(A/N)

Some of you saw this coming, so I got it out of the way.

Short chapter, but it's more of a bridge to the next and I felt it best to keep it contained here. And given what it discusses, I felt it thematically appropriate to deal with anything else later on.

Also, LB6.5 just dropped.

And… I feel inspired and disturbed, enchanted and terrified by one or two things.

But that's a long way off from where we are.

Thanks to Fallacies, Fluflesnufaluphagus and Hyuu-Mungus for betaing.

"Are you with me or against me?"

"I can assure you – and I say this with the greatest sincerity a man can muster – that I am spiritually, emotionally, ethically, and morally behind whoever wins."

- Ciel. P, Lau

The guest lecturer that Lord El-Melloi II had brought in that day from the Department of Spiritual Evocation was – just as his reputation described – indeed very handsome.

"I want you all to picture a bag of black marbles." Wills Pelham Codrington held his hand up on the dais below which they sat. "Within that bag lies one white marble, alone. Working on the "clustering illusion" theory of probability, a Marble Phantasm gives one the ability to raise the chance of picking out that singular white marble from slim to none to a hundred percent. Conversely, a Reality Marble would allow for all of the marbles to turn into white ones. The most important distinction between the two concepts lies in whether each one can operate within the laws of the world. Another distinction between the two lies in the general scope-"

"Psst."

"'... as a Reality Marble can only specialize in one particular aspect, whilst a Marble Phantasm can perform any number of-"

"Psssst."

"... sometimes be considered superior, but only in the sense-"

The third hiss was accompanied by an insistent nudge from to his ribs.

Shirou sighed, though he let none of his annoyance show as he turned to his right.

"Shouldn't you be sitting in the corner?" He asked.

"Eh, he let it slide today seeing as we have a guest lecturer but more importantly, what'd you think?" The ever excitable blonde whispered beside him.

Shirou considered his question.

"It's all very illuminating, and very interesting stuff-"

"Not that!" He airily waved a hand in dismissal. "I mean, now that we have the two of them in a room, who's better? The Fairy Prince or the Great Big Ben London Star himself?"

It was not the first time since they'd met that Flat Escardos said a lot of words Shirou Emiya could barely understand, and running through the question in his head once more, Shirou had the sinking feeling it would not be the last.

"... I'm afraid I don't follow." He said diplomatically, after a fashion .

"Professor Codrington or Waver!" At this pronouncement, Shirou could have sworn stars were dancing in his senior's eyes. "Who's more desirable?"

Ah. Swiftly, he was reminded once again that understanding the enigmatic savant proved little better.

Shirou knew he was going to regret this, but sheer morbid curiosity won out. "Why do you ask?"

"Master V's been fourth on the annual poll of men that female students want to sleep with in the Clock Tower for ages, and The Fairy Prince reigns second!" Flat rattled off, and as had been the case numerous times before, Shirou felt oddly compelled to listen on . "I mean, one can see their distinct appeals. Codrington's got the classic gentleman's air to him, but Professor Charisma's got that irritable, deep voice and lanky build, with a classic Severus Snape vibe — minus the hooked nose and greasy hair now that Gray's been taking better care of his personal hygiene — but I'm getting off topic! Tell me, who's more appealing to you?"

There were several things in that mess of a run-on sentence that Shirou felt tempted to ask for clarification or object to, but he wisely thought it best to nip it in the bud, lest the other student beside him feel the need to intercede.

"... I don't really have an opinion on these matters, Flat-sempai. Besides, I don't see men that way-"

"Oh, there's no need for formalities, Shirou! We're friends!"

Disconcertingly, this was not news. It was often said that one had to put in the bare minimum of effort not to make enemies out of strangers, but as with most things the reverse was true for dear Flat, as Shirou had learned.

"Besides, even if you're not gay, one can still appreciate beauty, can we not? And you gotta have an opinion! I mean, you've polled surprisingly high for an unofficial second-year student, higher than Svin actually, and between you and me Le Chien's been bemoaning it to anyone who'd listen-"

"Wait, back up," Shirou couldn't have heard that right. "I'm on the poll?!"

"Of course you are!"

"Since when?" Shirou stammered out, utterly bewildered. "And why would- who would even-"

"You've been here a while, it'd be a surprise if you weren't!" Flat informed him, oblivious to the way his words seemed to cause Shirou's world to start spinning in the wrong direction. "And I'd think you'd know. You've gotten to know quite a few notable people here."

"Enough for me to be placed on some anonymous annual poll?"

"Exactly. I mean," Flat jerked his head to his two-o-clock, and Shirou followed it to see a familiar set of blonde ringlets a few rows down, "I think you'd be lying if you haven't got some idea of who voted for you."

Shirou shook his head, refusing to even dignify the very idea.

"Flat-sempai, I think you're misunderstanding what me and Lu-"

"Emiya-kun."

Shirou flinched. He'd wondered just how long the conversation would have been allowed to go on before he heard her voice, carrying that sickeningly sweet tone that promised a tongue-lashing later on.

He turned to his left with a sigh.

"Yes, Tohsaka-san?" He offered weakly.

Rin Tohsaka looked every bit as polite and cordial as the day he'd met her, which was a testament to how well the woman could hide her roiling irritation. "Some of us would very much like to pay attention to the lecture, Emiya-kun. You can prattle on about undoubtedly inane topics on your own time."

The expression on Shirou's face could only be described as a mixture of frustration and fondness. It was a look that he realized – only in retrospect – was always exclusively associated with Rin.

"Sorry, Tohsaka-san." He smiled. "My bad."

She huffed, coloring slightly as the two returned their attention to the lecturer in front.

"... so to sum up, Marble Phantasms are usable by high fairies and elementals, and usually by terminals of nature, though modern conjecture has suggested that the world is able to grant such a power to its agents, should it see fit to do so. Of course, there has been no recorded evidence of an agent of the world being in possession of a Marble Phantasm, but all signs point to it being possible." Professor Codrington clapped his hands. "Now. Are there any questions?"

Someone in the front row raised their hand, hemmed with lilac frills, and from Shirou's vantage point, he watched as the lecturer gave a barely perceptible sigh.

"Yes, Miss Yvette?"

"The way you described the Marble Phantasm with the bag of black marbles… It all sounds very similar to the thought experiment of Maxwell's Demon."

Professor Codrington blinked. "I suppose one can see how you could arrive at that conclusion, yes."

"You've stated before that Marble Phantasms have been definitively proven to exist."

"That's right."

"And Maxwell's Demon to this day remains a hypothetical thought experiment, and there does not yet exist anybody who could make this phenomenon occur in reality."

"That's also correct."

"Then with one phenomenon being possible and the other being impossible, how exactly does one reconcile the two similar concepts?"

"... Excellent question." Wills smiled, before turning and drawing a box with chalk on the blackboard. "I'm sure most of you are aware of the general idea, but as a refresher, the most common way to describe Maxwell's Demon is as such." Summoning a stick of pink chalk, he began filling the insides of the hurriedly drawn rectangle with sporadic dots. "We have 2 chambers of gas, separated by a door." The chalk squeaked as it was brought down akin to the blade of a guillotine. "Standing on top of the chambers, is a demon." He drew a crude stick figure with horns that made a sizable portion of the class murmur and giggle. "Through some hitherto and conveniently unexplained means, the demon has the ability to open the door separating the two chambers at an assumedly instantaneous speed."

The lecturer finished adding a tail for good measure, and walked towards the area of the blackboard that was still inscribed with Waver's prior lecture materials.

"Now, keep in mind this is not within my expertise as a Professor on Spiritual Evocation," he prefaced as he wiped the board clean with a duster, before beginning his writing anew, "but the second law of thermodynamics states that as energy is transferred or transformed, more and more of it is wasted. Simply put, heat does not naturally flow from a cool body to a warmer body; work must be expended to make it do so. It's this concept that allows a steam engine to function: if there was no cold reservoir towards which it could move, there would be no heat flow, and the engine would not work. At the same time, while most of the fuel's energy is extracted and made to do something useful, the remainder is wasted in the form of heat." The lecturer underlined the equation for emphasis, before turning around to address the class. "The total entropy of a system either increases or remains constant in any spontaneous process: it never decreases."

"Now, what Maxwell's Demon posits," and here the professor paced back to where the little demon was perched, "as a potential violation to the second law, is that the demon is capable of distinguishing the fast moving molecules from the slow moving ones, and is capable of opening it such that only one molecule could pass at each time. This Demon," he tapped the drawing for good measure, "is capable of manipulating the scenario and only has fast molecules move to one side and slow ones to another. The result? One side is now hotter than the other. We would have created a change in temperature where none was before. We would have found a flagrant violation of the second law of thermodynamics, in which – I reiterate – entropy increases as time goes on. We would have created order from chaos."

He allowed his words to sink in for a moment to his spellbound audience.

"Of course, this is a lot of background and setup for a payoff as anticlimactic as 'it's all impossible', but it is what it is. Purely hypothetical." Wills said simply. "I mean, on a molecular level, it is possible for something to reverse the entropy it has gone through, but macroscopically, the probability of such an occurrence is zero. And even if we dismiss the fact that energy transference can still happen between a molecule hitting the door and hitting another one on the other side, the main reason Maxwell's Demon remains strictly hypothetical is the fact that we don't know what powers the demon. We don't know what allows it to distinguish which molecules are faster moving, what allows it to operate the door. We don't know what is shouldering the cost."

He set the chalk down as if to prove a point.

"On the other hand, we do know that the cost of a Marble Phantasm is shouldered by the planet, even as it is utilized by fairies, elementals, nature terminals, or agents of the world. And that's how you reconcile the two similar but different concepts." He clapped his hands in finality. "So, now that that's done and answered, does anyone else have any questions before I wrap this up?"

There came a rustling to Shirou's right as the ever-excitable blonde waved a hand in the air, and from where he sat, he could discern Lord El-Melloi II muttering obscenities under his breath.

"Yes, Mr. Escardos?"

"Yes, you've mentioned that an agent of the world could possibly be granted the powers of a Marble Phantasm." He repeated.

"I did."

"Well," and the stars in his eyes were back again in full force, "how does one become an agent of the world?"

"Could you elaborate?" The ever-polite Codrington questioned, oblivious to the fact that Lord El-Melloi II had suddenly gone white as a sheet. "I'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

"I mean, I daresay becoming an agent of the world requires an application process," he went on, as if he wasn't discussing something truly outrageous "so how would one contact the world to get the ball rolling should someone be interested?"

Wills Pelham Codrington chuckled. "Mr. Escardos, I think-"

"Wills, don't answer that."

The professor blinked, turning to his fellow lecturer in abject confusion. "I don't see how it'd hurt-"

"You don't know this boy like I do." Waver interrupted, eyes wild. "Nothing good can come out of Flat asking questions-"

"Aren't you being a little overly dramatic?"

In unison, a sizable portion of the class shook their heads, and Shirou noted with some bemusement that Rin had done the same.

"Well, I'm sorry to say, Mr. Escardos, that it's not quite as straightforward as it seems." Wills forged on, ignoring Waver throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Nevermind the fact that Marble Phantasms aren't granted to agents of the human order, you don't get to 'contact the world'. On such rare occasions, it is the world that would interface with your mind and not the other way around."

The outright dismissal didn't seem to phase Flat in the slightest, and Shirou grew alarmed to see him grin at the professor's answer.

"So what you're saying is that a connection to the world in all of us does exist?"

CLAP

"Ok, that's the end of our lecture for today," Waver began hurriedly shoving a bemused Codrington out of the lecture hall, "everyone thank Professor Codrington, I want your essays on Reality Marbles by the end of the week, class dismissed!"

And with that, the great mass of students stood as one, chattering amongst themselves as they packed their belongings, stuffing pencils back into cases, making their way across the aisles muttering excuse-mes and pardons…

Shirou stared at Flat, who'd remained unnaturally still.

"... are you alright, Flat?"

"So it's just a matter of finding it!" Flat Escardos shot to his feet in a flash as Shirou lurched back on instinct. "A connection does exist! Nice talking to you, Shirou, I've got something to try at once!"

And just like that, the blonde sprinted down the stairs two at a time, barreling past his fellow students with surprising nimbleness as he sped out of the room.

"... that idiot's going to create more trouble for all of us." Rin muttered, dazed.

"You don't think you're exaggerating a bit?"

"Rumor is, he'd accidentally trapped our dear Professor in a time loop just so he'd have time to finish his homework," she said matter-of-factly, "when it comes to dear Flat, I would never dismiss his penchant for achieving the unexpected."

"Wait." Shirou turned, frowning as he mulled over her words. "You don't suppose he'll really succeed, do you?"

"In contacting the world?" She shrugged, collecting her notebook and pens with her characteristic poise. "Who knows. But you heard what Professor Codrington said about Marble Phantasms. They're not given to agents of the human order even if Flat succeeded.

It would take an act of God for a human to possess one."

Archer, hands up, standing in the middle of the desert in front of a priestess who appeared out of nowhere, considered his current position as such:

One act of God coming right up.

He could be wrong – the Counter Guardian certainly hoped that he was – but one did not simply manipulate the natural surroundings with such ease and skill and generate illusions that interfered with the mind, projecting images and the likes into reality without some similar level of genuine fuckery. No, they weren't even illusions; everything that he'd seen her manifest was real in a way that illusionism only seemed to render. Adding that to the fact that the woman ostensibly possessed home court advantage and there being no vantage point for him to simply snipe the woman from afar, and this was fast becoming a battle Archer would rather avoid.

Plus, he was on holiday. He'd be damned if he spent it fighting a practitioner of Native American magecraft. Oh no, that duty firmly belonged within his 9-to-5 as a Counter Guardian.

Besides, the rigors of battle would inevitably damage his cargo.

So, he spent the next few tension-charged moments racking his brains for just what he could say to potentially defuse the situation that was just one participant shy of a Mexican standoff. It wasn't as though he had no shortage of experience on that front, his usual assignments were short instructions of 'kill this man' or 'bomb this city' and so on and so forth; whatever the Counter Force saw in him, it wasn't his innate skill in peacemaking and de-escalation that sealed the deal.

Come join the Counter Force, they said. Be a hero of justice, they said.

Archer was debating whether to open his attempts at diplomatic finessing with a self-deprecating pop culture reference that'd inevitably be lost upon its recipient – "I knew I should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque" or a ham-fisted, self-aware attempt at flattery "Why is it always the pretty ones who want to kill me?" – when the initiative was rudely seized from him.

"You are trespassing." The priestess said measuredly, voice reverberating with authority.

Archer sighed.

"... Look, I understand your position, and I empathize," the Counter Guardian muttered, warily watching the flame dance in her hands like a dockside whore, "but in my defense, it's not like this area is marked by any signs that it's occupied."

The priestess frowned, long locks of hair flowing gently in the wind. "Ignorance is no defense."

"Even so," Archer said reasonably, "it's not like you couldn't have thrown up a bounded field or a ward to fend off unwanted guests."

"Where do you think you are?" She questioned without hostility, but with very little positivity being conveyed. "We stand in the middle of a desert, surrounded by mountains. If people are heading westwards towards the sea, they take the roads that pass by civilization south or north of us. I know this area like the palm of my hand. Anyone who does darken my lands with their shadows are either lost, looking for trouble," and here her eyes narrowed, "or a fellow user of magic that can't mind their own business."

Subconsciously, Archer chanced a glance at the corpse beside him and swallowed.

"Well, I can assure you I am not looking for trouble-"

"Aren't you?" She interrupted, unamused. "I watched you, you know. From the moment you crossed the river, to the moment you took refuge under a tree, to the moment you saw a corpse and lingered."

"Well, when you come across the corpse of a soldier in the middle of nowhere, the reasonable thing to do would be to take a closer look." He felt the need to point out.

She shook her head. "The reasonable thing to do upon seeing a dead body would be to run for the hills."

Archer squirmed, before switching tacks.

"I'm sorry, can we just dial it down a notch? Maybe stop making this situation an ill-timed animal cry from all-out battle?" He flicked his fingers down. "I'm not here to fight you."

"Forgive this one from finding that hard to believe." The priestess tilted her head, doubtful. "Days after a regiment of soldiers arrive to do battle against me and my tribe, you show up. A practitioner of magic who isn't even human."

The Counter Guardian tensed.

The priestess huffed. "Like I said, I'm spiritually aware of who enters my land. I don't know what you are, I don't know who sent you, but you are certainly not human, which only gives me more reason to be cautious."

"... I'm not going to dispute that fact," Archer tried again, his right hand very slowly reaching towards his head to rub his temples, "but I wasn't sent by anybody to do anything here."

"Oh?" She pursed her lips. "Then what summoned you here?"

Archer paused. There was no way he was going to mention his master by name, that seemed like a whole other can of worms should the woman assume the worst. That being said, he wasn't particularly fond of the other option, but it seemed that there was nothing for it.

The Counter Guardian exhaled.

"The World."

The two words settled, complicated airflow dissipating into the vast expanse around them.

Finally, at long last, the priestess lowered her hand, flames dissipating with a tiny 'pop'.

"... I've heard stories," she muttered, intrigued, "but this is the first time one of us have encountered one of you in person."

"One of me?" Archer hedged, gratefully lowering his hands.

The Priestess nodded, dress gliding gracefully above the dusty grounds as she approached, shrubbery and vines moving at will to clear a path. "All we have to learn of your kind's existence is what remains of your work, and what isn't there to explain it." She went on, scrutinizing him with rekindled interest. "I don't get the impression you are lying to me, but one finds your presence here, in the open, with nothing better to do… odd."

Story of my life, Archer thought darkly, allowing the woman to circle him, feeling like nothing but an insect under her scrutiny.

When the priestess was done, she crossed her arms in front of him, frowning.

"I was not aware your kind can be contracted to someone."

Archer blinked.

"Well, that's normally not the case." He eventually said, wondering what it was that gave him away. "We don't usually need help to carry out our duties."

"And what exactly would those duties be, if not to come all the way here and attack my tribe?"

Archer shrugged. "Honestly, your guess is as good as mine."

At this, for the first time since they'd met, the priestess looked truly surprised.

"Are you to tell me," she raised an eyebrow, voice rising with incredulity, "you were summoned here by the world to do someone else's bidding with no idea what it is you're to accomplish? None at all?"

The Counter Guardian sighed. "What can I say? The World moves in mysterious ways."

"Have you ever considered that you've missed your window of opportunity?" She asked slowly, as if speaking to a child. "That you remain here only because you did not take the first shot in correcting a problem? That the problem is ongoing as we speak?"

"Believe me," Archer muttered tiredly, "I've been considering that every day since I've been summoned. But I have nothing to go on, and no instructions save to protect my master. All I can do is hope that eventually, my problem rears its ugly head in front of me and that I'll take care of it like I always do."

The priestess shook her head. "Forgive me, but considering your purpose is culling the world's wrongs, that approach sounds lackadaisical at best."

Archer gave the woman an unamused glare. If only you knew.

Her attention returned to the corpse beside him, suddenly contemplative.

"... Tell me." She began, "If you have nothing to do with the attacks on my tribe, why did you do it?"

The Counter Guardian blinked. "... I don't follow."

She gave him a hard, assessing look.

"Why did you attempt to bury him here?"

Archer hesitated. He'd been ruminating about this since he'd encountered her, cursing himself for succumbing to a naive impulse long thought dead and gone, but at her line of questioning the Counter Guardian seemed at a loss for words.

He pursed his lips.

"... He was a soldier." He finally said after a spell. "Nevermind the… gruesome way he perished, I thought that he might have deserved a little dignity in death, having died in battle.."

"Dignity?" She repeated, disgust suddenly molding her features into something awful. "You wanted to give him some measure of dignity?"

"I meant no offense-"

"There is no dignity to be had in death." She exclaimed, voice suddenly swelling with indignation and fury. "Not even death in battle. Death in battle is the splashing about of human meat and fluid, a marriage of filth and squalor, and you think giving him a burial would give him dignity?"

And once again, Archer held up a placating hand. "I meant no offense-"

"Do you know who he was?" She pointed at the charred husk of a man. "This one was not some brave warrior who fell after clashing swords or exchanging gunfire, he was a coward. Why do you think he lies alone? Away from the other soldiers?" The priestess scoffed. "The moment I proved capable of fighting back, flinging curses and having my summons engage them, he deserted his comrades and ran. There is no valor to be celebrated, no act of bravery that his people can pass tales of proudly, he died a coward."

Archer made to open his mouth but found himself once again at a loss for words.

"And did you even stop to think that perhaps burying an invader on the lands he attempted to seize for himself is nothing short of insulting?" She went on, truly incensed. "Did you think that his life was worth celebrating? Worthy of praise? That you'd even attempt to bury him on the land my tribe has held for centuries, long before the coming of the pale faces is provocation courting war and massacre? I'll tell you what you are, you're nothing short of-"

"I'm sorry."

The words seemed to take the wind out of her sails for a moment, and the Counter Guardian sighed before continuing.

"I mean no offense, and I meant what I said," he muttered, looking away from her, "I was unaware of the circumstances in which he died, and had I known I would have left the matter well alone, but that was not what I saw. No, what I saw was…"

Archer closed his eyes, a complicated cocktail of warring emotions bubbling within the deepest areas of his psyche.

Shirou Emiya – and all he stood for – was dead and gone. He had to be. Through millennia, his ideals had been beaten down, made a farce out of, disavowed entirely. They had to be. That surety – and a dream of someday killing his past self – was the only thing that kept him going these days, as he killed and maimed all in the name of justice.

But as he stood there, in front of the corpse he tried to give a decent burial, in front of the woman who;d somehow shaken him to his core, he came to realize that he could lie and deceive himself all he wanted; an eternity could pass, but nothing would change.

Emiya opened his eyes.

"All I saw was someone I did not get to save." He finally admitted.

The wretched truth, borne at last.

Nevermind his previous assignments, nevermind those days in the manor managing a household and attending to his master; the very admission that he might not have moved on from his past self as much as he'd thought seemed to drain him more than anything he'd experienced thus far.

The priestess sighed.

"... This man isn't your responsibility to save." She finally said, voice free from inflection. "And he was never in need of saving."

Archer let none of his innate discomfort show.

"And you still decided, that since you couldn't save him from his untimely death, that you'd at least do what you can and give him a burial for your own twisted sense of self-satisfaction, never mind the fact you were unaware of his circumstances." She gave him another appraising look. "Do you often make it a habit of poking your nose through other people's business?"

"... I've been reliably informed that it's one of my greatest failings." Archer sighed.

"Were you anyone else, I'd say it would be the death of you," she gave the Counter Guardian a once-over, "but that doesn't really apply here, does it?"

Wisely, Archer did not offer a word in response.

The Priestess gave him another long, inscrutable look, before she made up her mind.

"... Come with me." She decided.

Archer blinked. "... I was under the impression you wanted me out of here as soon as possible."

"I do." She confirmed, already turning away. "But there's something that might interest you that I want you to see before you go."

Archer sighed, before adjusting the straps of his backpack and following suit, Finnian's shovel dissolving into motes of light behind him.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

It was only when they made their way past yet another mass of rotting corpses that Archer finally worked up the courage to ask her the question that'd been hanging at the back of his mind for a while now.

"... These attacks," he ventured, "have they always happened?"

"No." She replied shortly, and privately Archer marveled at how dust never seemed to collect itself on the hems of her dress as she moved. "We've had an agreement with travelers ever since they arrived and settled nearby. We would leave them to their own devices and they would have the courtesy of doing the same in kind. A month ago, however, someone started sending soldiers."

Archer frowned, watching as vultures took to the air in alarm away from the carrion it'd feasted upon moments before. "... Do you have any idea what you might have done to elicit such a response?"

She stopped, turning around briefly to give him a withering look. "What part of 'keeping to ourselves' do you fail to understand?"

"I'm just asking." Archer mumbled, nose wrinkling at the smell of decay and putrefaction. "I've passed by several towns on the way here, and they've made mention of the fact that various natives have been engaging in skirmishes with the local populace."

The Priestess pursed her lips before resuming her journey across the land.

"That has nothing to do with us, our tribe keeps to ourselves." She stated with finality. "The way I see it, it's either we've been lumped together with the actions of other tribes, or this is indicative of something more problematic."

"Problematic?"

A gnarled, low-hanging branch bent itself upwards with a groan to make way as she and Archer passed by.

"I'll be honest with you, when you arrived here, I was prepared for my suspicions to be proven right." A tree bent itself with a groan to make way as she and Archer passed by. "That all of these people here were sent as a scouting party."

"A scouting party for whom, exactly?" He pressed.

She threw him a look that made Archer feel slow. "... Other practitioners of magecraft, of course."

Archer blinked.

"... What interest would they have in your land?" He asked, flummoxed. "I can't imagine your brand of magecraft being compatible with whoever's behind all of this."

"Who's to say?" She shrugged. "The breath of the planet has always been especially pronounced in these parts. It's why my ancestors have settled here centuries before. Might be some… magus wants to secure this land for their own purpose."

"But those were soldiers you killed." Archer felt the need to point out. "Common, non-practitioners of magic. They work on the order of the government, not magi."

"Maybe so." She conceded. "But I cannot afford to rule it out."

There was nothing more to be said, and the two allowed silence to descend upon them as they made their way past what had been a battlefield. Guns, rations, munitions, corpses of men and horses were scattered in a spasmodic fashion, in various stages of decay against the elements, and there was the persistent hum of flies buzzing about in the background. And as he took it all in, Archer could not help but feel the increasingly common feeling of Deja Vu.

The Priestess finally stopped in front of a cliff.

"We've arrived." She announced.

Archer looked around, wary. "Well? What is it you'd like to show me?"

She pointed, and Archer took notice of a collection of boulders that'd been propped against the cliff, a large fracture snaking its way high above its face.

"This is as far as I am allowed to go." She stated matter-of-factly. "In exchange for the power I wield, I am bound to defend my tribe, and I am unable to leave these lands. And it just so happens a few soldiers managed to flee my boundaries in time to seek shelter in that cavern."

"... and what is it you want me to do?" He cautiously asked.

"Oh, I don't want you to do anything." She stated simply, giving him a sharp look. "But given what we've previously discussed, I thought it would interest you to know that the two or three that survived headed in there before I sealed the cavern shut."

She trapped the survivors inside, Archer realized with a start.

"It makes no difference to me what you do from here on out." She went on, unperturbed at Archer's turmoil. "But given your propensity to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I'm certain this is a better use of your time. Consider this a professional courtesy."

"You're not worried they'll come back to try and finish the job?" Archer asked, already knowing the answer.

The Priestess huffed. "Look around you. Does it look like I need to be worried?"

She let the carnage around them speak for itself.

Slowly, Archer nodded.

"Thanks. I'll see what I can do."

The Priestess smiled.

"Well, then our business is concluded." She turned away. "Goodbye, emissary of the world. Do not show your face here again. Next time, I will not be so understanding."

As she walked off, Archer could not resist having the final word.

"Do you really think you would be able to take care of me?"

She stopped in her tracks, giving him a final curious look.

The wind howled around them as the edge of the sun glinted above the clouds.

"... Well, I don't know if I would win," she finally said, "but I'm not certain you would either."

And with a wave of her hands, the priestess vanished, leaving the Counter Guardian alone amongst the dead.

Archer exhaled, tension leaving his body at last as he relaxed, wiping his brow as he made his way towards the cavern at once.

There was a lot to unpack, and lots he had no intention to dwell on, but as Archer set his bag down, he could not help but wonder if her suspicions were right. It made little sense for the current government to be aware of magic. Well, if he was being pedantic, he recalled that Japan had a ministry of onmyou in the Heian era, but now? It seemed unlikely.

Still, the fact remained that these soldiers had attacked her unprovoked.

Archer closed his eyes, settling a palm onto a rock as large as his chest.

… Someone's alive in there, he realized.

Subsequently, it was with a renewed sense of purpose that Archer began the laborious process of removing the boulders one by one. His confrontation with the priestess aside, he had more important things to focus on.

And thus, the Counter Guardian put the mystery as to why a magus would be interested in the land of Snowfield to the back of his mind.

It's not my story to begin with, anyway.