Go back to America, they said. It would be fun, they said.
The night wind cut through the concrete canyons of Boston's Back Bay. It smelled of salt and damp, with just a note of distant fresh vegetation.
Robin Hood peered over the edge of the rooftop balcony. That the office had its own private patio wasn't a big surprise. His Master had talked about it at length during the briefing. As if that wasn't grandiose enough, the stone arches and fountains in the courtyard below sold the myth of endless wealth and power to the commoners.
"Ridiculous," Robin grumbled. Not that anyone could overhear or even see him.
His Noble Phantasm didn't need the shadows of Sherwood to work. It operated fine on the streets of Boston, hiding him from anyone's drifting gaze. That was a blessing; his leather armor and flowing cloak clashed against the fine-tailored locals he passed earlier.
Anonymity didn't make the mission any more comfortable. He would have preferred being surrounded by trees instead of stone and glass. Hell, he also would have taken any other time period over this one. These so-called 90s stank of excess.
Still, he had a knack for pillaging corrupt nobility, and those were a timeless trend. His Master had asked for his services so politely, too: "Could you please help me steal the catalyst? Da Vinci said it would be okay if I had to destroy it to stop the singularity. But, she seemed sad…"
What sealed the deal was the way his Master smiled while explaining the heist. To describe it as innocent would be too dismissive for Robin's tastes. No, the expression was a mix of idealism and defiance that was impossible to turn down.
He reached for a small pouch on his belt, not even bothering to sort through his more delicate lockpicking tools. The living in every age went to sleep thinking they were finally the ones that kept out the villains for good. That belief overlooked how ridiculously simple it was to pop the lock on a glass sliding door.
He pulled out a flat metal rod, wedged it under the door, then pried the glass panel up. The rudimentary lock slipped apart.
Easy.
The head of security was going to get fired tomorrow. That would be a fun scene to sit in on. The building's height would have kept out mortal humans, but these fools were counting on that to protect a powerful relic.
There were no guards. No dogs. Not even the distant whine of an alarm to announce his arrival. Only dark silence greeted him. Underwhelming. That was a good word for it. Absolutely pathetic.
Robin rolled the rod gingerly in his hand. His personal pride goaded him to casually toss the tool aside. Instead, he slowly stood back up, filed the tool away, and latched the pouch back into place.
If there was one enduring trait the ruling class had in the same quantity as ignorance, it was cruelty. So, how would these nobles try to kill an intruder? There must have been some form of security system he hadn't realized yet.
The room before him echoed faded memories of raiding a magistrate's office centuries ago. In the center of the office was an ornate wooden desk and matching chair, flanked by walls lined with bookshelves and paintings. He didn't bother examining the far corners before he nocked an arrow and fired it towards the desk.
The office lit up in a blazing streak of orange as the arrow ignited in midair; it didn't last long enough to strike the chair. All that remained was a trail of ash scattered along the floor.
A ward. Robin's understanding on the topic was academic at best: wards functioned like mana-based traps and could be rigged to trigger if certain conditions were met. The brutal nature of this one met his expectations.
It was best not to unleash something big around here. Given the subdued nature of his abilities, that shouldn't be a problem. He adjusted his cloak and crossed the threshold.
Laying on the desk was his target: a thick, leather-bound book. Robin narrowed his eyes as he stepped closer soundlessly, scanning the surrounding desktop. The only thing that felt out of place was the book itself. There was simply no attempt made to hide it.
He frowned to himself, then glanced over his shoulder. His eyes darted from wall to wall, anticipating a sudden wave of heat and pain from an unseen trap.
Nothing came.
The top of the desk was solid ebony. No signs of secret moving parts that could be disturbed. He slowly exhaled and reached for the book.
With a single, swift action, he snatched up the tome and leapt back from the desk.
The book felt curious in his hands. The cover was rigid, and the foil lettering glowed in the low light. That didn't add up. His Master explained the catalyst they were looking for was over a millennia old.
He'd stake his reputation as a thief on this book being that catalyst, though. The paper inside certainly smelled ancient. It must have been rebound recently to look newer.
A cloth bookmark dangled out the side. Without thinking, he flipped open the book to the marked passage. The residual mana dislodged from the pages made his skin crawl as it rolled down his arm and trickled to the floor. He held his breath. The wards didn't react. The office remained still.
Robin grinned as he went unnoticed yet again. His attention went back to the book. He had earned a moment to figure out what all of the fuss was about.
The marked section was a travelogue of sorts, although the author wrote more about the local economies than the sights he saw. People were traded like goods and valued even less. That sort of thing didn't change much over the eras.
A pressure weighed heavy on Robin's chest. He knew exactly what it was— that familiar blend of grief and regret. His desperate choices never change the course of history. With a labored effort, he turned the page.
The author's focus shifted to a meeting with a local king. The travelers were rewarded with lavish hospitality. Scents of cooking smoke and incense teased at Robin's attention. Entertainers performed songs and poetry that left the court in awe.
The bitter abandonment Robin felt moments before was washed away by this new warmth. In the distance, he could hear people engaged in spirited conversation. He could almost make out what they were saying. If he could just get a little bit closer…
He gently forced the book shut and cursed quietly. This relic was potent bait for any servant.
Take another step back.
The words appeared fully formed in Robin's mind. He heeded them immediately, dropping the book in the process.
"Act on the impulses of the fairies first and question them second." While it wasn't the only lesson he learned from his father, it was one that stuck.
A dull glint of metal was all Robin saw of the surprise attack. It sliced through where he had been standing seconds before. He huffed, scowling at the book on the floor.
Sometimes the best trap was the most obvious one.
"Fae, reveal yourself!"
A young woman had suddenly materialized in front of him. Her skin was pale against her dark suit and her blond hair sharp enough to etch glass. In her hands was a blackened sword.
Robin did a spot check. Still intact. The opening strike missed.
Was she another servant? He could sense only fragmented and disorganized magical power drifting around the woman's body. That would explain why he hadn't noticed her until it was too late.
He grimaced and pulled back his hood. His survival instincts screamed at him to run away. His druidic training reminded him a debt had to be repaid first.
"I wouldn't casually toss that title around." He crossed his arms. "They get annoyed when their name is slandered like that."
"Give me your name, then," the woman ordered, her sword now raised. She was definitely tenacious. "I will even offer a trade. Give me your True Name and I'll share mine."
"Sorry, don't have one."
The blade swung down in a blink. Robin reacted just a bit faster, trapping her weapon between a pair of daggers. Had he waited a second longer, the blow would have hit him directly in the chest. The clang of metal against metal sounded wrong, not that he had time to reflect on that.
The woman grit her teeth and forced her weapon downward. Robin twisted his arms, prying the sword away from his body. The woman side-stepped, yanking her blade free.
The peculiar noise returned as the weapons scraped against each other. It sounded like a babble of voices, not the bright sounds of swordplay. The blade was deflected too easily to be a Noble Phantasm. It must have been a Mystic Code of some kind.
"Kid, you don't want to get deeper into this," Robin warned, taking a further step backwards. He needed more space.
"I'm not the one who lied and forfeited his honor." The woman repositioned her hands around the sword hilt.
"I abandoned my name and honor long before your family came here."
That confession should buy a few seconds. He yanked a glass vial from his belt and scattered it against the ground, releasing noxious smoke. Unlike his arrows, there was nothing magical about the mild poison. No point using the good stuff against a human magus.
"I should hav—" The woman's proud voice was cut off as she breathed in too deep. Only a single word could be coughed out: "Servant!"
Her sudden realization explained why the woman even considered fighting him one-on-one. Most magi wouldn't dare tangle with a Servant. That still left her a cornered magus with a Mystic Code, a creepy relic, and one hell of a ruthless streak.
Robin tossed himself into the smoke where he remembered seeing the book last. His aim was true, and he felt the cover smack into the center of his chest. There was only the briefest moment to dwell on that success before the sword pierced the floor beside his head.
Damn it, she knew where to aim.
He bit his tongue. Any quip now would welcome the poisoned smoke into his own lungs. He instead did what he did best: held his breath and ran.
There wasn't time to activate his cloak. The woman's wide swings clipped at the back of his legs. Any hesitation and she'd get close enough to actually hit. Firing an arrow would trigger the wards and roast them both. He couldn't pull his Master into this mess.
Escape was the only option.
The balcony ran out before Robin's momentum did. With his free hand, he vaulted himself over the edge. He could hear the sound of crumbling stonework behind him as the sword missed one last time.
His cloak enveloped him as he fell towards the courtyard below. The coward in him was relieved he wouldn't see what happened next.
But maybe.
I know you were watching us!
To call it a prayer would be an insult to everyone involved. Someone or something had warned him of the magus's first strike. Maybe they'd be open to another trade.
Please…
The rushing wind abruptly stopped. His back felt wet and cold. The pain he was anticipating never manifested.
Robin slowly pulled back his cloak, his hands shaking. He found himself in a shallow fountain. It wasn't one of the courtyard fountains; the towering building he plummeted from was gone, replaced by a canopy of trees. Standing in the middle of the fountain was a carved granite monument. The stonework had been ground down by weather and time.
He squinted up at the monument, trying to make out the text inscribed on the side. He quietly read the words aloud to himself: "To commemorate the discovery that the inhaling of ether causes insensibility to pain. First proved to the world at the Mass General Hospital in Boston."
That was a bold claim. What was with this place?
"I didn't expect us to meet in person!"
Robin's gaze followed the voice, finding a beige-skinned person sitting at the fountain edge. Their pastel robes looked even more dated than his armor. They made no attempt to hide, nor did they need to. Robin doubted there was another person in this park who could see them without magecraft.
"Elemental? Fairy? Spirit?" He rattled off the different titles his father taught him for situations like this. He had no idea how to address the personification of ether in this age. "What do you go by?"
"I have a few names." The person smiled and leaned forward, their long sleeves dipping into the water. "Call me Oleum Dulce Paracelsi."
"You took on his name?" Robin furrowed his brow. Oleum probably wanted to go with a pretentious name to make a strong first impression. Unfortunately, it revealed they were both familiar with Paracelsus von Hohenheim.
"Did he make it into the Throne of Heroes too?" Oleum's eyes lit up.
"Our paths may have crossed." Robin looked down at the book, still tightly clenched to his chest. He kept his tone painfully formal as he completed the transaction: "You saved me twice tonight. I know bargains like that aren't free."
"That tome was meant to invite the Scourge of God here. Make it disappear, and I'll consider this exchange complete." Oleum's stare lingered for too long. "An adventurer clad in Lincoln green who fell into my pond. You still owe me for that time you helped Katherine of Aragon in 1512. Remember, the bet?"
"We didn't make any deal. I was dead long before then." Robin pulled his cloak over his face. The drenched cloth clung heavily to his head. "I'll make sure you'll never see this book again."
The relic was incinerated during the escape. That was the story Robin offered his Master when they met up at the rendezvous point.
His Master took the news well enough. Ultimately, Chaldea's mission was to prevent the relic from being used as a catalyst. Obliterating the book was even better than seizing it, Robin reassured. This way there was no risk of the Singularity happening at a later point. Time would roll on as before, and humanity would once again be ignorant of how it was nearly annihilated.
Da Vinci complained, of course. Something about finally reclaiming a proper contemporary record of the Byzantine Empire. How she could say that when she had Rayshifting technology at her disposal was beyond Robin. He kept those comments to himself for his Master's sake.
Robin headed directly for Altera's room once they were dismissed.
"Come on! I know you're in there!" he yelled, banging on the door for a third time.
Altera was rarely found in the more public spaces of Chaldea. She preferred to deal with their Master uninterrupted and unchallenged. It was typical of nobility. Made her dead easy to track down too.
The door finally slid open with a light hum. Before she could react, Robin thrust the leather-bound book into Altera's tan arms.
The woman jolted her spine straight. Honed combat reflexes and calculating eyes processed the exchange for any threat. Robin kept his expression and stance as neutral as possible as not to provoke the woman any further.
"What is this?" Altera quirked an eyebrow, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"Open it to the bookmark," Robin encouraged. "It talks about you."
Altera narrowed her eyes at him, then carefully flipped through the pages.
"I remember this night. My wife suggested we host the banquet for a Roman embassy." Altera's eyes softened as her finger traced a passage of text. "I didn't realize that a report like this survived. Were there any others?"
Robin thought back to Da Vinci's reaction in the debriefing. "Doubt it."
"Priscus, the embassy's secretary," Altera continued, still engrossed in the text. "He must have written this."
The name didn't mean anything to Robin. "Noteworthy guy?"
"No, he was a Roman. My feast was more remarkable than he ever was." Altera snapped the book shut. The clap of leather against parchment echoed through the hallway. "How strange to read what others wrote about you."
"I wouldn't know the feeling." Robin Hood smirked and shook his head.
Author Notes
This fic originally ran in "Shot Through the Heart: A FGO Archers Zine" in May 2021. The zine version is illustrated by Jess. It's free, so please check it out!
I used J.B. Bury's translation of Priscus at the court of Attila as a reference.
Special thanks also to my friend SLWalker. We travelled to Boston in February 2020 and my experiences running around Back Bay inspired parts of this fic.
Parts of this fic were also inspired by a Boston Urban Shadows campaign MCed by my friend Erica. The OCs are inspired by campaign worldbuilding by my partner Rob and my friend Agatha.