Chapter 26. Illyasviel
Once, a war came to an end.
A war that involved many magus families, beginning with a great, long-cherished wish.
The one who brought it to a close is that big brother down there—the one who is still acting tough and always overextending himself.
When she witnessed the end with her own eyes, Illya actually felt a tiny bit of resentment.
However, Illya didn't find it hateful.
As for whether Illyasviel von Einzbern ever truly loathed Emiya Shirou, the girl had, at most, only felt that way before the Holy Grail War began.
But resentment does not equal dislike; on the contrary, the girl had liked Shirou for a very long time. After all, she had known long ago that Shirou was her family.
To hate Shirou so obsessively also meant that her world was so narrow that only Shirou remained in it.
Aside from the Holy Grail War, all Illya thought about was Shirou. In that case, it wouldn't be wrong to say that Shirou occupied a full half of everything Illya was.
"Onii-chan, if you don't summon someone, you'll die, you know?"
She had once said that.
But in reality, the girl was the one least qualified to lecture him.
She was now deeply reflecting on her foolish initial plan to turn him into a doll.
Her bodily functions were set to stop in just a year—the girl would eventually vanish. How could a Shirou trapped in a doll stay by her side forever then? If Illya disappeared, what would Shirou do?
Back then, had Illya only thought about being with him, without caring for his future?
How incredibly petty! It doesn't compare to their current life by a long shot! Illya beat her chest and stamped her feet, filled with regret.
However—the past is only the "past" because it can be mentioned casually.
Illya had long since changed.
Ambiguously, subtly, bit by bit.
Watching her tenacious and stubborn Onii-chan, she had received his care even though they were once mortal enemies. Shirou was cute, strong, and yet so pitiable.
It was truly wonderful to be able to live with Shirou.
Yes, she was just thinking that.
"Get. Some. Proper. Rest. Shirou!"
the shout echoed.
Illya rubbed her own forehead, which also stung from the collision. Shirou's forehead was very hard—much harder than hers.
She looked earnestly into the eyes of the bewildered-looking Shirou.
Seeing that trace of weakness still lingering on his face, Illya couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache again.
Shirou always loved to act tough.
Illya was fed up with it.
Before he could say anything, Illya interrupted: "Come on, Shirou, lie on my lap~"
Illya lowered herself, sitting formally on the ground, completely unconcerned about the dirt staining her skirt. She patted her lap, signaling Shirou to lie down.
Shirou wore an expression that said he didn't know whether to sit or run.
That troubled look was quite cute; Illya liked it a lot.
When he reluctantly sat down beside her, Illya gave him a speechless yank, pulling him right onto her lap.
"Wha—!"
The poisoned Shirou was limp and soft.
He might show a terrifying hardness when facing an enemy, but to Illya, he was practically like a plush doll.
Realizing he was now lying flat on Illya's lap, Shirou covered his eyes with his palm, his expression turning bashful.
This part of him was also quite endearing.
"You mustn't overdo it, Shirou."
Illya whispered softly, word by word, like an older sister teaching her younger brother.
She combed through Shirou's hair again and again.
She let her words, like notes from a silver bell, pour into his ears at close range.
"I'm not overdoing it. Why do you have to nag me?"
Still being stubborn.
But Shirou seemed quite awkward about it, which meant he was actually listening.
"Because I'm the big sister~"
Illya giggled shallowly.
"...You're clearly the little sister."
A low, grumbling voice came from the level of Illya's abdomen.
Illya felt like she had been struck by lightning.
Her dignity as an older sister was being questioned! Was it the fault of saying "Onii-chan" too many times!?
"Chronologically, I am the older sister~!"
Illya decided to bring out the logical argument. Although arguing over this topic was inherently childish, Illya resolutely chose to ignore that fact.
"I don't know any older sisters who act like spoiled children."
Illya puffed out her cheeks like a blowfish in anger. But seeing Shirou relax and narrow his eyes on her lap, she decided to forgive him.
Besides, who says a big sister can't act "spoiled"?
"Shirou, let's take a bath together after we go back today?"
Illya was still smiling faintly, stroking Shirou's hair.
Shirou's eyes flew open for a moment, and then his face turned red at the implication.
"Normally I should refuse—"
"Are you worried about the old-fashioned Saber and the others? Then we'll just find a time to sneak in together, like in the middle of the night~"
"Is that just for the sake of taking a bath!?"
The flushed Shirou was truly wound too tight, nothing to be done about it.
But teasing him is so much fun! Illya was very satisfied.
If they bathed together, it was a win; if not, no loss!
Noticing that the color in Shirou's face had returned to normal, Illya couldn't help but let out a bell-like laugh. Her silver hair scattered in the hazy moonlight.
Berserker was gone. Yet, after the Holy Grail War, she hadn't lost anything else. Instead, she was constantly gaining things.
Therefore, Illyasviel was very happy.
Happy enough to die without regrets.
"Hehe, just be a good boy and listen to me, okay, Shirou?"
The silver-white moon shone down on the girl like a blessing.
.
..
.
Shirou had actually noticed earlier that the place he was currently in was a section of abandoned buildings near the outskirts.
This kind of automatic observation was a basic skill for a martial artist.
However, he could not notice the scene at the top of the highest and furthest building.
The faint sound of a footstep rang out for a second.
A gaunt man draped in strange fabric, his face hidden behind a cloth, gazed out from the rooftop eerily.
Tonight, somewhere in the desert outside the city, a battle involving the Babylonian myth's Enuma Elish was taking place. The man was a bystander. Even though he possessed enough power to intervene in that fight, he chose to watch in silence.
He had many names, yet in this Holy Grail War, he refused to use the one that was most symbolic.
The man had cast aside the name "Glory of Hera."
That existence simply stood there quietly. The wind blowing from the desert region that reproduced Uruk was repelled the moment it touched his skin.
It was nothing special.
Just a Heroic Spirit who, if he so chose, could end the Assassin with a single arrow from beyond visual range.
The true Archer—no, the Avenger—watched in silence.
With eyes hidden behind the cloth, he stared at the two people the size of ants who had wandered near his observation point.
Alcides would not be like that arrogant King and use the word "garden" to describe his temporary base for spectating the war between two other Heroic Spirits.
However, if one were to say it, he wouldn't deny it either—this was the "Tiger's Den."
He was the tiger deep within the cave.
The emotion in Alcides' eyes was obscure and difficult to read.
Two thousand meters. That was the distance between him and the two.
The silver-white moon shone down on the tiny people on the ground like a warning.