"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?" blared the server robot - a bulky, mechanical arm like the ones they used to have in car factories. In its clumsy fingers, it held a smoking kettle.

"No thank you," murmured Isaac, flipping through his book, doing his best not to look at the machine as it trundled back to its corner and stored the kettle once again within its chassis. It kept asking every ten minutes whether he wanted tea - he'd have to ask Dietrich to adjust that a little, if he ever got here.

He was already five minutes late.

Isaac put down his book and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like waiting - especially not in the lounge. The lounge was his father's room, even if he was never here.

The lounge was probably as big as most people's houses, each corner crowded with a legion of serving robots ready to take care of any possible request. A wafer-thin television took up the majority of one wall - it was turned off right now, for some peace and quiet. A selection of chairs, with designs from countless eras, were positioned throughout the room, ready to be moved into any number of configurations depending on the occasion.

Isaac himself was a thin boy, with big anxious eyes and a bob of fluffy white hair. He was the kind of person who made everything he wore look one size too big, and so the fancy suit and tie he wore looked significantly less fancy.

Outside, a bird tweeted. It was fake, of course - pre-recorded. There were no birds on the Zenith Core.

It was the thirty-second planet in the Zenith system: an artificial satellite created from scratch by the Zenith Corporation, a mass of steel and industry that contained the refineries for Zenithlight, the head offices for the company that made it, and the residential area (terraformed to look presentable, of course) that contained Isaac's mansion.

The mansion belonged to the entire Vane family, really, but Isaac was the only one who actually lived there. His sister was often away pursuing her own projects, and running ZenithCorp consumed most of Father's time.

So, it was pretty lonely. Apart from the robots, there were only two Servitors assigned to the mansion at a time - the less actual people there, the less security risk, apparently.

Dietrich entered the room at last, the door sliding open to allow him through. He adjusted his black gloves, beaming at Isaac as he walked in. Isaac offered a weak smile in return.

Isaac had known Dietrich for ten of his fifteen years, and yet he didn't really know that much about his tutor. He was trusted by Father, of course, or he'd never even be allowed near the mansion - but apart from that, a mystery. One Dietrich didn't seem keen on enlightening him on.

"Sorry I'm late," Dietrich said, looking professional as ever in a dark suit, fiery hair tied back in a ponytail. "Had some business to take care of before I could head over here."

"Important business?" asked Isaac, cocking his head.

Dietrich wagged a finger. "Maybe, maybe. But don't try and get information out of me, 'kay? I am a firmly closed book, my young friend."

The serving robot trundled over. "WOULD YOU LIKE SOME -"

"Yes please," said Dietrich, interrupting it as he took his jacket off and hung it up. "The usual, if you please, my good man."

As the serving robot began preparing the tea, Dietrich swung a seat around - a late 19th century British armchair - and sat down, crossing his legs.

"So," he continued. "You said you have concerns?"

Isaac nodded eagerly. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it's about the war."

Dietrich frowned. "The war? The conflict with the Same is on the other side of Earth territory. It shouldn't concern us, right?"

Isaac shook his head, hair flying everywhere from the motion. He brushed it out of his field of vision as best he could. "No, I mean the war! The Holy Grail War! What's happening with it?"

Dietrich's frown deepened. "Isaac, you know your father doesn't want you involved with this stuff, come on-"

"Please. I don't want to get involved, I just want to know what's going on. Has Father picked a Master yet? Did they summon their Servant?"

His tutor closed his eyes and tapped a finger against his temple, as though wondering how much information it would be appropriate to divulge. "Your father has picked a Master, yes," he said slowly. "And they have summoned their Servant. More than that I cannot say."

"It's my sister, isn't it?"

"More than that I cannot say."

"Dietrich -"

Dietrich shot him a stern glare, and he shut his mouth. Inside, though, resentment still bubbled away.

Rosa, Isaac's sister, was the trusted one - the one Father allowed to do whatever she wanted. If she'd asked to fight in the Holy Grail War he'd arranged, he'd allow it in an instant. And yet when Isaac asked, he had been refused just as quickly. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

Dietrich leaned forward, looking at him seriously. "Isaac," he said. "Your father cares about you very much. You must understand that. He is simply concerned for your safety. I would have refused your request had it been up to me, as well."

Isaac nodded, but he didn't really feel any better at all.

His whole life he'd known his place. He was the backup option in case something happened to Rosa, the child who was actually important. Someone had to inherit ZenithCorp in case the worst happened - and it was better him than nobody.

Nobody had ever actually told him this was the way things were. It was something he'd had to work out for himself, from the way people looked at him, from the way he was kept cooped up in this mansion. He swore that, sometimes, he even saw looks of pity in the eyes of the Servitors - was he really more wretched than a Servitor?

"Isaac," said Dietrich, voice still serious. Isaac looked up at him. "I'm concerned for your safety also. I'd like you to promise me that you won't try and get involved with the Holy Grail War. I know you. I know what you're like. So promise me, okay?"

Isaac's breath caught in his throat for a moment - but only for a moment.

"I promise," he said quietly.

Dietrich's shuttle rose up from the surface, blazing red like a shooting star as it drifted out of sight. Isaac watched from his same seat in the lounge, book still closed on his lap. He didn't especially feel like reading after that conversation. Mingled guilt and smugness battled for dominance in his belly - he'd gotten away with something, and he was happy about it, but was it really something he should have gotten away with?

"You're a cheeky boy, aren't you?" said Caster, appearing on the couch in a reclining position. It was if mist suddenly came together and formed her body.

She was a strange woman to look at. She looked young, but seemed old, as if her youth was just a mask she was wearing - and her teeth, which shone in the light, were filed down to deadly points. Her hair and pupils both were a pale white, like snow, clumping together like tendrils.

Her dress wasn't any less strange. She wore rags beaten black with soot and mud - frost clinging to their surface - but from the dignity she bore wearing them, they felt more like the finest garments money could buy.

And there was a pressure - a physical sensation of power - emanating from her. The kind of feeling that told Isaac that his Servant could probably kill him with a thought.

"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?" blared the serving robot.

Caster snapped her fingers and - less than a second later - a pale, small object rushed out of the shadows and smashed into the serving robot, demolishing it. Smoke belched out of its chassis, and it toppled to the floor.

"C-Can you not do that, please…?" said Isaac as the attacker emerged from the carcass of the robot.

The object was a pale, bloodless human hand - severed at the wrist and floating in the air, fingers twitching and spasming wildly. As it returned to Caster, hovering over her shoulder, five more hands emerged from various hiding placed around the room and joined their fellow in orbiting their master.

"Do what?" said Caster innocently, cocking her head.

"Break things … people will get suspicious, won't they?"

Caster laughed, an innocent sound as clear as a bell. "Oh, that? I'll ask them not to, but don't expect anything. My soul friends are quite cheeky, too!"

Isaac looked away. It was shameful to admit, but he really didn't feel like he was in charge of this Servant he'd summoned.

It was meant to be so simple. He'd prove his initiative by summoning a Servant on his own, tell Dietrich when he arrived, and participate in the Holy Grail War regardless of his Father's wishes … he was finally going to prove that he wasn't worthless.

Why, then, had he lied? Had he promised not to get involved?

When Isaac looked back up, Caster's face was inches from his own, mouth wide in a wicked grin.

"Shall I tell you?" she whispered, her breath cold as ice.

Isaac yelped, trying to jump backwards and knocking his chair over in the process. He went toppling to the floor, landing roughly as he heard Caster laugh once again.

"Tell me what?" he said through gritted teeth - it was best not to let her know that had hurt. He couldn't show weakness in front of a woman like this.

"Why you lied," said Caster, walking around the toppled furniture and squatting so that she was at eye level with him. "Why you promised not to get involved."

Isaac's blood went as cold as Caster's breath. "You can read my mind?" he said quietly. Oh, what had he gotten himself into him?

Again, Caster laughed. "No, no, no, dearie! Of course not. It's just written aaall over your face. Everything you're thinking and feeling. You're a terrible liar, you know."

Isaac looked down at the floor. "Dietrich believed me."

"Did he?" Caster smirked.

"He did," Isaac's eyes - suddenly wide in panic - went back up to meet Caster's. "He did, didn't he?"

Caster rose back up to her feet, nonchalantly strolling towards the window and looking out at the gardens. "Hmm. Who can say?"

"Oh God," moaned Isaac as he lifted the chair back up into its proper position. "I'm dead, I'm so dead, I'm so stupid! What was I thinking?!"

"You're not dead. Stop worrying so much about it."

"I am, I am," said Isaac, the optimism of the last few days swiftly abandoning him. He was just the back-up, and the Master Father chose wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Or perhaps Caster would just betray him. But really, really, the one who'd done all this to him was himself. He'd as good as killed himself the moment he went against Father's wishes. It suddenly felt very hard to breathe, like someone was jamming their hand down his throat. "I'm dead, I'm so - so - so - so dead!"

He felt Caster's freezing hands clamp down on his shoulders, holding him in place and halting his trembling body.

"Calm down," she said soothingly, as if reassuring a frightened child. "You don't die now, I can promise you that. I know exactly when you die, so you can trust me."

Isaac blinked. "Wha…?"

Satisfied that she'd calmed him down a little, Caster took a step back and leaned against the window. Where her body made contact with the glass, it began to frost over, slowly becoming opaque until it was a single white sheet.

"I'm a woman who enjoys defying fate," she said softly, tracing a little stick figure in the glass with her finger. "I look ahead, see how things end-" she drew her finger sharply across the stick figures neck. "-and then do my best to make things end differently. Right now, for you, I can tell where you end up. Would you like to know?"

Silently, Isaac nodded.

Caster smiled. "You die of old age, successful and utterly miserable. In this room, in fact. In that chair."

And then, she waved her hand in some abstract gesture - and Isaac could see it, see himself lying in the chair, more a mass of wrinkles than a man, bitterness and resentment radiating off of him like heat. The man's eyes drifted up, slow as molasses, then met Isaac's own. He sneered.

And that, whispered Caster. Is the grand finale of Isaac Vane.

With those few words, the world seemed to fall apart around Isaac, the walls crumbling like they were made of paper, the floor falling away into a bottomless void. It suddenly felt like the air itself was a fist, holding him tight in a vice-like grip.

"Is there…?" he began, trying to pull the world back together around him. "Can I … can I change that fate? You said you liked doing that, right…?"

Caster's smile spread to a grin, shark-like teeth glinting in the light. "But of course. If we march together, Master, I'm sure we can reach whatever ending we feel like."

Legs shaking once again, Isaac threw himself down onto the chair behind him. The chair he'd die in. A shiver ran down his spine, as if transmitted into his body from the chair itself.

"I don't … how do we change fate? We need to do something to - to move away from the path I'm on, right? What do we do?"

Caster sighed, moving away from the window - immediately, the frost on its surface began to melt. "Isaac," she said softly. "You already know what you need to do in order to do that, don't you? But you're not brave enough to do it, or to even admit to yourself that you've had the idea."

Isaac sighed, putting his face in his hands. It was true. He had had an idea, a nasty little thought brewing at the bottom of the well that was his mind.

The clock ticked.

With every tick, Caster drew closer, face expectant. Waiting. She clearly knew the answer she wanted - all that remained was to wait for Isaac to answer it.

He opened his mouth.

"So, just to confirm," said Isaac, leaning on the counter in the Servitor quarters. "You two are bound to follow whatever orders I give?"

The two Servitors nodded. Both of the homunculus girls looked identical - blonde hair, red eyes, appearing roughly seventeen or eighteen. The two of them were dressed in pale white dresses; these too were identical. The only way to tell the girls apart were the identifying tattoos on the backs of their hands - 07, read one. 08, read the other. Those were the only names afforded to them.

Servitors, artificial humans created to complete tasks, were a common sight on Earth and its closer territories - less so in the Zenith system, where people generally preferred machine servants. Still, Father preferred servants who could think for themselves.

"We're to obey you in all matters," said 07, looking down at the floor. "That is our purpose, yes."

"Our purpose." echoed 08, an offbeat smile drifting on and off her face. She wasn't quite all there - probably some fault in her design - but Isaac couldn't bring himself to have her replaced. It seemed cruel.

Isaac opened his mouth to continue, closed it, then opened it again.

Are you going to do it or not? Caster's voice echoed in his mind. He could feel her presence, her spirit form, floating above him in the room.

That spurred him on.

"I have a series of instructions I need carrying out," said Isaac, doing his best to sound stern and commanding. "First of all, you should know that I am participating in the Holy Grail War as a Master. My Servant is Caster."

"Okay," said 07 calmly. Of course, this meant nothing to Servitors. Their only concern was how best to follow their master's orders. In that sense, thought Isaac, they were probably better servants than Caster.

"So," he continued. "I will need your help to get started - you two will be coming along with me, by the way."

07 nodded, accepting that. A second later, 08 nodded as well at 07's prodding.

"What do you need our help with, specifically?" 07 said.

Isaac took a deep breath. This was it. Do or die. The last chance to go back. He could easily say 'nevermind', use his Command Seal to dispatch Caster, and wipe his hands of the whole affair. He could. If there was still any doubt in his mind, that was really what he should do.

He didn't.

"You will write a ransom note," he said - cold, monotone, reading from the script inside his head. "Stating that you, an enemy Master in the Holy Grail War, have captured me. The price for my safe return is that the Master representing ZenithCorp must force their Servant to commit suicide. We'll include photographs of me looking scared, so the threat seems legitimate. I'll have Caster rough this place up, too, so it looks like there was a struggle."

"But…" said 08 dreamily, putting a finger to her lips and looking vaguely up at the ceiling. "We've don't got a spaceship. How do we leave here without anyone's knowing? We can't, can we…?"

Isaac waved that off. "Don't worry. Caster's Noble Phantasm can get us off-world."

"Noble Phantasm…?" 08's brow scrunched up in confusion. 07 shushed her, shooting her a harsh look.

"No, it's fine," said Isaac. "A Noble Phantasm is kind of like a … secret weapon? Caster, can you explain it?"

"But of course," said Caster, suddenly sitting behind the Servitors. 07 jumped at the sudden noise, swinging around, while 08 just calmly turned her head.

Isaac nodded towards the new arrival. "This is … This is Caster, my Servant." A thought occurred to him. "We're on the same team now, but don't follow any orders she gives you without asking me first."

Caster smirked. "Oh? You don't trust me?"

"Not really. You're a witch, right? I'd be stupid to trust you."

"That you would. Well done." She turned to the two Servitors. "So, you two homunculi born of human science. Master Vane here tells the truth: my house is more than capable of traversing the void of space for a little while. That should be enough to get us to one of those stations in orbits, and we can get another ship from there."

07's eyes flicked towards Isaac, as if she were going to ask him whether this was really a good idea, but the impression quickly faded from her gaze.

The place of a Servitor was to serve, after all.

Just before the day was over, Damian Vane - getting ready to leave the office - received a message containing the following text:

Good evening, Mr. Vane.

I am a participant in Dr. Simms' Holy Grail War, and am thus your friendly opponent. I'm sure you won't believe that just from my saying so, but it is the truth nonetheless. I summoned my Servant, Caster, and received the Command Seals marking me as a participant.

Now, I've recently come into possession of your delightful son, and I have but a few modest demands I'd like you to meet for his safe return. Well, one demand, really.

You are to contact the Master you have contracted to fight for you in this Holy Grail War and have them force their Servant to commit suicide immediately. The method is irrelevant - my only concern is that their Servant dies as soon as possible.

I feel like I almost don't need to say this, but if you fail to meet my demands your son will die. However, I don't feel like that encompasses the severity of what I will do to him. Therefore, please allow me to elaborate just a little for your benefit.

I will tear his eyes out from his head, and his tongue out from his mouth.

I will break every bone he has.

I will drown him in acid and see him empty.

And at every point, I will have Caster repair his body so I may continue my good work. Should you fail, sir, I will kill your son in every way it is possible to kill a person.

I hope you make the right choice.

Hoping you are well,

A friendly adversary.

Enclosed in the file were three pictures, depicting Isaac Vane tied to a chair, gagged and obviously terrified out of his mind. At Damian's command, several agents were dispatched to the mansion - which was now a burnt-out wreck of its former self. It quite literally looked as if a bomb had hit the place.

The full might of ZenithCorp's security was dispatched soon after, spreading out into the system like a swarm of locusts.