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Mein lieblings Spitz

The frosty freshness of such a different winter and a completely different kind of nature around. For ten years, every winter, he had seen something like this, and it was completely different from what he remembered in snatches from his... past life, you might say.

In this new life, by the will of the one who saved and adopted him, the boy's name was Emiya Shirou. The usual, unremarkable first and last name were chosen specifically so that even by chance it would not reveal the origin and affiliation of his new family.

His foster mother, Arturia Pendragon, was of royal blood. Anyone who had ever seen her could tell that. All you had to do was look into her eyes, which were shining with pure power and authority, at her proud and unyielding posture, clearly the result of habits instilled from childhood, and at the manner of speech, which, in Shiro's opinion, she could not hide it completely. And then her charisma made people literally fall to their knees in front of her, which, in general, gave a lot of trouble. But as far as Shiro knew, there were no Mages in the area where they lived, so there was simply no one to spot them.

Yes, Emiya Shirou was a magician and to some extent, was able to use his magic abilities, revealing through his magic core and magic circuits a whole personal reality of new powers and capabilities that could even change the world around him.

He and his mother were hiding from other Magicians like him, though Arturia didn't like the idea. Shirou saw and even felt, how much she wanted to give battle to the whole army that lived in London, fight the entire army, which lived in London and gathered in its Clock Tower, but it could not be allowed.

In the first, it would cause a monstrous wave of indignation. Just take and cut the magic, the British aristocracy, and expect that you won't get in? They didn't live in the right world to expect this.

And in the second… although his mother would have been able to do it… But this was something she could only afford in the old days. This was due to its very nature.

Thinking about that look, the expression in her eyes, Shirou came to the conclusion that it wasn't blood lust that was blurring this woman's vision, but a lust for life. Some may feel that they are alive, that they are only really alive by fighting. Fighting the enemy, fighting for a dream, fighting injustice, fighting for your place in life, after all. Always proving to yourself and others that this is not the limit.

Or perhaps she simply hated those who had devised such a bloody ritual, full of death, to expose the essence of a human being. Self-interest, which pushes him to do everything possible, and sometimes impossible, to get more than he is allowed.

His mother, Arturia Pendragon, was a Heroic Spirit. Simply put, a magical familiar, but very different from ordinary magical creatures. She was called to war by a Magician, a man named Emiya Kiritsugu, who used her for his own purposes in order to reach the end of the war, defeat everyone and gain the prize that was guaranteed to the only survivor — a single wish that would be fulfilled with a hundred percent probability.

But not everything in this situation was as smooth as it seems. Don't even mention what an unpleasant person Arturia said Emiya Kiritsugu was. A wish that was supposed to be fulfilled by the will of the Victor of the war of Magicians, turned out to be a trap for the discovery of a whole ocean of curses and flames that destroyed half of the city.

And so, somehow, even after the death of her Master, the man who had provided her with the energy to stay in this world, Arturia had survived and moreover, was still alive. The price for this was the inability to use her abilities in full, which was the second reason for refusing to fight - Arturia could previously fight with an entire army, but now…

Shirou has learned everything about the war from his mother, who didn't hide anything. Every detail, the identity of the characters that she had learned about, any information and impressions about them — everything that could help Shirou in any way — everything she told and explained to him.

Shirou also learned the cause of the fire from her, which Arturia herself learned from the Priest, the son of the war warden of the Holy Church. From the man who had first suggested that mother and son get as far out of first offered mother and son to get as far away from sight as possible, which Pendragon herself was thoroughly displeased with, than Pendragon herself was deeply dissatisfied, and the first to help them. Although Shirou shivered every time he saw him, it was this man who helped them.

So the mother and son went to the homeland of Arturia and the boy, whose name was now Shirou, was given the name Emiya, despite the fact that he had the surname Pendragon by blood. Arturia herself also officially took a different another surname. All this was for the sake of secrecy. In Great Britain, even in the twenty-first century, you can't help but know about King Arthur Pendragon. A sudden appearance of a person with this name will cause interest and unnecessary attention everywhere on this small island. This was why there were such difficulties, the meaning of which Shirou himself did not immediately understand.

However, the discovery of Arturia's identity as a Heroic Spirit was not the worst thing that could have happened to the two of them. More precisely, for the most part, only Arturia.

Constant, catastrophic lack of energy for simple daily actions — that was the main problem for Arturia Pendragon in her current life. The only thing she could count on in her current state and that of her son were support artifacts fully charged with Prana. Such means of support were undoubtedly an adequate substitute for absorbing human souls, which was a great option for a spiritual entity like her, but still... how inconvenient it was sometimes.

The most ordinary working day of a beautiful, statuesque woman with wheat-coloured hair was already coming to the end. She took the familiar route home on foot, even though she could have ordered a taxi right to her door.

This was the day when Arturia wanted to walk by foot more than ever. As much as she would not like to say that this is her native place, but, alas, it is these lands that Arturia has never been before. Or had been, but couldn't remember when. That was why the very feeling of being able to say, "I'm home" was so satisfying.

Even though she wasn't the ruler of the Britons' land now, she still had a sense of ownership inside her, and she still wanted to say "mine" as she looked out over all this land, at all these people who hadn't forgotten, and who remembered the legends and history of king Arthur.

However… King Arthur was a man in this reality, and Arturia herself had never hidden her gender, and this was a rather strange and somewhat... perplexing distinction. And so Arturia, as a Heroic Spirit called into this world, felt a certain dissonance.

Thinking about the past, Arturia did not notice any changes in her condition. Now, being only a shadow of her former self, even a shadow of the shadow of a True Heroic Spirit, she had to listen carefully to the needs and changes of her body. But for some reason, this time, walking around the city where she had lived for ten years, she forgot about one thing.

Arturia has completely forgot about the fact that she has no longer had a supply power in the form of a Master, and at the moment her "batteries" are artifacts that she constantly orders from a friend with whom she was introduced by that "damn priest".

She staggered, almost tripped, and clutched a gripped the lamppost, barely able to keep from crushing it. She couldn't let that happen, because she wasn't alone on the street.

Arturia looked around in a sudden fit of panic. The doors of the house were about twenty meters away, but given how shaky she was, how blurred everything was before her eyes, how hard it was to breathe — this distance seemed to have increased to almost a hundred meters.

The turquoise earrings she was wearing now, which seemed to glow with a steady light from within, were not flickering at all. A clear indicator that there is no energy left in them.

The woman clenched her jaw until it creaked, keeping her body from disintegrating by sheer force of will, and started toward the house. She had to hurry, but the seconds dragged like hours. The very concept of time at that moment was vague and stretched. There was only the strength of her will and the goal she wanted to achieve, and she was used to always getting what she wanted. As soon as she opened the door, and without bothering to close it, she ran up the stairs as fast as she could go in such a situation.

Just a little more… Just a little, and she will get to the cherished box, which was her irreplaceable stock…

Almost knocking down the door to her room, Arturia snatched a casket with simple ancient writing from the table, flung it open, and grabbed a pair of new earrings. With a careless grip on the fastenings, she broke off the earrings and ignoring the damage caused by the action, inserted new jewellery into the bleeding wounds. Such artefacts worked much better if they were in direct contact with the wearer's flesh and blood and for Arturia the pain was so slight that it was almost imperceptible.

Feeling a new, steady current of energy in the artifacts slowly filling her body, Arturia slid down the wall to the floor and covered her face with hands. From such stupidity, she really wanted to hit herself or in some other way to punish. Although she was not prone to masochism, it was precisely this kind of action that seemed most appropriate in order to force herself not to make such mistakes again.

A loud slap caught the attention of the then-nine-year-old Shirou and forced him to look into his mother's room, whom he found sitting on the floor against the wall with blood on her cheeks, flushed, and laughing nervously.

Never before had Shirou been so surprised, either by his mother's behaviour or appearance.

This moment, so inopportunely recalled, was always a reminder of how not to behave. However, now that her child was almost seventeen years old, the issue of providing her with a normal Prana was resolved by itself.

As a Mage Shirou did not go to any comparison with the Magi of the Clock Tower, all of which are digested by Arturia since Merlin himself… but still, thanks to some manipulations with the boy and the magic circuits of Arturia herself, it was now possible to expect something more pleasant than the life of a simple woman, which Pendragon did not consider herself.

But now, unable to reveal even her armour — let alone her dear friend — she could only be called a simple woman. A little stronger than a normal person, though.

Arturia, because of her nonhuman nature, and Shiro, because of their bloodline already belonging to Pendragon itself, were not human in the full sense of the word. Filled to the brim with support energy, Arturia was much stronger than even the strongest person, and this was without even using special abilities. Shirou was able to compete with her in terms of strength, but only with his individual strengthening magic. This led to certain conclusions.

But speaking of such outbursts of energy: if Shirou had enough sparring with his mother, then Arturia herself clearly lacked a good fight with a strong opponent. Preferably with a Spirit as strong as hers — another Heroic Spirit.

However... these were vain wishes. Arturia remembered how she had destroyed the Grail with her own hands and had already given up hope of meeting a strong opponent. Only if her Shiro didn't grow up to be a worthy replacement one day, which she secretly hoped he would.

To raise a replacement, the heir who would sit on the throne and carry her ideals... that dream was a luxury, not allowed for someone like her. Still, she had already failed one attempt at the time. But in the name of the Gods, she had been given another chance, and she would not miss it.

She had always looked at her son, who was her own flesh and blood, both magically and physically, after all the rituals that had been performed. She could not look at him other way, because all his desires and actions spoke only of what he was worthy of. Arturia had no doubt that the boy could have drawn a Sword from the Stone, so deeply did the King's ideals take root in him.

How she had wished that her blood, Mordred, had been the same. But this was impossible because of a stupid misunderstanding, which Arturia regretted very much almost every time she recalled her past.

Of course, she told her son about her past. About their deeds, about love, about daughter, about betrayal, loyalty and despair. At the same time, young Shirou was very impressed with the story told by his mother, and all its details to the very last.

This could not but please Arturia. It could not but be a relief that the recounted past did not cause rejection in the young mind. And of course, this could not but add an pure love in Arturia to her newfound son.

Shiro grew up developing physically and magically due to the magic circuits and connection with his mother, and Arturia in turn taught him, trained and patiently waited for the moment when that day would come and there would be a sharp improvement inside the guy.

And it was going to happen, she was hundred percent sure of that. It was only a matter of time before the transplanted circuits that came into contact with his body would make evolutionary progress.

Then, Arturia will no longer need Prana from outside sources and will receive the best and most valuable energy in the world — produced by her closest blood relative — Shiro.

Emiya… The last name of the person she... You could say... hated. It was useful to her at least once. In order to hide a direct link to an ancient and powerful family, Arturia chose a fictitious surname for her son. No one do know why, but for some reason, this name... seemed to fit her Shirou more than any other. Even more than her birth name, Pendragon. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn't figure out why. Why exactly was Emiya so closely associated with Shirou?

But still…

Yet Emiya Shirou was her most valuable treasure in every sense. What she holds dear, and will cherish the most. Stronger than all the other treasures of hers. No earlier memories will change that.

And it was mutual on the part of her son, who had no one else left in this world.

This vivid feeling, which had not faded for ten years, was not, could not be overshadowed by any event or by any person who would wish to break the affections of these two.

But still…

It was a strange feeling in both of them.

A sense of forgotten excitement for her and a dragging, heavy dread for him.

A feeling she recognized with dislike and annoyance, but also joy and acceptance. The feeling that reached her for many thousands of kilometres, because it is determined by the very essence of the creation of both her and his.

Arturia Pendragon after ten years of quiet and unremarkable life, perfectly understood what she felt. The servant Lancer who had been sleeping in her for years raised her head and drew her spear for battle not caring if her host was ready to go on the warpath again.

Servant Lancer was always ready.

But was Arturia Pendragon ready?

And more than that... was Emiya Shirou ready for a new war and horror?