Prologue

He held her close as he dashed through the trees, chased by a vile, inhuman roar of rage. He was already starting to unravel. Who was he? Shirou? Archer? A part of him knew the true answer. He was Ş̸́͜͜W̵̷͜Ơ̛͠҉Ŕ̷̀͟͞Ḑ̸͜͠. Nothing more, nothing less.

Something shifted against him. Were those words? Ah, yes. She was crying, and yelling. He briefly noted that tears could facilitate the forming of rust, before coming to the startling realization that he wasn't actually made of iron. He turned his attention to the girl in his arms. She was warm, far too warm. She hadn't run for long before he had taken her into his arms, but she hadn't been designed for any real physical activity.

In the middle of his mad dash he still managed to take note of her appearance. Her hair glistened under the moonlight, her eyes deep as blood, her skin white as snow, and yet still unblemished in a way which albinism couldn't allow. Her beauty inspired no lust, not like Sakura often did, nor did it inspire any attraction. He simply felt a strange, inexplicable pride: more pride than he had ever found in his blades.

She was so very pretty, but her visage was marred by her twisted expression. She was still yelling. Perhaps he should have been listening? He shifted his attention as she finished, soon enough to hear her last word.

"Why?" She yelled, choking through her tears. A small snort of laughter almost escaped him. So many words, such a lengthy tirade, yet the very last was all he needed to know what she had asked, and to know his answer.

"Because," he started. "It's an elder brother's job to protect his younger sister."

He was inordinately pleased with that answer. It made him want to laugh, but he was able to realize that he really shouldn't be laughing in his current situation. Perhaps the stress was starting to drive him mad? That was alright, everyone else in this war seemed quite mad as well. On the other hand, it seemed that Ilya wasn't so amused by his answer, he wondered why.

"You're not older!" She yelled back petulantly.

That made sense. Except it seemed that she herself didn't believe her own words. It was all far too confusing for him, but he supposed it didn't matter. In that moment Ilya seemed so vulnerable, so full of rage and sadness. He felt nothing but love in return, a type of love he couldn't recall feeling in a long time, and so he knew what to say.

"Ah, but what was it you called me the day we met?" He asked with a chuckle. He received nothing but a wet growl of anger in response.

They broke through the treeline, into a familiar clearing, and ahead Shirou saw a massive scar in the land.

Jumping down, he released Ilya onto the ground, and shakily stood back up.

"I'm going," he told her. "Wait here Ilya, I'll take care of this," he said, patting her head and speaking with a confidence he hadn't yet known.

"Wha- No! Shirou, you can't you'll die!"

But it was too late, he'd already tuned her out.

An unnatural focus had entered Shirou's mind.

He leapt out with superhuman speed and grace, while reinforcing his legs instinctively. His skillful manner alluded to thousands of hours of practice.

He'd never done so before this day.

The hammer was cocked, the trigger was set.

Archer was a man who lived for his ideals, died for them, and came to hate them with such passion that he had searched for his past self time and time again in hope of ending his own torment.

Shirou had been the same, would have been the same, had he not thrown away those same ideals. In a way, Shirou was what Archer wished he could have been, and as such the resonance between servant and human created a harmony that should never have been possible.

Twenty-seven circuits flared to life through his body, twenty-two dim, atrophied through years of disuse, but five surpassed any of those found amongst humanity, producing more than the remaining combined several times over.

A fire burned through his body, and gears turned in his head far too literally.

I ̛am ͞t̛he͜ b̶ǫne̷ of̀ my swo̡rd͏.̀

The monstrous servant broke through the tree line, his horrific roar struck at souls miles away, but Shirou stood unfazed. His hand moved out to his side, and the Shroud of Martin came unfurled.

"Nine lives-"

Berserker's own axe sword entered his hand, just as Ilya crawled up to peek over the edge of the crater.

"Blade works."

He moved. The world turned white. It was over in an instant.

He took a breath, trying desperately to find the strength to move. This was it, all that remained was one last task.

His consciousness barely held on, his mind barely held back thousands of memories that weren't his. He couldn't afford to lose his sense of self.

There would be no coming back from what he was about to do. There was only one blade which could accomplish what needed to be done, only one blade with the power to cleanse the taint.

Truthfully he knew there was another. A monstrosity, the memory of which was held back by sheer stubbornness, a blade which would rend reality itself if it were set free, but it would never answer to him, so to consider it was useless.

As he called forth the image of the holy sword, he reassured himself that it was necessary for Sakura to be happy.

A cynical part of him, one which would have been nurtured in the coming years, wondered if this was truly for her, or whether he was just selfishly choosing to be the hero again, trying to save the world from the evils of Angra Mainyu. In the end it didn't matter, the result would be the same either way.

The blade started to take form in his hands. Already he felt its presence start to wash over him, reassuring him, crushing his doubts and reaffirming his convictions. He could see an elegant face, one with golden blonde hair and shining green eyes, smiling down as him warmly, as if she were showering him with pride.

In that moment his resolution solidified, and the sword came into existence. He shifted his foot back, his hands entered the air.

"Ex-

CALIBUR!"

Once again, the world turned white.

He was drifting through the void of light with nothing but an image of a violet-haired girl in his mind, and he finally felt some measure of contentment.

A voice washed over him. He wondered what it was saying. Could he listen? Could he understand?

"-so don't worry Shirou. You won't die here."

The voice seemed so familiar. If only he could remember.

"You were wrong earlier. It was never about dying, about throwing away my life. I just didn't want to be the key for them, not for the ones who killed mama."

Something was going to happen soon, and he was certain it was something he didn't want. If only he could remember, he needed to remember.

"If it's for you though, I don't really mind. After all, what was it you told me earlier? It's an elder brother's job to protect his younger sister."

A laugh rang out through the void, and a name began to form at the forefront of his consciousness.

"Well Shirou, I'm the elder sister. So let me do my job, okay?"

And suddenly he remembered.

"Ilya!" He screamed.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, and until his throat was raw. He screamed over and over and over and over again, but it was far too late.

For the last time, the world turned white, and then he was gone.