Thunder strikes in the distance. The rain continues to pour down.
I'm in the jungle of some foreign country. Knee-deep in mud. Surrounded by wild vegetation, with dead bodies of no-name mercenaries scattered around me.
Where did it all go wrong?
Time seems to stand still. I can't muster the strength to lift my head. I simply lost the will to move any further. I don't want to go on.
Why did it come to this?
My hands stained with blood. But it's not my own. They're shaking. I'm still trying to fully realize what just happened. In front of me lay a set of clothes, combat gear, that's similar to my own.
What have I done?
At that moment, I loathed the world. And myself. Guilt. Maybe I should kill myself. The world will live to see another day. No one will miss me. No one will remember me.
My trusted revolver is within arm's reach. Right next to me in the mud. All I need to do is reach for it. Take aim. Fire.
But I can't.
It's the one thing he didn't want me to do. All of this only happened because my life was in danger. It's all my fault. If only I wasn't so weak.
I lost my purpose. I don't even know what to do next.
Why did I have to be the one who survived?
From the ground, a skeletal hand breaks through. My senses and my reaction time are nonexistent.
A skeleton. Wearing his gear. The stench of death and decay. An earthworm slithers out of the skull's eye.
I'm powerless. If this is his revenge from beyond the grave, then so be it.
Its rotting hands grab my leg and pull me down into the earth.
My eyes snap open. I frantically look around, panting heavily.
Darkness in every direction. I can make out the ceiling and the walls of my room as well as the outline of the nightstand next to my bed.
I heave a sigh of relief and rub the cold sweat from my face. My heartbeat settles down when I realize that it was just another nightmare. It's nothing that can follow me into reality. At least I hope it doesn't.
I reach toward my phone and tap the screen to check the current time.
1:17 AM.
I close my eyes in an attempt to get back to sleep, but images from the bad dream just now are still fresh in my mind. Gunfire. Shouting. Blood. Death.
Curse that damn Caster. Even though I know none of the messed-up shit he showed me was real, it did reopen some old wounds.
I roll to my left, to my right, and lay there silently for some time. It's no use. Sleep isn't coming to me right now, no matter how hard I try. Reaching out and thumbing my phone, the bright screen flares to life.
1:34 AM.
Groaning in frustration, I push the bedsheet aside and get up. No point lying around like this and staring at the ceiling.
Navigating toward the door, I push it open. Outside, I flip the switch for the lights in the hallway. Complete silence blankets the area. There's just something calming about it.
I make my way over to the stairs and pass by Jeanne's room. The door is slightly ajar, so I do my best to walk by as quietly as possible. Don't want to wake her up. While Servants don't need sleep, it's one way to conserve magical energy.
A short walk down the stairs later, I enter the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water. Gulping the cool liquid down in one go, I continue toward the living room.
Our latest battle has yielded a lot more information regarding the Servants and the Masters involved in this war. Jeanne gave me a rundown of what she saw when we were separated. After listening to it, I feel like there is something I missed.
There can only be seven Masters in a Holy Grail War. That's a fact. I also know that the three local mage families, the Tohsakas, the Einzberns, and the Matous must be participating as they have in the previous wars.
Let's establish the lineup again. Gilgamesh, according to his statement, is the Servant of James Lawson. He doesn't strike me as the type to lie. His pride wouldn't allow it.
Then there is Lancer, who I now know to be Enkidu. He belongs to the Einzbern Master. I admit that it was clever to pose as Berserker. Unfortunately for them, we have already encountered the real Berserker at that point.
Moving on, we have Ozymandias. I know only surface information about this girl, Talia. She's a student from Atlas, but there's no doubt that she's his Master. Someone as egotistical as Ozymandias wouldn't drag her around wherever he goes because he feels like it. Rather, he wants to avoid being taken out of the war by having his Master killed.
Caster's true name can easily be deduced by all the hints he dropped during our encounter. He referred to himself as the devil. He was after my soul. The chant he couldn't complete before I cut off my hand, which I assume is his other Noble Phantasm, was cited in German.
Mephistopheles. The devil who made a deal with god in the book "Faust" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
His Master is another matter. Whether he told Jeanne the truth about his wish for the Grail remains to be seen. Now that I've got a name though, I might be able to find something on him tomorrow.
That leaves Assassin and Berserker. I'd wager that Jack the Ripper is with the Matou Master if their tactic of using civilians as fuel is anything to go by. The Tohsakas are too prideful to resort to such measures.
However, Berserker is clearly with that executor from the church. That begs the question: where does Tokiomi Tohsaka stand in this? Last I checked, the defenses around his mansion are still intact, which indicates that he's hunkering down there.
But why? He would have no reason to be on guard if he isn't part of the war. Sure, he's the head of the Tohsaka family and I imagine there are some mages who'd want him dead. But what if he's using a proxy to fight for him?
Let's pursue that line of thought a little further. The "proof of ownership" over a Servant, so to speak, are a Master's Command Spells. Without them, there's no contract. Without a contract, Servants won't stay anchored in this world and will just disappear.
Come to think of it, I never got a look at the Command Seals of the other Masters. I can only make educated guesses at this point.
Wait, the executor had his hands covered with gloves if I recall correctly. Granted, I also run around with gloves, though Jeanne can blend in unlike the three-meter-tall behemoth in black. So, if I'm right, it's not that he tried to hide his Command Seals, it was to hide the fact that he didn't have any to begin with.
I mean, what's the point of hiding your Command Seals when a Servant is standing next to you and obeying your orders. The first natural assumption would be to label him as his Master.
On the other hand, he might just be playing his cards close to his chest. A Master with three Command Seals is more dangerous than a Master who is down to one. And I haven't even laid eyes on the Master of Archer and Assassin.
But if this is true, then that means the church is colluding with the Tohsaka family. More evidence will be needed to support this theory, but I'll keep it in the back of my mind for the time being.
I stop by the window, my eyes wandering over the backyard. Look at me, strategizing about the Holy Grail War even in the middle of the night.
Might as well get some fresh air. I drape my coat over my shoulders and step outside onto the veranda. It's a little chilly, but that doesn't bother me too much. The temperature is low enough that I can see my breath every time I exhale.
I look up in surprise. There are no clouds in the sky to obscure the many glistening stars in the heavens. Coupled with the silence, it reminds me of the night when I first arrived in Fuyuki.
Looking down, I run my right hand over my left wrist. The spot where I cut it off to escape from Caster to be precise. No visible marks. The numbness I felt also disappeared after a few hours.
But I wonder how much that move cost me. Three years? Four? Maybe even five?
Oh well. I never planned to live long anyway.
Quiet steps alert me to someone's presence. I turn around to see Jeanne standing in the doorway. She's wearing a long, white nightgown. Her blonde hair is untied, cascading down her back and swinging in the wind.
My breath hitches in my throat. Wow. I grip the edges of my shirt to stop myself from fidgeting.
"Are you unable to sleep?" she asks.
"Something like that," I reply. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"
"Oh no, do not worry about that," she says, walking over to me. "But what were you doing out here at this hour?"
She looks around for a moment to comprehend what I was doing. When confusion starts to show itself on her face, she looks upward and finds the answer.
"Wow, the night sky is so pretty," she says.
"It sure is," I say, looking back up.
The starry sky stretched out far and wide, dotted with faint and bold lights alike. I can even make out some of the constellations like Orion or Pegasus. Both stem from greek mythology. The former is a fabled hunter who met a tragic end because of his relationship with the goddess Artemis. The latter is a white, winged divine horse that was born upon Medusa's death at the hands of Perseus.
It's weird to think that this is the same sky that Jeanne must have seen back when she was alive. Of course, the same goes for the other Heroic Spirits in this war. Even across thousands of years, some things remain the same.
"Were you thinking about the war again?" Jeanne asks.
"That obvious, huh?" I reply, keeping my eyes on the stars.
"Call it a hunch," she says. "But I witnessed that you tend to be working or planning ahead with every waking moment. You leave yourself little room to rest and I have yet to see you truly enjoy yourself doing something."
"I think the term you're looking for is workaholic," I say. "To be honest, I don't see why I should distract myself when we're in a fight to the death."
This is a battle where the winner takes all. The smallest mistake can spell doom. I have to be one step ahead of the enemy at all times. I'm not afraid of death, but I won't go down without a fight.
"I am merely saying that the Holy Grail War is not the most important event in your life," she says. "No harm shall come to you as long as I am still standing and when all of this is over, I will be no longer here. And when that happens, your life will go on."
Right... she will only be with me temporarily.
"I know that," I say.
It's what will come after the war that I'm anxious about. Will I get the answers I want? Will they be good or bad?
Will I have anything to live for?
Silence settles in. I decide not to go down this line of thought for the moment.
"While we're on that topic," I add. "What's your take on Caster's Master? I'm singling him out because he isn't following the pattern that most mages do."
Just from their encounter Jeanne told me about, assuming what he said was genuine, he's not in this for personal gain, but because of an ideal. Masters in a Holy Grail War tend to be mages who are after the Root, with the likes of me being an exception to that rule.
Yet this man, Nicolas Hawthorne, doesn't care for the notion that the few elites should rule the many. He tramples on the concept that a person's worth is determined by their bloodline and strives for equality instead.
"I am not one to judge other people," she says. "But I can say with certainty that his wish must not come to pass. What he seeks is the stagnation of humanity and the end of their potential."
"Even when you are no longer living in this world, you still strive to protect it, huh?" I ask.
"That is the duty of being a Heroic Spirit, Master," she replies. "And it is simply the right thing to do."
She says it like it's the most natural thing. I don't know if I would share that sentiment if I were in her position. I doubt I would care much for what happens to the world when I'm no longer living in it. I know it's a selfish, maybe even an apathetic thought, but that's a normal reaction, right?
Tranquility sets in as we stand there, side by side, looking at the stars.
"I have to admit that I did not take you for a stargazer," she says, glancing over to me.
"I used to look up at the night sky a lot when I was younger," I reply. "Well, I guess I still do, but not as frequently anymore."
"Why is that?" she asks.
I ponder on that question for a moment, then decide to shrug and answer, "No particular reason really."
"I see," she says, a small smile gracing her lips.
"Did I say something funny?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"No, not at all!" she says. "I am just glad that you finally talked about something from your past. Even if it is just a small detail."
It takes me a few seconds to realize that her words ring true. As a matter of fact, this might be the first time I've done that. It's not like I have anyone that I trust enough to talk about such things to begin with.
"I do not mean to pry," she continues. "But I feel like there is something you have been bottling up for a long time. A burden you carry with you wherever you go. One that weighs you down in more ways than one."
For how naïve she can be at times, she's perceptive when she wants to. Or perhaps this is some sort of intuition?
"That is why," she says, taking a step toward me. "If you need someone to talk with, know that I will always listen."
Damn it. I don't know how to respond to this. Usually, I'd just politely decline and find a way to end the conversation, but I can't do it here. I'm unable to reject her sincerity. Her words have this inviting, comforting warmth to them.
"And if you choose not to, I will accept that decision, too," she says.
I sneak a glance at Jeanne and catch her looking at me. My gaze darts down to the ground. It feels like I'm being put on the spot here.
Denying that I'm hiding something would just be an insult to her, but I'm hesitant to give in.
"Why are you concerned about that?" I reply. "It has no relevance to the war and there's no benefit in knowing. So, why?"
I asked out of habit. The society I grew up in was riddled with pragmatic freelancers and mages that see everyone with less power than them as tools to be used.
"Because I cannot stand idly by when someone needs help," she says. "And besides, I would like to learn more about you. However, I do not want you to force yourself."
"Alright, you win, but there's not much to know about me," I say. "You already know that I'm an orphan. At the age of 10, a freelancer named Ryoken Kinami took me in and trained me for a few years. We went on missions all over the world."
I pause for a moment. Images of the skeleton from the nightmare flash before my eyes, but I shake those away.
"Then one day, on a mission that could have led us to the head of an underworld organization, I... he died," I continue. "I was sixteen at the time. I spent years after that finishing the job in his name... It was the least I could do."
I scold myself internally for not telling the whole story here. The things I've done. The things I've seen. A part of me doesn't want to remember any of it. Those memories are a reminder of the grim world I live in and the person I've become.
"Anyway, I continued to do a few jobs for the Association here and there," I add. "Which eventually got me roped into this Holy Grail War thanks to some mage I know nothing about. It may turn out as a blessing in disguise though if we manage to win."
I wonder what she would think of me if she knew my whole story. Surely, there must be a limit to her kindness. And the last thing I want right now is another dispute over beliefs and religion with her.
"That's pretty much the gist of it," I say. "Any questions?"
"Just one," she says. "Do you remember anything regarding your parents?"
I'm somewhat relieved she doesn't ask for something regarding my freelancer years. Perhaps it's her way of accommodating me, seeing as I pretty much summed up my life in a few minutes. Well, at least this question is easy for me to answer.
"Absolutely nothing," I answer. "I was four, maybe five years old when I landed in the orphanage. I have no recollection of anything that happened before that. The only remnant I have is the magic crest on my back."
"I am afraid that I am not familiar with magecraft, but could that not be a clue to their identity or whereabouts maybe?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Already went down that path. My contacts at the Association couldn't find a match to any known families either. I was also told that I've gotten this crest at an earlier age than I should have, which may be the cause of my hazy memory."
"Is that not proof that your parents, at the very least, did care for you in some way?" she says. "I do not think they would have left you something otherwise. Perhaps they had no other choice?"
A part of me wants to believe it. That there are still people out there I can call family or a place I could call home.
"I... guess?" I say. "But I just don't get it. What could have possibly happened that made them cut ties with me so completely and utterly? It's as if they vanished into thin air."
"I understand your frustration, Master," she says. "But you must have faith. Nothing happens by coincidence and I am certain that you will get the answers you seek one day."
"Is that one of your revelations speaking?" I ask, casting my gaze sideways to her.
"That is simply what I believe," she replies. "And I know that the Lord has a plan for everything."
I still refuse to believe that some higher power is controlling my fate, but I decide not to voice that thought. I'd hate to ruin the moment.
Though I have to admit that I feel just a little better after talking about this with her. It's an odd feeling, but in a good way.
Our conversation comes to an end. Stifling a yawn, I turn around to face the house.
"I think I'll go back to sleep now," I say, walking back inside. "Good night, Jeanne."
"Good night, Master," she says. "Sweet dreams!"
I stop after a few steps. "Ah, now that I think about it, you can call me by my name instead of Master if you like."
She blinks for a moment, then smiles. "Very well. Good night, Zayne!"
On the edge of my vision, just as I'm turning around, I see her expression turn into one of shock.
Spinning back around almost instantly, I ask, "Are you alr-"
She looks at me, confused. "Is something wrong?"
I could've sworn I saw something. Or perhaps my mind is just playing tricks on me from the lack of sleep?
"N-No... it's nothing," I say.
Brushing aside the fact that I just made a fool of myself in front of her, I walk back inside. She seemed fine when I faced her. It must have been nothing.
Nothing at all...
