["Blackstone turncoat, find me dead on your doormat / Feed my heart to crows, turn my lungs to a hat." — Traditional Crescendan Folk Song]
"And over there are the public baths." A faint flush spread across the witch's face as she pointed out a large wooden building with her staff. "Ah, I know you have your own p-private bath in the castle…"
She'd radiated awkwardness when she'd showed him to his chambers, remaining steadfastly in the hallway as if her presence inside would constitute some kind of degenerate act.
"But the common folk often come here to r-relax! So if you wanted to, ah, get to know some of them…"
Her hopeful expression fell away before his flat gaze.
"Right, moving on!" Hurriedly she squared her shoulders and walked down the cobblestone street. "This is Brandenbrass Square. The fountain is a popular meeting place, and any of the bards would be happy to sing you a tune for a few misura. And do you see the big white roof just past it? That's the Lira Bank, the largest in the kingdom." A little smile stole across her lips. "Across the whole Southlands, actually. It has branches in every capital and trading port."
Kiritsugu's eyes briefly flicked towards it. He wouldn't be around long enough to worry about fiscal policy.
"Ah, and over there is the artisan's district. A little further on and we'll get to the river port, and you can see the shipping for yourself. Shall we, Yuusha-sama?"
"Sure." If nothing else, it would let him observe what kind of destinations were available. Stowing away amidst cargo was not unfamiliar to him. And by the lack of fanfare and worship, it seemed his presence had not been revealed—or his likeness had not yet been associated with it.
They'd already gone through the market district, full of lively taverns and loud blacksmiths. Four entire city blocks were dedicated to the farmers market ("They come from miles and miles away, and there aren't many who go back without profit," she'd said.) Had it not been for the guard patrols, maybe someone could have forgotten there was a war at all.
"The docks have the sunstone ballistas, too. That's what keeps the Demon Lord's dragon fleet from getting too close."
Never mind.
"I'll ask the port commander if she might let you inspect—"
He felt it the instant before it happened—a vibration deep inside of his chest—no, through his entire body—
The explosion was deafening, just like every other one he'd been an immediate witness to. A silence followed by the telltale cracking of air and the rush of wind that threatened to bowl him over. The entire ground lurched beneath him.
"W-whoa!" The witch had already toppled over, dazed on shattered cobbles. Then she flinched as more sharp cracks rent the air. Smoke billowed from a collapsing house.
"Senia, no!"
The beams groaned and fell with a crash. Kiritsugu's crest flared on his arm as he threw himself into the yawning maw, eyes burning from the dust.
Time Alter: Double Accel.
Flames licked all around him, but he punched through the door anyway, following the nearest screams through another doorway. A groan of tortured nails. A massive timber fell from the ceiling towards the family cowering below, two children sheltering in their mother's arms.
Kiritsugu pulled hard on his magic circuits, flooding his limbs with new and painful strength. His shoulder caught the timber; held it. Every second was a skyscraper bearing down on him, sinking his feet into ruined tile.
"Go…!" he groaned toward the family.
"What about dad?" whimpered the boy.
"Go!" he snarled. They scrambled out, but before she clambered through the door frame, the mother turned to him once more.
"My husband is in the basement, and my mother's upstairs," she gasped. "Please…!"
Grunting, with what was less than a second but felt like an agonizing hour, Kiritsugu carefully eased the timber so it slid down from his shoulder. It took his entire sleeve and much of the skin underneath with it.
Upstairs. The shattering planks made it clear the ceiling—and everything above it—wouldn't last much longer.
No time to consider. Kiritsugu's feet propelled him up the shaking stairs into a thick haze of gray smoke. Coughing, he launched himself onto the landing and frantically looked around. An older woman in a red shawl was sprawled on the floor, wheezing harshly in the acrid air. Her eyes widened as she took him in.
"Y… Yuusha…" she whispered.
He grabbed her around the waist—harsher than he might have liked but there was no time—and hiked her over his shoulder. The floor gave way beneath just as he threw them both through the window. A crash of glass, biting pain in his hands and face, then he was in freefall. There was so little space, the ground was right there—
Time Alter: Triple Accel.
He heaved his body around so his feet were the first thing that hit the ground. The impact would have shattered his feet if not for the Reinforcement—though that didn't do much to stop the burst of agony rocketing up his ankles. He gritted his jaw and set the woman gently on the ground.
"Yuusha-sama!" The witch was at his side in an instant, hands on his wounded arm. "You're—!"
"Take care of her," he growled, already turning around to rush back in.
The sheer heat had warped the basement door until it was stuck in its frame. He gave it several violent kicks to dislodge it, then almost fell down the remnants of a crumbled brick staircase. Kiritsugu caught himself painfully on the ledge, then slipped down. Another shock to his legs. He ignored it in favor of pushing through clouds of dust and ash and something worse. Something that burned his lungs and made his stomach churn.
He slipped through the broken tables and shelves of a ruined laboratory, shards of glass crunching under his boots. The far side of the smoking room yielded what he was looking for. The man was in bad shape, unconscious on his ground with a few joints bent at painful-looking angles. Broken bones from the concussive force of the blast. His back was raw and bloody, but at least in one piece.
It would have to do.
Kiritsugu hauled the man over his shoulder, rushing back towards the exit. Loose stones and overturned furniture combined with his burden to slow his pace, and the burning house roared around him while shards of singed wood fell.
He ignored it all. The fire, the smoke. The feeling of impact on his temple, blood stinging his eyes, the taste of iron in his mouth.
A rush of cool air greeted him when he staggered through the entranceway into the street. Just in time, as large stones from the chimney tumbled down and sent the last standing wall crashing to the ground. A gasp escaped him as he gulped down all of the air he had gone without. So blissfully cold.
"Yuusha-sama!" His cooling magic circuits felt like ice in his arms, in his legs. He barely noticed when the witch's hands brushed his shoulder. "Oh, Senia! You're… here, let me…"
"Giovanni!" The heavy weight he had been holding up came off his shoulder, and he sagged. Would have fallen himself if not for the witch catching him.
"Yuusha-sama…" she murmured as she let him down to the ground slowly. "You… really are… the Hero."
Hero?
His head was pounding as he tried to grapple with the word once again. He couldn't form a thought around it, only felt deep in his gut that it was wrong—he was no hero. He couldn't be, absolutely not.
Warmth blossomed in his shoulder. Unconsciously he leaned into it, looking blearily up at the watery brown eyes and teary smile leaning over him.
"Oh, thank Senia… I didn't ruin everything…" Another wave of soothing warmth, a soft golden glow dancing in his peripheral vision. "Thank you, thank you…"
"Mom, is he really the Hero?" A child's voice from somewhere to his left.
No… no, you're wrong…
"Is it true, Lady Elana?" A woman's voice from the same direction.
Right, that was her name… forgot…
"It's true," breathed Elana reverently. "Our prayers have been answered. Yuusha-sama… it's him."
The murmur echoed in his ears from all around, slowly picking up volume. Soon it felt like a roar, louder than the crumbling house.
"Yuusha-sama! Yuusha-sama!"
He pulled on the witch's sleeve, and then her face was right next to his.
"I'd like to rest now," he mumbled, his grip tightening. She blinked back her tears and nodded.
"Of course. Let's go back." She wrapped a cloth around his arm, still tender despite the healing magic. "Let's go home."
Had he not been so drained by the act, that word might've made him recoil. As it was, he did not resist when she propped him up and steadied him, nor when the awed hands reached out to touch him.
AN: So we lied, one more author's note. When we shared an early draft of this story with the notorious Xolef225, he was kind enough to draw some illustrations of the main cast to help bring them to life. His excellent work is posted with the AO3 version of this fic, since unfortunately FF doesn't allow visual media. Please do check it out.
