"I'm so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of the struggle. Tired of dying. Tired of everything I love turn to dust...the stars fade, the planets die, and the universe slowly wastes away...and even then I remain. Alone."
Shirou Emiya woke up screaming like a maniac. Not of a nightmare. He already had three yesterday. It was pain. A roaring pain that struck his entire body, ripping through his senses like a knife through hot butter. It felt like he was being stabbed with a million knives all at once, as if he were burned alive with hellfire. With a trembling hand, he tried to push himself to sit up, only for him to fall off the bed unceremoniously.
Though laying on the floor, every fiber of his being in heavy levels of pure anguish, he reached for the cabinet in his bedside table. He managed to pull it open after several pain-staking minutes, reaching in to grab what seemed to be a syringe.
He dropped it as pain struck his shoulder. With every ounce of his will, he grabbed the syringe again. He bit the cap off before forcibly stabbing the needle into his shoulder, not caring that the force caused him to bleed.
After a minute, his body finally relaxed a bit. The pain began to dull and he was able to stand up again, albeit his breathing was ragged and heavy. He rested himself on the side of the bed, cold sweat etched on his exhausted features.
He stayed there for a minute or two. Or was it three? Five? He didn't know. He had lost track of time. The pain was slow to go away, and every second felt like hell. Finally, he stood up once the pain had subsided, stretching out his limbs. He looked at the clock on his desk, before shaking his head and sighing.
"Six in the morning?" Shirou muttered, "meetings don't even start until twelve." He chuckled dryly before entering his bathroom.
He hummed as he showered. He had a slim but muscular build, but what was noticeable was the faint Nordic tattoos and Celtic runes that covered his left arm, and what seemed to be chains seared into his right, albeit they were only visible for a brief second.
One could see the fading scars on his body, the years of hard work from the callouses on his hands, the tiredness of his movements. He eventually got out of the shower, opening up a small red box on the sink counter after drying himself off. He smiled sadly as he placed the old ring on his finger.
Gaoth samhraidh álainn, the outside of the silver ring said.
As he looked in the mirror, he noticed the redheaded man looking back at him. Shirou traced his hand over a fading scar on his neck. His clean-shaved face, ever-so weary, while it looked young, had a sense of extreme old age to it. His golden-brown eyes seemed to have lost their color a little bit, he noticed.
His dark auburn hair, messy as it was, he decided to style in his usual hairstyle, a side-parted quiff, wryly noticing how he had several silver strands of hair.
He eventually got dressed, straightening the red tie on his collared-black shirt and tightening the belt on his brown trousers. Usually, for any normal man, this would've been the end of it. However, Shirou instead walked over to his desk and pulled out his dual-shoulder holster.
As if it were a normal thing for him, he began to pull out various firearms. He grabbed his Heckler & Koch P30L handgun and his SIG Sauer M11 pistol, placing them in his shoulder holsters. He then placed his Beretta M9 handgun in the holster on his waist, along with his Colt M45A1 pistol in the other holster on his leg.
As he placed his brass-knuckled trench knife in the sheath on his ankle, as well as two daggers, their blades black and with runes graved in, on each side of his waist, he vaguely wondered what he would ever need these weapons for considering he worked in a research facility as a doctor. His work didn't involve warfare or combat, he mused. He was not a soldier...at least not anymore.
He opened his closet to grab his medical coat and put it on quickly. Walking over to his desk again, he scowled. Shaking his pill bottles, he noticed they were empty. He frowned.
"Sweet mother of sin," Shirou groaned and he walked out of his room, deciding it was time for another raid on the pharmacy. As he looked down the empty and lonely hallway, he frowned. Chaldea was rather boring.
Shirou looked around carefully for anyone around. Even though he was the second head of the medical department and had considerable influence, he'd rather not get caught breaking in to steal pills. Besides, he needed something to get him moving on with the day. He was supposed to help the rest of the higher-ups review the 48 Master candidates coming in before the Rayshift in three days. Bollocks.
As he opened the door to the pharmacy and walked towards the shelves where the prescriptions were, he noticed a clipboard. Curious, he glanced at it. He then gawked at the clipboard. What type of idiot left the entire list of Masters in the pharmacy!? He thought it was probably Da Vinci after she got drunk drinking too much wine.
As he looked over the candidates, he noticed they were mainly from magi families connected to the Clock Tower.
"What a bunch of shit," Shirou said nonchalantly. He heavily despised the magi of the Mage's Association or any organization that would divulge into levels of depravity.
He never liked how carelessly they could throw everything away just for some short-sighted goal of reaching a stupid Root. With his run-ins with the bastards over the years, he never liked the magi of the Mage's Association and their type of society.
But then his eyes rested on the last name on the list. Gudako Mitsubishi Costigan. He was confused. Since the list only had the names of the Masters and their birthdays, he couldn't get much more information.
He found it slightly odd that this candidate had a Japanese surname as her middle name considering her surname was Irish.
What was noticeable was her name, however. Gudako. He frowned slightly. It really wasn't of any language he knew of. Strange.
He supposed he'd have to learn more later. Then he noticed her birthday. November 11, 1988. More strange, he thought. It was the date he lost his wife and their unborn child. Frowning, he set the board down and went back to pill-searching.
As he looked through the shelves, his mind wandered. He began to wonder as he always did. What would Saber say if she saw him like this? Old, a pill addict, a tired man heavy with regrets.
No doubt she'd be horrified at the destruction, the death, and the hells he had seen, experienced, faced, and...committed. He wondered if she'd be happy, or would she be mad, if she had found out he had given up on his ideals? The dream of a Hero of Justice?
Hero of Justice...such a far-fetched thing. He had too much blood on his hands to be a hero. Heroes didn't kill people. He had called it a business once. Heroes didn't commit mass murder. He had. Heroes didn't kill children. He had. Heroes saved their family and friends. He failed more than once. Heroes always find a way to save the world. He failed more times than he'd like.
He wearily looked at the ring on his finger. He wondered what Saber would say if he ever told her he'd been married several times. Reincarnation would be a difficult thing to explain. Would she feel betrayed? It would be rather awkward, he supposed.
He finally found the pills he was looking for. He quickly grabbed two bottles of Vicodin and Codeine each and shoved them into his coat pocket before grabbing two bottles of Valium as well. He searched the shelves for sleeping pills. God knows he was getting sick of the nightmares every time.
"Really, Charles, if you're going to steal at least not do it when I'm around," A tired voice sighed. He knew who it was. No one else had a New York accent in the facility except for that man.
Shirou gulped and sheepishly turned to face the voice like a child caught doing something wrong. He faced with a man who would've been roughly the same height as him if he wasn't limping and leaning on a cane.
The man wore an outfit similar to Shirou's, albeit his collared shirt an evergreen color and he opted for a red bowtie instead of a regular tie. He had noticeable messy, yet fluffy, pale copper-colored hair he kept in a ponytail, as well as emerald green eyes. He was in his sixties, evident by the small wrinkles on his face and the barely noticeable silver strands in his hair.
"You should be resting, Romani," Shirou said softly, "that leg of yours isn't going to get any better."
Romani Archaman Vespucci rubbed his left leg slightly, before he shrugged and walked slowly over towards Shirou, his hand held out. Shirou sighed, putting most of the bottles in the doctor's hand.
"Come on now, Charles, you nearly overdosed last week," Romani stated, "we don't need another one. I'll be managing your prescriptions from now on, remember?"
The doctor left the bottles on some random shelf since with his leg condition he was too lazy to put it back properly. Meanwhile, Shirou pocketed the bottles he hadn't hand over.
"I suppose," Shirou sighed deeply. Romani frowned at the man. Shirou had nearly overdosed on pills seven times in the past five months. Romani had been taking extra precautions to ensure his friend wouldn't break in and steal again.
"Come on, let's get breakfast," Romani chuckled, "there's one thing I'm allowing you to break into and that's the kitchen." Romani was obviously slower due to his limp, of course, so Shirou walked slowly to stay in pace with the man. "You know, after ten lifetimes, I'm still amazed this is the one you decided to have an addiction."
"Every incarnation comes with its own baggage, Romani, I did tell you," Shirou chuckled.
Romani knew of Shirou's habit of constant reincarnation of course, just like how Shirou knew of Romani's wish from another lifetime. It wasn't an outlandish concept, reincarnation, and Romani learned of it when Shirou started ranting out confessions while he was drunk.
However, the fact that Shirou reincarnated every time with all of his memories, powers, and more or less his looks intact, was indeed peculiar. He was on his eleventh incarnation now, his second in this universe, and if Romani did the math right, Shirou must've had at least 2000 years in experience from all of his shenanigans.
Shirou wasn't from this universe, not originally at least. Reincarnation was an odd thing, allowing others to be reborn in other realities, other times, and other worlds. Though, the reason for his cycle of reincarnation was something Shirou never liked to discuss.
Romani found it peculiar, it was as if Shirou was ashamed about something every time he had decided to ask. Even so, Romani knew Shirou dreaded reincarnation.
To Shirou, it just meant living a longer life, since his memories from his previous lives come back after all one day or another. A longer life, he knew, was never a good one.
He had always joked that he had officially become a Time Lord from Doctor Who, comparing every reincarnation to a Time Lord's regeneration, as he gained new experiences and new personalities, motivations, and desires.
It had been a long way from the empty shell he was when he was just still Shirou Emiya, he mused. Perhaps that's why he didn't turn out like Archer. He had filled the emptiness in his heart, even if it meant he went through hell.
"Oh, I forgot," Shirou remarked, pulling out a bottle of pills and handed it to Romani. The other head of the medical department deadpanned.
"Really?" Romani replied bluntly, "I don't have an erectile dysfunction, Charles!" The redhead only laughed and threw the bottle of Viagra at a potted plant.
"Well, we need something to get you up and ready if Da Vinci ever comes to visit your room," Shirou stated.
"We don't have that type of relationship," Romani deadpanned.
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Fuck you."
"Love you too."
Shirou noticed the doctor's hand slightly tremble and he sighed.
"The Parkinson's getting worse, huh?" Shirou said quietly. Romani shrugged.
"So you've noticed," Romani chuckled dryly, "I'll be fine, Charles. The drugs help keep it at bay."
"For now," Shirou muttered. Romani smiled in response.
"Pessimism won't get you anywhere," Romani reminded, "do you need a Snickers?"
"I hate Snickers."
"But you're not you when you're hungry!"
"That's why I cook, Romani."
If there's one thing he'd say about Romani, it's that the man was a survivor. He knew the man's true identity and so did Romani with his. One wish and Romani had been reborn as a human. Shirou had said it was foolish. Romani seemed to wholeheartedly disagree.
Romani was 65 years old now. He'd been through it all. He was a Vietnam War veteran, and an exploding artillery shell was what crippled his left leg, ripping through his muscles and causing an infarction in his quadriceps.
He had fought through cancer, three times actually, and survived, fighting through leukemia, mesothelioma, and pancreatic cancer. The man had survived polio, a near-paralyzing gunshot to the back, being stabbed seven times, and even the disaster that struck New York fifteen years ago just to name a few.
Shirou admired Romani. The man seemed content with his life, even though he had been through two messy divorces and the only child he had had been killed in a car crash. It wasn't that Romani didn't care, he did, and he had just as many regrets and pains as Shirou did, it just seemed...Romani was happier and more accepting.
"My daughter would've wanted me to be happy as I can possibly be and she said as much," Romani would say, "I want to honor her wish."
And even though Romani was going through Parkinson's, and Shirou feared for the man as the disease progressed, he seemed content. But it took a long road to get here, Shirou knew. Ever since they had met, they've been inseparable, and Shirou had been there through every panic attack and talked through every attempted suicide.
Shirou reflected on this lifetime, his life in this universe as they reached the cafeteria. He felt grateful that every lifetime he had managed to have good parents. He missed his mother in this lifetime. She was Japanese-American, and he saw it was fitting to have her buried in San Francisco, her hometown.
But he was also half-Irish in this lifetime. Charles Dean Kennedy was his name. He'd been through hell in this one lifetime alone, not counting the others. He faced leukemia and lung cancer and survived, as well as with dozens of illnesses that should've crippled or even killed him. Out of all of the things going wrong in his life, death was never one of them.
It had taken years for him to figure out a cure for his rheumatoid arthritis, and even then the lingering effects of the diseases he battled all his life still left him in bouts of pain. Suicide had always weighed heavily on his mind, even before this lifetime began.
"Well, what are you making now?" Romani asked. They entered the main kitchen, where Shirou rolled up his sleeves and prepared himself to make breakfast.
"Steak Frites," Shirou smiled brightly, "there's one way to start off the morning, hm?"
He handed Shirou his glass of water so he could take his pills. Shirou searched the fridge and was surprised at what he found.
"Oh...hey, Romani, why is there a bag of weed in the fridge?" Shirou asked.
"Uh...I was hiding it away from Da Vinci," Romani chuckled sheepishly.
"So you placed it in the fridge?" Shirou questioned.
"Why not? It keeps the plant from spoiling," Romani stated. Shirou only chuckled.
Office politics in this facility were strange. He couldn't be too hard on Romani though. He had a habit of raiding Da Vinci's workshop for porn and food. Plus the man wasn't actually smoking it. He sold it, actually.
He found two New York Strip steaks he had left in the fridge to defrost. He grabbed his ingredients. Oil, basil butter, fresh rosemary, two cloves of garlic, and he began to search the shelves for his seasoning. He frowned as he couldn't find paprika. He guessed salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning would have to do.
If there was one thing he prided himself in, it was his cooking skills. Shirou swiftly seasoned the steaks in an expert fashion and poured oil into his cast-iron pan.
"How'd you like it done?" Shirou asked.
"Rare," Romani replied.
"Oh, right, you like it when it's still alive," Shirou deadpanned.
"Hasn't killed me yet, Charles," Romani chortled.
"Why can't you be a normal human being and get it medium rare?" Shirou muttered.
He cooked Romani's first, the steak sizzling as it came into contact with the oil. It was like music to Shirou's ears.
"You ever miss home, Charles?" Romani asked softly. Shirou solemnly nodded.
"Of course I do," Shirou sighed, "I haven't been home in over two years. The Antarctic feels nice and all, but it isn't the same as Chicago."
He was an American after all. He had been born in America ever since his first life, and he prided himself in being an American. He supposed if he had ever met his first incarnation as Shirou Emiya, his past self would be mildly surprised to find his future self a patriotic man.
He supposed it was because he had left for America due to a disaster that struck him in Japan during his first life. Something so tragic it made him avoid Japan at all cost. He couldn't recall what it was. It frustrated him greatly, not being able to remember. He vaguely remembered the Fifth Holy Grail War, but he forgot everyone and even forgot the city it was in.
He could only faintly remember a few faces, mainly Saber, but even then it was fuzzy. For all he knew, he left Japan out of shame and pain, and never returned, even after so many lifetimes later. Something so traumatic that it caused him to forget, and forget he did.
"I see," Romani nodded solemnly.
"And you?" Shirou asked, "you know, you never told me much about your childhood."
"What else can I say? I was an Italian in an Irish neighborhood in Brooklyn," Romani laughed softly, "mother was from Naples, my father was Sicilian."
"Don't worry, I was an Irish-Japanese kid living in a neighborhood full of Germans and Jews," Shirou remarked, "huh...Germans and Jews...not a happy mix."
"Well, I do miss New York," Romani said warmly, "we are the best city in the world."
"That's debatable," Shiro retorted.
"Deep down, you know it's true."
"Deep down, you know it's bullshit."
"You're just jealous."
"You're just a douche."
"Can we agree L.A. is shit?" Romani asked. Shirou only shrugged.
"I swear, folks from SoCal at this point must think they're a separate country," Shirou chuckled.
"We weren't the richest of folks, I suppose," Romani reminisced, "but my family made good money off the pizzeria we owned. God, do I miss those summers. Thin crust in one hand and gelato in the other."
"Oh my god, I remember the joint," Shirou recalled, "you brought me there, remember? Back in '81?"
"And even then you were a cynical bastard," Romani laughed, "and you? How was your humble upbringing in the Windy City?"
"Well, I'm not exactly full-on white...life wasn't all too pretty at times and I spent most of my childhood beating up kids who tried to mess with my mother," Shirou said softly, "they called my father a Jap-lover and all that sort of bullshit. The 50s were hellish enough, then the 60s came along. We were all there watching the TV, you know, my family and I. Finding out JFK got his head blown off was bad enough as it is."
"Christ, the riots after Dr. King was killed still haunt me," Romani murmured, "then good old Robbie got his shit whacked just like his brother..."
"Then there was the war," Shirou sighed bitterly, "hmm...remember how we met? Not the best way, huh?"
"You carried my limping ass across the city of Hue," Romani recalled and he smiled warmly, "you saved me from dying in Vietnam. I'll always thank you for that."
"It was just the right thing to do," Shirou said nonchalantly.
Romani just shook his head at Shirou's response in amusement. The two continued to be friends even after the Vietnam War. They even found themselves at the same college and were roommates for years. Hell, Romani was even the best man at his wedding.
"Then we got here to Chaldea," Romani chuckled, "the first day of work was hectic, wasn't it? I tried to yell at you for stealing pills, then Da Vinci got fed up with our arguing and...locked us...in the...closet...oh my god, that witch!"
"Oh, so now you realize?" Shirou laughed.
"Vaffanculo, idiota," Romani replied sarcastically.
He turned the steak over, satisfied with the caramelized brown of the sear, and crushed a clove of garlic and added it in with the butter and rosemary. He began to bask the steak in the butter, the rosemary and garlic giving it a wonderful and pleasant smell.
He made sure to sear the side before he pressed the steak with his finger. A perfect rare. He slid the steak onto a plate and wrapped in aluminum foil, letting it rest before he continued with his own.
"I saw an odd name on the list," Shirou stated, "someone named Gudako Mitsubishi Costigan."
"Oh," Romani exclaimed, "I've met her. She was a Marine, just like us. Served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Apparently, she was also apart of U.S. Special Forces before she retired from the military."
"Really now?" Shirou said, an impressed look on his face. "And she's not even in her thirties yet."
"Reminds me of someone I know," Romani said softly, looking up at Shirou.
The redhead only frowned slightly, focusing on finishing up his cooking. His wartime experiences weren't something he ever liked mentioned. In this lifetime, Vietnam was horrible enough. He'd rather forget than remember.
"You know, maybe we should visit Vegas on our break," Shirou remarked.
"You are not going to buy me a hooker," Romani deadpanned.
"What? That's ridiculous," Shirou replied innocently.
"Charles, I'm not a virgin," Romani said with an exasperated tone, "I'll have you know I had a wild time in college."
"I did too, it was called getting drafted and shipped off to Vietnam," Shirou said sarcastically.
He found six potatoes that he sliced into french fry sized pieces. Filling up and boiling a pot of oil, he threw the fries in. He checked on his steak, flipping it over when the time was right and doing the same butter basking he did with Romani's.
Once the fries were golden brown, he took them own and drained them of the oil, before he placed them in a large metal bowl. Sprinkling his spices, he shook the bowl to ensure ever fry was evenly coated. Whistling a happy tune, he took his steak off the pan and let it rest as well.
He placed the fries in two separate cups and placed them next to their steaks.
"What about you?" Romani asked, "since we're always on the topic of trying to get me laid, how have you held up? Find any new love interests?"
"...I'm fine," Shirou said softly, though his voice wasn't convincing. Romani's eyes softened.
"Aíne...Aíne's death wasn't your fault," Romani sighed wearily, "you know that."
"I lost my wife and my unborn child, goddammit, who else to blame but me?" Shirou said angrily.
"That's the point," Romani said firmly, "you're blaming yourself when you shouldn't. It's been 28 years, Charles. It's about time you find some peace."
Shirou frowned. Peace. It was such a foreign word to him when his life was always full of strife. He didn't even know why he married. Every marriage ended up in death of one or the other. Every lifetime he lost people. He was getting rather sick of it.
"You're doing it again," Romani sighed.
"Doing what?" Shirou asked. He added red wine to the pan and minced shallots, letting it deglaze before he added the butter to make his pan sauce.
"Brooding," Romani stated, "brooding more than usual I suppose. No offense, but it's depressing."
Shirou laughed at his comment wholeheartedly as he took off the foil on their steaks, grinning faintly as steam rose up into the air. He cut the steaks into ten pieces each, before pouring the pan sauce over them. He handed Romani's meal while he dug into his.
"Maybe I've grown too weary for my lifetime," Shirou said softly.
"We're both in our sixties and have a few more years left to go," Romani said quietly, "enjoy it while it lasts, Charles. Well, I'll probably go first. You still look like you're 30."
"I must be magical," Shirou chuckled.
"Dude, your whole life is magical," Romani shook his head in amusement, "what anti-aging cream do you use?"
"None, I just have good genetics," Shirou replied.
"Sure you do, old man," Romani chuckled.
"Well, what do you think about the Master candidates?" Shirou asked, "Animusphere is planning the launch in three days."
"She's still afraid of you," Romani remarked.
"What? How?" Shirou questioned. Romani gave him a look of disbelief.
"You burned down her room!" Romani exclaimed, "just because she messed up your coffee!"
"I haven't been proven guilty in court, now have I?" Shirou laughed devilishly.
Romani facepalmed. If there's one thing Romani learned about Shirou over the years, he could be the nicest person in the world, and then become the biggest troll in the universe. Scratch that. He could be kind of a jackass.
"Well, I'm sure there are others qualified for the job," Romani said distastefully, "fucking Mage's Association got their shit dug in deep."
"You're damn telling me," Shirou muttered, "well, nothing we can do now. I'd hate to cause an international incident. As long as we fix this Singularity problem, we should be fine."
"Don't you find it strange? That we can't see past the present?" Romani asked, "I had wished the CHALDEAS machine was just broken. Too bad we were wrong...you're the reincarnating time traveler, aren't you? What do you think?"
"From the reports we've been getting, I don't think it's too bad," Shirou stated, "I haven't been able to do my own research yet, but I'm sure once we investigate and fix that Singularity we'll be fine."
"Hmm...you know, you've always said that the smallest things could trigger problems of biblical proportions," Romani said darkly. Shirou sighed wearily, his shoulders slouching as he did.
"The Time Vortex and the Matrix are both self-healing," Shirou said stoically, "they both fix themselves without help just fine."
The former was the space-time continuum, while the latter was the very fabric of reality itself. Terms that were commonplace from where Shirou was from.
"It would take something major to cause immense damage," Shirou continued, "until then, I wouldn't worry too much."
"And if one of them collapses?" Romani asked.
"Then the universe ends. Simple as that," Shirou said grimly.
"Hmm..." Romani murmured under his breath, "well, let's hope everything smoothes out."
"I sure hope so," Shirou nodded solemnly.
He prayed nothing too serious would emerge. Despite his inner turmoil, he enjoyed the current peace of things. Little moments, such as breakfasts like these, gave him a sense of joy. He enjoyed the little things in life. It helped him ease the evergrowing pain.
They continued on with their breakfast, reminiscing about old memories, reflecting on the shenanigans of years past, their current lives, and the possibilities of the present. Shirou prayed deeply that peace would last as long as it could.
He felt someone flick his forehead. He groggily yawned as he looked up at the person who dared to interrupt his nap. He had been sleeping in, yet a certain purple-haired girl always kept him on schedule.
"Oh, for the love of all things holy, what is it now, Mashu?" Shirou asked.
"You're going to be late, Mr. Kennedy," Mashu stated. Shirou only gave her a head-pat and rolled over in bed. She sighed. "Mr. Kennedy..."
"Nyah, fly away, my child," Shirou said, "Papa needs his nap time."
Mashu sighed deeply, before she yanked Shirou's blankets off of him, causing the man to roll off the bed and onto the floor.
"Sweet mother of God!" Shirou groaned, "what happened to the innocent Mashu I raised? Were all these years of Sesame Street for nothing!?"
"I'm pretty sure you corrupted any innocence I had left," Mashu said jokingly.
"People could take that the wrong way you know," Shirou said sarcastically.
"You know what I meant, Mr. Kennedy," Mashu stated, "come on, do you want to keep everyone waiting?"
"Yes, actually, that's why I'm staying in," Shirou said firmly, arms crossed. Mashu sighed again.
"I'll confiscate your Pokémon plush collection," Mashu said coldly. Shirou gasped in horror. The cruelty!
"You wouldn't dare!" Shirou exclaimed, "...fine. Give me ten minutes."
"Yay!" Mashu said happily before she ran out.
Shirou shook his head in amusement. She was still just a child. He cherished such innocence, as it was one of the few things he felt pain for when it was broken. He and Romani tried to give her best a life as they could but given her circumstances...
He brushed away the thought. He would deal with it when the time came. For now, he had a job to do. Chaldea didn't magically run on its own, after all.
A/N; Happy March, my dudes and may the rewrite commence. This chapter is slightly different from the previous time I wrote it. Most things are the same, with Shirou's reincarnating lifetimes and Romani being born a human. Our rehabilitating, addiction-prone, brooding, cynically sarcastic Shirou Emiya is trying to spend the rest of his days at Chaldea in peace. Obviously, that won't happen. It's Shirou. Suffering is his hobby.
Considering both Shirou and Romani's upbringing during 1950s and 60s America, their service in the Vietnam War, and the rest of the tumultuous decades leading up to 2016, they do hold a different viewpoint of the world that's in contrast with most of the characters that'll be shown down the line.
The story is going to progress differently. It'll be a bit before we get to Fuyuki, and things will be introduced in a more even-keeled manner. Currently planning out the Singularities, though I do intend to keep Camelot, Babylonia, and Saloman is naturally included. Given the historical settings and context I've chose for them, our heroes will face some rough patches, more so than the actual FGO game. Anyways, thanks for reading. Till next time.