clock! Numbers—too many. Stragglers of the War Shadows!"
Before his words fully landed, a dozen black streaks burst out of the darkness between trees.
They were monsters called War Shadows—jet-black bodies, claws like blades, specializing in stealth and ambush from the shade. Individually they weren't a threat to the Loki Familia's main force, but there were too many—and they'd appeared without warning, slipping past the outer watch.
"Tch—so many trash mobs!" Bete spat.
His figure vanished. A heartbeat later, two War Shadows exploded into smoke under the impact of his boots.
Ais and Tiona drew their weapons at once, carving through the wave as if cutting down weeds.
They're… strong.
Shirou watched their movements, stunned.
That speed, that power—comparable even to an ordinary Servant.
But the monsters kept coming, more than expected, and their intent was clear: smash the supply point and tear into the rear.
"Careful—left side!" someone cried.
A young elf—Lefiya—was preparing to cast, but a War Shadow dropped from the canopy and shattered her rhythm. Its claws tore through the air, straight for her face.
The main fighters were too far forward, cutting down the bulk of the swarm.
Riveria lifted her staff to intervene—yet spell construction demanded time.
Too slow.
The elf girl would be hurt.
Or worse—killed.
Shirou's mind hadn't even finished weighing consequences.
His body moved first.
That was the tragedy of Shirou Emiya.
Even in another world, the instinct carved into his bones—to save someone—didn't change.
He surged forward, planting himself in front of Lefiya.
"Move! You're just a normal person!" Lefiya's eyes went wide with terror.
No weapon.
No armor.
Flesh against claws—suicide.
No. I do have a weapon.
Shirou's gaze sharpened.
The twenty-seven magic circuits inside him were sluggish, painful—but under the force of will, they snapped open in an instant.
Imagine.
Analyze.
Construct.
The partner he knew best.
His only reliance.
"Trace—On."
The words left his throat, low and firm.
No long chant.
No radiant miracle of a god's blessing.
Only two arcs of emerald mana—like lightning—burst between his hands.
Under the stunned gaze of Lefiya, Riveria… and Ais, who had already turned—
Light condensed.
Matter answered.
In his left hand: black—Kanshou.
In his right hand: white—Bakuya.
A pair of short blades, perfectly matched like yin and yang, appeared from nothing in his grip.
"Hah!"
Shirou advanced instead of retreating, crossing the twin blades in an X—catching the descending claw strike head-on.
The monster's strength jolted through his arms, numbing his hands.
He didn't give a single step.
"Crane Wing—falling short?"
His wrists turned.
Black Kanshou slid along the monster's forearm, severing tendons.
White Bakuya flashed like a streak of light, piercing straight into the core—into the magic stone within its chest.
Thk.
The War Shadow froze.
Then dissolved into black smoke, leaving behind only a magic stone no bigger than a fingernail, clattering onto the ground.
The fight ended quickly.
The rest of the War Shadows were wiped out by the Loki Familia, and the camp fell quiet again.
But the atmosphere had changed.
Every gaze settled on the red-haired boy.
Or rather—on the blades that had appeared from nowhere.
Shirou let out a slow breath. He dispersed the projection, and the twin daggers broke into motes of light and vanished. The flow of mana left a sharp ache behind, and his body—still weak—shuddered with it.
He turned to the elf girl behind him, still half-stunned, and held out a hand.
"You okay?"
Lefiya stared blankly, then nodded hard. "I-I'm fine. Th-thank you!"
"Um…"
A golden figure stepped to his side.
Ais Wallenstein.
The "Sword Princess," who normally cared about nothing, was staring at Shirou's now-empty hands with unwavering intensity.
For the first time, a ripple of something like curiosity surfaced in her calm eyes.
"The sword… where did you take it from?" Her head tilted slightly, voice direct and cool. "That's a kind of magic I've never seen."
Finn and Riveria approached as well. Whatever faint condescension had been there was gone—replaced by scrutiny and a careful, probing interest.
A "normal person" with no falna.
No chant.
Yet he could create weapons of fine quality from thin air—and kill a monster above a typical Level 1 with flawless technique.
"It's just… a trick I can't really explain myself," Shirou said, scratching his cheek, offering that familiar, disarming smile that made it hard to stay angry at him.
He didn't know.
He didn't yet understand what that "trick" meant in Orario—a world that worshipped strength and magic.
It wasn't merely proof of power.
It was a key.
A key that would open the path to "hero."
And once it turned—
The era of Emiya, the Great Hero would begin.
-------
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