A great distance from where the Sparrow had drifted during the summoning, and a great deal earlier, another ship had drifted - but this one dead, robbed of oxygen by a most unfortunate malfunction.
It was far from any colonies or stations, and so it wasn't found for a while. For that brief amount of time, the ship and its occupant stayed there in space, stuck in that single moment as if frozen in time.
Except for the rotting, of course. There was nothing to stop the rotting.
By the time Quera Di'Reshti came across the ships stray signals, there was not much to indicate that its pilot had been human.
The bounty hunter was grateful that she couldn't smell in her helmet as she rummaged through what she'd managed to retrieve from the derelict, putting aside personal effects and looking for credit chips, valuables and any useful intelligence.
"Hm," she said, pulling out a folder that the pilot, a Dr. Walter Simms, had tried to conceal within the wall of his vessel. "What's this…?"
CONTINGENCY 4: THE HOLY GRAIL WAR, read the folder's title.
Three days later.
"The Holy Grail War?" said Rider, sitting cross legged on the hotel room chair. "Yes. I, um, understand. I'm fine with that."
Quera grinned. She hadn't thought it would happen, but it was still good to know she hadn't drawn some wimp who couldn't fight as her Servant.
Still, Rider didn't look like the strongest guy around. He was small - shorter than her - and absurdly long purple hair cascaded down from his head like a protective cocoon, covering the sides of the chair he was sat on. A modest silvery crown, more like a tiara than anything, decorated his head. The white robe he wore didn't look like it could really protect much, either, ending at his knees.
Was this really the most fitting Servant for her, Quera wondered? She was a bounty hunter, someone used to killing as a way of life, whereas this kid looked like he'd never killed a fly. Her bulky armour lay discarded on a table off to the side, but she still wore body armour under her casual wear, and had a shield generator concealed on her person.
Come to think of it, though, Rider was a Servant. Quera wasn't 100% familiar with how this whole thing worked, but that surely meant you couldn't judge him by appearances, right?
"Rider…" mused Quera, running a hand through her spiky violet hair - like the spines of a hedgehog more than anything else.
"Yes?" said Rider, cocking his head.
"Rider…"
"Yes?"
"Hm … no, I don't like the sound of it. You gotta tell me your True Name."
Rider sighed, closing his pale eyes. "As I explained, Master, you're not a mage. If I tell you my name, there's a good chance an enemy mage could extract that information from your mind."
"Yeah," said Quera. "I remember - but how am I supposed to plan our fights if I don't know what you can do? You could be, like, Harry Houdini for all I know! And he died from being punched in the gut, so I'd have to make sure that didn't happen!"
Rider blinked. "I look like Harry Houdini to you?"
"It's just an example!"
There was a muffled moan from the next room.
They were sat in the Palace Quartz, one of Derza Colony's more … illicit hotels. It wasn't the most respectful place to summon an ancient hero, to be sure, but Quera didn't exactly have the run of the place when it came to real estate.
"Please try to ignore that," said Quera, doing her best not to meet Rider's eyes.
"Yes, I'm doing my best," Rider sighed again. "Are you sure you need to know my True Name?"
"Why, were you a dirtbag or something?" Quera put a hand to her hip and scowled. She was supposed to be in charge here, right? The Command Seals had appeared on her hands, just like the doctor's notes had said, so shouldn't she be calling the shots? "Come on, it can't be that bad!"
Rider put a finger to his lips in contemplation for a moment or two, then nodded. "Very well. I am Chrysaor, king of Iberia."
Finally, an answer out of the kid. Quera's eyes opened wide and she gasped. "Really?"
"Yes."
"You're Chrysaor?"
"Yes."
"Never heard of you."
Rider rolled his eyes. From what Quera had seen, it looked like the brief contact between them had already been enough to make him perpetually exasperated at her. She had that kind of effect on people. "Very funny," he said.
"No, I mean it. I've really never heard of you."
Rider shot her a concerned look. "What, really?"
"Really."
"The son of Poseidon and Medusa? I came out of the Gorgon's neck when her head was cut off? My brother's the Pegasus?"
Quera frowned. "Your brother's a horse?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Okay, okay," said Quera, lifting her hands placatingly. Rider looked to be reasonable most of the time, but from what she'd just seen he was just as capable of getting heated as anyone else. "I'm sure your legend is very impressive -"
"Yes, it is."
"- I'm sure it's very impressive, but uh … what do you actually do? Like, fighting? Do you punch, are you - are you good at kicking?"
Rider blushed, pulling his robe down a little. "Um, no - not very good at kicking."
He held out his hand and - after a brief flash of light - he held a golden sword, so thin it could be held between two fingers. It was a dazzling weapon: rather than the sword having a metal blade, it seemed more like molten gold was maintaining the shape of a blade protruding from the hilt. When Rider rotated the hilt slightly, the gold blade moved with it, flowing as if it were water in a river.
"It's beautiful," breathed Quera, all sarcasm forgotten in that moment of looking at the golden sword. Even she could appreciate a masterful weapon when she saw one.
"It's name is Chrysaor too," smiled Rider. "It didn't have magical properties when I was alive, so I can't be quite sure, but it's apparently very good at cutting things."
"So, that's your … your Nubile Phantom, right?" Quera struggled to remember the term she'd read in Doctor Simms' folder.
"Noble Phantasm, a crystallization of legend. This is one of the ones I have in my possession, yes. We of the Rider class usually get a better arsenal than the other classes."
The grin returned to Quera's lips - her doubts had been thoroughly assuaged. There was no way any of the other Masters could have a Servant as cool as hers, right? His sword was made of gold, for god's sake - and it was apparently pretty strong, too.
"So, Master…"
"Quera. Let's not be too formal, yeah?"
Rider nodded. "Of course, Quera. If you don't mind me asking … where exactly are we? I'm aware that we're in a, ah, inn of sorts - and that we're in a solar system called Zenith, but I'd appreciate a little more information."
Quera walked over to the large window on the far side of the wall, pressing the button on its side that turned it from opaque to transparent.
Larange, the capital city of Derza Colony, lay set out before them. Monolithic cube-shaped buildings formed the foundations of the city - home to official installations like government offices and maintenance stations - while the civilian population grew around them like mold on bread. Cars flew past, constantly in a hurry as humans always were, a symphony of horns merging into the night. Outside the territory of the city, endless fields of mirrorgrass - changing colours in the moonlight from a deep red to a light blue - spread out on the planet's surface.
"Derza Colony," said Quera, looking out at the city. "Not the prettiest planet in the system, not the richest, but … that's it. I don't really have anything nice to say about it."
"A hub for the underworld, I take it?" said Rider, eyes flicking over to Quera's sniper rifle leaning against the empty Zenithlight canisters.
Quera's face turned melancholy, eyes downcast. "Yeah, I guess. That could be a positive, if you really stretch it. It's funny … I grew up in this place, but I can't think of a good thing to say about it. Not a single one."
"Oh, you did? You're familiar with it, then?"
"Yeah. Right down there." Quera pointed down deep between the buildings - where there was only darkness and, if you squinted, the faint shapes of humans moving. Slums where no light could reach.
Rider bit his lip. "There's really nothing good you can say, then?"
Quera shook her head.
"Hmm," Rider closed his eyes as if searching through his memory. That was right - Quera had read in the file that Servants received information on the era they were summoned in. Was that what this was? "You share this planet with another species though, right? That's quite extraordinary, isn't it?"
She shrugged. "I guess."
The Ovolovo lived on the other side of the planet, so they weren't a common sight in the human part of the colony. Still, you saw them sometimes - floating spheres shaped like meteors, with five to ten cavernous holes along the surface of their bodies. They kinda creeped Quera out, so she tried to avoid interacting with them whenever possible.
"I…" she began to speak again, only to be interrupted by another moan from next door. A louder one.
Rider cleared his throat. "Maybe … maybe we should continue this conversation somewhere else."
Rider sat on the edge of the roof, swinging his legs idly as he looked over the city. It really wasn't the best, now that he looked at it. Even without taking the slums into consideration, the level of disorganization and rot you could see in the most prominent buildings was disheartening. When he was alive, keeping the capital of his kingdom in prime condition was Rider's greatest joys.
It was like polishing a piece of fine china, ready to be presented to the world. A smile came to his lips just thinking of it.
Nearby on the roof, Quera was getting the car ready to depart. It seemed that in this era, flying vehicles were quite common among even normal humans. Back in the Age of Gods, that would have been considered a miracle for the commonfolk. Rider's brother's ability to fly had been a subject of awe and envy. Now, it seemed to be nothing special.
Oh well. Times changed, it was inevitable.
"Master," called out Rider.
"Too formal," Quera shouted back from the car.
Rider smiled to himself again, this time a little more ruefully. His Master certainly was a spirited woman.
It reminded him of his sisters, truth be told.
His smile turned to a frown at the unwelcome, intrusive thought. That was not a memory that belonged to him. He had no sisters. They had been hers. It seemed, even after death, he could not escape the Gorgon's influence.
He shook his head, as if hoping the unpleasant sensation would just fall out of his ear.
"Quera," he corrected himself, calling out once again. "What is your wish for the Grail?"
The sound of rummaging from behind stopped, and a moment later Rider heard her footsteps approaching.
"You won't like it," she said quietly.
"How do you know?"
"It isn't an admirable wish."
He frowned. "In what way?"
She sighed, breath misting in the air and rising into the sky. "I want to be rich. That's it. I'm sick of being poor, so I want to be rich." Quera spoke quickly, as though wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.
"Oh," said Rider, eyebrows raised. "You had me worried for a moment there. I thought it might be something truly terrible, but that's a fine wish."
"It is?"
"It is. Looking after yourself is one of the most important parts of being human. Once you know you're alright, you can turn your attention to helping others, right?"
Quera looked away. "I suppose."
"That wasn't how you were thinking of it, was it?"
She shook her head, chuckling. "No, I really am just thinking of myself."
"That's fine too, as long as you're pursuing happiness. That's a wish I'll happily fight for."
"And you?" Quera looked down at him.
"Hm?"
"What will you wish for?"
Rider paused. The thought hadn't really occurred to him until just then. In life, he'd been blessed with many kinds of happiness - the love of the gods, the love of a kingdom, the love of his family. Could he really ask for anything more, after being given so much?
His mind flashed to his first living memory. Her last living memory.
"There's nothing I truly want for myself," he admitted. "But … if I could make the fate of another a little happier, I'd fight for that. Yes, I suppose that could be my wish."
Quera frowned as if that made no sense, but the expression faded quickly. She had enough tact not to say it out loud, clearly. Her head turned - away from Rider, looking out at the city.
"We're setting up base on this colony?" Rider asked quietly.
"No. If I die, I don't want it to be here. We'll go somewhere a little less awful."
"I see."
Rider got up and strolled over to the car.
A moment later, Quera tore her gaze away from the city - as if she were ripping off a bandaid, a moment of painful relief - and followed.