Infinite skies filled with puffy white clouds mar all above a magnificent, fluorescent grid space. All that is around is life, perhaps beyond. It is beauty. It is intelligence.

It is.

The skies warp and the grid shakes, unveiling a further darkness within as the structure changes. Forests, vast and blue. A city, destroyed, decayed, and, in an instant all the same, reborn.

Radiant hues skim off the ground toward a swelling cube, forming, slowly, of the grid. Piece by piece as it ascends beyond the sky, higher still, until it reaches…

"The moon? It's gorgeous, Quentin."

All the world came tumbling around him. Quentin, already sitting up, snapped to attention, tightening the flaccid grip he had on his paint brush. Before him, on a canvas, was a massive blue space, with twinkling stars in the distant background, and a blueing moon taking up the entire center frame. It's not yet full, and a great shadow covered most of it, but it is in a waxing stage.

Sophia's soft voice sent him drifting onto Earth. He shyly lowered his other hand—he swore it held a slight blue glow to it. He didn't want anyone in the studio to notice and worry—or worse, ask questions. She points at some of the surrounding parts.

"Like a blue moon sort of thing," Quentin said with a shrug.

Or, a dream. Of…

Of it. That presence that visited him, a gnawing thing inching forever closer to him. Pushing him toward something he'd heard whispers of.

He was Quentin Nicols, not Tokiomi Tohsaka, not Kayneth El-Milloi. He was a nobody, a middling student of Jewel Magecraft. His parents were nobodies.

Why was something speaking to him of the ancient Holy Grail War?

"I like it," Sophia said. Her hair hair brushed his face, her fingers skimmed his shoulder. Quentin gulped down a bucket of lust.

In not a few days time he'd have to leave for Winterbaum. At least, according to the message from the Mage's Association, that's where he was needed.

He wanted to write back asking if any of the other masters were seeing this vision, but held back on it. The letter was explicit about not giving any information about other Masters, and that meant even tiny things like dreams.

Although, in the world of magecraft, dreams were no small thing.

"It's so…curious, I guess."

Sophia was an experienced artist at the studio. She was three months younger than Quentin, but had been at the studio for most of her twenties. Quentin only just joined two years ago, and the two often exchanged curious glances until she truly started to notice him, and their curious glances turned more to curious conversations.

Just a few days ago, they'd started commenting on each other's work, each time their hands grazing over one another, breath hot on each other's cheeks while they whispered compliments. Quentin could barely take it anymore, until he received the letter.

Then, he thought of little else besides the dreams.

"Right?" Sophia asked, and once again snaps Quentin from his stupor. "You wanted a blue moon but made a whole blue universe that covers the moon."

"It—" Quentin had no idea where to go with the thought, but, let some things that'd been on his mind slip free, undercover. "It clouds everything in mystery. A blue moon, you know, is something that just happens so rare. But, all life, all things, beyond our world are rare for us. The cosmos holds so much we don't understand."

He dipped his paintbrush into the palette and added another star, his hand grazing Sophia's. For a moment, he stole his gaze up to her own.

And he saw their surroundings. They were alone in the studio, two floors above the busy streets of Versailles.

Alone. Like he'd been in war. When was the next time he'd see a face he could trust? When was the next time he'd be sure of anything?

The dreams portended mystery and beauty, but, he knew the devastation of the other Grail Wars. And this letter made it seem far different, far riskier.

He'd confront legends of the past. He, Quentin, a meager artist, would need to take on…what? Joan of Arc? Hercules?

"Sophia," he said, and it was all his body could gasp.

He swept up, knocking his palette over, and took her into his arms, kissing her. She grabbed his hair and kissed him back.

They slammed against the wall. She bit his lip, either on accident or on purpose.

"Yes," she said into his ear.

Quentin drew Sophia's legs up, hiking her skirt up with it. Who knew when the next time he could feel love would be?

Remember this, he told himself as his own pants his the floor. Remember her. Remember love.

Moonlight was all there was to light Asahi's way as he almost broke his ankle over a scooter. He tumbled away from it. Flickering streetlights up ahead finally helped him see the unobscured street. Raised voices behind him recovered him from the momentary pause.

Asahi caught himself and propelled forward, accelerating at an incredible pace. He had to constantly check over his shoulder, and on his third glance, was present enough to notice the trio rounding the corner. They worse suits instead of the usual robes, likely to attempt to blend in with crowds. They didn't dress as police officers would but their badges were similar enough that, to the common passerby, they wouldn't give them a second look.

Oh how Asahi wished he could turn right around and face them. But they had him outnumbered—worse, they had him outstrategized. This unit, once six and brought down to three, was built to kill him. The Clock Tower had to have been studying him just as much he had them.

Just as they had his family.

Asahi tumbled over a gated home and dashed alongside it to pop back on the other end.

A shadow briefly obscured the moonlight.

"Nakagawa Asahi!"

He continued to run, listening to the light footsteps behind him, catching up.

"Stop this instant!"

Asahi obliged. Just one?

Not a problem. He'd trained for that. The other two would spring out ahead of him, but if he was quick enough, it wouldn't be an issue, either.

Asahi turned on a dime, much faster than the mage had anticipated. They could study all they wanted, they could learn and watch him. Asahi trained for that. He trained for an enemy to know him, but hadn't had the time to develop skills against more.

After all, it was hard enough trying to get someone to help train you kill members of the Clock Tower.

The mage lunched forward, gloved hand out and glowing. Asahi had already ducked down and slammed his knee into their solar plexus, blasting the wind from their lungs. He slapped his hand over their mouth, to avoid a further spell, then brought his elbow down on their neck.

The Clock Tower mage dropped, instead, eyes rolled back. Not dead. Asahi had wasted too many weapons on the other three—not he only had his reflexes.

As anticipated, the other two mages appeared on either side of him. Asahi braced. He had a house in front of him, and, of course, the house behind him.

"Well?" Asahi shouted.

Lights turned off in the homes around the street. The streetlights flickered, but there also came a humming, like a rising in power.

The Clock Tower mages halted their advance. Asahi reached to his side, pretending his had a weapon.

"Come on!" Asahi roared again.

The burning followed.

A searing pain claimed his right hand. He flung his hand down. It was over as fast as it came, but his hand pulsed nonetheless.

Asahi, seething, inspected his hand. A new, blue mark glowed their.

"What—what have you done?" Asahi shouted, but the mages were gone.

In one's place, standing at the end of a street, was a stoic figure. It approached, moving with mechanical stability, down the street. Asahi hid his hand from their sight.

"Who are you?" Asahi shouted.

The person came with no fast, or ill, intent, it seemed. Asahi still braced himself, scooting back a bit to give himself some room.

It stopped in the lamplight overhead, the only one not flickering. With a fully extended arm, it held out a letter bearing a blue seal.

"Nakagawa Asahi, Master."

"Master?" Asahi asked, staring at the letter.

"As predicted, your Command Seal has shown itself."

Asahi stared at the person across from him. Almost human.

"You're a puppet," Asahi muttered.

"Summon your Heroic Spirit and go to Winterbaum by two days' time," the puppet said, its mechanical voice flat. "You have been chosen as a Master in the First Moon Cell War."

"First what?"

"Victory assures any wish of your choosing by the Moon Cell."

Asahi's throat caught. "I've never heard of this Moon Cell."

"Information upon the Moon Cell can be delivered to you."

"Are you with the Mage's Association?"

The puppet tilted its head at him, then, with an army at a perfect angle, without looking, it pointed to the Moon.

"I have been built and bred to inform the Masters of the Moon Cell of the coming war," the puppet said. "I have no ties or bonds with the Mage's Association.'

"My wish," Asahi said, "can it be anything? Like destroying the Clock Tower? Freeing my family?"

"Yes."

Asahi pursed his lips. If it were a trick, it would be a damn good one. Asahi always looked over his family's shoulder at their good work of the Clock Tower. Puppets, their puppets, were rudimentary at best. They struggled with the magic of it.

And this puppet was too good. Almost too human. It was operated magically, no doubt, but spoke eloquently and clearly, unlike others that his family had interacted with.

"What do I need to compete in this war?"

"An artifact," the puppet said. "A powerful artifact."

Liza spent the morning, as she did most, worried. She truly did it to herself. Checking the news wasn't the number one way to get her worried—no, that was easy enough. She need only think back to a few weeks ago.

To the blood. To the vicious maw splitting worlds apart. To the screams of her coven sisters, begging for her to join them.

She generally had a rule against thinking about it, and what often helped was looking at other people's tragedies.

Other people lost their families all the time. Other people died all the time. So, she was either just like them or, in a morbid way, lucky.

What she didn't like was reading about the killers. Death she didn't mind. Obituaries reminded her that, maybe, people were moving to a better place.

But killers? People who gleefully sent people away? Who harmed others of the earth that gave her life, that fed and nurtured her?

Liza sat in her hammock, the sun splintering through a fresh autumn afternoon, and held the newspaper out in front of her, letting the ink stain her sweaty fingertips.

A killer, American like her, was being hunted on a global scale, and had evaded all detection. He killed dozens before anyone noticed anything was wrong, and when people finally picked up on it, he still left behind no trail but no bodies. The last anyone could detect him, where deaths of the kind he liked to leave behind were found, was somewhere in Germany, near a village called Winterbaum.

No pictures had been found of him, but lately, he'd been leaving a mark behind.

A mark, Liza hated to notice, that looked awfully similar to the blue one that'd recently emerged on her hand.

Was she cursed, then? Bound to a killer?

There had to be consequences for what they'd done. Liza started to sway a bit faster, more frantic, in the hammock, while the birds all around her swung, but their voices sounded lower than normal. Witchcraft always came with a price.

But the coven was fresh, or, had been made fresh. Granny passed away, leaving just the sisters until Liza arrived. She was one of the older members—a fresh twenty-five years old.

And they were just exploring, with their bodies, with their powers. Until, Liza began asking questions about their abilities, the ones she'd hated, that made her hated by so many in family and her life.

She stared into the long forest around her. Something crunched on the gravel streets near the hut, but she ignored it. Her familiars would let her know if it were an intruder or creature of ill-intent.

Liza had to stop thinking about it.

But how could she?

Their blood still stained the forest, turning autumn leaves a darker red than ever before. Dirt and debris coated the land, a wide swath of it, where they'd attempted to dive into the Reverse Side of the World.

"To Avalon," some of them chanted. "To Heaven."

Maybe this killer, Matt Smith as he was known, wanted to reach it as well. Clearly, the path off of Earth was paved with rivers of blood, like a weathered valley.

Or, worse, he could be a demon, summoned from Hell, or whatever place her sisters vanished to, seeking to find her, or seeking his way home. Perhaps this mark they both bore bonded them.

This Command Seal.

Liza had no idea the significance of it, if there was any at all. A creature, she was unsure of what kind, came to her late one evening as the moon reached its apex, and informed her of a need for her to appear in Winterbaum, to fight in a war for the moon, or something.

She swung again, then stepped out of the hammock. She crunched on the ground beneath her feet, strolling to the tree at the foot-end of her hammock.

Embedded within was the marking of a hill. With a spell, Liza could pull it free, and produce an old oaken shield, etched in faint, old Latin markings. Roman markings.

Granny had gathered it many, many years ago, as she once anticipated joining some sort of war long ago, too, but it never came to be, and she wanted to hide it. "From the damn mages," she'd say. "The ones who would use it to harm our world, to explore Heaven of their own volition, not for the greater need."

Perhaps, Liza thought, it did turn into a curse. Or, an albatross for Liza to bear, as, following Granny's death, the coven sought a haven of their own volition, for their own need. This was her burden to bear.

Her war to fight.

A familiar's brief, but still shrill, cry snapped her attention away. She swept her hand over the leaves and covered herself in a momentarily wall of foliage until she could scramble up the tree opposite the hidden shield.

A person—a well-dressed, tall man—strode through her forest, hands clasped behind his back. Something, another person in fine clothes and a turban atop his head, glided but a few steps behind him, and had little trace of a normal human. That second one, Liza noticed, had the pure coating scent of magic about them.

"Liza Rensfield," the person called out, stopping a few trees from the hammock. His voice was of an Eastern European nature, it seemed. "My name is Jacob Novac. I've come to talk."

She held firm to her position in the tree, keeping her lips sealed. The other figure had its eyes locked right on her location, but she made nothing of it.

"There's an entity in our universe that would have us be enemies, but, I think an alliance is far more befitting you and I. It's easier when exiles stand together. How long has it been since a mage has asked a witch for help, I wonder?"

Liza remained silent.

"I could use your help," Jacob said. "More importantly, I have no desire for a wish upon the Moon Cell. I have no need for it beyond mere observation. I wish to know it, to see it and interact with it in the capacity that this war allows. Whatever your heart desires I can help with."

Don't trust the mages. Her sisters and Granny beat it into her head. She couldn't trust them. She lived in the woods because of them. She couldn't see her friends or family because she was a witch. Any mages that pretended to befriend them were traitors. Liza bared her teeth.

The man behind Jacob glanced away from him, observing other parts of the land. He strode toward the hammock and Jacob remained motionless.

"You wish to see the Reverse Side of the World," Jacob said, and Liza's breath caught. "Right? Well, I won't stop you. I'll help you, if anything. I want to ensure someone with a reasonable cause wins this war."

The other man stopped at the tree opposite Liza. He spared her one more look with a stare that froze her heart before reaching over to the tree. He snapped the shield free.

"Well?" Jacob Novac asked.

The other man flung the shield at Liza, who caught it with her magic—some vines snapped up and helped her. Jacob, at last, turned his attention to her hiding spot.

"Summon your Servant," Jacob said, and nodded to the other man. "As I have mine. Meet Assassin."

The man nodded his head. "I look forward to our partnership."

Liza remained in the tree and tightened her grip on the shield. She bit her lip. Granny would hate this.

But Granny wasn't there. And, if everything worked out, Liza could finally get to the place that stole her sisters.

And, maybe, find them again.

The City Botanic Gardens of Brisbane were a welcome relief from the stuffy, hot buildings Britt had spent most of the morning in. She'd been looking forward to leaving; not only because of who was coming to see her, but just so she could give her brain a rest.

From work? No.

From those idiots trying to pitch her even stupider ideas? Yes.

Britt appreciated working on a team with these guys. They were idealists, like her, wanting to see the world improved. They didn't quite the apocalyptic vision that everyone else did about what was to come in six years, which was such a relief. Britt had no idea when the world would end, and while she was sure technology would have a hand in it, she also understood that humans controlled technology.

And, secret from what most tech-heads knew, they also controlled magic.

Britt found a bench and sat down in it while a few birds flitted about overhead. She crossed her legs, applying some moisturizer to her face and lips.

Of course, most people she interacted with didn't consider the human factor. They were biologists or technologists. Not biotechnologists, like Britt.

The Moon Cell would change all of that. She wanted so desperately to talk about it, but figured that, if she could eventually make her way through the ranks of the Clock Tower, Mage's Association, or that burgeoning Atlas organization, she would have the information and data she needed to really begin experimenting.

Or, if the Moon Cell could fulfill her wish, then there wouldn't be a need for research.

Britt slid her sunglasses up as a long shade passed over her and she stood back up, folding her hands behind her back while she strode through some of the forests. Families picnicked and several individuals exercised all around her, each with either new devices or interacting in the environment as society allowed.

They were truly living the human experience. But Britt found it so mundane. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of a jogger.

Humanity had so much more to offer. It always had. It took what the world gave them and molded it into society. But not a great enough society.

Britt didn't care for war, but did care for pestilence and illness. Viruses were organisms, yes, but all organisms could be exterminated. Humanity should've dealt with these years ago; instead, they let them fester and improve.

Life adapted, always.

She rounded a tree. A lone individual strolled down the path with her. An ethereal barrier sprung into being lining the pathway covered by trees.

The person opposite her, a man, was a bit older, but stood tall and bold. She expected little else of Petr, Overseer for the Moon Cell War.

"Ms. Leghari, a pleasure to meet you," Petr said. "And thank you for agreeing to this."

"It was hard to ignore," Britt said.

"The presentation you made this morning was quite stunning," Petr said. "And insightful."

Britt grinned. She figured Petr would be watching, either through a familiar or a spy.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Britt asked.

"I like to see when people take risks," Petr said, and some of Britt's confidence slid away. "Like almost outing the existence of a millennia-old entity."

She tried not to let her face show her surprise. Britt thought her allusions to the Moon Cell were subtle. She didn't know much of it herself. Had she accidentally spoken on it better because of her lack of information, because of her guesses?

"We're hundreds of years from people like those that attended even having the ability to grasp what the Moon Cell is."

"I'm sure. Regardless, we have a strict code."

"And this war in Winterbaum falls under a similar code?"

Petr nodded. "Indeed. Much as the Grail Wars have been kept under strict secrecy, this may even fall under tighter scrutiny. It's easy enough to fantasize about the Holy Grail, but if information about the Moon Cell fell into the wrong hands?"

Britt imagined if she weren't a mage, or didn't know anything about this business, she'd lose her mind at the knowledge of the Moon Cell and do everything in her power to pull as much as she could from it down to Earth. At any cost.

Well, she thought, as if that were any different from what she was prepared to do. Anything to improve her world, her human race, at any cost.

"I'm proud that the Moon Cell has chosen you as a Master," Petr said. "We've had an eye on you for some time. Though your methods are far too humane for our liking, there is certainly merit to your work and ideals. The betterment of humanity is our goal, despite what some would say."

"Our goal?"

"The Mage's Association."

"What about the Church?"

"They have an obsession with the Grail. The Moon Cell is a step too far for them, at least until they can find some religious value in it. It's certainly something someone of your intellect would be able to unveil."

Britt could've purred like a cat at the stroking of her ego.

"What do you need from me, Overseer?"

Petr didn't give away any expression.

"I need you to participate," Petr said. "I need you to be active in this war. Use your Command Seals brilliantly. Then, when you have your wish, prove humanity's tenacity."

"Do I have your support?"

"No more than any other Master does."

Petr turned his back to her, and his form began to fade.

"I came thinking I would have to entice you. But it seems we are on the same page already. Keep it up, and I think you'll find yourself lasting quite long in this war."

His voice drained as his form vaporized and the ethereal barriers around them dissipated. Britt unfolded her hands. She'd had it clasped over her blue Command Seal.

"A bit much, don't you think?"

A new voice drifted in behind her—a presence that'd been kept invisible to Petr, to most people, but that had been with Britt the entire day.

Britt faced her: Dihya, Queen of the Berbers, and Rider Class Servant. She had flowing black hair with a powerfully beautiful presence.

"Oh he wants to use me, certainly," Britt said.

"To what end?"

"Overseers cannot participate in this battle-royale events that occur," Britt said. "So he needs a surrogate. He thinks me selfish."

"Aren't you?" Dihya asked.

"I am, and you nevertheless agreed to help me."

Dihya shrugged. She wore a modern dress, striking against her stout, muscular frame. With an easy spell she could change into her more comfortable armor, but Dihya, until combat, had to blend in.

"Because your dream is for the betterment of our world, and our goals can overlap. If you accelerate humanity beyond its modern boundaries then it may achieve the global peace I've long sought for."

"It'll come soaked in blood."

"What doesn't?"

Britt couldn't disagree. "We'll keep an eye on the Overseer. Mages are tricky people, thinking themselves smarter than they actually are, which is dangerous enough, because then they do stupid things, think stupid things."

"What is that new human adage? Keep your friends close?"

"And enemies closer," Britt said, with a nod.

Then, smiling at a small family arriving in the park, she gestured at Dihya to follow, and headed back down the path, toward her building, wasting time until the evening when she'd be flying off to war.

Night arrived fast for Quentin. He woke for it specifically. At first, he was calm, but then, circumstance and the realization of what he had to do arrived.

Sophia lay naked next to him, their sheets long since vanished. Faint moonlight glimmered through their window, unveiling the rest of Versailles. Quentin looked at her, then caressed her back with his hand.

He didn't want to let it go. Sophia was a sweet fruit, and each taste came with the need for more. Maybe because of what had to happen, but Quentin had never known better love than in those long moments when they were together. He was addicted to it as one was addicted to safety. There was a comfort to being within her, beneath her, atop her. Near her. War was far away when they were together.

Quentin sat up in bed and ran his hands through his hair.

No more escaping it. No more of love. It could only be a memory. He didn't spare Sophia another look. Maybe he'd come back to her. He'd like that. Maybe he loved her, truly loved her.

And maybe, when he died in the war, she'd find him in whatever twisted afterlife awaited.

The summoning circle was already awaiting him. He'd gotten around to painting it early in the morning so it'd be ready for him in case he couldn't muster the courage to face it throughout the day.

On a pedestal by the circle rested a single item—a corroded, broken katana hilt. Quentin grasped it and rolled it into the circle. It glowed a faint silvery light.

His heart grew heavy, and nerves twisted all over his body. Quentin's hand shook, but not the one with the Command Seal.

He dead-eyed the artifact. It'd been found generations ago by his family, preserved to be auctioned to a Japanese museum, but they never got around to it. They always had it kept away with other treasures, but the Command Seal reacted strongest to it when Quentin searched for an artifact to use for the Summoning.

Quentin took a few steps back, to give himself room away from the incantation and summoning circle. He controlled his breathing. He thought of nothing but what was before him. Not the outside world, not the woman above him. Not even the words themselves, which came spilling out of him, at once, as if another force compelled him to do so:

"Let silver and steel be thy essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. L Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cosmic gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.

"Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Moon Cell. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth!"

Asahi stood steadfast against the potent gusts barreling out of the summoning spell. He hated it, absolutely hated that he was using magic. But it wasn't his. It was the Moon Cell's. It came from the Command Seal.

It wasn't the magic of the Clock Tower, but he could use this to destroy the Clock Tower.

"An oath shall be sworn here!"

The summoning circle lay in the middle of an abandoned home. The doors and windows rattled. Asahi's voice carried over all of it, a booming presence.

"I shall attain all virtues of all the universe!"

His hand shook. It almost felt as if it would come off, or get yanked away at worst. Before him, in the center of a circle, lay a single skull.

"I shall have dominion all the evils of all the universe!"

The skull's vacant eyes came alight from the furious power of the Summoning circle. Asahi stayed braced as the final words roared from his mouth:

"From the Seventh Seal, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the celestial balance!"

The lights, at once, vanished. Asahi stood blinded from it, holding his arms aloft. His chest heaved up and down.

A single voice broke through the silence, a powerful one that commanded his attention:

"I ask you…"

Quentin lowered his arms but stayed on his feet as the light faded and mists spilled everywhere around him.

A man stood before him, wreathed in mists, wearing ancient Japanese armor. A blade glistening perfect, unstained steel in the moonlight tapped against the stone of the basement.

He spoke, capturing Quentin's attention. It snapped Quentin out of any stupor he may have felt, but, relieved him of some doubt he may have had about the Servant. This was the voice of a warrior.

"…are you worthy to be my Master?"