Chapter 1 - Prologue
It really is astonishing that the human nature makes us thrive so much, compels us to look for any kind of entertainment. Survival isn't enough for us, no no no, we need MORE. I wonder...when did this curse was put on humanity? On this matter, I am no exception, as surprising as it could be. You could even say that I embody this search for distractions. I long for nothing but the thrill of something that, as I lay eyes on it, wakes this old instinct in me. But it is quite logical in the end...for someone as old as me, who experienced so many things, who saw so many wonders, to desperately look for something capable of shaking me out of boredom. And in my experience, the best provider of excitement on this planet is most certainly the human race. Seeing them struggle, trampling others in trying to reach a goal to see it escape them at the end...it truly is a sight to behold. But it takes quite the reward to gather great participants. But it is not where the thrill is... No, the excitement comes from the randomness of this whole affair. I have no idea who will win, and I am the one that brought them here. Sure, I have my favorites. But I long for nothing more than seeing them crushed by outsiders. Seeing the vision they have of their own superiority shatter in front of them like a rightly named vanity mirror. That's why, when I uncovered the existence of the ritual called the Holy Grail War, I could barely contain my excitement. I didn't need the prize in the slightest, no: I simply desired to see the Masters fight, putting forth their ideals, seeing them clash, their dreams and hopes crushed to shreds in front of them. That's why... That's why they're all here. Do you hear it? Do you hear THEM? Hear them sing the Aria...it sounds like a lullaby...words without sense... Doesn't it sound...crazy?
Que l'argent et l'acier en soit l'essence.
Que la pierre et l'archiduc des contrats en soit la fondation.
On the top floor of a high building, he looks down on the city. Everything in him seems to be a reminder of his status. From his expensive-looking garments to his ice-cold look screaming his arrogance to the world. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel fear in front of the war he's about to enter. He's applying the lesson his family engraved in his mind by the letter: A lion doesn't need to be afraid. Others ought to be afraid of him. He stands proudly in front of the summoning circle traced with chalk on the floor. But he doesn't back down. Not now. After all, he isn't afraid. A large smirk grows on his face. Why should he be? For him, winning isn't a possibility. It's an absolute certitude, that comes from two facts. The conviction he has in his own skills, and the strength of the Heroic Spirit he's about to summon. After all, it is widely spread knowledge that the Servant of the Sword is the strongest of them all.
Que la volonté de mon grand maître soit brisée.
Qu'un mur soit levé contre le vent qui s'abbatra
Que les quatres portails cardinaux se ferment.
She really is a sight to behold. Her blond hair falls down to her waist. Her dress takes her out of her own time, making her look like an anachronism. All alone, with the blue light radiating from the circle, she seems closer to the ideal of the medieval woman than to a real person. Not yet a woman, but undeniably not a girl anymore, you could imagine her waiting for Tristan, their fates eternally entwined. It gives her a very strange aura...almost holy. The kind you would expect from the Maiden of Orleans. But, surprisingly, her mind is in disarray. It's not like her. She chose uncertainty over security. The gamble she took on the advice of a stranger, even more an intruder, frightens her. But she knows that it's not the result that frightens her. No, it's that, deep down, she doesn't know why she acted this way. And it utterly terrifies her. Today, she truly made her own decision for the first time.
Sort de la Courrone.
Retourne la route en trident atteignant le royaume.
After 3 days of hesitation, of avoiding the problem, of torturing himself over the issue, he faces the circle. Thankfully, he already knows the identity of the Caster he's about to summon, a steady rock in the storm of doubt his mind is under. He can feel the claws of fear crawling on his skin, trying to break what little resolve he has left. As he continues to sing the Aria, the sound of his own voice fades away. But silence doesn't fall to his ears. Instead, the beating of his heart is becoming louder and louder, to the point where he just can't ignore it anymore. His own existence begins to feel unbearable to him, and he barely manages to avoid throwing up. And as the end of the chant nears, the horror of his own situation strikes him. He feels a cool shiver running along his many scars. He will be standing in the middle of the roaring fires of war. Again.
Je déclare en cet instant.
Ton corps sera sous mes ordres,
Mon destin sera celui de ton épée.
Contrary to all the others, this room is completely silent. Well, almost. The only sound comes from the slow breathing of a woman tucked in her bed next to her already-prepared summoning circle. Her auburn hair makes her skin look even lighter than it already is. Unfortunately for her, her sleep isn't a calm one. Her face shows profound anxiety, and moans of pain escape from her throat regularly. As time goes on, the pain grows stronger with the glow coming from her summoning circle. And it seems that its building an impressive amount of prana. She will have quite the surprise waiting for her when she wakes up.
Soumets-toi à l'appel du Graal.
Si tu te soumettrais à cette volonté et à cette raison...Alors réponds!
This is it. The perfect place, the perfect time. He can feel the weight of history on him, surrounded as he is by massive naked stone walls. Walls you would expect from a fortress, or a castle. The strength that shows in his eyes is surprising, for someone as young as him. Too young to enter such a dangerous competition, some might say. But it would be a grave mistake to underestimate him on this basis. Of all the Masters, he is the one who shows the most determination in his eyes. Even though his voice is still that of a child, it doesn't waver ones. He cannot let his own youth tamper with the war. After all, the fate of the world weighs on his victory. As he continues the aria, his eyes check continuously the circle to avoid any kind of failure. But surprisingly, it can be seen in these eyes a twinge of excitement when his gaze falls on the catalyst he used: an amulet, ancient and strange-looking. It looks as if it didn't belong in THIS world.
Une promess sera jurée ici!
J'atteindrais toutes les vertues de tout les cieux.
J'assoierais ma dominations sur tout les vices de tout les enfers.
She listens to the voice whispering in her ear, echoing his voice by repeating his words. Mechanically. He imputed the command "repeat", and she did as she was told. She doesn't need anything else. A command is all she needs. Many would consider, on the first look, calling her a beauty. And it his true that she does not lack anything that would appeal to many, from her dark skin that some would call exotic to more prominent parts. But a particular feature repulses many more. A feature that dominates her entire appearance: her eyes. Even though their color would make them quite appealing in theory, their emptiness will soon come as a shock. But...it is probably a mistake to call them that way. After all, can we really call empty what has never been filled?
Pourtant tu servira les yeux voilés par le chaos.
Car tu sera l'un de ceux enfermé dans la folie.
Je brandirais tes chaînes.
He can see the rain fall outside of the building. He likes the sound of the rain. It always made him feel secure, like nothing could hurt him as long as he was at home. As if the entire world could collapse, but not here. Not in this house. A single drop falls on his unnaturally colored red hair. He ruffles them a bit, appreciating the hint of coolness that it gives him. The contrast between the color of his hair and the color of his skin, white as snow, makes such a stark impression that he became more or less a shut-in for the past few years, as these colors became more and more prominent with his training and the exertion of his Magic Circuits. The sound of the raindrops is mixing with the sound of his own voice, echoing between the pillars of the half-built tower. As his teacher had advised him, he added three lines to the chant. He needed to say these lines, because he needed him. Not for his strength, but for the damages he will cause. For the chaos he would bring. After all, when you wished to wake a giant up, an electroshock wouldn't do. You need something bigger. What you need, is a thunderstorm.
Du septième Ciel, supporté par trois mots de grands pouvoirs,
Viens de l'anneau d'enfermement, Gardien du Saint équilibre!
They're on their way. The heroes of times long past, they're coming to fight. On my call, the call of their Masters and to claim the Holy Grail. Some come from faraway countries, some will feel almost like home. Some know each other, some never heard of the other's legends. It doesn't matter. They're all competing for the same prize, having in their hearts a wish they want to see fulfilled. All of them will fight. For themselves, and for their Masters. Among them, many will die. They know it, All of them. But they all are absolutely convinced that IT IS WORTH IT. Worth the risk. Their reason to fight are all different, all of their wishes are different. But in a strange, twisted way, ALL of them, so different, all so wonderfully scared by life, they all are bounded by shackles. Their weight and names changes from one to the other, but...they all wear them. I can tell you the names... Read them in their lives... Here they are!
Grief for the loved Ones...
Disgust for the world...
Pride in the Name...
Honor, always...
Cowardice...
Emptiness...
Fate...
I wonder... In the end, when the war is over and the curtain falls on this pathetic comedy, which chains will of these chains will lie broken on the ground?
A/N: Well, here it goes! This is the prologue to the long going project I've been working on for 3 months. I hope you enjoyed reading, and are excited to know more about all the characters I created. On this matter, let's be clear: this is an AOC FanFiction. It means that all the characters present in this story are characters I entirely created (beside 1 or 2 minor cameos). So don't expect to see Shirou or Bazett barging in the war, nothing like this will happen. But I hope you will come to like them anyway!
Anyway, as I said in the summary, the War will happen in France. There will be lots of references to french legends, culture and a bit of politics. All the locations quoted in this story will be real ones with their real names, except the main city, which name I will change (partly because it's lame, partly because Nasu did the same). This explains the presence of the french, it's the translation of the summoning aria.
Well, let's wrap this up already. I intend to deliver many chapters in the following months, and I hope you will be there again! Thanks for reading, and any (constructive) criticism will be more than welcome since I'm not very experienced in writing in english. See ya!