Prologue: A Wish and a Child

I was in love.

That could be the only explanation.

The flutter in my heart whenever my mind wandered to him was affirmation enough.

The warm tingle that spread from my chest to the tips of my fingers and toes was affirmation enough.

Whenever I would see him, my feet would compel me to run; to jump into his arms and hold him tight, making sure to never let go. To not let him go, for his existence was my existence.

My heart would burst in ecstasy whenever I saw him smile, for his happiness was my happiness.

A dull pain in my breast would throb and tighten whenever he struggled against forces far greater than himself. It would start to twist and turn my insides, as I agonizingly watched him grit his teeth through pain and anguish. The bottom of my stomach would go numb at the sight of him succumbing to his wounds, for his suffering was my suffering.

But his bravery and self-sacrifice would shine through these dark thoughts, like a sunbeam chasing away a blanket of black clouds from the sky. He was a Hero. No, he was my Hero. A gallant champion who brought hope and reason to my haphazard life. His brilliant sword would slice through enemies not for martial glory, but for what he believed in. His central dogma stayed immaculate and without compromise to the very end, never bowing to the machinations of Beasts, Man, or Gods alike. I thought love was an impossibility for me. Me, a woman who had rejected many suitors that came for my hand. And also myself, who had equally sought as many men that passed my fancy as I denied. But none stirred a torrential and chaotic passion from deep within me like him.

I, was in love with him.

I knew this quite well, and never did I deny it, but neither would I accept it. Afraid I was, of what would become of me if I did. So, I simply continued to peer into the reflective slabs of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing me to behold his adventures, exploits, and his everyday life upon their shining surfaces. It was only a matter of time before I could avoid it no longer. He was a man whose very conviction would outlast mountains. Whose sparkling persona outshines stars. Whose fearlessness would move any that stood before or beside him. To a man like that, I was weak. My resolve wavered as the days continued and he quickly had me in his grasp, intentionally to or not.

Ah yes, I love him. I love everything about him.

As soon as I admitted it, even allowing the errant thought to pass through my mind, it was over. My heart had won out over my mind and subjugated my very soul. I curled in my spacious bed like a fetus, my hair spread to and forth around my head not unlike a halo. Everything was colorful and far more vibrant than I ever remembered. The world around me was bright, brighter than I could ever picture. Everything was alive again, their motions fluid and real. And so to came the feelings, pushing through whatever barriers I had created during my life, like a raging river past a broken dam.

Adoration, as I came to cherish every facet of his being. Be it physical or of character, I held it dear. Embarrassment, at realizing I had become a young, love-struck maiden once more. I would daydream and dozing of, with my mind full of him. Affectionate, I wanted to caress him and let him know that I was always by his side; I wanted him to promise to protect me in return. Lust, I wanted to make him mine. I sought to kiss him and move my hand to feel every toned muscle of his frame, like I was marking my territory. Not unlike the animals. I fantasized about taking him to my bed and spending days on end making love and becoming one. Shivers went up my spine at the thought of his arms running across my back and chest, not even air between our entwined bodies. Hopeful, perhaps one day we would have children, and his mantel would be taken up by our children. Sons and daughters of a Hero who was an ally of justice, they would be reveled throughout the land.

I love him with every fiber of my constitution.

And I so I wanted to go to where he was, to be with him. And that was why I had become a participant in a ritual.

Descended from three great families and immense magi, this magical ceremony was held on a small island to the east. Seven mortal thaumaturgists would summon seven mythical combatants from the Throne of Heroes to engage in a battle to the death, no holds barred, no rules to limit anyone. Beings of legends would verse figures from folklore in a contest of pure strength, skill, and wit. The survivors being the only ones able to call them victorious. All of this for the chance to have a wish granted by the omnipotent ancient relic, the Holy Grail. This rite, this death-match, was called the Holy Grail War. A contest over an object of such immense power that it could change the world to confer your wish.

It was exactly what I required.

I opened my eyes to see nothing but blackness. I could hear the slow drops of water hitting the floor of the cave, their tiny splashes echoing throughout the rounded cavern confines. My eyes adapted to the minimal lighting gradually, but I knew exactly where to go regardless. I moved forward past various spires of stone growing from the floor and ceiling, the thought of finally achieving my goal fueling my feet through the cold, ankle-deep water.

The cavern opened to even bigger expanse. This room was hundreds of meters tall, with unnaturally smooth stone walls that came together like a massive dome. A glowing object that stood at the top of an underground hill was able light the entire area with ease. I climbed the hill, the knock of my boots against the carved step rebounding off the walls of the cave and melting into one another. It was disorientating honestly, but the it was pushed down by excitement powering the beating heart as I came face to face with a golden chalice. It was large, almost half a meter wide and a single meter tall. Complicated engravings of various runes and spell words created a beautiful facade of fragility and delicateness, but also gave it an atmosphere straddling the border between awe-inspiring and fear inducing.

I opened the palm of my hands to reveal seven golden rings.

"I offer you, Holy Grail, the seven souls of seven beings. Keeper of Balance, to observe and bear witness to this exchange."

A soft white glow appeared around the circumference of the rings, slowly growing in brightness as they gently floated into the air. They arranged themselves into a circle in the air, rotating in a lackadaisical manner until they stacked upon one another and fell into the golden vessel.

A sound suspiciously similar to a musical hum filled my ears, soon becoming indistinguishable from the sharp and unpleasant ringing noise that was assaulting the canals. The light emanating from the Holy Grail began to pulse, growing in intensity with every throb. Within moments I was overwhelmed by it and was in a white haze. It felt like I was floating in a warm void, riding invisible waves of energy within the blank space around me. Opening and closing my eyes did not change what I saw, vision was irrelevant here. None of the senses were, not hearing, tasting, touching, nor smelling. Instead my mind was the sole housing for me, and it was now being gingerly greeted by a foreign arm. Almost like the ail of a cat it softly touched my soul, its force was not any heavier than a leaf falling upon my skin in autumn, but it had more care than the hands Roman sculptor.

What is it… that you desire… Champion of… the Heaven's Feel?

I smiled and confidently spoke, "I had in my castle, tall mirrors. They were given to me by the Vampire Marshal to alleviate my affliction of monotony. Such magnificent constructs allowed me to view events in other worlds parallel to our own in their reflection. They entertained me, and I would sit for hours on end and observe various timelines of worlds just across the dimension from us. One day, by chance, I saw a young man stuck in combat against a demigod in one of the glasses. It was amusing at first, seeing a human stand up to power that was overwhelming even to me. But he did not falter, instead he would always stand, and never give up on his ideals. He is the most heroic of all the heroes, for raison d'etre is just that: to be a savior. I was completely entranced by this man. I fell in love with him. And naturally, I wanted to meet him and convey the feelings I have. But the fates are cruel, for there was no world, no possibility, where we could ever connect. We were bound to exist at contrasting times and lands, even in other mirror worlds. Such is the fate the world has decreed upon us. It saddened me so, and hardened my resolve. Thus, my request."

You wish for this?... Is this your deepest want?

I place a hand over my heart, trying to channel the emotions and have them empower the words I would declare next:

"I WISH UPON YOU HOLY GRAIL, ALLOW ME TO BE WITH MY LOVE: SHIROU EMIYA!"

A deep rumbling within the ether was the beginning. Cosmic entitles collided, rubbed and moved past one another like impossibly large gears, twisting the very make of the universe. Time and space would expand and contract, making each point of any plane indistinguishable from one another. I lost whatever sense of self and place I had to begin with in an instant. Various invisible hands grabbed my spirit and tugged violently at my consciousness. They threatened to split me into parts, drawn and quartered straight into the netherworld. But I was not afraid, I deep within myself I knew that my wish was granted. I exhaled slowly with a small smile beginning to curl at my lips.

And then there was nothing.

It was raining heavily in the forest. The branches of trees whistled and shook violently as wind and water whipped through them without mercy. Needless to say, it was dangerous to be roaming the woods at this time. Brief flashes of lightning created veins of super-heated air, as if corroborated the silent warning. Followed soon after by booming thunder, which was without doubt, doubling down on Mother Nature's threat.

But the hint was lost upon Scathach.

She strode through the growth with a casual and assured gait, acting as though she was unfazed by the storm billowing around her. To say she was "acting" would be an exaggeration, she was truly not affected by the storm in the slightest. The falling rain did not wet her long, lustrous, purple hair. Neither did it stain her dark clothing: a skin-tight garb that sought to emphasize the sensual curves that drove even the greatest of men mad in the past. The wind did not sway her hair, nor did it impede her direction, able to walk wherever she wished. The reason for this strange phenomenon was because of her constitution. If one observed intently enough, they would notice a tiny space of air covering her body and over her clothing. This was a thin layer of divinity that rendered her immune to the effects of the elements. She could only be disturbed when she allowed it to occur.

Scathach was a human who was tasked with guarding the Land of Shadows from both the living and dead, given this duty by her forefathers who themselves, also performed this burden centuries before her. She was the heir of a royal line that were devoted to their territory since the ancient times, watching over this gap between life and death, their Land of Shadows. Even from an early age, Scathach was head and shoulders above even the most powerful of her kin, those before and after could never compare. She possessed faultlessness in mind and body, and a desire to achieve absolute dominion of all things around her. This combined to create one of the most powerful warriors in the land of Ulster, renown even to the southern lands and isles to the east. Scathach stood guardian of the land and protected it from the souls of the underworld and the dangers of humans from the "surface" level. She had stayed there for centuries, using the time to improve herself. Of course, the Queen of Shadows was not without conflict, having fought several legendary demons and countless ghosts that threatened her reign. Centuries of battle led her to perfection of mind, body, and technique and she spontaneously developed divinity. Almost as if even the World itself had to acknowledge and bow before her excellence; a warrior of such caliber that she gained divinity through brute force, not needing the interference of gods. Being was an existence that was of Gaia's control had lasting effects, and she was forever bound to the land until the day of the end of everything. Scathach found herself feeling unfulfilled and lonesome in a territory that refused to change even at the behest of ever-marching time.

Or at least that had been the case up until now.

Six years ago, the Land of Shadows faded out of existence, like smoke blown away by a breeze. In Scathach's five hundred-and-some-year-old eyes, it was felt like it happened within a moment. The gray powdered earth that had contained black trees that flew into a violet sky disappeared without drama or fanfare, and with it the onus that shackled Scathach. She was freed. She did not question why, or ponder the consequences of such an event, for those fears were beneath her and outside of her concern. Instead she traveled to the north and quietly resided within the forests that sat atop of the remnants of a Kingdom that descended from her own. The inhabitants of the woods welcomed her warmly, a divine living amongst them was a good omen. She did not intrude upon their homes or feeding grounds, did not take all the water, and kept to herself. Scathach was on good terms with them because they could live in symbiosis.

Which was why her curiosity grew at the sound of crashing trees and the screams of humans. Despite the storm, word spread through the tree tops like wild fire from animal to animal. The fast-paced chatter contained snippets of observations and information that reached her ear.

"Humans!"

"The hounds have gathered! Stay away from here!"

"Hunting…"

"They are…"

"…death everywhere"

"The Pack...gathered..."

"Be wary-!"

"Keep to home!"

"Killing..."

She had a decent grasp of the language of beasts from her few years of habitation, but the frantic gossip had made it hard to comprehend what they were trying to communicate fully. The gist of it could be guessed, so she left her dwelling within intrigue at she would find. Was she trying to stave off the boredom?

The answer certainly wasn't "no."

A beaten path was before her, used by the humans of the villages to either side of the forest as a road to transport goods and commerce upon oxen-drawn carriages. The rain had turned the dirt path into a mess of soft mud that made passage nigh impossible. However inconvenient it may be for travel now, the mud made tracks and footsteps clear. And of course, she was able to find two parallel lines engraved into the sludge, traces that there was some wheeled object in the forest. Scathach followed the trail of tracks, seeing the frantic lines going from side to side, most likely losing balance in the rain and mud as well as being subjected to the pressure from whatever was chasing them. Scathach walked forward until she felt multiple presences in the distance, all the while coinciding with a small clearing becoming visible in the distance.

Many eyes snapped to her from the nest trees to the sides as she continued down the path. The howls of beasts sang throughout the forest, warning each other of her arrival. As much as the divine were adored, they were also feared. Divine beings were not simple creatures, one does not get such power from lighthearted and pure means. Power breeds conflict, and that made the predators who lived at the top of the food chain nervous at the possibility of having their roles reversed and becoming the hunted. Scathach had purposely hidden her presence and walked silently, only allowing them to see her with their own eyes to ensure she was close enough to whatever was there was to see without giving express signs of approaching.

And what she saw brought made her curl her shapely eyebrows in distaste. A carriage had toppled over, the shattered wooden wheels uselessly turning from the momentum they were carrying just seconds before. Wooden crates spilled over a white tarp, piles of hay littered all over the path. She could hear the screams of a woman, followed equally in volume, by the sound of teeth tearing through flesh.

There was silence.

Scathach allowed her first audible step to be put forth, and a foot touching upon a log embedded in the mud.

Tap

The beast behind the carriage stood up onto his two hind legs. A lean, muscular physique rippled with phantasmic strength beneath a rough and matted fur. His wolf like head had two fidgeting ears that twitched in discomfort. The beast gave a small whine and was answered instantly by a sharp bark from the thicket. This was a lycantropos, colloquially known as a werewolf. His yellow eyes conveyed fear as he stared at Scathach, a pink tongue flicking nervously around his blood-stained snout. He was not alone, as around her the lycantropi made their tensed presences known. Prowling on fours or slowly walking on twos, they scrutinized her, all the while moving in a cautious circular motion in inhuman silence. They were always trying to find cover behind tree trunks and rocks, waiting to see if she would make the first move while they were behind protection.

Scathach wondered what was going through their minds at this moment. Perhaps they were trying to figure out her intentions? Maybe debating between themselves if the Pack, with its advantage of numbers, could handle her in a fight. Many of The Pack wanted to maintain the pride of being one of the most feared and powerful race within the forest, unwilling to back down from a challenge.

Scathach smirked evilly and placed a hand behind her back, her fingers flexed and encircled a cylindrical object from within the shadowy plane of her hair and back. A two-meter-long crimson spear appeared in her hand seamlessly. With little effort, she spun the weapon expertly with a single hand, rotating the spear's shaft between her fingers and placed the butt of the pole upon the felled tree below her feet with the blade pointed skyward. A metallic ring echoed throughout the clearing at the contact, causing the lyncantropi to hold their breaths collectively in anxiousness.

The blood lust from the spear radiated outwards like a red haze, assaulting their senses, with the effect seemingly emboldened by the apparent intentions of its master. A giddy feeling threatened to surface onto her face as she tensed her arm, preparing to swing the demonic pole arm clean through the skull of the first mutt that would challenge her. A wicked smile extended.

"Scatter."

The werewolves wasted no time fleeing. They yelled and yipped to one another, encouraging escape rather than combat against the demonic spear of one of the most feared warriors of all time. They would report back to The Pack Leader immediately! In moments they were miles away, too intimidated to even howl to the main body of The Pack across the river.

"Well that was anti-climatic…" Scathach muttered sadly, a disappointed look coloring her face as she placed her spear back into the shadows behind her.

Scathach walked up to the wagon and began inspecting the remains of the meal the lyncantropos had been engorging on. To the side of the wooden carriage, a young woman laid on the ground with her thin limbs haphazardly splayed in unnatural angles. She wore an exquisite crimson dress with a matching shawl, both with silver embroidery. The clothing must have been beautiful in the past, but they were now tattered rags, soiled and drenched black by dirt and rain. A gaping hole bore out of her abdomen, the entrails spilling outward gruesomely. If she was lucky, she might have died instantly due to shock. Scathach knelt on a single leg, her eyes tracing around the fair face of the lady whose pale white cheeks were forever frozen in the motion of a scream. Judging by her build and facial bones, she was probably in her mid-twenties, still having a rounded face and shapely chin characteristic of youth. The eyes were a beautiful amber in color, going well with the platinum blonde hair that shone even in death. Scathach's fingers gently pulled the eyelids of the beautiful woman shut, softly muttering prayers that wished for this soul to reach the afterlife peacefully.

She then spotted something shimmering near the woman's hand. The dead's fingertips were coated in a silvery substance, that when followed would lead to a spell circle just below her palm, hidden at first but noticeable if one got closer.

"A platinum spell circle?" Scathach inspected the intricate drawing, "It seems like it was intended to... move something? I haven't seen many of these characters before. They look neither Gaelic nor English."

She abandoned the analysis of the circle and turned her attention to the other riders of the cart. Four men to be precise, three warriors wearing armor of astounding quality and one man in leather gear, most likely the cabbie who directed the horse. A noblewoman who was traveling with an envoy of knights for protection seemed like the likely story. The spearwoman questioned the sanity of the deceased group for the very thought of wandering into the forest in these conditions. The lack of any supplies, such as extra clothing, extra food, and water quickly struck this theory down. The group had left hastily by the looks of it, some type of emergency that required immediate travel.

But there was only so much she could guess from discombobulated limbs and torsos strewn all over. The werewolves had feasted on them voraciously, not even leaving bones remaining in some cases.

She would give the remaining bodies a proper burial in the morning, they deserved at least such a gesture in death. Scathach stood and tilted her head at the sky. To her dismay the clouds were gray and angrily rolled across the canopy of trees, giving no signs of the storm letting up. She stood up to leave, preparing a message to spread to the forest denizens of the tragic events that took place.

"I should probably go and contact the-"

Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!

A shrill cry pierced through the air. The sound was high pitched and distinct, as though it was designed by nature to travel as far as possible.

Waaaaaaaaaaahhhh!

It repeated. Scathach slowly paced towards the source of the sound, which appeared to be emanating from the rear of the carriage.

Waaaaaaaaahhhhhh! Waaaaaaaaaahhhh! Wa- waaaaaahhhhh!

Scathach brushed aside the straw that covered a box. Except she found that it wasn't just loose vegetation, in fact it was a blanket of straw tied together and lined with cloth. A carpet of beige weeds that was used to conceal an opening. She pulled the tarp aside and peered inside.

Hic-hic WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! WAHHH!

It was a baby.

A tiny baby with red hair was wrapped loosely in a dark woolen maroon cloth, hidden within a perforated wooden crate. How did the lycantropi miss him? Scathach thought in disbelief as she came closer to the infant. The gap in the fabric confirmed that he was indeed male, and he seemed to be relatively healthy from the sound the set of lungs he had were producing. More alarmingly, only a single arm was waving in the air with distress. Scathach pushed some of the cloth aside, the left side of his body was missing the upper and lower parts of the limb. Only a shoulder blade remained, as if a reminder to highlight the absence of humanity's primary tool. The spearwoman moved on instinct, leaning downward with an extended index finger towards the child. To her shock the baby stopped crying and stared at the protrusion in front of him with scrunched eyes before reaching up and seizing the digit with his feeble hand. There was surprising strength in that grip.

A perplexing emotion began to bubble up in the warrior queen, seemingly leaving her lungs numb and out of breath.

"Alright little babe, uppsie daisy," Scathach scooped up the package of fabric and flesh into her arms, "No need to be afraid, you're safe now."

Did the child understand? She said it more for her own ease of mind really.

Her eyes returned to the inside the box where another intricate circle of platinum lie, previously hidden by the baby.

Was this circle hiding the presence of the child? It was possible but two circles were not needed for that, neither did they require such complexity. On closer inspection, it looked identical to the magic circle near the noblewoman. It was unlikely that the two circles were unrelated. From what Scathach could infer, their spell compositions were essentially the same, but with differences in specifying what the target was and who would be sustaining the spell. Scathach had little knowledge of contemporary magic, and could only hypothesize their purpose.

A small sniffle brought her attention back to the small bundle of warmth in her hands. He had stopped shuddering, and slowly opened his eyes fully. And Scathach beheld the most beautiful pair of golden orbs she had ever seen. They seemed to glow in the night, an ethereal glimmer within the golden iris'. It was enchanting.

The perplexing feeling from before spread, a longing from the depths of her heart reached out toward him.

The infant made a small gurgle, staring at her with his dazzling eyes widened in curiosity and small mouth agape. The Queen of the Land of Shadows sighed and carefully wrapped the baby a tad tighter, hoping that the cloth would help to help ward off the cold.

"Let us get you out of this rain, Little One."

As she walked away from the ruin, a child cradled in her arms, an invisible weight had begun to slip from her shoulders. Bulk she did not know she was carrying, relieved. The stickiness of apprehension faded from the back of her mind. As much as she may have disliked it, the Land of Shadows gave purpose to her life and her actions. With its loss, she was also lost. A yearning would pull at her bit by bit, as Scathach would occasionally glance down at her charge and see the child staring back at her with the same expression. Even if it was sudden and without warning, she had something to work towards now. She would be taking care of... wait a second…

"What do I call you? Do you have a name?"

The child did not answer. A small panic rose, as Scathach had no experience naming children. Even worse, what if this child already had a name? Will the family (if they came searching) be able to recognize the young one with it?

Shirou

A small voice spoke in her mind. Young, feminine, and strangely familiar, and it cut through her thoughts like a blade.

Shirou

It spoke again. Scathach thought nothing of it, ghosts were real after-all.

"That sounds like a nice name," Scathach whispered into her arms, "Shirou."

They went home.

Authors Note:

Hello again, readers!

Welcome to my new project: A Strange Instance of Ulster.

Yes, I know I spelled it wrong in the first version uploaded, forgive me for my oversight. I must have revised this chapter a minimum of five times, finding new mistakes each time. I should probably look for an editor ASAP.

So a new work. This is a story of desire. In summary, a mysterious woman so enraptured in our Hero, Shirou Emiya, has won the Holy Grail in some far-off time and place. She makes a wish, demanding she meet her treasured one. However, they are separated karmically, forever bound by the universe to always exist at separate times and in different worlds; never to meet. The Holy Grail grants her wish by reaching out and tying together multiple realities and allow the rendezvous of her dreams. This is a strange land in a strange universe. Rules bend and break, and strange anomalies occur. Such as the disappearance of the Land of Shadows.

What woman is capable of this. Who is she? That's a secret!

I also saw this perfect opportunity to also explore an idea for Shirou's past I had floated in my mind. Who was he before the fire? Soon we will know. And just to clarify he is the baby at the end, and yes, he only has one arm. Finding out which arm to be missing was maddening. The art online is never consistent about his anatomy, with the discrepancy extending to even the official art!

In the end I have decided to use the visual novel as my source for art. So Shirou's left arm will be missing.

Why left? Shirou's magic circuits are contained in his left arm, his command seals were on his left hand, and Archer's left arm was attached to his left side. Coincidence? I think not!

This will be an important plot point further down the line when I start introducing politics.

The inspiration for this story was mostly happenstance. I am excitedly awaiting the release of Fate/Grand Order in North America, so to prepare I began researching the roster of Servants.

What caught my eye was the description for a certain Lancer: Scathach. She was the teacher of Cu Chulainn and various other heroes. She was so powerful that she had went and basically achieved divinity by pure virtue of ability. One of the most powerful humans to date in my opinion. She guarded the Land of Shadows (a place for spirits and ghosts to reside in) from the Underworld and was tasked with this until the end of time. Scathach was the one to give Cu Chulainn his cursed spear: Gae Bolg.

Scathach in FGO is numb, having lost feeling from her time guarding the Land of Shadows. The more celestial she became, the more she was removed from her human site and sensibilities. So I thought it would be funny to pit this super-woman against something she is completely unfamiliar with: raising a baby. This is going to be very fun to write. I hope I can properly portray their interactions in the chapters to come.

The woman in the first scene was also found during my research into Fate/Grand Order, if many are curious about who she is. Some hints: she is of the Rider class and was drawn by Takayama-sensei.

Please note that this story is mostly unplanned and just going off my whims. I have been working on an outline for a larger story that will arrive later down the line. Thank you for being patient.

Salutations, and as always, I highly appreciate reviews and feedback. I will try my best to address each review. Thank you!

Sou[Bu]