One night there was a hill, on the hill there lay a man, his most notable feature was his white hair which looked strange as he only looked like he was in his twenties.
It would be more accurate to say that he had the ragged remains of clothes on then to say he was dressed, before him lay the corpses of numerous figures, a knowledgeable person would be able to tell you that they were undead until they were killed.
As for the man he had not fared well in the battle as while the undead were weak the numbers overwhelmed him who had been tired from fighting the vampire that created them.
Despite the severity of his wounds, despite the difficulty and pain breathing caused him, despite the pool of his blood spreading, his expression was that of a man smiling.
The distant view of an unconscious person, a complete stranger to him and a person that had never spoken a word to him, he had first seen this person a few hours before.
The man with white hair could tell from his first look that the stranger was a member of the church, an executor albeit one who had come across a dead apostle that he couldn't handle.
The executor was badly wounded; the man with white hair had come across him by chance, with his second glance he determined that no mortal wound had been afflicted, and as the executor fell unconscious he mouthed a single word "help" before he fell into a gentle abyss.
The man with white hair lying on a hill with numerous corpses drew a final breath before closing his eyes, he though back to a time before this had happened, before he had driven away his remaining friends, before his hair had been bleached white by his magic, before the girl so much like a snow fairy had died, before the girl with the golden hair had left.
He remembered her green eyes often burning with a determination that had stretched beyond time for a wish, eyes that at the end had been filled with contend.
He remembered her blade, invisible until she was ready to use it as her greatest attack, a blade of promised victory, a blade capable of unleashed a stream of destruction in the form of light.
He remembered her other blade the blade that no longer existed in this world, the only remain was in the form of memory and a phantom, weaker then the true blade but still holing within it the ideals that both her and her blade has stood for.
He remembered the sheath, the artefact that had saved his life, too many times to count within the time that he saw her, the sheath that had caused him to summon her of all spirits, the only thing over then his ideals that he had gained over his life.
Amid the phantoms he used the phantom of the sheath was the only perfect phantom he had, so close to the original that it was the original.
The sheath that shared the name of the land that she was waiting on, the land of myth located in the lands of the fey.
The sheath that was called "Avalon", with his last breath the man with white hair whispered the name of the land, the sheath, his final goal, his destination.
The man with white hair laying on a silent hill during the night, with the destroyed corpses of the undead near him and the first rays of the sun over head unseen to his shut eyes, he thought of the past, of the man with the smile on his face that had saved him, of the girls that had been his friends one with purple hair that seemed to always be keeping something from him yet had made sure that he eat properly, one with brown hair in pigtails that always poked fun at him yet showed him care when it mattered.
He remembered the girl that was like a snow fairy, like a sister with her white hair, the girl that he couldn't save.
He thought of all that had happened, how the people he saved started to be wary of him, the people who in their conviction of him acted as the personification of his ideals betraying him, the simple goal of trying to save everyone caused him to have to leave behind his friends, and yet after seeing a single person in trouble he acted the save a stranger.
And yet as he looked back if he could do it all again there wasn't a single thing that he would change, for he didn't regret saving the people he had saved.
On a hill that night Emiya Shirou died without a single regret, while on another hill cover in green grass, with a blond green eyed girl sitting in the shade a red haired golden eyed boy arrived and as the eyes of the two people met the girl that had waited and the boy that searched had found each other and without any need for words she silently rose and they embraced.
AN:
To clarify this is Shirou from the fate route
Please review it