Note: Hey! So a couple orders of business before the chapter.

FIRST. I'm posting today instead of tomorrow because I'm going to be very busy all day tomorrow.

SECOND. I'm confident enough in the structure of the fic going forward that I'm dividing it into Acts. This is mostly an aesthetic thing, I'm not going to be publishing them as different fics or anything. From the beginning to now (and the next few )is all a part of ACT 1: WIND IN DRY GRASS. (There will be five acts.)

THIRD. For the next two months, I'm going to be publishing every other week instead of weekly. I'm about to start a full time job for the summer, and I don't want to burn through my whole buffer all at once if it turns out I can't keep up on writing while I'm working. We should resume the normal posting schedule around chapter 20. MAYBE earlier if it turns out I can do both better than I think I can.

That's it!

Minutes fractured into seconds into moments. Time was a spider's web of broken glass into infinity. His mind impaled itself on their jagged edges.

The moment he'd laid eyes on Saber — not her, but her nevertheless — that feeling of ever-pervasive wrongness had wrapped its slick, putrid tendrils around his beating heart and squeezed. He was breathing, but he was suffocating. He could yet see, but he was blind.

"Another Servant nears."

It was always there, in the background. Assassin was the only other thing that had triggered this sense of reverse-deja-vu so powerfully, and Archer had been able to mostly suppress it with him. Assassin was wrong, but he was a stranger, and so it was easy to accept and reconcile. There was no part of Archer's mind trying to recognize him as someone important.

"Retreat will soon become impossible."

This Saber was Saber, but she wasn't Saber. Echoes that he could barely understand rattled in his head like portentous knucklebones in a cup. Snatches of things remembered so clearly from when he'd been an idealistic fool instead of a cynical, broken one. So much was gone, but she always remained. So much was the same — the color of the hair, the cowlick, those piercing green eyes that he would recognize until the last of his mortal memories had crumbled away… and yet, so much was different. Unfinished. Childlike. Every time he looked at this girl his vision seemed to double, trying to overlay the woman he knew atop the girl's slender, slightly gangly frame. Again, the words phantom world roared and clanged, echoing church bells signaling a doom he still couldn't see.

"Caster is here."

Saber looked down with them with both fear and… something else. Pride that she'd held the line? Shame that he hadn't respected her as a warrior? Maybe both. That doubling—

If she had been the person he knew, he could have done what needed to be done. He truly believed he'd be ready for it, right down to his very core. But this…. This was cruel. This Saber was just a kid. Archer could kill Saber, and Archer could kill a kid, but together—

He needed to kill her. It was the right way to accomplish his goals, wasn't it? He had one objective, and leaving Saber alive didn't help him accomplish that.

His goal.

He could have done it right then, he realized. Snapped Shirou's neck, opened his belly, smashed his skull against the stone. Rin wouldn't have reacted fast enough to stop him, and by then, blissfully true nonexistence might already have overtaken him. He hadn't been able to think, because if Shirou had seen the same things Archer had —

"Archer?" Rin was tugging urgently on his sleeve. "I don't know what's wrong with you but we need to go!"

She was right. They couldn't fight both Servants here. Objectively, she was correct, as she was about a lot of things. There was another reason he was loathe to kill a potential ally, however, and this, he tried to tell himself, was the most important thing: whatever was rotten in this world was bigger than the Holy Grail War. What he was sensing was a ripple at the edge of a pond; nothing but the barest side effect of… something. He didn't know what, and that terrified him.

Focus. He had to focus. There would be time for the spiral later. Right now, Caster was coming, and he couldn't remember who Caster was supposed to be, but even if he could everything was so up in the air-

Once again, they ran. Down the stairs, two, three at a time, flying downward as fast as they could safely go. Saber wasn't following, but if Assassin was right, they had but precious moments. They'd make it. The way was clear, and Rin, at their front, wasn't more than a dozen or so steps from the entrance.

That was when the hooded figure, clothed in rich, dark purple, materialized, blocking the way. A heavy mantle hung on her shoulders, her eyes completely hidden by the hood — all that was visible was a smooth chin and a delightedly cruel smile. "Ah, Saber, you've been entertaining our guests? How gracious of you."

The three of them skidded to a halt, and Rin weaved a hasty shield of shimmering red light before them.

"I did as you asked, Master," Saber said. Archer shot a look back, fighting the doubling overexposure, the Saber he knew trying to overlay herself over the girl, and saw that the Saber that was here had followed them down, maintaining roughly the same distance. "They did not pass me." Her voice was firm and deferential at the same time.

Caster clapped her black-gloved hands together, the grin only widening — no, not Caster, she couldn't be Caster, Saber had called her Master and a Servant couldn't have its own Servant, could she? But that aura of power was unmistakable. That was a Servant that stood before them. "Well done, Saber," she cooed, though her voice was cold and condescending. "That's a third time you've repelled the enemy. My wildest expectations have been surpassed."

Saber's shoulders hunched, but it was Rin who spoke next. "Don't get in our way, Caster," she warned. "I'm a powerful Magus of this time, and my Archer could take you in a fight with both hands tied behind his back."

"That's not true, Mistress," Saber mumbled. "Archer isn't at full strength, and he's distracted. There won't be a better time to force this fight." She sounded reluctant, but her voice also carried the weight of someone who knew where they stood, and comprehended that they had no will of their own.

Archer knew the feeling well.

Shirou's eyes went wide, but Archer wasn't surprised. If Saber felt she had a duty, she would follow through with it to the end — no matter how badly she was hurt in the process.

They had both been fools.

Shirou shook his head. "Listen, Saber, you can't just-"

"Is that your opinion as my tool?" Caster asked dismissively, ignoring him.

Rin touched Shirou's arm, and he looked at her, surprised. "Don't beg," she said quietly. "It doesn't help."

Saber shrugged and looked away, shifting her sword to her other hand. "It is," she said softly. She readied her sword, lifting it in preparation for her grim task. Rin uttered a few more phrases, thickening and strengthening her shield. Shirou looked from one side to the other helplessly. At some point, he'd found that useless stick he'd brought, and he was trying to look threatening with it.

For a long moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

"Then let's end this," Caster said, and faster than the space between one breath and the next, she had thrust her hand forward, dark runes and lines of energy swirling. Corrosive magic shot forward, and Rin took it full on her shield with a grunt. She started muttering too, and the red light wavered and pulsed, but didn't collapse.

Simultaneously, Saber leapt from her high perch and came down with a strong overhead swing, yelling wordlessly with exertion, but the one who parried it was not Archer.

It was Shirou.

His arms were shaking, holding his pathetic branch like it was some kind of indestructible greatsword, and his breath came in panicked, raspy gasps, his face still crimson, but he'd taken the blow and held his ground. Archer would have parried it without too much trouble, and yet Shirou had tried to save his life at risk of his own.

Idiot. He was such a fucking idiot.

Archer stepped back, giving Shirou room to maneuver. There were two outcomes here that would satisfy him - Shirou would hold Saber off, and Archer wouldn't have to fight her… or Shirou would get his own stupid head cut off. Either way was a win for him.

The first blow nearly broke Shirou's arms, he thought. The vibration of metal on strengthened-wood was almost enough to tear him apart all on its own. But there was something interesting, there — this wasn't the first Servant's attack that he'd tried to block, but Lancer had torn through his defenses with ease. For all that it hurt, for as fast as she moved and as powerful as her weapon must be, he still managed to keep hold of his stick.

Saber looked surprised, too. Surprised, then ashamed, and then angry. "Get out of my way," she said hotly. Such viciousness was strange, coming off someone who looked so much younger than him. It didn't gel with those wide eyes.

"You don't have to do this," he shot back. It was all he could think to say, but it sounded limp even to him.

Her sword pulled back, and Shirou had no time to ready himself before she struck again, and again. Each time, though his muscles felt sluggish and thick, he managed to keep her sword from tearing into him. He grunted, and his body burned far beyond what his actual level of exertion should have justified; he hadn't recovered nearly enough from the last two days to be engaging in a swordfight like this.

Saber's lips were set in a bloodless determination. She didn't even dignify what he'd said with a response as she came at him again.

"She's-" He grunted, another pulse of reverberation shaking him to his core. "She's cruel, isn't she?" His hands throbbed, and he pushed her sword away just long enough to buy himself a breath.

She didn't respond, but her mouth tightened subtly. She was better than him, and stronger. She's been a better student to someone than Shirou had been to Fuji-nee. The gulf in their experience wasn't so great as between her and Archer, but Shirou knew that he was probably the weak link in their defense. Even a glancing blow shook the latticework of magic laced through the wood, and it was becoming more and more clear that he was running out of time.

She refused to stop moving, like water with no equilibrium to find. Pull back and thrust. He twisted, redirecting her momentum into the ground, where her sword sparked on the stone of the steps.

Behind him, fire crackled and burned, throwing blazing heat against his back. The battle between Rin and Caster raged. He didn't look back. He just had to trust that Rin would pull through. Despite everything she'd done, the way she'd spoken to Sakura… He did have faith in her. She tried so hard to be cold and cruel, and she could be, but when push came to shove, she'd always done the right thing. Rin was a good person, and she was a good Magus. She'd pull through.

He held strong, keeping his stick pressed against her weapon to keep her from pulling back. "That's not what a Master should be," he said doggedly. She tugged, but he pushed harder. "Someone who's cruel to someone they have power over isn't worth respecting."

"I have no choice," she hissed, and Shirou wondered if she was so angry because she herself had already thought the very words he was saying. They were nothing especially deep or profound, but he didn't think anyone had ever said them to her out loud. With another heavy pull, she yanked the golden sword backward, and in so doing shattered his makeshift weapon. The structure broken, the magical energy suffusing it dissipated as it fell to pieces. He took a nervous step backward, and she raised her sword high.

Don't beg, the Rin in his head whispered. He wouldn't beg. This wasn't about saving his life. Slowly, he raised his hands to show that he was weaponless. He didn't look away from her, though. "That's just what you've been told, isn't it? There's always a choice."

The tip of her sword hit the ground gently, her arm going slightly limp, and Shirou almost started to relax. Her eyes were veiled behind a curtain of hair that had come loose from her bow. She didn't speak.

"Let us help you." He didn't know how he would, he didn't know what had or what was happening to her, but this was a girl who was clearly suffering. A hero of justice couldn't let such a thing be. He took a gentle step forward, toward her. A grand story played out in his head; one where he rescued the damsel-in-distress from the cruel witch, gave her a place to be safe, another chance. "Saber. Let us-"

But then Caster's voice tore through their moment of stalemate, commanding and imperious. "Saber! Finish him!"

Saber's jaw tightened, and in that moment he knew that he had been well and truly defeated. "I have a duty," the girl said heavily, as if each word weighed a hundred tons. "You don't get to ignore duty because you don't like it." She looked up at him, and her eyes were glistening. He didn't think it was for him, specifically. He thought they were for herself. The abject unfairness of the situation that would make her feel so trapped made him angry, more than anything else about the situation. The tears didn't fall as she raised her sword one last time to finish him off.

He didn't have anywhere to go. Even if he did get away, that would just leave Rin and Archer open for Caster and Saber to tear apart. He could no longer stop that from happening, but he could die without betraying himself. Like she'd just said: it didn't matter if he liked it or not. It was what he had to do. Still, he could try to catch her arms, or duck out of the way enough to avoid the blow, right?

With one last yell, she brought her sword down on him.

"God damn you!" Archer shouted as he crossed his swords over Shirou's head, catching her blade mere inches from his scalp with a horrible grinding screech. "Get out of the way, you stupid bastard!"

His body moved before his brain had even processed the fact that he wasn't dead, ducking out of Archer's way as he rejoined the fight.

Rin was outmatched in a way she could barely comprehend. She trained hard. She studied hard. She had a bone-deep, instinctual understanding of magic theory and application on a fundamental level — and Caster was toying with her.

Toying with her.

A torrent of flame rushed toward her, crackling and roaring, accompanied by a wooshing rush of hot air. No time to think — if she thought, she wouldn't react fast enough, and all three of them would be dead. A shouted word in German, a lightning-quick motion with her fingers, and the flame blasted harmlessly past on either side, as if an untouchable wedge had been driven into it as it approached. Trees were sprayed with liquid fire, the seeds of a potential conflagration. Sweat ran down Rin's neck as she panted, her limbs like jelly. Even after she'd quickly learned to redirect rather than block, it was still taking too much out of her.

"That all you've got, hag?" she taunted.

The psycho smirk hadn't left Caster's face over the course of their whole duel, and she had yet to break a sweat. "I'm testing your limits, girl," she purred in a silky voice. "I'm in the market for an apprentice, you see."

Rin snorted. "No one understands the whole fight to the death part of the Grail War, do they?" With the momentary lull, she pulled a trickle from one of her rapidly depleting stock of mana gems; not enough to dull its power, but enough to reinforce her own. "You're insane if you think I'd agree to work with you."

Caster laughed coldly. "Do you think what any of us want is ever relevant to what happens to us? How cute." With a lazy flick of her hand, the temperature dropped, icicles forming in a lethal ring a dozen feet above Rin's head. They dripped with condensation, spinning, and then whistled as one as they lanced down at her skull.

Rin waved a hand, and a wave of force hit the icicles perpendicular, shattering and sweeping left into the trees. Even as that death was averted, she was weaving a second spell, flattening the second set of icicles trying to shoot up from the cold ground. Cracking ice echoes mingling with the dull thuds and clangs behind her gave the whole scene even more of a chaotic, unpredictable feel.

"Impressive," Caster called with a condescending clap."You've mustered a defense that some of the slower children I knew might have been proud of."

Rin forced herself to stand straight and tall. She wasn't nearing the ends of her reserves, but Caster demanded a rapid and unforgiving pace; Rin was an endurance runner, not a sprinter. Five fingers extended, she fired a Gandr shot that ruffled Caster's hood as it passed. She hadn't missed, she was sure of it — but she hadn't even detected a whiff of a magical defense. Could Caster's defenses be that subtle?

A slender hand reached up to adjust the hood, an idle correction of something as meaningless as a passing breeze. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to kill me, not kiss me on the cheek." The red slash of a smile grew hungry. "It won't spare your life, but if you showed the proper deference on your knees, I might show you leniency someday."

Rin took a step back, unnerved, and Caster capitalized on the moment of surprise with another blast of fire, this one black and cold — a fire that was not a release of heat, but a void of energy. Pointed tendrils of it shot from Caster's hands, five of them, twisting and weaving unpredictably, crackling with latent death. "Shit," Rin hissed, clapping her hands together and then sweeping them heavenward, palms up. Waves of pure magic, too hastily cobbled together to be delicate, shot upward to block their path. Four of the lines fizzled into nothing as they passed through her barrier, but the fifth wavered, weakened… and plunged deep into her shoulder.

What hit her so overwhelmingly was not pain, at first, but an overwhelming, freezing cold that radiated out from the fattest part of her upper arm. She grunted, refusing to give more of a reaction than that, come whatever may, her whole arm going numb and useless.

The black line wavered and wobbled until Caster reached out and closed her fingers around it as though it were a rope. Or maybe like a harpoon. She blew Rin an imperious kiss with the other, the line went taut, and that was when the pain finally hit like a sledgehammer.

Needles pierced every cell in her body, battery acid dumped onto every inch of her magic circuits. She fell to her knees with a scream that she could barely hear over the sound of her body tearing itself apart.

"Rin!" Two voices screamed. She didn't have the wherewithal to place them, but they must have been Archer and Shirou.

"Don't," she gasped through the razors gouging at her throat. "Stay back…" Her back arched and her hands flexed and she distantly wondered if she was going to just pitch over the stairs.

The black line pulsed and buzzed like a swarm of carrion insects, and Caster took one step up the stairs, then another, lazily drawing closer. "You are weak, girl, but you possess a great deal of potential," she said unhurriedly. "Moreso than anyone else I've met in this era." The line shortened as she approached, remaining tight. "I've made my decision."

Rin groaned and shook, but forced her eyes up to meet Caster's. Or at least, to stare defiantly into where her eyes should have been. "I don't… give a shit… about being your apprentice," she forced herself to say, though words were getting harder and harder to form. Think, Rin, think. What kind of spell is this? What's she doing to you? The pain was coordinated and all encompassing, but that didn't narrow it down; a kind of pulsing agony and tearing sensation —

A tearing sensation. Tearing. Pulling. She gasped, and this time it was not from pain but from realization. A siphon. The black line was a mana siphon, and Caster was draining her body of every drop of magic. The tether, then, must be how it was being drawn back into Caster's own body. Then-

Is this what Shirou feels?

Distracting thoughts had to be put aside. It wasn't the time for sentimentality or rumination. There was a weakness starting to set in that she liked even less than the pain, and she needed to figure out how to counter this.

Is this what Assassin does to him?

She didn't have the strength to cut the cord. Anything that involved a spell would be beyond her until the drain was gone. That didn't leave her a whole lot of options.

Caster stood over her, pulling off her glove with her teeth. That can't be good.

So, a spell was out of the question. Could she do something with the energy flow? Redirect it, or… something? If her head had been clear, she'd have come up with a solution by now, she was sure of it. She couldn't think through this pain.

He's endured this and he still wants to fight?

Calculations and blueprints and a thousand different ideas raced through her head, half-seen snatches of inspiration that she could only desperately grasp for and hope.

Caster's cool fingers brushed her cheek, and she didn't move; her whole body trembled with the effort of not just falling down at her feet. She would not give her the pleasure. "This is the final test, you see. If you die here, you would never have been able to survive my training. How long can you withstand your very magic circuits being turned against you?" Her nails were long and sharp as she dragged them softly across Rin's cheek.

"I don't… know…" she gasped. "How long… can you?" Caster's head tilted slightly, and Rin stopped fighting the drain. For a moment, the flow of energy from her to Caster was completely unresisted, a pure channel created between them. The pain receded even as the weakness increased, and Caster jerked back slightly in surprise as more magic than she had been expected flooded over her.

There.

Rin's shaking hand shot out and grasped the black line, and with a scream, pulled with every single one of her aching, abused magical circuits. Caster was stronger than her, but her concentration had wavered for the briefest of moments in surprise, and that was her chance. For a moment, the burning was so all-encompassing that she was sure she'd burn out completely, but then the thing she'd been hoping for happened.

The direction of the flow reversed.

Even as pain turned to euphoria and weakness turned to strength, Caster doubled over and grabbed at her stomach, screaming in surprised suffering as her mana was ripped from her body in the cruelest way possible. It was like a cool drink of water after starving in the desert. It was like a hot bath after a long, hard day. It was-

Distracting.

She shook her head, panting with exertion, and began preparing a counterattack. There were only moments before Caster would gather herself enough to retake the line, and she had to do something big before then. Her mind was still scrambled, though, and she was terrified that she just wouldn't come up with something in time. Caster's screaming abated into a kind of growl, and she rose up slowly, smile gone into a gritted-teeth grimace of pain and anger. Moments were left. She was out of time, and she had nothing.

And that was exactly the moment that Shirou Emiya flew past her, hands clenched into fists, screaming in anger, and delivered a bone-cracking right hook to Caster's jaw. Magic crackled around his Strenthened arm, barely controlled.

Time seemed to freeze. Rin's mouth hung open in stupefied shock.

The line snapped. Caster's head rocked back, a trickle of blood flying into the air with her, and she toppled backward. She was a Servant; it wasn't a powerful enough attack to do any kind of substantial damage, but the sheer surprise of it seemed to have momentarily stunned her. Shirou turned, his eyes blazing with righteous anger and concern, and thrust a hand toward her. "Come on! We have to go!"

She grabbed his hand, slightly dazed and empty from the disappearance of the siphon, and allowed herself to be pulled into a run.

Archer was getting pretty sick and tired of having to cover for Rin's retreats, but this time, at least, he believed he could win.

Rin hijacking Caster's spell (and Shirou's stupid fucking punch) had bought just enough time for the three of them to slip past Caster's blockade, and she had not been happy about it. She was the only one following, though. Saber had remained on the stairs, which was interesting, but not something he needed to waste time considering at the moment.

Fighting Caster was nothing like fighting Berserker or Assassin had been. Where they had been fast but overwhelmingly powerful, Caster was mobile and unpredictable. He couldn't take a direct hit from her magic without some serious damage, but a glancing blow would be a lot more survivable than one from Berserker's great stone sword would be.

A beam lanced down from above, seemingly generated by the kaleidoscopic swirl of her cloak, and he danced out of the way, turning and throwing his sword in one fluid motion. It flew true, and she had to swerve in the air to dodge its wicked blade. She wasn't talking, now, and anger was the only thing on her face. That was fine with Archer. He could make her talk.

He didn't know where Rin and Shirou were. They'd slipped away in the confusion, so now it was just the two of them. Cat and mouse in the forests around Ryuudou, inside the boundary field. Archer had broken through, just as he'd thought he could, and they both knew that drawing too much attention from the city would be bad for both of them. Even at less than full strength, Archer wasn't worried.

Icicles pounded down at him from all sides, and a fresh set of blades rose up to meet them. Cold shrapnel rained down onto him, and he leapt high into the air to meet her. Staff clashed against steel, and he was rebuffed. He twisted in midair, barely getting out of the way of a channeled bolt of lightning. It hit the spot he would have landed with an unstable crack.

"So what did you do?" He asked carelessly, belying the confusion and anger that still boiled within him. "How did a Servant get a Servant?"

Caster laughed, trying to pin him down into a high ring of fire. "Does it matter, little man? Knowing won't help you end it."

"How did you get a Saber?" He leapt up high again, flipping over the flames and throwing his swords once again. The attacks were a formality at this point, neither of them seemed to be able to land a decent hit on the other.

"You're beginning to bore me, Archer," she said idly, snapping her fingers. Bonds of energy flowed over and around him, sliding off of his magic resistance like water off a duck's back. She was barely even trying.

"Alright," he said, landing on his feet and allowing his swords to vanish. "I'll be more direct." Caster frowned, floating slightly lower, cautious. He could feel his throat burning as he spoke. "How did you summon her?"

Caster didn't move for a long few moments. Then the smile spread across her face once more. "So you know her, then." Her voice was wondering and smug at the same time. "You know her true name."

Archer could feel his jaw tighten without his permission. "I do. Artoria Pendragon. Am I incorrect?" His voice was a challenge.

Her smile widened. "Interesting, interesting. You've bought yourselves a few seconds of reprieve. Judging by your reaction, this isn't idle knowledge. You knew her."

He didn't respond, a thousand conflicting feelings coursing confusingly through him. His fingers twitched, longing for a blade. He didn't even know what he was trying to accomplish, or what his goal was. What did confronting Caster about it change?

Why did this fill him with such hatred and revulsion?

She tapped her chin performatively. "Hmm, let's see… If you knew her, then you were alive at the same time as her."

Archer didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. But it was funny how she could be so correct and so wrong at the same time.

"A Knight of the Table, perhaps? I'm sure a great deal of Heroic Spirits have been drawn from that particular gathering of righteous fools." Caster tilted her head, seemingly enjoying the puzzle. "Gawain? No, you are not made so unstoppable by the sun, or I would likely be dead. Lancelot and Mordred seem unlikely, considering that what you feel doesn't look to be hate. Not solely, in any case."

Archer stared up at her, stone-faced.

She looked like she was having as much fun as she had been during the battle. "Tristan is a possibility, but not a good one… Galahad might be as well, but let's be honest, Archer, I don't believe you to be nearly so pure."

Rage bubbled in his gut like a boiling cauldron, like caustic indigestion, and he forced it down.

"Bedivere, Gareth…" She laughed. "Agravain might fit, though. Arrogant, cruel, loveless but dedicated…" She spread her hands. "I don't know if Agravain ever had any particular skill with a bow, but for an Archer, you don't seem to care much for the weapon."

"You've done your research," he said blandly.

"Although for all I know…" Her hands returned to her side, and her voice turned somehow even more barbed and mocking. "When I performed the summoning, I didn't expect the legendary King Arthur to be a woman. For all I know, the legends had many things backward. Are you Guinevere, searching through the ages for your lost love?"

"It shouldn't have been possible," he growled softly.

She tilted her head slowly. "Oh, it was very possible—" she began.

"Not for you to summon a Servant," he cut her off. "For you to summon her. She isn't supposed to be—" He bit the words off, his face twisting into a snarl.

Caster was silent. He didn't elaborate. She'd stopped shifting around. She'd stopped making joyless conversation. Her cloak ruffled without wind to move it. Finally, carefully haughty, yet somehow cautious, she asked, "And what makes you say that?" She still wore her smile, but there was less cruel energy to it.

"She should have been—" He stopped himself. What was he doing here? What was he hoping to gain? For all he knew, she was behind the pervasive wrongness that he felt in this world.

Caster's smile faded. Her expression — what he could see of it — grew stoic. "So you can feel it, too." Her voice was serious; there was no playful edge or manic intensity to it any longer.

Something pulsed within him. Nothing physical, and nothing magical — this was fear, plain and simple. If she knew something was wrong… Then it wasn't just him. It wasn't just the disconnect between his memories and the events he'd seen over the last few days. "This world is rotting," he said quietly.

"Rotting…" Caster repeated thoughtfully. "I sensed something the moment I entered this world. At first I thought it was my Master's weakness corrupting me; then I thought it was this modern era that was in decay. I tried to ignore it. But if I'm not the only one who feels it..."

"It's everything," he muttered. "Every atom and every moment."

Though he couldn't see her eyes, her gaze was piercing. "Like streets drenched in dried blood that no one else can see," she said.

"Like water smothered in oil," he replied.

Both of them were silent under the weight of the shared realization.

"This doesn't make us allies," he said finally.

"Of course not," she said, a little less flippantly than he'd hoped. "We are enemies, and we will remain as such."

He nodded. "I wouldn't want it any other way. This is bigger than the War, though, isn't it?"

Caster drifted to the ground; her heels touched lightly as dead sticks crackled. "Whatever is causing this disturbance… Yes, I believe it is. Your analogy to rot was accurate. Do not mistake me; I have no interest in fixing this. I am done with altruism. If the world rots, I will watch it go with a smile."

Archer smirked. "But you don't want to die not knowing, do you? Your curiosity would destroy you first."

Caster's face tightened. He'd guessed right. "If you are determined to solve this riddle… Then this is what I believe, based on what I have sensed. This is recent. Something in the last fifty years or so happened that the World should have prevented. Everything wrong with this reality spirals from one point."

"The way even the smallest cut can lead to infection if left untreated," Archer finished.

Caster smiled humorlessly. "And sometimes the only cure for an infection that corrupts too deeply is amputation."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Archer said automatically.

Caster waved a hand dismissively. "I don't really care."

They stood in silence, facing each other, once again. "So what now?" Archer asked. "Do we go back to fighting, or what?"

"I no longer have the taste," she said with a sigh and a limp shrug. "I will fight if you force me to, but I would much rather return to the Temple. I'm sure you've determined it to be impregnable."

"More or less," Archer said. "I've learned a good deal from the attack. I know that I could take you if I needed to."

Caster laughed. "If that what will allow you to sleep tonight. I will allow you to leave with your life."

Archer gave a facetious bow. "My gratitude knows no bounds."

"Neither does your insolence," Caster fired back. She turned to leave.

The moment her back was turned, Archer began to Project. A great bow nearly as tall as he was appeared in his hands, a long, thin sword that twisted into something like an arrow nocked. He pulled back slowly. So slowly that the string didn't creak. She drew further away as he readied the attack until, wordlessly, he loosed the arrow-sword.

It whistled as it flew through the air and plunged into Caster's back, tearing through cloak and body both in its destructive journey before lodging itself hilt-deep in a thick tree and disappearing. Rather than being rewarded with the sight of a body falling or fading into golden light, the cloak fluttered to the ground, empty. Caster materialized a few feet to the double's left, smiling coldly at him, some of that cruel intensity back in her gaze. "So you do know how to use a bow, after all."

He shrugged. "Worth a shot," he said offhandedly.

"Indeed," she said, then disappeared in a cloud of softly glowing purple butterflies.

Next chapter: Facade