Oh man, I have so much stuff lying around my hard-drive waiting to be written and yet it's always tough to properly start it.
A prologue will do for now, I guess.
Once again, he woke up to a familiar ceiling.
Brush teeth, wash face, get dressed for school.
He left his room and passed through the corridors of the large mansion where he grew up quickly and soundlessly.
Memories of playing and tinkering, of family, growing up and happiness were made here.
A cheery greeting came as he entered the dining room, to which he responded automatically as he slipped into his old apron. The young man had become good at that.
He talked, joked, socialized, went through motions he barely recognized sometimes. He tried to ignore the almost frantic way his surrogate sister would attempt to engage him in their conversations and the lingering, worried looks.
Once the clock was done tickling, he set out to school, onto another day that was more of the same.
The colorful pink of the Sakura trees was dull, the rumbling of cars passing by seemed to come from a mile away, and the aftertaste of the carefully cooked breakfast didn't caress his tongue as it once did.
Regardless, the walk there was productive. Designs, strategies and questions - every night brought more of these - coursed through his mind freely as his legs took him to school. The mere thought of the battles ahead jolted him awake, and suddenly the world around him became more real, even if there was nothing to slaughter.
Then, the gates of Homurahara came into view and the spring on his step was gone as reality settled in.
In there, he was greeted by familiar faces doing familiar things. People tended to avoid him these days (was it always like this?), but some stuck around. He humored them, mostly out of a sense of obligation born from old friendships.
He said many times he was fine over the last couple of months. None of them ever seemed to buy it, but they never tried to push the issue either. Even so, he resolved again to put a little more effort in all of this.
It was strange how they didn't seem to notice - more like realize - they were hanging out with a murderer. A more naive person would think you can't tell apart a normal person and a murderer without obvious telltales, like a knife in hand or a gun, but he had learned how to recognize madness. That glint in the eyes (when they weren't covered), the hunch forward and the quivering hands, barely restraining themselves from clenching around his throat.
Maybe the insanity of that place hadn't poisoned him yet. He couldn't know for sure.
The young man used to enjoy this. The normalcy, the closeness, but duty called and made they seem unimportant. He had a promise to keep, after all.
Just a few hours ago, he had been in a tattered cloak, weapon in hand and no shortage of enemies in front of him to slash. Standing alone, victorious over a hill of corpses that weren't really dead.
He woke up in this sunny world time and time again, where none of these choices had been made and none of the many battles and the pain he put himself through had ever happened. Like a dream, Yharnam and its tall, Victorian buildings, tolling bells, hunters and beasts vanished and he resumed a normal life.
Back to his old surroundings and back to his old obligations. Far away from a withered world claimed by blood-starved monsters, where only monsters could thrive.
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he was insane. It wasn't like he hadn't ever considered that possibility.
Even so, Emiya Shirou longed for the Hunt.