Sword After Spring

VI - "halcyon"

He heard a sound.

He heard the distinctive sound of an old and rusty door scraping against the floor as it opened.

He didn't really have to wonder who it was (, right?) . It could only be one person to begin with.

Light flows into the dark shed… No, that isn't right. It shines into the dark room from the open door, forcing his eyes open even as he struggled to keep them shut. Her hand is delicate in his shoulder and back as she helps him sit up, aware of his apparent soreness. Had he been this sore before?

"Good morning," he rasped out, diverting his eyes to greet the (violet-haired girl that haunted his dreams) concerned figure of Samiya by his bedside. Though her smile was as lively as ever, there were dark circles around her usually bright eyes, draining the life from her spark and making her look a good five years older than she should.

She didn't answer immediately, but a hand was pressed against his forehead as if testing him for a fever. Despite himself, Shirou found himself smiling at the gesture.

"Mornin'. I was getting worried."

A pause.

He averted his eyes to the shut curtains. Though most certainly dark, a few rays of sunlight peaked in from whatever gaps they could find, outlining the silhouette of his school bag and the windows in a soft yellow. The sun had long since risen from below the horizon and taken its spot at lonely vigil, the skies long since having passed the spot where their colour was more rose than cerulean.

He let his shoulders sag in disappointment.

Yeah — He was late.

"Did I miss school?"

"If you weren't injured, I'd hit you right about now," Samiya confessed, a weary sigh escaping her lips. "Did you seriously think we'd let you go to school after that? You clearly need rest."

She was right, of course, but he couldn't fight the restless urge in his body. To be stagnant felt… weird, odd. To have people worrying over him felt even worse.

He got up, stretching his arms over his head and relishing in the sensation it brought him. The soreness faded somewhat, more of a pressure under his consciousness than an active bother — and that he could most certainly deal with.

"Well." A pause. "Alright, then. What are the plans for today?"

— He'd expected a frown, but Samiya smiled almost devilishly at him, her bright emerald eyes twinkling in silent amusement, and his instincts all collectively shuddered at once.

"Absolutely nothing."

. . .

Silence.

The kind of silence that could deafen a deaf man.

"What?"

"Silence," she repeated, clearly enjoying his anguished confusion. "I did tell you you needed rest, didn't I?"

She was right, he told himself again, but this time he didn't resist the urge to cross his arms in childish annoyance, gazing up at the girl's face with surly eyes of molten gold.

"You could at least pretend you weren't enjoying my anguish."

"You're right," she cheerfully replied. "I could do that."

. . . Maybe he should've just stayed in bed.

Regardless —

They weaved their way through their aimless routine like a pair of twin dancers, stepping over stones with elaborate charms.

She'd intended to cook breakfast, since both she and Anastasia agreed the boy needed his rest, but he'd silently intimidated the two of them into letting him do his thing, settling for receiving aid from the old Sister — who Shirou noticed seemed to brighten at the notion, going through elaborate motions with her now only hand without any obvious signs of difficulty.

At times, though, he saw it — the way she'd position herself to reach something with an arm no longer there, the way she overstepped to prepare to hold something with an appendage she'd lost.

The woman got through it with the same fortitude she wielded to get through everything else in her life, but her smile felt forced regardless.

Kōsetsu didn't comment on it, of course. He couldn't, wouldn't, and refused to.

— These halcyon days of golden peace feel like they threaded the line between existing and long gone, as if they'd somehow soon become an antiquity and be lost to the murky sands of his memory alone. So, even if they had much to talk about, and despite the weight of the world in secrets and silence pulling them down to the earth, he felt comfortable staying afloat for a little while longer.

Shirou wasn't too big a fan of nattō, so the portion he'd prepared was mainly for Samiya and Anastasia, who both enjoyed having the complete experience.

The rest of the meal was skilfully prepared, with the steamed rice and grilled fish being done first and the miso soup being prepared a little more carefully, since there was a balance in taste to mind. The tsukemono and nori were comparatively easier to prepare, though he wouldn't be caught dead using store-bought.

By the time they were done, Shirou was feeling considerably better and their table smelled wonderful.

"Y'know, I really took you for granted, lil' bro. We've been eating your godly breakfast for so long it became normal, but damn if the kids didn't feel the difference this morning when I tried serving them omelettes. I'm not even that bad…"

As usual, Samiya was wonderful at keeping the mood light, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her words, mirth obvious in his eyes as he waved her compliments away.

"It's just a matter of practice. You don't even like cooking, anyway."

"You're right, I hate it, but I still have my pride, you know!"

Not really, but he wasn't about to say as much.

"Pride in excess is a sin," Anastasia interjected instead, mirth in her eyes as she leaned forward slightly, and Shirou almost choked on his food in startled laughter. Samiya sputtered for a moment or two before waving her words away with a fake scowl, trying very clearly not to join them in their mirth.

… Yeah —

He was sure of it.

These were his halcyon days indeed.

He could only wonder for how long they'd last.

Though he was apparently forbidden from exercising at all for the day, Shirou quickly found that boredom would be the last of his concerns. Once they had finished their meal and exchanged meaningless talk for a few minutes, Anastasia had risen from her spot at the table's head and invited them into her office.

Now — it wasn't like he'd never been there before. As a young child, he'd spent some long afternoons doodling nothings on Anastasia's lap as she worked her way through documents. But the woman was always hesitant to let anyone in unsupervised, and as he aged, that hesitation evolved into not letting anyone in, period.

Knowing what he now did, Shirou could certainly imagine why. An illiterate child wouldn't stumble into any documents, and should they do so, they wouldn't be able to make head or shoulders of it. An older child or a teenager might, however.

— He'd been expecting some sort of serious talk between the three of them. That didn't make him any less uncomfortable, and, as Samiya's incessant fiddling with the fabric of her jacket indicated, he wasn't the only one feeling like such.

To her credit, Anastasia was doing her best to ease the two of them into it. Though they'd only just had a meal, she'd quickly offered them both a cup of tea and even a biscuit as they sat, and then she'd taken care to place her chair next to the table instead of behind it. For his part, Shirou tried very hard not to pay too much attention to her empty sleeve and how she was forced to act around it. If she noticed his attempts, as he was sure she did, Anastasia said nothing, and Kōsetsu appreciated her all the more for it.

Now, however —

Well.

The pleasantries were done with.

"Shirou-kun."

She looked at him with eyes as sharp as one of his swords. Though her tone was gentle, her expression was not — she was a step away from completely blank. Neutral. Void.

Wrong.

This was not Anastasia, the kindly mother-figure to the orphanage's children. This was Anastasia, the Exorcist. The woman of God.

"Yes?"

He met her eyes through his nerves, expression blank and golden eyes cloudy. His fist tightened softly around nothing, a fact that didn't escape any of their attention. To his right, Samiya did her best to remain a silent onlooker, most likely aware of everything being discussed.

"I will not admonish you for concealing your abilities from us. Without the context behind them, I can see why you'd feel inclined not to do so."

— He appreciated it. He did.

But that wasn't why.

Their 'context' didn't matter. It didn't. It was undoubtedly 'fake'.

No, the reason the boy called Kōsetsu Shirou said nothing was —

It hurts too much to mention.

A coward's reason, maybe. Illya had been right; he truly was something pitiful.

"...Yeah." He hummed an agreement instead, inhaling softly and waving the wind's incessant turbulence away. It lingered, however, like the smell of blood would after a tragedy.

Nothing was said of it, but the ex-Exorcist leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes once again. He kept his own gaze firm.

"However." Her words were as cold as steel. "You have put me in a very complicated situation — No, you have put yourself in a very complicated situation. Sacred Gears are a gift from God; I am sure you didn't expect the Church to simply let you go."

His tongue tasted like ashes.

"Let me go?" He repeated her words softly, as if speaking a prayer under his breath. Something in his breath caught, stuttered and hitched — a speck of steel.

Something roared in his head — an instinct, a calling. An azure ember that decades of sand hadn't quite managed to smother.

Emiya Shirou met her gesture head on — Leaning back slightly with a tinge of bitterness on each corner of his lips.

"As opposed to what, exactly? Forcing me to serve them? Not quite what I imagine God would want, but I can't say I'm surprised."

— Samiya's head whipped to stare at him quickly enough to give him whiplash. She blinked twice, as if somehow convinced he'd fade away into nothing as a hallucination might have. The bitterness gone, he could relate; He'd pulled that steel from somewhere, surely, but it now long-since eluded him.

Anastasia kept her visage up — but a sigh escaped her lips, tired and weary. Finally, her coldness melted, and Shirou was faced with a woman bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Is that so?" She uttered, inhaling softly as she leaned back into her chair and directed her gaze upwards. "I… suppose that's not unexpected, either. You didn't have the best first experience with the Church as an organization."

— That was true.

Though the man had been relatively kind to him, and what suspicions he had held turned out to (apparently) be founded, the strongest memory Shirou had of the place was of that man's underlying threat towards his sister.

As if whatever 'magic' she had done was a worse sin than complacency.

As if she'd been wrong to use it and save them.

It didn't really matter why. It didn't even matter how.

'There's no way saving someone is wrong — '

For some reason, he felt like a hypocrite as soon as the thought rose to his lips.

However —

That vitriol hadn't felt like it was his, either. And if they were right and all of his cerulean mysteries of steel and bone were little more than a gift-wrapped curse from the Heavens above, was it God's own vitriol he was spewing instead?

— No, that can't be right.

Because there's no way Emiya Shirou is anything other than real.

"I.. Sorry. It was out of line." He let the silence settle his stomach. "But… What are you telling me here, exactly?"

Strangely enough, it was Samiya who responded, turning to stare at him more comfortably with a forced grin plastered on her lips. She scanned his expression with keen eyes like precious gems, cold as the winter snow he'd bathed in his blood.

"We're telling you congrats, lil' bro! You've just been admitted to the best school in Town! Or, ah, you will be when you're old enough to be in high school."

Oh. That makes sense.

Wait.

…

"... What?"

He couldn't exercise, he couldn't practice kyūdo, he couldn't use his quote-unquote Sacred Gear — and he was barely allowed out in the first place, as if he'd been the more injured between the three of them. As it was, he'd had to pester Samiya for an hour straight until she let him at least take a walk.

As it was —

It was winter, and thus, it was snowing.

The fuyuzakura near the biggest park in town was in full bloom by the time he walked past it, followed by the ghostly whispers of a crimson scarf and a broken promise he couldn't quite remember fondly.

Petals fell in clusters of pink with a darker core, unaware of man's woes as they danced to the wind's whimsical whims — falling softly into Shirou's outstretched and gloved hand. They dotted the snow-covered street around him scarcely, providing specks of bright colour in what would otherwise look monotone in its incessant purity.

— It felt wrong.

After all — She had wanted to see the cherry blossoms with him.

The girl with the lost name and the lost smile — That had been part of the promise he had made her once. Standing at the edge of the horizon, he has swore it on his heart.

And now —

… Ah, wait.

Now he could hear someone cursing.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap — Where'd I drop it?!"

A boy.

Not a young child, but a teenager, likely the same age or a little older than Shirou himself — 13 or 14, maybe. The boy was a little taller than Shirou himself, with short and spiky caramel brown hair and hazelnut brown eyes.

Like everyone else when it snowed, he was covered from head to toe in articles of clothing — though unlike the thick wool sweater Shirou himself had opted for, the frantic boy had chosen a particularly puffy Down Jacket, which made his hands look comically small in comparison. It most likely belonged to one of his parents, judging by its size.

He was also frantically carrying an empty plastic bag, much to Shirou's confusion. And just as frantically circling everything…

Had he dropped something?

"Ah, excuse me —"

Before he knew it, he'd approached the boy, who turned to look at him with two wide eyes not unlike a deer in headlights.

"... Wha?"

Clearly, he hadn't expected anyone to talk to him. Shirou felt his cheeks warming in self-consciousness.

"Uh… Do you need any help? You look like you lost something, so…"

Strangely enough, it was at this that the strange boy jumped at, aggressively covering his mouth as he frantically looked at the empty park around them, a hint of worry in his eyes.

It wasn't a violent action, but a desperate one — therefore, Shirou didn't feel threatened. Just mildly weirded out.

"Careful! Do you want anyone to hear you?" The boy spoke in a very irritated whisper-scream. To be honest, it was all a little befuddling.

He tried to speak through the boy's glove anyway.

"...There isn't anyone else here?"

That didn't seem to satisfy the stranger, but he accepted it nonetheless, retracting his glove and sighing.

"I knew that! But we have to be careful!" The strange boy scanned his surroundings again, as if he'd somehow spot a spy this time around. "Do you know what happened last time someone caught me?"

… Yeah, Kōsetsu had an awful feeling about this.

"... Caught you doing what, exactly? I don't even know what you're talking about."

…

The boy paused.

Blinked.

Looked at him for a good ten seconds.

And then let a very, very offsetting grin grow in his face.

"Oho, I see. You don't. You don't! Of course, of course." He inhaled. "Well then! I, ah, seem to have dropped my treasure somewhere. It's very important that I find it, and if you help me do so, I will be glad to let you look at it for a few minutes!"

"I… ah, sure." He might as well, he supposed. Two golden eyes wandered to the boy's empty plastic bag — it was ripped, he dimly noticed. "I'm guessing it ripped through the bag, and you didn't notice?"

"... How did you — Ah, forget it. That's exactly what happened! And it has to have happened around here, since I backtracked my entire path save for this park!"

… The boy was clearly odd, but whatever this 'treasure' was must really be important to him if he was willing to trace all of his steps to look for it, as opposed to simply calling it quits. He'd feel a bit mean if he didn't help him, honestly.

"Alright. I'm Kōsetsu Shirou, by the way."

He extended a hand toward the boy with the caramel hair — who proudly shook it with his own.

"I'm Hyōdō Issei! Nice to meet ya, and thanks for helping me find my treasure, Kōsetsu!"

"No problem," Shirou immediately found himself replying, an easy-going smile on his lips. "I like to help out. By the way, you never told me what this treasure of you was."

… There it was again.

That smile.

Shirou had a very, very bad feeling.

"You don't get it yet? It's a magazine!"

… Oh.

That was actually surprisingly harmless. The way Hyōdō had been acting, Shirou had been half-sure the boy was carrying a bomb around or something —

"Whenever a grown-up catches me with one of my treasures, they always scold me for looking at adult magazines and take them away from me. Bah! Like they don't secretly appreciate the wonders of breasts! There's no way I'm going to wait until I'm 18 to look at them! And since the old man in the bookshop nearby lets us all use the self-checkout machine without much fuss, I can get them with no trouble! Isn't it wonderful!"

— A gentle breeze flew by, carrying with it a trail of rosy petals.

"Ah," Shirou announced, completely deadpan. "I have to go. I think I hear someone calling for me."

"... There's no one here," Issei repeats his earlier words.

A pause.

"It must be God," Shirou announced, turning his back on the crazy boy. "And thus, very important. Bye."

"Hey, wait a second, you — !"

You'd never think so if you were there —

But that day might as well have shaped the future itself.

"I'm home," Kōsetsu announced softly, stepping into the orphanage a few hours later. There was snow on his shoulders and scattered amidst his locks of hair, contrasting the red and blending with the white.

From her spot at the couch, Samiya rose a cup of tea to her lips and sipped from it slowly. Finally, she looked back at him with a smile.

"Welcome home, lil' bro. How'd it go?"

Shirou paused.

And decided to be truthful.

"I made a new friend, I think."

"Oh?" The girl leaned in, raising an eyebrow. That was out of character for him. "Well, that's new. Tell me more."

He paused again.

Thought for a little while — and then remembered her joy at his distress earlier.

"I helped him look for his porn, and now he wants to watch Dragon Ball with me."

"Oh, that's nice!" Samiya responded instantly, a kind smile on her face. Then, she blinked owlishly. "... Wait, hold on for one second. What'd you just say?"

Shirou smiled serenely at his befuddled sister.

"I'm going to take a shower, I think."

"No, no, you come back here, Shirou! What'd you just say? Hey, Shirou —"

Halcyon days indeed.

A.N:

The original chapter 6 clocked in at just over 11k words.

Decided to split it into two and publish them in quick succession simply because I wanted to end a chapter like this, and because more often than not my chapters are a little shorter.

Actually, that's a lie. I just wanted to end it like this.

I thought it would be funny. It was to me, anyway.

Therefore - you get this little interlude. I hope you like it. If you don't, treat it as a late april fools joke.

Keep an eye open for the next update, which I should upload within the same day I posted this one, just after I finish proofreading that like I proofread this. If any typos got through my amazingly keen eyes, let me know.

Granted, I think we all know how good I am at keeping to my schedule at this point.

That being not at all. So, treat this as a test of faith.

Next time: crimson, blue and brown.