Chapter 2 Content Warnings: Abusive parent-child relationships (Meltryllis and BB), discussion of dissociation, sexual themes and slightly detailed violence.

Author's Note: The fic-within-a-fic segments are written to be intentionally clunky and cringy. I hope readers find them entertaining despite the colourful prose.


Chapter Two: Under the Moon

Meltryllis's arrival should have gone unnoticed.

The early hours were the ideal time for meeting with Sanson. The training simulator anteroom would be crowded later in the morning, filled with servants socializing and flaunting as they arrived too soon for their scheduled slots. It had never been Meltryllis's scene before and she saw no reason to change that.

She expected the waiting area to be deserted. The peaceful scene of empty chairs and the low hum of electricity was defiled by her mother's shrill voice.

"I'm surprised to see you here so early "

"Neither one of us sleeps," Meltryllis scowled. She didn't bother to raise her face, focusing instead on the manuscript cradled against her chest.

She had finished the draft around midnight, leaving just enough time to hand-bind the pages into a small booklet. She wouldn't be presenting papers haphazardly stapled together.

BB's smile didn't flinch as she stepped in front. Her wide strides kept a calculated pace, her heels rhythmically clicking against the cold floor. Meltryllis let her shoulders slump down as she caved and looked over at her mother. It would be impossible to ignore BB forever. Maybe acknowledging her would make her leave faster.

"Ah, but you considered the concept of sleep," BB chimed, wagging a finger back. "Enough to be sour about it."

"What's your point?" Meltryllis pulled her draft closer, otherwise keeping her composure as neutral as possible.

"It's very human of you!"

How dare her mother say that.

One strike. That was all it would take to silence BB. The fallout would be straight forward. Chaldea could handle it. Hell, Chaldea would praise her for reducing the strain BB caused by repurposing their computer systems.

Meltryllis slowly dragged one leg back in a nightmarish chorus of glass against concrete. Electricity surged up her spine as her heel lifted from the ground.

"Did we interrupt your morning exercise?"

A third voice cut through the stand-off. Sanson stepped into the anteroom, dressed in a fully armoured version of his trench coat. The wicked pauldrons on his shoulders rivaled Meltryllis's own bladed prosthetics. He didn't carry a weapon. He didn't need one to command attention.

"Oh." BB's gaze sharpened as she took a loud step towards Sanson, undaunted by the shifting situation. "Oh. And here I thought you weren't engaging your sadistic side. I commend your explorations although I thought you would swing less dreary."

"What are you..." Meltryllis muttered, raising a hand to the side of her face as her mind drowned. Her mother's wordplay broke through a kink in her armour that she didn't even have a name for.

"She thinks we're dating," Sanson immediately explained. His voice held steady and yet dismissive, as if reporting an enemy's position while also insulting their incompetence.

The transparent sarcasm gave Meltryllis a floor to stand on again and regroup. She crossed her arms, mindful not to crush her draft.

"Then she's a coward for not directly stating that," she snipped back.

"What did you expect me to say? 'I hope you enjoy your date this morning '" BB's voice flittered as she rested her hands on her hips and held her head high. "How tedious."

"I'll take your well wishes with all of the sincerity you intended," Sanson replied, walking around and past BB. He must have decided their interaction was now complete.

"In that case, I hope you two come to a deeper understanding." BB pouted, then spun on her heels to leave. Her hair and coattails spiraled out in a flash of purple and black that was a touch too fluid to be real.

Meltryllis rolled her eyes. That last comment was obviously a sex joke.


The air in the simulator clung to Meltryllis's skin.

Her sense of touch was rudimentary at best. It was never a vector she considered first when assessing a situation. Likewise, it hadn't occurred to her that air could have a texture.

The street corner she and Sanson stood on was unlike any city she had ever imagined. Surrounding them were brick buildings with iron balconies and elegant carved facades. Tall gas lamps lined streets far too narrow for vehicles to pass through.

"I think my coordinates worked." Sanson grimaced as he looked around. His trench coat was slung under his arm, the armour plating and shoulder blades phased back into the aether. "Chaldea's technology is far beyond anything that existed in my time. I'm never sure what will happen if I type in locations more specific than 'a forest' or 'a field'."

"There's so much artistry here," Meltryllis reflected, touching the side of the closest wall. Her stomach knotted as the words slipped out; she had shown too much in a moment of awe. "Not that humans can truly understand geometry and architectural phenomenology."

"I was never an architect. I'll take your word for it," Sanson replied, his smile carrying to his voice. The gloominess Meltryllis felt earlier had dissipated. "This is La Nouvelle-Orléans. The reason we came here is further down the road."

Meltryllis looked down at her legs, clad in glass-edged armor, before catching up with Sanson. The crumbling sidewalk disintegrated even further beneath her feet.

"The humans are going to notice us," Meltryllis considered as she slowed her pace, now walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Sanson. He could pass for an unusually dressed man. Nothing like her had ever walked on the surface of the Earth.

"Recall that this is a simulation. We didn't rayshift to the actual city." Sanson tilted his head towards her as he continued his reassurances. "No mortal humans will see us. We may encounter some, eh, I'm not sure what the term for them is."

"NPCs," Meltryllis suggested without waiting a beat.

"That sounds correct. It's for the best that we're in a simulation." Sanson gestured to a small hotel they walked past. A sign bragging about hauntings was propped up in the front window. "Visiting the real city would be challenging for you and impossible for me. There's too many ghosts that remember my family's name. Ah, here we are."

The cafe was understated on the outside. Beyond the yellow facade and simple signage was an ornate interior: painted tiles covered the walls and bright spotlights gave the space an incandescent quality.

"The courtyard is even more stunning." Sanson held the door open. Meltryllis hesitated before stepping inside.

The Assassin had programmed the simulator to visit a cafe and review her draft. Apparently that was a better solution than finding a private room in Chaldea. She had always considered humans obtuse, but this was particularly ludicrous.

The details of Sanson's life were a mystery to her. She didn't have time to research them before recruiting him as a critic. He was never summoned to any of the Grail Wars she helped facilitate. Maybe his mortal life involved spending time in cafes.

That wouldn't explain the vengeful ghosts.

Still, nothing he had done this morning was obviously malicious. She followed his lead in the cafe, heading towards a display case filled with delicate pastries and bright confections. The wall of choices seemed endless.

"What would you like?" Sanson asked, apparently already knowing what he wanted to order. This wasn't his first trip here.

She blinked and stared up blankly at the hand-lettered menu. She didn't have a good answer for that question. Food wasn't a priority for her. It never had been.

"I'm not familiar with these items," she mumbled, her attention drifting to the NPC standing behind the counter.

The server was unremarkably average and uncomfortably familiar. His dark hair matched eyes that lingered on her too long. Bad programming. Must have been. The software saw fit to give him a name: Arnault, according to the tag on his shirt. Those resources should have been spent on making him less uncanny.

She shook her head, physically dismissing her concerns. "Could you show me this courtyard you're so enchanted by?"


The tilework from the cafe spilled into a courtyard accented with scattered sculptures and ferns. It was more like a secret, closed space between buildings rather than a palatial walled garden. Meltryllis didn't mind. It was the courtyard of an artist, not a princess, and that atmosphere suited her just fine.

A twisted puff pastry and a cup of dark coffee sat in front of her. Their smells teased her, but she didn't dare try them yet. Tasting them might collapse the waveform, pushing her heart from the rare calm it held now to something else.

She closed her eyes and tossed her head back, as if to mock the actions of a human taking in a deep breath.

The buildings would never love her back. The pastry, the coffee, the courtyard - all existed without emotion or feeling. She could admire all of them without annihilating them. Even her own writing was relatively safe from her.

The man sitting across from her was another story.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Sanson asked, looking up from her draft.

"No," Meltryllis bit back, flicking a long shirt sleeve towards him. "I'm waiting for you to finish."

Sanson frowned, just enough for her to notice. His focus returned back to the booklet in his hands.


Under The Moon

The rays of the sun didn't touch the surface of the digital sea.

My old instincts clashed with the new reality I was presented with. The Grail War had one core rule: kill or be killed, with victory only coming to those who tossed themselves carelessly onto the front lines. I never bathed in the morass of battle during my life, preferring to avoid direct onslaughts. This still involved murder, but it played out in arenas where I had control. The War wasn't interested in pragmatic mercenaries like myself despite the invitation.

In my darkest moments I wanted to swim upwards, traveling through sapphire currents and streams in search of a golden light that didn't exist, ignoring the level system - bypassing it completely - and finding my own route to the mythical surface. There must have been something better on the other side that the War kept hidden.

Those compulsions became more frequent as the Grail War continued. Countless bodies fell to my bow, crimson blood washed my hands, the weight of the deaths behind me pulled down on my shoulders. My existence had to be more than cutting down people assigned to me like perverse speed dating.

I eventually reached my limit, casting aside my bow and tossing my body at the level's resplendent boundary. There was an enemy program waiting for me on the other side, a twisted garnet Viper that spiraled forth from a pool of chaotic data.

The War had predicted my movements, others must have attempted a scheme like this. I thought my desire to find another way out was unique to me. It was a quirk of being human, looking for another option while ignoring that escape meant certain death.

I stared the Viper down, reached out for my bow and recalled in abrupt horror that it wasn't there.

The Viper unfurled towards me. Its razor maw clenched down around my arm. I screamed as the program ripped into my flesh.

I assumed bleeding out in water would be a messy turmoil: viscera spilling uncontrollably forth as my body became one with the surrounding sea. I found myself instead crumbling, my body dissolving into unincorporated data like I never existed.

I frantically looked at my remaining hand, praying that some weapon would materialize. A shadow emerged behind me instead. I was no longer alone.

"Who are you?" I coughed out, barely able to form the words in my dry throat.

"Another combatant who refused to fight," was the only explanation the man gave as he yanked me away from the Viper.

He stood slightly taller than me, clad in a long black jacket with edges that faded into the surrounding sea depths. I leaned into the other man's side, barely able to support myself under my remaining magical power. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

Reaching the surface was no longer my priority.


Sanson carefully laid the booklet back down on the table. His face was impossible for Meltryllis to read: expressionless, with a piercing stare directed at her draft. She sat in silence, unsure of what was supposed to happen next.

She was the artist. He was the critic. She should explain her vision to him. That might inspire further conversation.

"I wanted to create an origin story for your relationship," Meltryllis slowly spoke, a smug smirk crossing her face. She subconsciously reached for her still-full coffee cup. "Yes, an origin story."

"It's certainly an origin story." Sanson furrowed his brow, then looked up at her. "When you told me that you wanted to write about Robin, I didn't realize you wanted to write about us. Don't you want to write about your feelings for Master instead?"

That first bit of criticism stabbed too close to home. Meltryllis glared back, projecting as much ire in Sanson's direction as she could dredge up. He didn't flinch.

"Alright." He eventually shook his head and flipped through the draft. A line towards the end caught his attention; he pulled out a pen and began jotting down notes. "I know this is a speculative story, but I can share some insight that might inspire you."

"I doubt human experience can match my imagination."

"Robin is very good at running away and hiding when he's injured." Sanon continued, not even acknowledging her rebuttal. "Think of his name. Birds obfuscate their wounds."

That perspective felt laughably romantic. Instinctively, she poured cold reality on it: "His name comes from the English myth. That in turn comes from the name Robert. Not the bird."

Sanson shrugged the comment off. "Regardless, he operated as a solo combatant. Not retreating would doom him in battle."

"I know that." Which she did, even if she didn't write it.

That information was filed away in half-forgotten memories she'd never admit to Sanson: Robin hiding his agony as she pursued him through a labyrinth, her Melt Virus rotting him from the inside out. Those memories used to ignite a passionate fire in her heart. Now, they only left her empty.

"I'm also not quite the pacifist you make me out to be," Sanson said quietly under his breath, then dropped the topic. "Maybe consider the emotional impact that the injuries could have in your story and focus more on that."

Meltryllis didn't say a word. The familiar weight pressing against her chest returned. Futility? No. Clearly, it had something to do with pleasure for her to know it so intimately. There was no pleasure in the pointless. The words were missing. They had been there once but now were gone.

She lifted her head at the sound of metal scraping against stone. Sanson stood up. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment.

"Anyway. Think about it." Sanson slipped his pen back into his shirt pocket and gently handed the manuscript back. "Meet me at the simulator tomorrow morning with your next draft."


Author's Note: I don't have sponsorship or anything of the sort from the cafes that will appear in this fic. They are, however, all real cafes I have visited in real life. I started writing this story during a pandemic lockdown and I missed travel a lot.