Hi,

So, my impromptu Sabbatical is over. Mostly because I figured I'd watch a series I knew nothing about, and was flooding with so many conflicting emotions that writing is my de facto method of therapy.

Naturally, this really is just a rough draft to see if the idea gains any traction. I'm venturing out of my usual depth so, please, by all means, let me know if this piques your interest. This is merely the prologue, expect future chapters to be around the 4,000-6,000 count.

So yes, I may have been a terrible author in the past, I'll try to establish a regular schedule soon-ish. When I do, I'll let all you fine people know right-quick.

Anyways, I'm glad to be back. I'll mosey on back to my other stories I tossed on the back burner whenever I get the chance, and I think that pretty much covers it.

I hope you enjoy:

P.S. I beg you, give me feedback.

Everyone Deserves a Second Chance:

It came to Shiro Emiya's mind around two years after the war. Speckled in animal oil and pocking at the spring roll he failed to cook, he glared at the mess his first attempt at Chinese food wrought, a mishmash of browning dough and splattered herbs sprinkled all over his stove. The boy sighed, unaccustomed to failure on the domestic front. With a swift flick of his fingers, the hiss of the burners muted and he began to scrape at the burn marks with moist sponge.

It was a strange thought, one he didn't usually have these days. Compounded with exhaustion from a long day that didn't out his way and a lingering sense of loneliness in this empty house he called a home. He murmured for his own benefit a cue that was years in the making.

"I wish things would've worked out differently."

Now, suppose that you were an entity that reigned over the cosmos. An intelligent being that quietly watched in mute despair as your favorite creations went about trying to go beyond what was intended for them and corrupting themselves in the process. Whose great joy savagely massacre itself with a weapon of its own design that, by some twisted turn, mirrored one of your own greatest accomplishment. An abomination they mistakenly called the Grail, when it was so far removed from the genuine article that the closest resemblance it bore was its link to a greater spiritual power meant to grant wishes. You cannot act, for you resolved yourself to leave them to their own devices; and so, you observe the repeated suffering, the malarkey nurtured by misguided wishes. Misguided wishes that turned into such a malevolent power that the mere contest to obtain it resulted in a sundering of Time so profound that the only thing keeping the continuum from imploding are your actions behind the scenes.

However, there is hope. Out of the multitudes that fought to gain the malevolent power, one contestant stubbornly refused to give in no matter the timeline. Even when confronted with the loss of his chivalrous lover; even when faced with the literal outcome of good deeds leading into Hell; even when those he called friends were corrupting into travesties of their former selves; he stood firm.

Truly, if ever there was a man who deserved a wish; it should be that valiant soul. Still, a glaring problem persisted: he wished for naught. He resolved himself to persevere without looking back, wishing only to make the world a better place for others and, on extremely rare occasions, himself. There was a way to fix it all, but there's a fundamental inability to communicate. Either he took the first tentative steps and asked for help or this would remain the status quo.

Then, on a very normal day, with no consideration beyond his newest culinary disaster, he says the magic words in three separate universes simultaneously…

And the rest is, as the colloquial saying goes, History.

The sound of thundering trumpets echoed. A choral of invisible instruments shock the ground and rattled the very air around him. The carpet turned to paste beneath Shiro's feet, bubbling up into a quagmire discolored matter. It went from light brown to grey, to purple and green, swirling around as the roof ripped away from a gust of wind. Above him, the skies lit up as the stars were torn and smashed together into chaotic shapes. The clouds took on a red tint, then burst into flames before coming together and crashing into the swampy matter flowed freely in no specific direction. The pillars of fire became aggressive, wrapping around his house and blocking out the sight of the world beyond a small ray of light that danced in the heavens. Shiro was awestruck, squinting to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, and that the soothing rays that floated above his head was actually growing, was forced to amend his assessment as a new dose of fresh fear washed over him. It wasn't growing larger, it was coming closer.

Shiro was about to turn tail and run when the orb finally made contact with the ground. The result was a flash of light that forced his eyes shut and a force that sent him flying into the air. He opened his eyes just in time to see the dune he was crashing into milliseconds before his head made contact.

By the time he regained his senses, he spotted a familiar figure sitting on a nearby rock with a content smile etched unto his usually expressionless face. The acquaintance in question had a fondness for form-fitting grey shirt, red coats, bows, and an endless sea of mortal instruments that was the envy of any half-decent weapon connoisseur.

"Archer…"

The Heroic Soul flashed a grin and folded his arms one over the other:

"Shiro Emiya, this just might be the first time I don't instinctively want to slice your throat when I see your face."