A/N: Okay, so this is a rewrite of Argentum, because I wanted to fix stuff and I've done more research this time.
It was a cold winter's night in a forest in Germany, where it began. In a small clearing, a small girl stood over a ritual circle. At first glance, one would say she looked like a snow spirit, with her pale hair, skin, and nightgown, but then they would notice the dead wolves surrounding her, and the red blood staining the snow and her nightgown. If one were to get closer, they might be able to hear her chanting over the howling winter wind.
"Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation
Let my great Master Justeaze be the ancestor
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.
I hereby declare.
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!
An oath shall be sworn here!
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven.
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!
Yet, though serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos
Thou, bound in the cage of madness.
I am he who command these chaos
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!"
Illyasviel von Einzbern was freezing cold, clad with only in a thin nightgown to protect her from the cold, but she didn't let it phase her. All that was on her mind was the circle in front of her. All that mattered was the circle. As soon as the final word crossed her lips, the circle exploded with light, shooting a pillar of light up to the heavens, temporarily blinding her with its brilliance.
By the time she could see again, the pillar of light had gone, and in the place where the circle had been, was a lone figure, kneeling in the snow. They were clothed in a cloak as white as the snow falling around them. A silver mask obscured their face, and a hood that reminded her of a jester's hat covered their hair.
"Servant Berserker is at your command, Master." The figure said. Illya smiled, and Berserker took it as a sign they should stand. Their cloak glowed brightly, and vanished. What had been hidden beneath was now visible to her.
Berserker was a young man, who, Illya guessed, was in his late teens. At a glance, he looked somewhat similar to a Homunculi, with his white hair and light skin, but on a closer examination revealed his hair to be bone white, rather than have a silver sheen like a Homunculi's. A distinctive scar marred the left side of his face, starting from a pentagram above his eyebrow, and ending near the corner of his mouth. His eyes were spectacular silver, like pools of mercury, tinted with the faintest trace of indigo. He wore a long, tan overcoat over a white button-down shirt tied at the throat with a scarlet ribbon, a neat black vest, dark trousers, and heavy-duty boots. Without his cloak, he looked almost human. Almost. There was the something about him that made her want to flee immediately, to seek refuge behind all the most powerful wards she could find, yet a small part of her whispered that he'd be able to get through them.
He studied her with an air of polite curiosity, a slight smile on his lips, and yet, his eyes betrayed his war-weary years, the downright brokenness of the Servant before her, like those who have stopped expecting things from the world. They were the eyes that she had seen every time she had seen her father. If his eyes had been the same shade of blood red as her own, he could have easily passed as her older brother. She squashed that thought as soon as she thought of it.
Suddenly, Berserker stopped smiling. "Your hands…" He said, kneeling before her to examine her hand. Illya had been so focused on the summoning, she hadn't realized how painfully numb her hands had become. They were redder than normal, her finger tips tinted white red. A glance at her feet proved no better. They were just as frostbitten as her hands, if not more so.
Before she could react, Berserker had stood up, taken his thick coat off, and wrapped it around her like a blanket. He swept her up in his arms, much to her chagrin. "Put me down Berserker!" She demanded, struggling in his arms.
"Master, you have no shoes, and your feet are already in the second stage of frostbite. I'm going to carry you, because I don't want it to get worse." He said simply. Illya sighed, and ceased her struggles.
"So, Master, where exactly are we, and where are we going?" He asked.
"In the forest near the Einzbern Estate. We are heading back to the manor."
"Um… which way are we supposed to go…" He mumbled, turning his head to look for a sign or something to point them in the right direction.
"We're going to head North." Illya said, curling herself more inside the coat. It was nice and warm...
"Erm, right. And north is which way, exactly?" Berserker asked sheepishly. Illya huffed in annoyance, and momentarily removed her arm from inside the coat to point in the correct direction. "That way." She said, quickly pulling her arm back inside the warmth of the coat.
Berserker began walking in the intended direction, and they were quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds being the crunch of snow beneath Berserker's feet, the winter wind howling, and the creaking of the trees. Eventually, Illya couldn't take the silence anymore, and spoke. "What is your name?" She asked quietly.
She could feel Berserker tense momentarily, before he answered her. "When I was alive, my name was Allen Walker." He said simply, offering nothing else, no titles or aliases that could be used to help her narrow down his legend. Hm. She would have to tried to find out more about her mysterious Berserker.