So, I just wrote this early in the morning. 2:00 a.m., to be specific. I wrote the first chapter as a commission from my brother, but people seemed to like the first chapter, so I'll drop this and see what you all think. This is made to be a oneshot anthology, but chronological in its layout. Every chapter, I intend for Shirou to interact with different characters. It'll be difficult to write, but what in life is worth doing if it's not difficult? Anyway, let me know what you think. I spent my time listening to one song while writing this. Will - Hideyuki Fukusawa.

The sound of a door closing resounded through the hallway, a redheaded boy stepping out from the room's confines and closing the door behind him. He glanced to his left for a moment, surveying the hall, before looking to his right and repeating the same gesture.

Shirou shook his head and began making his way down the hallway. He had no doubt that his display in the cafeteria with his young sister was being spoken of among the residents of Novum Chaldea. After all, Servants were once human, and not even the spirits of dead heroes could resist the proclivity to gossip about the latest drama.

He sighed heavily and stopped his trek through the hall, putting his back to the wall and slumping to the floor. He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes, shaking his head in disapproval at himself. Good grief, he thought, he would have preferred to do that without all of the attention, but needs must, he supposed.

Now that his pleasant reunion with his sister had been resolved, he felt it practical to return to the cafeteria and find some food for himself.

Being a Pseudo-Servant, he retained his living body, and required sustenance for it as a result. That was a downside to being summoned in his human body, he thought.

He sat on the floor for a long moment, his back hugging the wall. He was glad he had Miyu back, but her presence in Chaldea raised questions he felt like he didn't want the answers to. Why was she a Servant? Had she perished in the world he had sent her to? Did she hate him for what he did, for the unforgivable sin he committed against their world? He had no way of knowing what she thought, and he didn't want to lose his sister to anything else, let alone himself. He refused to lose anothe-.

Wait, he thought. Another… what? Where had that thought come from? Another loss? He didn't have much that he could have lost, so that couldn't be it. Another friend? The only friends he had in life were Sakura and Julian, and he had lost both of them, one to the machinations of the Ainsworth Holy Grail War and the other to their mutual disagreement. Another siste-?!

A flash of pain raced through his head, the agony weaving into his thoughts and anchoring to his temples. He threw his head back against the wall, reinforcing it. His skull slammed into the wall, cratering a large portion of the wall and sending cracks streaking along the wall. He pressed his hands against his head, kneading his temples with his thumbs. He immediately ceased his train of thought, occasionally thrashing against the wall in pained discomfort.

The last thing he'd seen before he forcefully ended his train of thought had been a cascade of white hair in his mind's eye. What was that? What had he just seen? The young Archer shook his head, inwardly admonishing himself. It would do him no good to think on that now. Perhaps when he retired to his own quarters to settle for the night. Then, and only then, would he try to figure out what the hell had just happened to him.

He looked up from his slumped position against the wall, gazing both ways down the hallway. There was no one. Good, he didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention. That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, but it had clearly been for a significantly long period of time.

He removed his hands from his face, resting his left against the fractured wall and his right against the floor to steady himself. With a single heave, he stood up on his feet, only to haphazardly stagger. His left arm shot out, bracing against the wall, catching him before he could fall to the floor. He should be glad his little episode hadn't made much noise to begin with. With his left arm steadying his balance, he began to slowly make his way toward the cafeteria, keeping his head lowered to maintain his equilibrium.

For several minutes, he kept his hand firmly against the wall, idly tracing its smooth contours as he hobbled to the cafeteria. Seeing that he was approaching the doors not fifty feet from him, he took a deep breath and removed his hand from the wall, walking toward the doors and forcing his shaking body to stand up straight.


Walking through the doors, he saw a salad bar not far from the kitchen. Good, he thought, that was ideal. Vegetables would be good for his body with the way he was feeling. He trudged toward the salad bar, but made sure to keep his face composed and his posture straight. He didn't want to attract the attention of any Servants or good Samaritans. Maintaining his outward image, he grabbed a plate and loaded it with potato salad and steamed broccoli.

With great care and a caution belying his young age, he held the plate in his right hand and locked his eyes on the corner of the room, lurching toward the corner table. As he carefully laid the plate on the table, his body betrayed him, giving out on him as he made to sit, making him fall into his seat and his head slam against the table.

When his head hit the table, a deep "bang" echoed throughout the room. Thankfully, he was far enough away that most Servants either ignored it or didn't hear it. Unfortunately, one or two Servants that sat forty feet from him heard the commotion, and one of them turned their gaze from their conversation in his direction, and saw the young Archer lying with his head on the table. She tilted her head in curiosity.

Shirou released a small groan from the impact, his head spinning and dizzy. Whatever he had seen in the hall had sapped him of his strength, leaving his mind clouded and his muscles weak.

He picked his head up from the table, and inwardly cursed at what he saw. Standing in front of him was a light blue-haired woman with equally bright eyes dressed in a purple gown.

"Well, what do we have here? A new Servant, hm? Who are you, then?" The woman questioned, her brow raised in curiosity. Shirou eyed the woman for a moment, observing her features and idly noting her pointed ears.

"Nobody important. You can return to your conversation," he tried to bluntly state, but his voice came out like a quiet murmur instead.

"Are you sure about that? From what I can see, you don't look like you're feeling too great, and I have no doubt you're a Pseudo-Servant of some kind, yes? Illnesses and maladies are much worse for you than traditional Servants." The woman informed him, a polite smile on her face. She eyed him for a moment before her eyes widened and she lightly gasped, "Oh, dear me, it seems I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Servant Caster. True Name, Medea, and you are?"

The Archer scrutinized her for a moment, before closing his eyes in resignation, and his back slumped against his seat. Damn, he thought, why this? Why now? As much as he would've preferred to ignore the woman and be left to his thoughts, she had introduced herself, and courtesy demanded that he do the same. He sighed, but addressed her, "I'm Servant Archer. True Name, Shirou Emiya. I was just summoned today. Can I help you with something?"

The woman, Medea, he idly thought, was silent for a moment. She swept her gaze over his figure, examining him scrupulously. A myriad of emotions seemed to dance in her violet-blue orbs before settling on something. Her eyes steeled with resolution.

The Caster was careful to question him with a placid smile on her face, "You are a Pseudo-Servant if I'm not mistaken, and your current figure doesn't look terrible, but you don't look like the picture of health either. As you retain your human body, I can only presume you are ill in some fashion. Given your short time here, however, that is highly unlikely. Nonetheless, some sort of stimulus would have made you this way, and I won't pry, but I assume that it was trauma of some sort."

The redhead felt baffled, bemused by her words. Trauma? What kind of trauma could do this to him? The last time he checked, he wasn't traumatized. In his desperate gambit to save Miyu, he had loosed everything in himself to save her, and he hadn't noticed any lingering damage or stress of any kind. He shook his head and met the Caster's stare, "I haven't noticed anything like that. I doubt it was anything as bad as that. I just, uh, tripped in the hall. Yeah, I tripped in the hall, and it made me think of old memories."

Medea's dry stare nearly made him squirm uncomfortably, "Right… I'm sure that's what that was, and not something like… say… flashbacks of some kind. No, tripping in the hallways is certainly more dangerous than it appears. You must be quite well-versed in medicine to come to that conclusion. If that's what you think, so be it. Now, let me tell you what probably happened. More than likely, you remembered something traumatic and your state of mind is reflecting that stress onto your body."

Shirou looked at her for a long moment, blinked, blinked again, and blinked a third time. What she was saying didn't sound correct, but he couldn't call her guess incorrect either. He didn't know what he'd seen or what caused the fatigue in his body. Surely, what he saw must have been in his imaginatio- blood, so much blood everywhere; what have I done?! No, I!*a, no! D*n't g0! ThIs CaN'T bE REal, it'S a LiE, ALL OF IT'S A LiE!

He didn't remember exactly what happened after, but when he came to once more, he found himself breathing heavily, coughing blood onto the table and water streaming down his face. Beads of perspiration dripped from his hair as he coughed and wept inaudibly into his hand. He couldn't stop, he didn't know what was going on. Static danced in his vision and the environment around him seemed to glitch, appearing as a cafeteria one moment and as a Japanese-style living room the next. He blinked, his eyes glassy and clouded from the tears before he-.

"Hey!" The quiet shout of the Caster next to him caught his attention and cut him from his thoughts. She took his face into her hands and forced him to meet her violet-blue orbs, "Look at me! Look at my eyes, okay? Take a deep breath with me, and count to three. One, two, three, now exhale. Repeat. One, two, three, now exhale."

The red Archer followed her instructions to the letter, silent as he tried to calm himself. He didn't know what had just happened, but perhaps it was best not to think about it for the time being.

They sat in the same booth for what felt like hours, but was probably no more than twenty minutes. When Medea felt confident that he would remain calm, she let go of him, her hands folding together and resting on the table, "I won't ask what that was," she mumbled quietly, "but I have an inkling of what that was. Remember, you're fine. There are no enemies here. It's okay."

After a moment, he nodded his head. He turned his head away from her, but spoke loud enough for her to hear, his voice low and raspy, "Thank you for this. I don't know what just happened. I'm sorry for the trouble."

She shook her head and scolded him quietly, "It's no problem. At least you'll know to take whatever caused that seriously next time. It's better that it happened now rather than in battle or during your eventual evaluation." She looked over the rest of the room as she thought to herself. She didn't know what the Archer was thinking or feeling, but thinking on his problems would do him no good at the present time. Well, she thought, it's time to turn this conversation in another direction.

"So," she spoke, shattering the silence developing between them, "on a completely different note, you wouldn't happen to be related to that young black-haired Caster, would you? Miyu is her name, if I recall."


Some time later, the Archer found himself sitting on the bed in his personal quarters. After he and Medea had conversed on a great number of topics including cooking, younger siblings and troublesome people, she took it upon herself to show him to his quarters. She told him in no unspecific terms to rest for the night, or she would drag him to the head nurse. Apparently, the head nurse was formidable in treating illness and stupidity alike.

Currently, he was enjoying the silence and tranquility of his room. Chaldea hadn't been bad thus far, but he could only take so much at a time before he needed to rest and recuperate from the trouble of the day. He didn't want to suffer another episode, so in order to distract himself, he took to projecting nameless swords and reinforcing them to their utmost limit.

Using Structural Analysis, he analyzed the structure of the sword, searching for the minute gaps in the structure. It was always a challenge for him to measure the correct amount of mana to pour into his weapons without destroying them in the process. After several moments, he stopped pouring mana into the construct and held the sword in front of him.

It was at its utmost limit, containing as much mana as he could pour into it without turning it into a Broken Phantasm. He dismissed the projection, the sword shattering into motes of blue light. Tracing and Reinforcing was becoming easier for him with every weapon that he projected and reinforced, and if he took his time tracing, he could faithfully replicate a Noble Phantasm at its peak. Sure, they still suffered an entire rank decrease, but they lacked the empty, hollow nature of swiftly-traced projections.

Slowly but surely, his body was adapting to the vast experience of Archer embedded within his soul. As it would turn out, completely installing a Class Card was not without its benefits, but the demerits were swift to follow. He may have seamlessly inherited Archer's experience, but much of that experience was recorded within his body. He had an intuitive knowledge for most of his projections, but intuition only reached so far. Until his body completely adapted, attempting to consciously call forth any vestige of Archer's experiences could result in the spontaneous developing of Emiya's bad habits, minute changes to his personality, and further destabilization of his Reality Marble.

He grimaced at the thought. His Reality Marble was a touchy subject at the moment. He still possessed the Unlimited Blade Works, but calling it forth was currently outside of his capability. He didn't know for certain what weakened the foundation of the Blade Works, but he had an idea. Unlimited Blade Works belonged to his soul, and under any other circumstances, he would be able to call it forth with little trouble. However, with Emiya's knowledge recorded onto his body, weapons observed from his time as a Counter Guardian were constantly being fed into Unlimited Blade Works, and his worldview followed suit. The Marble had become a tangled mess of his own beliefs and identity synchronizing with Archer's cynical personality and bitter nature.

Regardless of his inability to utilize his Reality Marble, numerous Noble Phantasms were still available to him, including Rule Breaker, Gáe Bolg, Caliburn, and several more. He still had a large repertoire to work with.

Unbidden, two weights took form in his hands. He cast his gaze down to his hands and he quirked a brow. The handles of Kanshou and Bakuya laid within his hands. Strange, Shirou thought, did I call them forth by accident? He tightened his grip on the handles, holding them tight. By far, these two weapons were his most faithful weapons. They took little mana to trace, and his experience with them ensured that they were quite sturdy.

In a way, the two swords were much like himself. They lacked any sense of purpose, and existed without desire. They were created without vanity, but held a shadow of grief and regret. Whether those emotions belonged to the swordsmith or to Emiya, he didn't know, but despite the sorrow lingering within the blades, the swords seemed content existing alongside one another. The two blades were beside one another, and that seemed to be enough.

He envied the swords, to be honest. What was that like, to have another that one could laugh with, speak with, be with? What was it like, to feel joy just by sharing the company of another? These things he could not know, and should not know. He had no right to those wonderful, fleeting things. However, those things he could never have were beautiful in of themselves, and for him, that was enough.

The redhead ran his hand along Kanshou, holding it there for a time. Its craftsmanship was splendid, and paired with Bakuya, they evoked a sense of longing within him. The two blades held an abstract sense of beauty, an inarticulate beauty existing without the need for words. These swords, he thought, were beautiful. Beautiful things were everywhere. It was things like these that he wanted Miyu to see, to know that, as bad as things could be, life was beautiful. He wanted her to see things like these, to know them for herself and enjoy them to the fullest.

That, Shirou Emiya thought, was his dream. That was his wish. He wanted her to know the joy of life, of living, of happiness and companionship. He wanted to reach for that wish, and attain it for her. After all, was that not his duty as an older brother? To make his sister happy?