A/N: this fic was inspired by the fact that archer, stoic, cynical, jaded archer, is still the same old shirou we've come to love through the fate series; just a little grumpier. archer has captivated me since the first moment i saw him on rin's couch in the VN prologue; enough to make me write a fic literally ten times longer than anything i've ever written before.

this work's primary reference is the 2014 ufotable unlimited blade works anime, because i value my sanity and didn't want to further prolong this originally-supposed-to-be-5k-words behemoth. i've also read the realta nua version of all three routes + last episode, and so this work references those as well.

endless thanks to doesnotknowname, my endlessly patient beta and the person who had the idea for this fic in the first place, who endured messages at the oddest moments about the oddest, tiniest details that fascinated and stumped me in equal measure, mostly regarding archer himself; this would literally not exist without you.

The moment he is summoned, he knows he isn't summoned as a Counter Guardian.

For one, the mana source is a person—he feels a direct link to them, a Master, he knows instinctively, so he must be a Servant. And Counter Guardians are summoned in response to events, not into Victorian era-looking living rooms, destroyed by the force of his summoning.

Certainly not familiar-looking living rooms like these, tugging at the edges of his long-gone memory. He drops back into the nearest couch, looking around—

The door gets blown off its hinges and a girl bursts in, harried and surprised at the state of the living room, all upturned furniture and unsettled dust. He can't help but start a little; she, like the living room, stirs something in his memory; but he quickly regains his composure and smirks at her. Such a young, seemingly inexperienced Master would be troublesome; he'd have to take the lead on this one.

"Well? What are you supposed to be?" The girl glares at him from across the room, after flailing around uselessly for a bit.

"That's the first thing you say to me?" he scoffs, his worst suspicions confirmed. "It seems I've been drawn by an outrageous Master indeed. Good grief. Or was it I who drew the short straw?"

She stands up, projecting newfound confidence. "Just to be clear. You're my Servant, right?"

The question spikes his irritation; he is as much her Servant as she is his Master, and he makes sure to let her know that that was not much, considering how incompetent she was being so far.

Incompetent Master notwithstanding, she's still a potential victim of the Grail War. So he throws out the monologue he's taken to heart over who knows how much time, refined through years of trial and error, of trying to protect the humans he'd long since vowed to care for, but kept running headlong into their own destruction. It all boiled down to the same thing.

Stay out of the way and let me handle this.

If it's only me in the face of casualty, I will be the only casualty.

(Please let me be the only casualty—)

It's standard at this point, this speech, and he catches the anger on her face. So he adds in how he would win the Grail for her, like any good Servant. "...Anyway, leave everything to me, and see to your own well-being," he finishes offhandedly. "I don't expect anything from you—"

"—Now I'm mad!" The girl yells, her voice sharp in the cold night. "Fine! If that's how you're going to be, I'll use one!" She raises her right fist, leaving no room for doubt about what she is about to do. "Anfang!"

A Command Spell— "You wouldn't!"

"I would! You ill-mannered lout!" She casts the rest of the spell in frantic German, and for the first time since entering the living room he panics—the base panic at his Master's brashness and something deeper, more primal. His very soul screams in recognition as he remembers the girl he used to know, who would take his self-sacrificial instinct as an insult and waste a Command Spell on something this petty, who was the Master of an Archer in a Grail War—

"Wait! Are you crazy, Master?! Who would use a Command Spell—"

"Shut up! You're my Servant! That means absolute obedience to everything I say!"

The force of her Command Spell blows across the room and envelops his entire existence. He feels his magical energy pulse, the mana from his Master reacting, reinforcing the bond forged by the contract, tightening its hold on him.

The outer circle on her Command Spell fades, and Archer looks at his new Master with a new sense of foreboding.

He quietly considers the situation as she takes him to the sitting room.

He'd had an idea from the very beginning that this is the chance he's been waiting for, the chance to end the cycle of death and tears that had long since shattered everything he believed in. He, the Heroic Spirit Emiya, has been summoned into the Fifth Grail War as this girl's Archer, and his former self, Emiya Shirou, was to summon Arturia Pendragon as his Saber.

(—looking up at the intruder, feeling like a fool, knocked over on the floor—)

He finally has the chance to bring about the logical end to his pointless life—the only way he could stop seeing crying people was to not see at all, and who better to take his life than he himself? But it is too early to go for his former self at once. Destroying his ideal was equally important as taking his life, so that he wouldn't become a Counter Guardian.

Try as he might, he isn't able to bring to mind her name; his life had been too long ago to remember details like that. Only a few basic facts come back to him, even though she had been his closest friend in life. One of these facts, he realizes with some surprise, is that the red gem pendant he keeps inside his jacket at all times must have been used as the relic for his summoning. She is a valuable ally, and at the moment, it is within his best interests to keep in her company and support her as a Servant.

That being said, once they enter the sitting room he chastises her for the hastily used Command Spell, but grudgingly admits to the tightening in his chest he'd been feeling since then. He acknowledges her properly as his Master and his equal, not only because he remembers who she is and what she is as a magus, but because she does have his respect, after all these years.

Not that he'd admit it, in those words, anyway.

With potentially too much nostalgia welling up in his chest, he can't help but fluster her, overdoing the praise to make her blush and turn away, her hair swinging around her head in that familiar way.

The look on her face turns contemplative, and she whips her head back around to face him. "…Wait, you aren't Saber?"

He blinks. There was no way he would be summoned as the Saber-class Servant in this Grail War, not with Avalon still in Emiya Shirou's body. The lie slips out of his mouth, almost on reflex: "I hate to disappoint, but I have no sword."

"Which makes you Archer." He shrugs; he'd already figured out that much. "Boy, I blew it. I used all those gems, and I still didn't get Saber."

For the second time in less than an hour, she spikes his irritation. "Well, pardon me for not being Saber."

"Eh, it was a regrettable mistake, but I'm to blame," she muses.

He wonders if she even heard what he said, and crosses his arms. Self-centered as ever. "I'll make you rue those words. And when the day comes, apologize all you want. I won't forgive you."

Through their bond, he feels the first pulse of emotion from his Master—amusement, he thinks, so out of place considering their conversation. Even looking away, he can tell that she is dancing across the room to stand in front of him. "Then you'd better follow through on that promise, Archer. When you do, I'll see that you accept my apology."

And it feels like the beginning of something new when he turns to face her, this smiling girl half his height clad in shades of red just a touch warmer than the own jacket he had over his shoulders. "Very well. Don't forget that… Master."

He's just about to breathe a mental sigh of relief as they're heading back downstairs when she asks which Heroic Spirit he is. He saw this coming, really, but it doesn't make it any less ironic. He keeps on a poker face as he carefully words his replies. She takes the lie with no hesitation, her only concern that it would be harder to strategize without knowing his strengths.

"And now for your first job, Archer," she begins; he perks up immediately, turning to face him on the landing.

He smiles. "Right down to business? You're an aggressive one. Who is the first enem—"

She throws a broom and dustpan at him, and he blinks confusedly at them until she reaffirms his worst fear. "Clean up the living room. You made that mess, so I'm expecting you're going to fix it."

Her mana surges through him at the simple order, reinforced by the Command Spell. She smirks at him, but he's nothing if not persistent. "Wait. What do you think Servants are, exactly?"

"Familiars, right?" She leans forward, daring him to challenge her. "These talk back and are no end of trouble, though."

The force of her Command Spell persists at him; he relents. "—As you wish. Damn you, Master."

The living room looks somehow more demolished when he returns.

Realistically, the mess isn't his fault, he thinks, as he puts down the broom to haul up a side table to a standing position. It's a side effect of the summoning, and possibly of the fact that he's been summoned into a time where another version of him exists.

Still, he'd always had an urge to clean anything that wasn't spotless until it was, so he goes about picking up books and sorting them according to title, straightening upended cabinets and couches, and he even airs out the table runner—the living room was obviously never used, and she didn't seem to bother, making him clean it out of pure spite.

The furniture is intricate, highly embellished, ornate in the way only furniture in an elite family's old mansion could be. He's taking out the dust from a table leg when he remembers—she had been the daughter of one of the ancient mage families that started the Holy Grail War. Three ancient families...

Einzbern, Makiri… Tohsaka.

That one, his soul seems to scream. Tohsaka, he'd called her in life. It isn't her given name, but it's a start.

Getting everything back in order takes longer than he thought, and by the time he's done, his Master is still deeply asleep, even with the sun peeking through the windows. He's already planning to prepare Tohsaka's breakfast, out of force of habit. When he catches himself he figures, sure, why not.

The biggest risk of being her Servant is that she is in the best position to figure out his identity. As much as the eons had changed him, he doubts that he's completely wiped away all traces of his personality. And being with her again, in his own time era, floods him with emotion like nothing else could. He would have to be careful not to act overly familiar toward her too; he makes a mental note to ask her for her name in the morning.

If nothing else, he figures, there's no way she'll complain about his habit of preparing meals.

He picks through the kitchen drawers, until he pauses at a box of black tea. They would always have tea when they talked, he remembers, until he had to move on with his life. From then on, correspondence had deteriorated like a rotting leaf and eventually faded to nothingness, leaving him with no one.

Still, it gives him more than enough experience with preparing her tea; the way he had come to prepare it came from her, and that much had not changed about him. He sets about familiarizing himself with the kitchen, remembering where everything was for when he went to prepare breakfast, for when his Master wakes up.

He dematerializes to wait.

"The sun came up long ago," he says sternly, two hours later, bringing out his Master's newly made tea on a tray he'd found in one of the cupboards. "You're quite the slacker, aren't you?"

He serves her the tea and stands back, watching her face carefully. She reacts in such obvious surprise to the flawlessly made tea that he has to look away to hide the smile on his face.

"What are you smirking for?" Tohsaka grumbles. "More to the point, have you remembered who you are?"

"No," he lies easily.

"Fine," she accepts, easily. "I'll think of what to do about your amnesia in due time. Get ready for an outing, Archer. I'll show you around the city."

The city he grew up in. Sure. "Before that, Master, aren't you forgetting something important?"

"Something important?" she asks.

"Good grief," Archer looks away, in fake exasperation. "We have yet to carry out the most important part of our contract."

"...The most important exchange of our contract?" Tohsaka repeats.

For the sake of consistency, Archer decides to repeat something he already knows, too. "You really aren't a morning person, are you, girl?"

"Who do you think you are, calling me 'girl'?! I—oh… shoot. Our names."

"It finally clicked? So, Master… from now on, what should I call you?"

She raises her head and smiles at him. "I'm Tohsaka Rin."

And he recalls like a jolt of lighting—Rin. Ah, that's the name— and his heart fills with much endearment, close to insanity.

"Call me whatever you please," Rin continues, picking up the teacup again, oblivious to how his world has kind of stopped.

"'Rin,' then." There was some pleasure to be gained in calling her by first name when he had rarely done so in life. Moreover, calling her 'Tohsaka' might set off something in either one of them. Out of spite, he adds smoothly, "Yes, I believe the sound of it suits you."

Rin coughs into her tea, her embarrassment making him smirk.

Archer dematerializes for the trip, hovering at his Master's shoulder. She takes the bus into Miyama, getting off at the same bus stop, walking the same roads he once did. She points out landmarks, parks, buildings—but he's only half listening, like she's giving the tour for someone else. Very little of his human memories remain, but he much prefers attempting to remember the city as he did, not as Rin did.

The gaps in his memory affect everything except for one place—a place which Rin takes him, late in the day, when the sun is golden and the place looks aflame.

"This is the Shinto park," Rin says, voice a little tired. "We've covered the most important places. What do you think?"

"This is a large park," he says blankly. Out of some stupid compulsion, he says, "…Is there some particular reason why it's so deserted?"

"You noticed that too, huh?" Rin's eyes remain forward, but he gets the sense that if he were materialized, she would've glanced at him. "It's because this place has a bit of history. It happened ten years ago…"

Of course, in this time, it was only ten years ago—still relatively fresh in the memory of the city, and eventually fading into printed text in history books and newspapers in the decades that pass. She mentions the fire and the Grail War, and his iron heart twists like it hasn't in a long time—

—the fire that took his family, his life, which irretrievably entwined him with the Holy Grail War, that literally burned into him the hopes and ideals that he thought at the time breathed new life into him, only to lose it when the very same thing he believed in took his life—

"I see. That's why this place is so filled with malice," he manages to say.

"You can sense that kind of thing?" Rin murmurs in surprise.

Was that too much? The fire was an off-limits topic for him, even in life, so he's fairly sure that being honest, or at least hinting at being honest, wouldn't hurt. "Servants are non-corporeal," he begins. "Our state of being is similar to grudges or obsession. That leaves us sensitive to regrets in that same vein. This place in particular is special. From our perspective, it's almost what we would call a Reality Marble..." Rin turns her head to the side, as if looking around for him. "Rin? What is it?"

"You caught my attention, is all," she says offhandedly, although the guarded look on her face doesn't change. "I was amazed that an Archer like you would know about things like Reality Marbles."

Ah. "What, you find it odd that I know such things? Why wouldn't I?"

"Among mages, a Reality Marble is a taboo among taboos, the most secret of secret arts. You wouldn't expect an Archer to know about them."

He sighs. "Rin, 'Heroic Spirit' refers to one skilled in both the martial and magical arts. You're free to think that I can only use a bow because I'm an Archer, but please don't take that simplistic view with the other Servants."

"F-fine. You've made your point. I spoke without thinking," Rin allows grudgingly. On the defensive. He mentally celebrates his victory. "I'll be more careful from now on. Happy now?"

He takes the opportunity to say something he remembers about her: one of her faults. "Rin, let me be frank. You are gifted, but as a result of that, you have a tendency to belittle others. Correct that bad habit before you grow up."

"'Correct that habit'?! You say the rudest things as if they were nothing!" she yells, in adorable outrage. He makes no restraint on his amusement, knowing she felt it from him.

"My apologies," he says unapologetically. "But it's not as if I had called you an unruly tomboy. I merely used the expression that seemed to best fit what I saw."

Her cheeks turn pink. "That only makes it worse!" Then she grimaces, as if in pain, and he's immediately alert. "Rin?"

"Hush, Archer. My Command Spells are reacting to something, I'm certain." At once, Archer focuses his senses, and probes the area for any sort of magical activity. Rin continues, "We're being watched from somewhere nearby. I won't be able to find them. How about you, Archer?"

"It's difficult," he admits, coming up with nothing. "I can't even sense anyone's eyes on us."

"Which means we're being watched by a Master. This is tricky," Rin murmurs. "Have we been walking around with a bullseye on our backs?"

"Probably," he concedes, coming back to rest at her side. "Still, it saves us the trouble of going out to look for them."

She takes him to the top of an office building, one she says is the tallest in the city. He glides soundlessly to the top, sitting on the water tower as she takes the slow elevator up, sending her a ping of smugness when she opens the door.

"Shut up," she says calmly, even though he hasn't said anything yet, let alone materialized. She walks to the edge of the building without breaking stride, standing to look over the city. "So, what do you think? Isn't this a great vantage point?"

He materializes so he can sigh. "You should have brought me here first and saved us all that walking around."

She smiles at the skyline of the city, her territory. "What are you talking about? All you get from up here is a bird's eye view of the city. You can't get a feel for how a city is laid out unless you go places in person."

"That isn't quite true," he replies. "I'm not an Archer-class Servant for nothing. You can't be a bowman without excellent eyesight. For instance, I can make out the precise number of tiles on that bridge." It feels like stretching out long-forgotten muscles, being on top of the building with the wind blowing through his hair, finally able to use his new Archer-class senses to the fullest.

"I'm amazed," Rin says, and he'd take it as sarcasm, but he can feel for himself that the words ring true. "So you really are an Archer!"

There it was, the characteristic backhanded insult/compliment. "Rin. Could it be that you're mocking me?"

"Of course not."

And all too suddenly she freezes, looking at a point straight down from the rooftop, her heart skipping a beat.

He tries to read the expression on her face. "Have you spotted an enemy?"

"No, just an acquaintance. An ordinary person who has nothing to do with this."

Undeterred, he raises a more important topic: Rin's wish for the Holy Grail. It is not in his interests as a Servant to fight for someone who would use the Holy Grail to destroy more lives, just as it had done with his own. But she surprises him by saying she doesn't have a wish, and so he asks the obvious: "Why, then, do you fight?"

She turns around to face him, her eyes bright. "Because there's a battle to be fought, Archer."

The answer really shouldn't surprise him, but it does. "Then, you…"

"I simply fight to win," she says simply.

He blinks. Pride surges through him for this young mage, already so sure of herself. He had seen her come far in life, but only now does he properly appreciate again, what she was (is), and why he'd adored her in his youth.

"All right, I concede," he begins respectfully, falling to attention, for the first time feeling his designation as one of the knight Servants. "I admit that you are indeed worthy of my loyalty. You are, without doubt, the perfect Master. There is no better person I could hope to serve." He bows formally to prove it; a declaration of loyalty to his lord.

She's taken aback by his honesty (and possibly the whole knight act), and she can't pretend like she thinks he's lying, either, because she can feel it. This emotional bond was either going to be very useful or very problematic, once they'd both gotten used to it. She turns back to him with a bright smile, her cheeks pink.

Rin calls the overseer from the Church the next day, with the same dismissal he remembers treating him with. Afterwards, he idles by as she seems to go about preparing for school. He holds his tongue to give her the benefit of the doubt— that is, until she steps outside the gate. He moves soundlessly, invisible, to her side.

"Are you going to school?" he says.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" she replies, not breaking stride.

After the conversation on the rooftop last night, his trust for her had somewhat settled, so he discusses her safety much more calmly. She tells him about the Matous, and she's fairly confident that there are no other Masters—but he can remember at least one other mage from the school that she's unaware of.

Surely enough, the moment Rin steps through the gate, a chill invades her lungs—as though the air was humid with blood. She rushes to a relatively quiet stairwell to discuss it with him, and he's pleased that she has a good handle on the situation.

He has a few ideas about what to do, but he remembers his place. "So what is your plan, Rin?" he asks.

"Whether they're first, third, or any rate, anyone who thinks they can put up crude garbage like this in my territory gets taken out!" She stands up from the wall she'd been leaning against. "Listen, Archer—to begin with, let's examine the field after school. We can decide whether to remove or leave it after we've determined its nature."

A sound of rustling paper interrupts them, and Rin turns to leave. "We'll talk later, Archer," she says, walking away. He tips his head in acknowledgment, even though she can't see, and before he leaves, he barely catches a glimpse of the Matou girl.

He doesn't remember the school, but Rin's classes give him enough time to look around for himself. Keeping a careful watch on Rin for any alert, he goes around the school to look for magical anomalies.

He goes through hallways and rooms, desks and bookshelves, and gets lost more than once. There are obvious magical distinctions around certain areas, anchoring the magical field securely around the entirety of the school. He figures there must be magical circles around him, but they must be covered up since he can't see them. He'll have to settle for showing Rin around later on.

At 4 on the dot, he feels the pull from his Master, so he goes up to her, packing away her things at her desk. He takes her around to the magic circles, unspeaking. At every one, she holds out her hand to it and probes it, figures it out.

When they get to the last one on the rooftop, they discuss the nature of the boundary field: soul-eating magic, one that endangers the entire school. The obvious culprit would be another Master, feeding souls to a Servant.

Rin turns away in obvious disgust when he brings it up. "I'm aggravated. Never speak of such things again, Archer."

He smiles to himself. "In that, we are of one mind. I would never do such a thing."

She relaxes, lets his emotion through her. "Let's erase it, then. I may not be able to dispel it completely, but I can throw a spanner in the works."

"You're going to erase it? What a waste."

Archer turns quickly to the sound of the new voice, ready to materialize and fight at his Master's word. Regardless, this man—obviously a Servant, and obviously Lancer, from the red spear slung over his shoulders—would have known that he's there next to her, too focused on the boundary to notice anything else.

He glances around—the rooftop was too enclosed for him to fight to his strengths, especially against the Lancer-class Servant. If he was to have at least a fair fight, he would need much wider grounds, such as the oval directly to the west. They would have to jump over or break through the fence; Rin probably knew enough magic to do either, but he would have to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Is this your handiwork?" Rin asks him.

"No," the spearman scoffs. "Dirty tricks are a mage's job. My kind simply fights when and where we're told." Then Lancer's eyes snap onto him, poised invisible and ready to fight at his Master's shoulder. "Isn't that right, my invisible brother?"

"So you can see Archer," Rin says, wild excitement flooding their bond. "You're a Servant!"

"And if you can tell that, princess, can I assume you're my enemy?"

Rin finally senses that the battle is coming, and analyzes their surroundings like he did before. Lancer laughs. "You seem ignorant, but you have the gist of things." And Archer can't help the pulse of annoyance that he feels, echoed back by Rin. "I really blew it. Ah well—I really should've kept my mouth shut."

Lancer pounces but Rin is already running, casting the magic he'd believed she knew, jumping easily over the fence, and he's already flying through the air—

"Archer, break my fall!"

She's curled in on herself, eyes closed, complete trust in him—and even before the weak pulse of mana at her command he's already reaching out, catching her easily.

She keeps running when he sets her down on the ground, drawn forward by the momentum, Lancer hot on her heels and lunging forward to attack. Archer materializes fully and projects Bakuya to deflect the attack.

"Archer!"

The blue Servant stops five meters away, sizing him up. Archer stands upright, defenseless, the black blade in his left hand.

"That's more like it," Lancer says, with what sounds like genuine happiness. "I like people who get straight down to business."

Archer remembers saying the exact same thing to Rin, only a few days ago, and Rin herself says, "You're a Lancer-class Servant!"

"Indeed. Your Servant doesn't strike me as a Saber, though." The second person in three days to be disappointed that he wasn't Saber. "Who are you?" He doesn't honor the question with a response—Lancer keeps talking. "You don't seem like the duelist type. So, an Archer."

He should be flattered that Lancer immediately assumes that he's Archer if not Saber, but he can't really find it in him right now. Lancer rests his weapon tip down on the ground. "Go ahead and take out your bow, Archer. I'll wait."

Archer remains unmoving. He waits for his Master's word; at this point, they can fight or flee. His inaction seems to worry her—"Archer?"

He tilts his head to the side, indicating more clearly what he was waiting for, hoping she could feel the way he wished to fight.

"This guy!" Rin mutters to herself. He feels another unusual emotion from her—surprise, he realizes, surprise at being trusted enough to command him in a fight. "Archer, you'll get no assistance from me. Show me what you've got, right here and now!"

He turns to smirk at her—only she would have given the command like that, and for a split second he allows himself to be thankful that he was summoned to her. He turns back to face Lancer, readying his Magic Circuits for projection.

And he jumps in the air—

—Lancer blocks his first blow, despite coming from standing upright, but he's already pulling back and readying his next attack. He's at an obvious disadvantage, with his total reach between his arm and his weapon, as well as the Lancer class's penchant for agility, so he fights with what he has.

He has to attack from afar, like his class is meant to, closing the distance between them in a flash and getting in whatever hits he can, then backing away again. Lancer catches up very quickly, running to meet him when he lands for the second time—but he's ready to parry the attack, or at least neutralize it. And in a moment, they are even, his shortsword directly meeting the red spear—and Lancer is knocked back in a cloud of smoke.

He lets Lancer close the distance again, but that proves to be a mistake—a direct hit from the spear, and Bakuya is destroyed. Lancer moves in for the kill—

Trace, on.

In the heat of the moment, he projects both Kanshou and Bakuya to deflect the attack. Lancer stops five meters away, the fight resetting to how they'd begun.

"A mere bowman playing swordsman? Who do you think you are?"

Lancer closes the distance between them again, but with both his swords he can now fight to his fullest.

At first, Archer had hoped that he could force Lancer's hand by fighting left-handed, he himself holding back from showing off the full extent of his skill. He'd thought it was unusual, how he could hold off Lancer even with only one sword, but with two swords he attacks more dynamically, with literally twice the fighting power—but he's still barely holding him off. Lancer is fast, true to his class, but he's fast even then. He remembers the hero from Celtic mythology, outstripping even the fiercest hound in all the land—

But fighting with Lancer doesn't feel like fighting with someone who was trying his hardest to kill. Curious, he thinks—it's as if Lancer were just matching his strength instead of trying to beat him outright.

Lancer keeps going straight for his weapons now, but it's no problem, he's projected much more, in far worse condition before. He projects the second, the third, the tenth—

"Twenty-seven," Lancer says suddenly, in a moment when they stand apart. "To think I've disarmed you twenty-seven times, and yet you still have more."

He ignores that. "What's the matter? This wait-and-see approach isn't like you. Where'd all that bravado go?"

"Trying to provoke me, you sly fox?" Lancer tsks. "Fine, I'll just ask you. What Heroic Spirit are you? I've never heard of an archer who wields two swords."

He puts that aside, too. "You, on the other hand, are easily identifiable. They say that only the swiftest heroes can be Lancers, and you stand head-and-shoulders above them. There aren't even three spear-wielders of your skill in all of history. Add in a beast's agility, and that leaves but one."

"Oh? You flatter me, Archer." Cu Chulainn takes another stance, and his spear bursts in a flash of red light that matches his eyes. His Noble Phantasm, the spear of the Hound of Ireland.

"I won't stop you. You are an enemy I must ultimately overcome." He visualizes Rho Aias in his mind, the strongest defense he has, that if nothing else could stop Gae Bolg—

He hears the footsteps before Lancer, and hopes it wouldn't distract him, but it does; Lancer is gone in a wink, and Rin runs up to him. "A student? Someone was still here?"

"So it seems. It saved my life, though."

"Wait, where did Lancer go?"

"He chased after the shadow," Archer says, looking at her. "I assume he means to eliminate them as a witness."

"Follow them, Archer! I'll catch up!" Rin orders, sending that familiar surge of mana through him. She starts running after the silhouette, and Archer speeds towards Lancer's distinct energy, on the second floor of the main building.

There he sees a familiar body, in familiar clothes, with the spear that was not too long ago aimed at his own heart poking through the back, its wielder looking bored as he pulls the weapon out with a sickening sound. Lancer turns around, barely enough to look at him, expression unreadable, his body slowly dissolving into crimson specks of mana that float off into the night.

Archer looks back at the body on the floor, shock of orange hair barely visible in the dark amidst the sandy brown uniform. All too suddenly he is aware of how different he is from the boy. He is much younger, much smaller, his eyes and his hair still bright with life.

If anything, he thinks blankly, Lancer got to kill him—he just didn't realize it.

He thought he'd be more distraught when he finally saw his former self, but he's probably too far gone to feel even this, he thinks bitterly. The red pendant presses over his heart as he turns to Rin, arriving at the stairs, and it's only then when he remembers with sickening clarity what happens next.

This is where she gives him the pendant, the very thing that enabled his Heroic Spirit to be here in the first place. He can't end it here; he has to let her heal him, and give him the pendant.

Rin walks to stand next to him, the picture of quiet composure. "Archer, follow Lancer. If we don't at least learn his Master's face, none of this will have been worth it."

He has no choice but to nod, and dematerialize, already moving away and sharpening his senses for any sign of Lancer or his Master. He moves out of the school boundary, but as much as he tries, he can't focus on the search; he's reeling from seeing his younger self, as well as the fact that Lancer would be well out of even his range by now.

The biggest distraction, however, is what he feels from Rin, clear even halfway across the city in its potency—he can tell the exact moment she realizes it's Emiya Shirou, her resulting grief, her shame towards Sakura... and the realization that she can save him.

The strength of her feelings cascades through him like the ocean angrily lapping at the shore; and something clicks, long overdue.

Tohsaka Rin liked Emiya Shirou.

He catches a glimpse of his Master's memories—of a boy she saw when she visited another school, jumping a high jump against a sunset, a boy who repeatedly attempted the impossible, failing every time but persisting—

(—trying to save everybody, to see everyone's smiling faces, but seeing only blood and betrayal and death but persisting until he lost his own heart—his own soul—)

He blinks, forcing the vision out of his mind, going back to reality, where he is perched on top of a lamppost, scanning for clues.

Tohsaka Rin likes Emiya Shirou.

He resumes his search, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of magical energy, but his mind is elsewhere, in a corridor of a distant school. He'd initially assumed that Rin had helped him out in the Grail War because he was a helpless Master who had no clue what was going on and it was against her morals to attack someone so clueless, but now, the actual reason stares at him in the face, as though mocking him for not seeing it earlier.

He strains himself, not to listen harder as he's supposed to, but to remember Tohsaka Rin as he had known her in life. She had helped him out in the Grail War, yes, and afterwards, when Saber disappeared—

(—she doesn't smile, doesn't turn back, tendrils of mana draining away from her body—)

—Rin had stayed with him, insistent on his well-being, and that had grown into a fully mature friendship that they'd maintained, and eventually let fade over the years. On hindsight, he figures he must have been flattered, becoming the best friend of the school idol, but he was too caught up, his heart too full of someone else, of someone long gone.

Archer gives himself a mental shake. That's not important anymore. Focus on the plan. Kill Emiya Shirou.

Ironic that his Master is currently restoring Emiya Shirou's dead body. Little does she know that the very pendant she was using to save his life would also bring about the end of it.

A/N: the chapter divisions for this fic will be a little different than the original series since archer is a different character with different focuses and pauses! but it's not like you don't know what happens next... right?