I've decided to update the story less frequent as the amount I have to write surpasses the amount I have prepared. Again, any reviews and feedback are appreciated! Thanks!

A bright day at the van Bright Estate. The houses were each like a small cathedral, and in rows in groups, like a city of spires and buttresses. Gold spire points and stain glass soldered with gold shimmered in the noonday light, and the flowers in tresses and planters bloomed reds, yellows, and blues.

A large courtyard, arched, steepled colonnades on all four sides, with a great red and white-blossomed tree at its center, was populated by the van Bright family in black suits and gold jewelry. Beneath the tree, there was a statue of a young girl, reclining against the trunk; she was reaching and plucking a falling blossom from in front of her. A small plaque at the statue's feet read: "REIGN VAN BRIGHT."

A young, prim man with gelled hair stood beside the statue, under the blossom tree, and read from a half-folded paper. "One more story." He swallowed and looked down at his notes then to an old man with a flat face, three gold fingers, and short wooden cane. "Father, if I may."

A grunt, and the old man nodded.

"You've said enough," a handsome, square-jawed man said from the front row. He stepped under the tree and snatched the notes out of Fife's hands. "You've made enough people cry, haven't you?"

"Conquer—!"

Their father laughed, as did some of the audience, at the brother's fighting. For some it was too difficult to laugh, but those who didn't at least smiled. "That's enough, Fife. Let your brother speak."

"You didn't plan on speaking," Fife said, scowling at Conquer.

"What? I'd be a piece of shit if I didn't speak at my sister's funeral." Conquer moved Fife aside by the shoulder. "Get out of the way."

Fife looked to his father, then narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly at Conquer. He stepped aside, and moved to the front row, a few people away from his father. Conquer kicked at the ground, looking for the words, looking at the statue of his sister.

"I know I haven't been home much. Sometimes I got shit for that. Sometimes I got a lot of shit for that." Conquer scratched his nose, looking at Fife, who rolled his eyes. "A couple months ago, when I was stopping by, Reign and I went out and got drinks. I was dating her best friend at the time, Mia. Was pretty into her, but you see, I get a little liquor in me, I'm pretty into every girl. Reign tried to warn me, she tried to stop me, but, yeah, I cheated on my girl." He looked sadly at the statue of his sister. "She didn't tell Mia. But told me, 'come clean, come clean,' but she didn't tell Mia a thing. Went on for a long time like this."

"One day," Conquer said, remember behind his eyes, "I woke up with Mia, and I was thinking about Reign. I was thinking about Reign—" a sigh— "feeling bad because she went another day keeping a secret from a friend. I tuned over, and I told Mia everything. Not because I'm a good person—no, I'm a piece of shit—but because I couldn't stand the thought of my little sister feeling even a little bad. She did that to people. Make you a better person, even if she paid for it." Conquer choked on a masculine sob but swallowed it. "God, I love her." He ran a hand down his face and returned to his brother in the crowd.

Fife hugged him by the shoulder, nodding in agreement.

Conquer's father cleared his throat. "Others may speak now."

There was some shifting in the crowd, as another van Bright went under the blossom tree and talked about Reign. A man in a dark purple suit and top hat, slotted himself next to the Patriarch. "A good day to you, Patriarch," he said, his accent British and smooth, "on this most unpleasant day."

"Away with the pleasantries then."

"Of course, Patriarch." He took the hat off his head and held it to his chest. "The Tokugawa incident. The Mage's Association agreed: Tokugawa's correspondence with the Clocktower left him in their jurisdiction. Therein lay the decision. The vote was split, and there was a month's recess." He paused. "But a victory for you is a victory for the Clocktower."

"I'd better lose then."

"And to whom do you owe the van Bright family's hegemony over the Grail War? Without us, you'd have, at best, defeated the Toshaka's, but never the Matou's or Einzbern's."

There was a quiet, then, "Speak to me that way again, I'll have you killed." As if he were remarking on the weather. The Londoner's tongue played with the fear in his mouth. The Patriarch snorted, then continued. "Tell me. What did they decide?"

The Londoner adjusted his tie. "Tokugawa's disappearance was to be dealt with eventually. But because the Grail War is nigh, the council doesn't want to take chances. A liability like that during the Grail War is in no one's interest; therefore, the next vote was in unanimous favor of an inquisition into Fuyuki."

"A second one, eh?" The Patriarch hummed at a memory. "It's a dear and pleasant memory, the first Fuyuki Inquisition. What has it been? Forty years this May? A dear and pleasant memory, indeed. How we tore the Magical Circuits from their backs—" He raised his hand, his gold fingers glittering in the sun. "—how they all burned so brightly, but it was the Toshaka girl that burned the brightest."

"You needn't dirty your hands like that again, dear Patriarch."

"Bah. It needed to be done, and someone had to do it. It's what they deserved too. Three hundred years and not one of them reached the Root. What do they do? The Toshakas dismantled the Grail because they know they'll never win it, and the other two stood by and watched." He spat at the ground. "Pathetic."

"Unfortunate it took your family a hundred years to convince the Association to remove them."

The Patriarch side-eyed, and the Londoner shrunk at the look. He looked forward again, at or past the statue of his daughter. "I'll wait when needed. The decades I regret aren't those I waited, but those twenty years after the 'last' Grail War the Three Mage Families—the families who made the Grail, who spent their lives in Fuyuki in pursuit of the Grail—lived in peace."

"If they weren't in peace then, they are now." He startled a chuckled, but it stopped when the Patriarch spoke.

"And they better not be now. All that work, just for them sleep well in God's good heaven. No: may they be restless in a coil of fire."

"Let's pray this inquisition has such a pleasing outcome too."

"It's already a pleasing outcome." A snort, then laugh and another snort. "A war within a war. Ha."

"Patriarch, the war hasn't begun yet."

"Peh," he spat. "The war began when my daughter died ignobly in a molten train wreck."

"It's no blood on the battlefield, however."

"You buffoon," said the patriarch, "a war doesn't begin at gunshot. It doesn't begin at signature. It begins at the will to kill, and to die." He lifted his other hand, by his signet ringed finger, towards his sons. "That is when war begins. The two young men's—and one young woman's—will to kill and to die."

"You've left out the third, I see."

A grunt and, "Indeed."

"Are you prepared to take action against your son Throne?"

"As soon as you stop bothering me, I'll talk to the boys." The mage's face tasted something sour; the patriarch let out a hardy laugh. "You Clocktower Mages—a little disrespect and you're red in the face. You must be terrible fathers. Raise a few children, then there's nothing left to get under your skin."

"I haven't the slightest…"

"Leave this place. I've my boys to speak with."

The Londoner put his hat on and tipped it, frowning. "A good day to you, Patriarch."

The Patriarch leaned on his cane and shouted to his sons. The family member speaking stopped, waited, and stared between the boys and their father. Conquer looked for sureness in Fife but found none; they moved around the crowd of van Brights, and followed their father to beneath the colonnade.

The Patriarch spun into their approach and glared. "Your eyes are somewhat down. You've been talking about me, haven't you?" The brothers looked between each other, uncertain. "Bah, it doesn't matter. I've something to talk to you two about."

With his hitched walk, the Patriarch led them to a chocolate-wood room just inside a long stretch of walkway awning, well-lit by large paned-glassed windows. Two couches, red leather, were on either side of a coffee table: Conquer and Fife sat on one , their father on the other.

"It's a fine day, isn't it," said the Patriarch, looking out the window at the vibrant hanging plants outside.

"The weather's nice, yes," said Fife.

The Patriarch glared at him. "Boys, the Holy Grail War as at hand."

Conquer grinned. "Finally."

But Fife was cautious. "You said something similar when Reign died."

"I was incensed, passionate, upset. But there was no one to fight; thus, no war." The Patriarch put one hand on top of the other on his cane, and he looked towards the sky. "Boys, there's an enemy."

"Who?" Fife asked.

The Patriarch answered by looking to him out of the side of his eyes.

"No." Fife shook his head, keeping eye contact, mouth hung, "No, no, no..."

"What?" Conquer didn't understand.

The Patriarch let out a long, hefty sigh. "There are those in the family who did not think Reign was a suitable master."

"Reign was a great mage."

"For her age."

"Fife," Conquer said in objection.

"He's right, you know." The Patriarch looked sternly at Conquer. "Reign was a talented mage; another year, she'd surpass you, Conquer, and in another, you Fife, and in another, Throne." The last brother's name was spoken grimly. "Why the Grail selected Reign and not Throne, many in the family thought was error. The van Bright's should be a their fullest, and perhaps a year from now, the van Bright's fullest indeed would've been Rein among two of her brothers. Ah, but the time was not right."

"What do you mean by that?" Conquer asked.

"Reign was not assassinated by another master; she was assassinated by a sect of van Bright elders," the Patriarch said with venom. "A sect of elders who wanted Throne as the third van Bright master—and not Reign."

"This is Throne's doing?" Conquer was so jumpy he nearly stood. "Thone did this?"

But Fife calmly said, "Perhaps it was done on his behalf."

"The elders told Throne of their plot to assassinate Reign, so that the Command Seals faded from her wrist and faded onto his. Throne did nothing, nothing at all. He scoffed at what they said, either because it was what he wanted, or because he didn't believe it. Either way, Throne's action led to your sister's death, and he refuses to return to the estate."

"If he won't come back, that's an admission of guilt," Conquer said, looking between Fife and his father.

The Patriarch looked at Fife, reading his face. Then, he looked to Conquer and said, "Not entirely."

Fife nodded slowly, very slowly. "Not at all, but there's a basis for father's conspiracy."

"And that is?" his brother asked.

"This is a Holy Grail War. Wishes are granted, dreams come true," Fife said, eyes watching his father, "and Throne, who thought he was excluded from the war, sees a relic within reach."

"The Grail is bottle of hot poison." The Patriarch's look was fierce. "A shiny cup, full of molten lead. A wish is the highest greed, and perhaps Throne wants something."

"Yes, something," Fife drolled.

"I haven't the slightest what he wants," Patriarch said with disapproval, "But whatever it is, the Grail can give him—is what Elder Sceptus said to him before he left for Fuyuki."

Fife expression was shock, Conquer's determination.

"That can't be true," Fife said.

A slow nod from his father, nose wrinkling with disgust. "Elder Sceptus and Elder Hesser, have confessed to conspiring amongst against my hegemony for the sake of the Holy Grail War."

Conquer crossed his arms. "And Throne too."

Fife slapped his broad shoulder with the back of his hand. "No. There's only anecdotal evidence against him."

"But Sceptus and Hesser conspired with him," Conquer said to his father.

Fife shook his head exasperatedly. "No, no, no—they told Throne of the conspiracy, but they didn't implicate him in it."

"Will you let our father speak?"

"Will you listen to our father speak?"

The Patriarch laughed and sat back in his chair. "It brings a smile to an old man's face, to see his boys argue like the old days. Fife is correct, Conquer. The Elder independently confessed communicating their intentions to assassinate Reign in some way." His eyes went down, saddened. "For an assassination such as Reign's—tantamount to a coup—there are more than two conspirators. But none of the three have given up the others."

Quiet, until: "Can't fucking believe it." Conquer shook his head, mouth open, eyes staring at the ground. "I'll do it myself," he said, magic sparking off his hands. "I'll kill all of them myself. Sceptus, Hesser—I don't give a shit."

The Patriarch reclined, smiling at his eldest son.

Fife put a hand on his shoulder. "Conquer. They'll all receive due punishment. Whoever's may be involved."

Conquer listened to his brother, head up, eyes at his. "Throne then."

Difficultly said, "He'll receive his due as well."

The Patriarch shook his head, a satisfied curl to his dry, wrinkled lips. "My two sons, right in two situations. A nice day, indeed." He used his cane to push himself into a stand. "From this day forward, Throne van Bright is a hostile Master in the Sixth Fuyuki Holy Grail War. He is an enemy, of you, of the Mage's Association, and the House van Bright line."

Fife shot up. "Father."

Conquer stood, too, as if to be included.

"Fife." The Patriarch's dark eyes bore into Fife's, his brow flat, mouth turned down. But Fife didn't speak another word. "Your enemies are yours to do with, as are mine, and Throne is an enemy of the House van Bright." He walked slowly, cane clicking as he went; he stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder. "Truly, Fife. Did you think it was an easy decision? To turn my house against my own son? Really, Fife." She shook his head, then it snapped to meet his son's eyes. "Make certain you're rested. The summoning is any day." And the old man left.

Fife flopped onto the sofa. "I can't believe this."

"Fucking Throne."

Fife gawked at Conquer. "You really believe that."

"You really don't believe that." Conquer sighed for their disagreement. "Dad has a confession."

"Do you think he wouldn't force a confession?"

Conquer squinted a hard brow at his brother. "From his uncles? From my cousins?"

"And they're going to be put to death."

"That's law of House van Bright," Conquer said, "forced confessions aren't."

Fife's face conceded the point "I agree. I agree, factually, that's our family law. But if father were to break our law, he'd do what he needs to. Uncles, cousins, sons; it doesn't matter who."

Conquer went to the window, watching his father, across the courtyard, order a servant to something. "You don't think highly of him."

"Father is a very clever man, who knows how clever he is. He meddles in everything, because he's always after something—and he always gets it." Fife sighed. "Yes, I do think highly of him."

"You don't. You think he's a bad man."

"It's an observation," Fife said, "It isn't good or bad."

"It doesn't sound good."

"Listen to what I'm saying—"

"You want an observation, Fife?" Conquer was louder than Fife now. "Throne wants nothing to do with us; never has, never will. He left Germany early, he left the Clocktower early, he left the family early. There're confessions from conspirators who told Throne about the conspiracy, and he did nothing. He didn't tell father, he didn't tell mother. He didn't tell me, he didn't tell you. He didn't tell Reign. He wants nothing to do with us."

Fife looked ready to argue, but only a sigh came out. "You're not wrong."

"I know."

"But you're not right."

"Stop with the bullshit."

"Throne doesn't like some of us, but he doesn't hate all of us. If he was told something like that—of a conspiracy to kill father—" Fife squinted, as if looking deep into something. "He might do nothing."

"He's our enemy then."

"No," Fife said, "That's if everything father said was true."

"What's more likely? —"

"Father torturing a false confession from two of his closest uncles and turning his sons against each other for no reason?" Fife extended and arm from his side, palm up, as if he were a scale. "Or a conspiracy against him and a prodigal son acting like a prodigal son?" Conquer nodded along, and Fife raised his other palm. "The latter is more likely, yes."

"You get it."

"But if it were all contrived," Fife started, making Conquer groaned, "I can't think of reason father would turn us against Throne. Sure, Throne didn't like the House lifestyle, but he wasn't a problem or disappointment."

"That's because it's not contrived."

"But if it were, there'd be a reason."

"Sure, okay."

Fife got up, so did Conquer. "Maybe I'll look into this. Visit home before we summon our Servants or go to Japan. See if there's something we missed."

"You're wasting your time," Conquer said. "Go to a bar with me. Let's get laid before we go off to war. Like we're supposed to."

"I'd like a reason not to fight or kill Throne."

That made Conquer uncomfortable; he breathed out his nose. "Yeah. Me too. But I don't think there is." The brothers walked out the door, down a stone path, under the eaves of the courtyard garden. The funeral ended long ago, and its visitors gone. They walked through the estate, past its tall, spired houses and ornate, spiraled architecture, and stopped outside a large house with a slim, steepled roof and a massive rosemary window.

"I'm going out," Conquer said, putting his hands in his pockets. "Do you want to come with?"

Fife shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow. I'm not feeling it tonight."

"Yeah." Conquer looked down, rubbing the tip of his shoe on the ground. "Let me know if you think of anything. You don't have shit so far, but if you think of anything good, tell me."

Fife scoff. "Yeah. Sure."

He watched Conquer walk to the end of the path, down a small hill, and onto the cul-de-sac just outside the manor. The headlights of his motorcycle blinked on, and its engine roared. He revved it and sped away from the manor, into the countryside, towards the streets of London.

Fife looked towards the tallest spire on the estate, his father's librarium, where he read ancient tomes and conducted House business. He made a sorry face and went into his house.