A Note From the Author:

Thanks for viewing! I wanted to quickly establish that this is my first time writing a crossover, and also that in terms of the Fate Series, I am mostly using information from the Fate/Zero and Fate/stay night timelines. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Monday January 27th, 2024

Your Lordship,

It is with great honor that I formally accept your invitation to become part of the 'Seven Saviors', as you so called it. I have come to the conclusion that we can only benefit from our cooperation; I apologize for having been vague before and, in the process, having done our friendship a disservice. I am flattered that you'd consider including me and entrusting me with this mighty task that lies before us.

Further to our previous discussions, I can confirm that I am in possession of the catalyst for whom I believe to be an appropriate Servant - due to its nature, however, I will not summon it until myself and the other mages have received your specific instructions. Of course, I can assure you that it will be more than able to assist me in facilitating your goals.

I look forward to meeting you again in London in five days' time. If there's anything else I can do for you, you of course have my telelink data; please feel free to contact me via a far more efficient - if less elegant - method.

I remain ever at your service.

Yours Sincerely,

Erwin Smith

Erwin signed, replaced the cap of his silver fountain pen and set it aside. He then lifted the page to blow across his trademark emerald ink.

There was something incredibly satisfying about handwriting, even were he not a magus. It was something lost in today's world of near-instantaneous, constant communication through the 'net, and something that he'd fought to preserve in some small part. The physical act of forming individual letters, right down to each individual stroke - unique to every individual that bothered to still practice the art - was therapeutic to the point of being almost meditative in nature. In fact, he reflected as he deftly made a trifold of the thick page, it was precisely calligraphy that had opened his eyes to the true beauty of magecraft and enabled him to overcome his prior limitations. How long ago that was.

Erwin tucked the letter into an already-addressed envelope and, for added fun, sealed it with wax and his jade stamp. A knock sounded just as he set the stamp to one side. "Come in," he called.

The door to his study opened to reveal his longtime friend, Levi, with his thick wool coat already on and his briefcase in hand. He closed the door behind him.

"Leaving for the day, Ackerman?" Erwin said, looking over his shoulder out his window over the sunset-striped lawn of the academy. "At least you haven't lost track of time, like me!" he chuckled and began to get his desk in order, remembering his dinner plans not too long from now.

"Easy to do on the shorter days," Levi said.

"Right you are."

As Erwin filed a few things away in a drawer, he sensed Levi approach the desk - slowly, hesitant. So it was with little surprise that he soon heard Levi's matching, unusually hesitant voice begin, "Listen, Smith. I feel like there's some bullshit between us lately - something neither of us feels like they can tell the other even though we want to. I figured I'd just come out and ask."

Intrigued, Erwin paused and looked up. "Your style as usual," he said. "Go on. I promise not to fire you." He smirked.

The fire and the sunset turned Levi's eyes to pools of molten lead. "Did Lord El-Melloi contact you?" he asked. "Surely he did, because he contacted me - and he knows there's not one of us without the other. Something about a renewed attempt to dismantle the Grail?"

Oddly, Erwin felt himself a little disheartened to hear his assumptions confirmed. Although he and Levi had worked together before and he had no problems with it now, part of him had wished that Levi would sit this one out. Anything involving the Holy Grail tended to be unpredictable and messy and while that didn't necessarily mean their friendship would be adversely affected, it couldn't help but make him anxious for it.

He must have hesitated too long, because Levi scoffed, "Never mind. Of course you were. Lord El-Melloi would have been stupid not to include someone of your caliber." He looked away at the fireplace, walked over to begin poking it to death for the night.

"Am I that transparent to you?" Erwin smiled and stood. He tucked the letter into an inner pocket of his blazer.

"After over twenty years? How could you be anything else?" Levi grumbled. "I'm glad we got that out in the air - I don't like us having secrets from one another. So do you have a Servant picked out?"

"I believe so, yes," Erwin saw no point in lying - they'd all be on the same team, after all. "You?"

"Not a matter of picking. My uncle will probably piss himself for joy - there's only ever been one Servant I'd ever have should the day come that I'd need one. Inheritance is a bitch, sometimes."

Erwin remembered. "But in this case, also a blessing. I'm not sure who else Lord El-Melloi has contracted, but with the two of us he stands a good chance of succeeding." Erwin walked over to his coat stand and procured his own coat and scarf, slipping into them.

Done with the fire, Levi pushed his hands into his pockets and turned to him in the half-light. "Not worried about getting on the bad side of the Mages' Association? That's quite the chunk of funding to replace should they hear about us helping someone they don't like do something they don't like even more."

"I'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Shall we?"

The two of them exited the study, Erwin handing the letter off to his personal assistant as they passed. The halls of the Academy for Independent Magi were deserted owing to the Monday free-day in place that allowed for mentors to conduct private study; it was Erwin's favorite part of the week and to stroll through it made him glad he'd made that edit to the school's calendar. The centuries-old building had once been one of the most prominent common-education universities on this side of North America, having fallen into disrepair following the 'net-education boom - its neo-classical architecture appealed to his more antiquated sensibilities and, he felt, suited the new discipline it had played host to for the last ten years ever since he bought it at auction.

"This place is so fucking cold. Fine if you wanted a castle for yourself but did you have to drag the rest of us into it?" Levi sighed.

Erwin laughed lightly. "London won't be much better, you know."

First one flight of stairs, and then on the second, Levi said, "I never thought you'd be the type to want the Grail dismantled."

The statement surprised him. "Oh?"

"Mm." When he seemed to sense the sound alone wouldn't do, Levi added, "You were always about reclaiming former glory - getting back what was lost, not killing a way of life."

Erwin did not let himself hesitate. "Even when that way of life was, itself, killing?" He watched his hand as it glided down the stone banister. "We have new responsibilities, Levi. They're our duty, now."

Saturday 31st January, 2024
The Northern Line Hotel, Old Plymouth, England

Lord El-Melloi II paced in front of the wide sleet-streaked window that dominated the far livingroom wall of the penthouse suite. He sipped the china cup in his hand and, upon realizing it was empty, set it with its saucer on the the sideboard underneath the matching brushstrokes of moth orchid. He glanced at the clock over the roaring fireplace - almost five thirty. His guests should be arriving any minute now.

He pushed his dark hair over his shoulders and folded his arms, returning to the window. It was hard to see out into the evening's stormy darkness, even with the lights of Old Plymouth's streets gleaming like icy blue leylines and funneling automated traffic in and out of the nearby sea-rail port, itself an inverted chalice of electricity and mana. He tried to peer down the eighteen lower stories of his hotel, but instead had to rely on magecraft to sense anything about who approached and left the building. He could only hope that his affairs hadn't been sensed by the Mages' Association - that no one had been dispatched to interrupt him - but knew it was only a matter of time.

He detected seven magi approaching the suite in an elevator, then at a leisurely pace down the hall, led by a hotel attendant. Lord El-Melloi turned expectantly just as the attendant wrapped a gloved knuckle on the door. He placed his hands behind his back, lifted his chin and adjusted his stance, and called, "Enter." The navy-uniformed attendant opened the double doors and stood to one side, allowing the magi to enter.

As he anticipated, they were led by the oldest - and most experienced - of the group: Erwin Smith, Dean of his own Academy of Independent Magi, followed by Levi Ackerman, his ever-present Head Warden of the same Academy - although opposite in appearance, with Smith's tall frame and blond hair and Ackerman's shorter, darker stature, Lord El-Melloi knew them to be equal in almost all other respects, including the prized elemental affinity in magecraft. His contemporaries, he supposed he could call them, though they had taken a far different road.

After them came a pair of faces more familiar to him - Connie Springer, a rebellious 7th-Level student of the Mages' Association with a close-shaven scalp that, as his name suggested, seemed too full of energy to be contained even by a large room by himself; and Marco Bodt, a freckled, gentler sort that had led him to the misfortune of dropping out early from the same Association to take care of an ailing relative - Lord El-Melloi didn't care to remember which. Springer cackled at the sight of the room and immediately headed for the sectional, practically throwing himself on it, while Bodt looked around him appreciatively.

Somewhat hunched under his tousle of blond hair, intimidated no doubt, was the youngest of the group and Lord El-Melloi's most pleasing discovery - Armin Arlert, to all intents and purposes a prodigy untouched as of yet by any particular association, academy, or calling. He stopped not far into the room and as a result, Historia Reiss bumped into him; the bubble she'd been blowing with her gum popped and she drew it back into her mouth, chewing absentmindedly in response to Arlert's stuttered apology. Despite the weather Reiss wore clothing more suited to a vagabond traveling the southern hemisphere, which he supposed was exactly where she'd been summoned from.

Last but not least was the Sea of Astray's migration scout, Bertholdt Hoover. Despite his slinking-in and generally unintimidating presence, Lord El-Melloi was very aware of how he immediately took stock of his surroundings and how he would do exactly the same when they reached their destination. He had been reluctant to acquire Hoover only at the Sea of Astray's whim, and did not like striking deals with such people, particularly when their end goals did not necessarily match.

The attendant shutting the doors brought Lord El-Melloi back to the present. He smiled cordially and shook the hands of Smith and Ackerman. "Good to see you again," he said. "Thank you for coming."

"Likewise," Smith said.

Ackerman, however, sighed, and did not remove his coat. "Shall we get on with it, then?"

"Ever-efficient, I see," Lord El-Melloi conceded. He cleared his throat and addressed the attendant that remained, "Hammerman, if you could please alert the dinner staff - give us about half an hour. Hot drinks in the meantime."

"Very good, your Lordship."

When Hammerman was gone and - he detected - entering the elevator, he addressed the room. "I appreciate your punctuality, and overall, let me extend my thanks to all of you for agreeing to meet with me. I am, of course, Lord El-Melloi II."

"Can you still have that title even though you're not in the Mages' Association anymore?" quipped Springer.

He supposed he should have expected that. "You may not be my student any longer, Springer, but that does not mean you should disrespect your elders. And anyway, that title is easiest, wouldn't you agree?"

Springer grumbled something and returned to staring at the ceiling.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," Lord El-Melloi II invited and most, barring Hoover and Ackerman, did so. "I have held conversations with most of you before now as to the purpose of this meeting, but for the sake of clarity let me surmise: as you know, ten years after the Fifth Holy Grail War I, with the help of others, attempted to dismantle the Greater Grail against the wishes of the Mages' Association to which I belonged at the time, in an effort to stop needless bloodshed and destruction in future generations. Those efforts were not successful. Us gathering here tonight, a further ten years later, signifies my re-attempt."

He glanced around the room and found his listeners in various states of attentiveness, but attentive nonetheless. It was promising.

"My intention is to form a team of 'Seven Saviors' - Masters that will summon appropriate Servants in order to summon the Grail again, before its time, to destroy it. I contacted each of you because I believe you have something unique to contribute to this cause. However, should any of you wish to forfeit now is the time, and there won't be any hard feelings if so." And he meant that. Mostly. To be honest there wasn't much time to find replacements that would work as well as anyone here, but he was prepared to make that sacrifice if he absolutely had to. "Of course, if you have any questions, please ask."

"I'm guessing there's a spot picked out for the summoning, if it's early like this? Fuyuki?" Reiss piped up, brushing her blonde hair back from her face and edging closer to the fire.

Lord El-Melloi opened his mouth to reply, but Arlert answered for him. "That would be too obvious - the Mages' Association would be watching it constantly for any kind of reattempt."

He smiled, despite himself. "That's correct. Of course I can't reveal the exact location until I'm certain all of you are on board, but yes, it's been pre-determined and prepared for our arrival."

"What about Servants?" Bodt continued. "I don't have a catalyst…" he hung his head like an unprepared schoolboy.

"I was not expecting everyone to have a catalyst on such short notice and limited resources," said Lord El-Melloi. "For those who do not, I have managed to acquire them."

"So which do we get?" asked Springer.

Lord El-Melloi cut him a sharp glance at his tone. "Whichever you are given." He paced a little, wished for a cigar. "Not to worry - I have a system in place that will arrange a suitable match-up."

A knock at the door again and, after verifying the aura, Lord El-Melloi called for entry. Hammerman wheeled in a cart stocked with lidded pitchers, steam rising from their spouts, and cups and saucers. The smells of tea, coffee and chocolate mingled in the already-warm air and most of the group gratefully flocked to them. Only when he excused himself once more and the door was shut did Lord El-Melloi continue.

"Any other questions?"

Smith served himself some tea with refined movements. "I'm sure the younger members of our group are wondering not only why they were picked but also, what the repercussions might be of choosing to do this."

"I refuse to lie and say it is not without potential dangers, but those can be minimized if we move quickly. As for repercussions, I'd say they are more to those of us who have reputations to ruin. Many of you have none. And wouldn't you rather be known as a peacekeeper than an average magus who simply kept one's hands clean?"

The silence he got was what he expected. Tense, the group gradually took their seats again, drinks in hand, and Lord El-Melloi served himself. He smiled.