First chapter! I hope it didn't take too long to get out, but I couldn't pick who to introduce when and in which chapters and eventually I just decided to do 'em all in one. I'll be updating my profile whenever clues or identities to Servants have been revealed, but for now I'd like to introduce you all to the characters! They were sent in by (in order of character introduction) SevenMana, Shin Alter, PlayedAsWritten, Gashudokuro Amanojaku, PainX65, and LuciferXIII Trollkaiger Green, with Katya belonging to yours truly. Let me know what you think and I'll see you next chapter!


01

Katerina Lebedeva

"This is hardly what I would call worthy of my summons."

"Mm-hm."

Katya tightened her coat around her, hands cupped over her mouth to keep them warm. Ever since she volunteered to become a Master in this War she'd dreaded the inevitable. The reunion with her in-laws that would, without a doubt, shake her to the core. Even though it'd only been a little over a year things still felt more severe than they were. Katya wasn't even sure she would feel confident enough to face them, Caster by her side or no.

So the best thing she could do for herself, to build up that strength, was to visit the cemetery.

It probably would've been easier to perform the summoning in the cemetery to begin with. Not that it really mattered now, the deed having been done after she'd touched down at the airport. But having Hiroya and Penko there with her to see it through sounded unbelievably comforting, especially with Katya needing to report back to the Oshiro family with regards to who she summoned.

"Feel free to wander around or something," Katya told Caster. He let out an indignant growl at the suggestion. "I won't be long."

The Oshiro family had a whole section of the cemetery dedicated to past members of their bloodline. They tended to have many children, many siblings and cousins, and more often than not those children would lead long, uneventful lives while the heir would continue the tradition of learning and breeding.

They'd buried them towards the back, having the decency to put Penko next to Hiroya. As much as they detested Katya and tried to force her out of the family, they seemed to have the common sense to recognise someone of their own flesh and blood. The two headstones declared the names of her two most beloved, the smaller of the two still heartbreaking to read once one noticed there was only a single date listed beneath their name. Katya didn't even bother to check if Caster had actually gone anywhere; she was so caught up in just how long it'd been since she'd last seen them that all concerns over her privacy went out the window.

Hiroya Oshiro
Loving son, husband, and father
29/06/1987 – 19/08/2013

Katya ran her hand over her late husband's name. She didn't think she'd be facing him again so soon—though maybe a whole year was much, much too long to classify as such. He'd been her husband, for crying out loud. Grieving took time, she knew, but even her own mother had been concerned when Katya refused to renew her passport to visit her husband's grave.

To Hiroya's left was their son. Little Penko, his headstone decorated with the crests of both the Oshiro and Lebedeva families. Katya's grandmother had fought to have their crest engraved there, kicking up more fuss than even the Oshiro patriarch could handle.

Penko Oshiro
"Born without breath, not without love."
19/08/2013

It wasn't the day Penko was born, but rather the day they had to remove him. Katya could still remember the overwhelming pain she'd been in as she'd begged for it all to be a dream, for her one chance to be part of a family to stay for a few minutes longer.

She really didn't want to do this. But, like with all major decisions, there was no point if your conscience wasn't as clear as it could be. If Katya was going to commit to the Holy Grail War, she had to tie up a few loose ends.

"I'm back, Hiroya," she began. She was met with an expected silence, but Katya still felt relief when her husband's memory didn't reply. "Sorry it took so long to come here. Things have been... Well, your father doesn't make it easy."

She could snort at how ridiculous she sounded. "The only reason I'm here is because of the Grail War. You remember how the last one failed—everyone's kind of just on the edge of their seats with this one. Fuyuki doesn't seem to have a very good track record lately. But maybe this time will be different. Who knows?"

Footsteps approached from behind, and Katya cursed inwardly. No one ever came here unless it was necessary, which meant that it was Caster who was about to walk in on her first greeting to Penko since he'd been removed from her without so much as a peep. How rude, she wanted to tell him. But then he would argue with her, and Penko would be forgotten—something Katya could not bear to do to her own child.

Purposefully ignoring Caster, she turned her gaze to Penko's headstone. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did, Penko," she sighed. "It hurts not being able to hold you anymore, but at least you're not alone. Papa will love you and protect you just like I would have. Be good for him, sweetheart."

How drab, came Caster's voice through her mind. Katya startled somewhat, faltering in her movement back from the graves. She hadn't expected him to remain silent in a physical sense—though she would admit that it was an appreciated gesture.

"Hiroya, I'm going to do something horrible tonight." Katya shoved her hands in her pockets as she made her way to Caster's side. Her eyes never left the Oshiro crest. "Not in the name of the War, either. I understand if you'll hate me for it, or if I scorn you enough to warrant a haunting." She laughed under her breath at that. She wished it was that easy to bring him back to her side. "But I needed to tell you. Počivaj v mir, my dears."

She bowed once. Turned to Caster. A pair of crimson eyes observed the headstones with mild interest before he finally deigned to give her his attention, and the only thing Katya could call his expression was bored. Like the visit was beneath him, like he had better things to do than stand around and wait for Katya to finish her visit. Fair enough, she thought. She knew how much of a diva her Servant could be—she might possibly never forget the way he'd boasted his True Name and abilities, how he'd mocked modern Magi within his first breath—and as such she knew what she needed to do to keep him from getting too bored.

Not every Master and Servant team stayed together, after all. It would be pointless to have summoned Caster, only to have him betray her for another more appealing Master.

"Are you done?" he deadpanned at her. Katya nodded and gestured towards the path leading back to the gates, hardly waiting for him to follow suit as she left the graves. His footsteps didn't echo behind her straight away. Instead, the Servant let out a dull chuckle and called after her, "What could possibly be so terrible that you have to warn the dead?"

"Patricide," she said, hardly missing a beat. She did pause, however, once the relationship between herself and Otohiko Oshiro—or lack thereof—was gently pushed to the front of her mind. Calling it patricide would be too generous to the man, and his opinion of Katya. He would most likely be offended if she called it that to his face, too. "Well. Legally."

"Don't bother with a sob story," Caster commanded her. He breezed past her, walking lazily to the gate with his hands in his pockets. "I'd hardly call that heinous enough to warrant a warning."

She smiled to herself. Absentmindedly, Katya's thumb traced the command seals on her other hand; it was a lovely pattern, one she would hate to disrupt by using any of them. From there she moved to turn her wristwatch towards her gaze. It was close to the time she was scheduled to meet the Oshiro family to confirm her Servant. If she and Caster left now, they'd arrive early enough to be deemed barely acceptable.

Not that Caster would let them say it out loud, let alone think it, she thought with an amused hum.

"Regardless," Katya chirped, "I believe it's time to get to work. You like work, don't you?"

It was meant as a jab, and he most certainly knew it. Caster smiled wryly over his shoulder at her, mixing in his own personal brand of venom with the glare that accompanied it. "It's about time."


Momoko

Momo wasn't sure how long she'd been out for, but she definitely knew how deep the shit she was in swallowed her. Her head was killing her, pain exploding from every angle possible in her skull, and her shoulder wasn't faring much better. It felt like it was on fire—like how some people described lacerations and deep gashes. She wasn't dead yet, but she sure as hell felt like her head was going to explode.

Definitely not how she'd expected her night to go.

It was difficult to open her eyes for the moment. The silence surrounding her was ominous and foreboding. Were it not for her current state she'd be listening keenly for signs of danger, try and assess the situation she was in; instead, with tonight's rotten luck, Momo only found herself distracted. Distracted by what had gone wrong with this job, by the faces she'd seen in the brief seconds of consciousness she'd stolen, by the words that had been chanted and seeped into her dreamless sleep.

"Thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos," those voices had said, one so painfully and disgustingly familiar among them. "Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am he who command those chains."

Theories sprang to mind immediately, the biggest one being that she'd just been used in some kind of freaky cult ritual. Momo wouldn't be surprised if that were the case—pissed off, sure, but she'd seen weirder stuff than the occult in Fuyuki. Not that it made her situation any better.

Slowly and with a soft grunt, Momo did her best to force her eyes open. It was dark, beams of moonlight the only thing that allowed Momo to make out the metal skeleton of the construction site she didn't remember coming to on her own. Had the people who jumped her brought her here? Momo shook her head, instead turning her focus to her arms and legs. It didn't matter if they brought her here or not. What mattered was getting out of dodge before someone realised their sick fun hadn't really accomplished anything. One of her shoes was missing, the shoulder of her shirt torn and dirtied with mud. Momo wobbled once, twice, before finally she could stand on her own two feet.

There were a lot of things to take in as she actually took in her surroundings. There was more than just an unfinished building around her; no, something much more concerning was in her line of sight. Momo just stared, jaw dropped and crimson eyes blown wide as she counted the bodies scattered in front of her.

Seven, eight... There had to be more than a dozen there. The floor beneath them glowed red, almost too faint to see at first glance as blood and glass coated it. She didn't recognise any of the faces among the dead, and Momo wasn't sure if she considered that good or bad. She knew someone who'd spoken here, who'd joined the chant—so where was she? And what the ever-loving fuck did she just throw Momo into?

She barely even noticed that one of her shoes was missing, her gaze slowly rising from the bodies gathered around the area. Her attention was solely on the huge mass standing at the centre of it all, towering over the bodies with ease. It couldn't be human, but there was no other way to classify the hulking thing. Clad in old, red armour—foreign-looking enough for Momo to actually do a double take at the figure—and looking down at their work with shaking, bloodied hands.

Momo took a step backwards, hoping to make a silent escape before she was noticed. Maybe they already thought she was dead and didn't bother to check. Maybe she still had a chance to get the hell out and pretend like this night never happened.

But the sharp pain that dug into her bare foot and the softest sound of glass snapping in half brought her heart to a stop. Her breath held painfully in her chest, Momo could only watch as the hulking figure reared its head back up and stared at her over their shoulder. A pair of stark white eyes locked onto her before its entire weight shifted, and then Momo was given just seconds to run away. The armour-clad giant barrelled toward her at a speed she was sure would catch up with her in no time, but Momo still persevered. Glass in her foot be damned, Momo broke into a sprint towards the nearest drop in the construction site's layout and flung herself down the dirt slope.

She tumbled and crashed to the bottom, the giant's footsteps still thundering above her. As soon as Momo was back on her feet she kept on running. There had to be a way out, and once she found it she'd be able to recognise where she was in Fuyuki. She barely spared the monster a glance as she forced her feet to keep moving despite the pain. Her shoulder burned still, her head pounding more and more—this wasn't how she wanted to go out, damn it! There was still so much she wanted to do and things she wanted to say to Pan-Oba. Things she wished she'd said sooner to the bitch that left her behind to die.

Rage flared in Momo's gut. Screw it all. She was going to get away from this thing, no matter what.

She dared a glance back at it once she caught sight of the chain-link fence that surrounded the site. Momo expected the giant to be close behind her, but the fact that it leapt high above her, across beams with almost superhuman precision, made her falter in her sprint somewhat. Momo stumbled out of the site with a squeak, and then it was only a matter of navigating the streets and outsmarting this thing.

Her luck really was abysmal tonight, though.

There must've been a mistake made along the way, a wrong turn that left her disoriented. Momo could've sworn she'd lost the armoured giant, collapsing in an alleyway with heavy, dry wheezes; she'd been granted maybe five minutes of peace, a small window of opportunity to gather her bearings, before the ground behind her rumbled as something landed with a heavy thud. One thunderous footstep. Two. Momo's entire body trembled as she slowly turned around to face him.

She wouldn't admit to anyone, even herself, that the words she uttered in what she believed to be her final moments were a soft cry for her mother. Another movement towards her, agonisingly slow, but it was more than enough to make Momo flinch away and squeeze her eyes shut. Death would be quick at the hands of something as gargantuan as this beast. At least she had that comfort.

The killing blow never came. Momo waited and waited, fully expecting to be erased from this existence by a simple punch from the armoured giant; but there was barely a sound coming from him. It was harder to open her eyes than it had been before—fear was much more powerful than pain, she realised—but once she overcame the terror gripping at her heart she found herself locking gazes with her pursuer. She could actually look at him now, take in his details: His red hair, the way his hands were utterly relaxed by his sides, even the intricate details of his armour. If she focused hard enough on the chest place he wore, she could make out some kind of animal face. Like one of those lion dogs she'd seen propped outside the house of someone she'd robbed a few months back.

Compared to his earlier stance, he looked almost at ease in front of Momo. Calmed, even. Momo wouldn't deny that she felt the same now, finally able to see him without the fear of death lingering in her mind. He just watched her, jaw working as though he were figuring out what to say, while Momo slowly steadied her breathing.

"M—" He choked on his own voice. It was a low rumble, almost like a growl that he was forcing to form words. "Ma—"

Maybe he was trying to say her name, she thought? Maybe the attack on her hadn't involved him, and instead he'd come to save her? Maybe Momo misread the situation?

"Momo," she supplied, hoping he would understand her. The giant cocked his head to the side.

"Mo..." he growled. "M—Mo..."

Maybe her luck wasn't as bad as she'd thought.


Takuya Okami

He heard the giggle of his Servant almost as soon as the summoning had finished. Light and carefree, almost like a middle schooler's. Takuya wondered just who he had managed to summon, hardly expecting such youthful and excited sounds, and shifted on his feet with a small smile.

"I have responded to your summons," his Servant announced. "I am a Rider-class Servant, Queen Me—"

She stopped abruptly. Takuya raised his brows , surprised, as he waited for her to go on. Chiaki cleared her throat behind him softly; she too sounded confused by the sudden pause.

"Hey," Rider slowly. Her chirpy tone was gone, replaced by one of mild annoyance. Ah. She must not have been happy with what she'd been summoned to. "What's with the sash on your face? Don't you want to see what kind of perfect Servant you summoned?" Heels clicked against the hardwood floor. "Oh! Are you afraid you'll be enchanted by the sight of me?"

Takuya huffed out a small laugh. Even as Rider moved closer and closer, most likely aiming to remove the sash over his eyes, he remained still and smiled. "I wouldn't say that's an issue," Takuya joked.

"Okami-sama," Chiaki said softly. "It might be best to sit down for a while."

Yes, sitting sounded nice. Takuya hummed in agreement, turning on his heel and letting his cane feel around him for the nearest chair. If he remembered correctly, it should've been maybe two paces to the right...? The cane knocked the leg of the chair, and Takuya let out a pleased, "Ah. There."

He hadn't realised how much the summoning would drain him until he settled into the chair. Chiaki hovered behind him, the sound of porcelain in her hands, while Rider let out a rather audible huff.

"This is one of those modern jokes, right?" Rider whined. Her heels clicked over to Takuya's other side, and then all of a sudden she was on his lap and planting her hands on either side of his head. Takuya would've choked on his tea, had it been served and ready for him. "You're probably just wearing this as a strange training exercise. Right?"

Rider was lithe, small. Definitely not the kind of heroic spirit he'd expected someone of the Rider class to be, which meant he'd have to be extra careful to make sure she wasn't overwhelmed.

Her thumb hooked under the sash, and Takuya was quick to laugh nervously and reach for Rider's hands. "I assure you," he said, "there's no need to check."

Rider didn't listen. Takuya did his best to make sure his eyes were clamped shut as the sash was pulled away with a harsh yank. Chiaki was loudly protesting Rider's actions, but didn't make much of a movement to stop her when Takuya held up a hand to keep the woman at bay. He would handle this—it wouldn't take long for Rider to be satisfied by the truth, after all. She was just going to have to accept that Takuya would not be "enchanted" by the sight of her.

"Open up those eyes, Master," Rider cooed.

"They're closed?" Takuya joked. He could hear Chiaki groan, exasperated, before resuming pouring his tea.

Fingers clawed at his eyelid, and Takuya sucked in a deep breath. Rider wasn't planning on relenting until she knew for certain he wasn't lying, wasn't she? So Takuya gave in and opened one of his eyes, ignoring the soft plea from Chiaki behind him. It would only be once, he told himself. Rider wouldn't pry too much unless he let her, he told himself. It was just this once.

First Rider let out a gasp. Seconds of silence passed, her hands slowly moving off his face. Then there was the flat, indecipherable, "I see." Rider removed herself from his lap, taking her time as she did so, and then Takuya found the sash pressed into his hands as Rider's heels clicked over to the other side of the table.

"Satisfied?" Takuya asked, and he meant no disdain with the question. It was natural for people to be curious—Servants tended to want to know about their Masters sometimes, right?

"For now." Rider let out a loud sigh. Was she bored? "Whatever, though."

"Okami-sama," Chiaki said. "Your tea."

Right. The tea. Takuya reached out and carefully lifted the cup from its saucer. Before he took a sip, he smiled in the direction he assumed Rider was in and asked, "Would you care for some, Rider? I believe it's oolong."

A giggle. It was much like the first one she let out upon being summoned. "Very well, Master. But afterwards," she added, a playful lilt to her tone, "we're going to have a serious discussion about what you plan to do with me."

This was going to be a regular kind of conversation they'd have. There was no point in thinking otherwise, Takuya figured. He wondered if Chiaki would survive the constant double entendres. He smiled into his cup. Probably not, he thought.

"Of course. It just wouldn't be the same if we didn't give it our all, right?"

Rider did not immediately reply. Takuya lowered his cup, surprised, and added, "Rider?"

"Ah. I was winking just now." She let out a small growl. Takuya couldn't help chuckling to himself over the reaction. She really wasn't used to charming the blind, it seemed. "You, there. Woman."

Chiaki's groan was all too familiar, Takuya being on the receiving end of it with every joke and playful remark he'd made at her. "Yes, Rider?"

"Under no circumstances are you to take my Master from me," Rider declared. "I refuse to let a handsome man escape my grasp again, even for the most foolish of reasons."


Matsuo Ueda

The marks were still there.

It hadn't been long since they'd appeared, though truth be told Matsuo had believed they were a dream. Holding his brother in his arms, promising to take over whatever responsibilities Shiro had held, was most definitely not a dream. But Matsuo had been hoping the burning sensation on his shoulder had just been stress, that the markings he'd seen after so, so many hours filing the right paperwork regarding Shiro's death were just a figment of his exhausted imagination.

Clearly, Matsuo had been too optimistic.

The past few days had been a bit of a blur for Matsuo, but three things were very apparent: The first was that his twin brother, who he had not seen in years since their father had reconnected with them, died in his arms in the alleyway he'd found him in. Despite the sparse conversations (if they even could be called such) and the days Matsuo slowly got used to not seeing Shiro, he felt utterly broken seeing the brother he'd shared so many things with simply fade away right in front of him. As cliché as it sounded, Matsuo felt like part of him had died along with Shiro days ago.

The second thing he was certain of was that whatever had happened to Shiro, his father—and, by proxy, the magic he'd left Matsuo and their mother for—had something to do with it. Sure, he'd come across cases that seemed bizarre and produced more mysteries than they did answers. Plenty of people turned up dead in alleys prior to Shiro. But Matsuo knew what Shiro was involved in. Sort of. The details were never clear, for obvious reasons, but he knew there was bound to be a mage—or maybe even multiple mages—attached to his brother's death. His mother tried to keep them from the Katayama family for a reason, Matsuo told himself after washing Shiro's blood from his hands at the station. This was most likely it.

The third thing Matsuo was aware of, and what scared him most following Shiro's death, was the constant feeling of being watched. In his car, in his office, in his own home—eyes he could not see were on him, and they never left him for a second. Even now, as he shrugged on his best jacket and slicked back his hair with gel, Matsuo felt like he'd been put on a stage for someone's amusement. The endless paranoia and glances over his shoulder were beginning to manifest in his sleep, as well; images of a man in a mask silently stalking his prey, waiting.

The drive to the church left him feeling numb, for the most part. Matsuo may as well have been carrying with him a clear indicator as to why Shiro died, and there was no one he could tell about it without dragging them and himself into the world of mages.

Well, there was one person.

Saizou Katayama was probably going to be attending the funeral. Shiro was his own son, after all, and he'd taken him in to train him. If there was anyone Matsuo truly could confide in with this mystery, it was Saizou. It was just a matter of finding and asking.

Fuyuki Church was a bit of an enigma to Matsuo. He pulled up along the road leading to the large building, eyes glued to the cross mounted atop the church's only spire. He'd heard that ten years ago there had been an incident—an attack of sorts on the priest who tended to the place. There weren't many details, but according to the priest who took over he'd simply retired and left to spend more time with his family. No desire to investigate, no charges to be pressed. It was like they'd pretended the event had never happened.

Matsuo wasn't going to dwell on it today. He had more important things to worry about than the odd happenings within the church and its history. Matsuo locked his car behind him. He fixed his collar, making certain it was all flat, and let out a deep breath. He could really use a smoke right now.

The funeral wasn't big by any means, but there were definitely people he didn't recognise that must've come for Shiro's sake. Matsuo stayed dutifully beside his mother, rubbing Aiko's shoulder gently as she sobbed into her handkerchief. I'm here, his gesture said. As the priest continued his sermon and detailed the accomplishments of Shiro's life, Matsuo and Aiko simply sat in their own little bubble. No matter how much Matsuo focused on his mother, though, he still felt eyes on him.

It felt like an eternity before Shiro was cremated. Matsuo held his breath while the coffin was lowered, and he didn't let it go until he was out the doors of the church and back in society. At least outside he wouldn't be frantically searching for someone watching him from the pews. At least outside he wouldn't feel as caged in. He felt as though something were crawling under the skin of his shoulder, demanding to be let out.

True to his expectations, Matsuo found his father talking with the priest once he walked back into the church. Most of the attendees were leaving, Aiko included, which left him both anxious and confident about voicing his concerns. He'd never really spoken with the man in private before, let alone about something so secretive, and he hadn't expected the first actual conversation he'd have with Saizou to revolve around his own brother's death.

"I'm very sorry about what happened," the priest muttered to Saizou. Saizou simply shook his head, and Matsuo could only grind his teeth together. Didn't Saizou feel bad for the loss of his son?

"It's to be expected. Not everyone is going to survive once it starts."

The priest glanced over Saizou's shoulder—and then he did a double take at the sight of Matsuo. He looked back to Saizou, almost as though begging him to be quiet; it only made Matsuo's curiosity and disappointment grow.

There was no kindness in his voice as he called to his father's back, "Why is my brother dead, Saizou?"

If the mage was surprised, he didn't show it. His posture remained relaxed and his expression barely betrayed his emotions as he looked over his shoulder at Matsuo. For the first time in eight years, Matsuo was face-to-face with his estranged father. Considering the topic at hand, it was... nostalgic, almost.

And as Saizou dismissed the priest, turning to address Matsuo with his full attention, Matsuo finally felt the eyes on him vanish.


Evangeline Ellesmere

The brick walls of the tower were cold and rough. She ran her hand along them as she paced the room, making sure not to cut her finger open on an edge that was particularly sharp. How long had she been in here? Who knew. Had she seen anyone wander past recently? She'd remember something like that, she thought with a sigh.

To be locked away in a tower, awaiting her fated knight to rescue her—it was a dream come true.

Evangeline settled herself at the only window of the tower, leaning forward against her arms and resting her chin atop them. Long blond tresses flew with the breeze that brushed past. The wide sleeves of her gown fluttered alongside her hair, and all Evangeline could do was continue to sigh dreamily out into the landscape. For the dreariness that was her prison, outside was a sight to behold. The dragon—or was it a witch that held her this time?—had left her with enough beauty to keep her hopes up: The shimmering crystal lake to the east, the emerald heights of the forest to the west. The skies were always blue, the clouds always telling stories she'd once read about. It was, despite the context, paradise.

"Evangeline..."

Her gaze moved from the lake to the forest, and then finally to the dirt path that led straight to the tower. Any day now her knight would come galloping down that path, sword at the ready and endless amounts of chivalry to his name. What would he look like, she wondered? He would have to be tall, taller than her at the very least. A handsome face was a must, though not so aged and mature that Evangeline could only see him as a father figure rather than a friend. Not too scarred, but not so untouched that everyone would underestimate him.

Perfectly a knight. Perfectly perfect.

And his horse! He would be only the noblest of knights, able to tame the unicorns so many struggle to even get close to. A unicorn the colour of snow, with a golden saddle adorning its coat. It would charge with its knight in tow, protecting him with the magic from its horn, and no evil would be able to overcome them.

She hadn't noticed the thundering sounds at first, too distracted by the fantasy. But Evangeline recognised the sound immediately after she paid attention again—a horse galloping down the path, most likely about to emerge from the forest. Her knight, she thought with joy in her heart!

Evangeline jumped up to her feet with a grin. It was finally happening! She was finally going to meet her knight! No more waiting, no more dreaming for the day to come!

What if he was a prince? Evangeline had to stop herself from prancing around the small room with a squeal. How amazing would it be if he was a prince?!

"Evangeline..."

Closer and closer. The horse even let out a whinny that echoed through the branches. Evangeline hurriedly fixed her hair, making sure not a strand was out of place, before moving on to check her reflection in her mirror.

Something wet brushed her cheek, and Evangeline let out a squeak. Her hand flew to her face, practically smacking herself with the sheer force of it—

This wasn't the tower. She blinked, still trying to regain her bearings as the sounds of the city filled her ears. This was definitely not a brick tower. This was definitely not a landscape of crystals and emeralds.

"Duchesse, I have returned."

Evangeline looked down at her lap, still bleary from sleep, and was pleasantly surprised to find a small Bengal cat standing upright on her knees. Evangeline blinked once at it—at the small newborn slippers it wore and the hunk of metal tucked under its paws, tightly to its chest—before finally she recognised the feline.

"You're back, Puss," she said, tone welcoming. The cat—well, not quite a cat, but he sure as heck looked like one to her—nodded his head once and hobbled off of her lap. Evangeline stretched her arms out wide, the back of the bench helping to crack her spine and properly wake her up. "Did you lick my face?"

"Oui, Duchesse. Your sleep was very deep."

"Sorry..."

Puss merely shook his head. For a demon he was a very polite, caring creature. Maybe it was because Evangeline had modelled him after the fable, taking a few liberties with how he appeared along the way. He waddled further away, giving Evangeline space to stand up and walk around. The small, pink baby booties had Evangeline gushing after him for a moment, but the whole reason she'd summoned him in the first place soon became apparent to her once he set down the hunk of metal.

"You got it!" she cheered. Puss bowed (well, lowered himself to all-fours to mimic a bow) before licking at one of his paws. From where they were situated, almost all of Fuyuki was visible to them. The lights of buildings, the stars in the sky; all a perfect sight from Evangeline's place by the tower viewers mounted behind the railing. "It wasn't too much trouble, was it?"

"Non, Duchesse. The familiars tried to attack me. Le Maître chat shall not be taken down so easily, however."

Another bow. Evangeline gushed over the feline some more.

"You're the best, Puss," she cooed. "Getting the relic for me and fighting all those familiars—you're a dream come true!"

Puss laughed. He probably saw the irony in the words, though Evangeline failed to even as she asked what was funny. Puss rolled onto his side, forgoing his upright position, and began to paw at his tiny shoes with lazy movements.

"The magus I took it from said some interesting things, Duchesse," Puss went on. "It is apparently the hilt of an ancient sword, found in a cavern in Central Asia. They were so sure it would summon the Saber class, Duchesse!" One little bootie slipped off, the other close behind. "That is the most powerful class, no?"

She gasped, jaw dropping as though it had broken. A Saber! How lucky had she gotten tonight, sending Puss to take the relic from the nearest magus? Evangeline could hardly hide her excitement as she scooped Puss up into her arms and twirled around in circles.

Even without an invitation to formally join the Grail War, Evangeline still had a chance to give it a shot! She had a chance to summon the Grail and make her wish, to finally meet her knightly prince in person at long last. And if her Servant happened to be such a knightly prince...

Puss soon vanished, no longer needed in this realm, and Evangeline was quick to prepare the summoning ritual. Before she completely devoted herself to it, though, she pinched herself hard on the arm. The pain didn't cause her to suddenly awaken in another location, the hilt still in front of her and Puss's small slippers still neatly left beside her bag.

For once, it wasn't just a dream that had gotten away from her.


Bramwell Gascoigne

Archer's constant smoking was going to give Bram a headache. He bounced his leg up and down as he sat on the front-most pew, doing his best not to say anything to the man that inhaled the smoke from his cigar like nothing was wrong with the scene. It was quiet—as expected at this time of night—and Father Iwata was still on the phone to one of the magi selected to be a Master.

"Did I seriously need to come?" Archer groaned. He blew out rings of smoke into the air, lounging beside Bram with little care to his expression. "It's boring. I'd rather be keeping an eye open outside for danger."

"Father Iwata said this was important for you, too," Bram simply sighed. He waved his hand about as some of the smoke wafted in his direction. He couldn't stand the smell of tar and tobacco that came with it. "Unless something better comes along, you're involved in this just as much as I am."

Archer clicked his tongue distastefully.

It didn't take much longer after the brief conversation for Father Iwata to return. He looked more stressed than usual, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a long, exhausted sigh. The middle-aged man sank onto the pew on Bram's other side, and it was only now that Bram noticed the bags under his eyes. Was Iwata already stressed out by all this?

"Everything that could go wrong," Iwata whined, "has."

"Oh?" Archer rudely flicked the ash from his cigar down onto the pew. "How'd it top your expectations, pops?"

"I don't know what I expected, Archer. It just wasn't a little girl with a Berserker that was clearly announced pre-summoning by the Sasaki family, nor was it a report of—" Iwata ran his hands over his face again. "Of a bipedal cat in baby shoes stealing a relic from the home of Suguro Hashimoto."

Archer and Bram seemed to have differing reactions to the strange news. While Bram opted to merely stare at Father Iwata, mouth agape, Archer doubled over and guffawed so loud that it echoed through the large room. Bram was starting to see why Iwata looked so stressed. This wasn't something you expected with every Grail War, after all.

"At least we're down to six for now," Bram muttered. He wasn't sure if he was looking for a positive amidst all this mayhem. If anything, he was probably just reminding Iwata that the Grail War would come to an end soon enough now that one Master had perished.

But Iwata shook his head. He stood back up and fixed his robes, heaving out one last sigh. "Assassin's previous Master passed on his command spells before he died. As of right now that makes five confirmed Masters, yourself included."

They were left with the news that only a Lancer and a Saber were left to be summoned, and the news didn't particularly bode well with Bram. Lancers and Sabers tended to be powerhouses in Grail Wars. It was usually by sheer luck if an Archer or any of the Cavalry classes could hold their own against a Lancer or Saber. Bram stroked his chin as Iwata bade them farewell. He knew Archer had already dematerialised before they'd even gone out the doors, switching to his spiritual form without so much as a word to Bram; that was how the relationship seemed to be so far, Archer doing whatever he wanted without a peep towards his Master—and Bram, of course, simply let him be unless it was important. He reminded himself that he didn't need to worry as much as he was, that things weren't going to be as dire as Father Iwata made them out to be.

He couldn't help the small huff of laughter that escaped him as he left the church grounds. Bram buttoned up his coat, the cold nipping at his skin, as he muttered, "A bipedal cat in baby shoes."

It is an interesting era I have been summoned to, Archer mused. Bram was sure he'd left to scout the area ahead of them, though there was the suspicion that Archer simply wanted to have some alone time at the highest vantage points in the city. A cat walking around in little shoes... Reminds me of the Cat Sìths back home.

It could've been a familiar, Bram informed Archer. He received a mental hum of affirmation in return. We may have to keep an eye open for it, just in case it brought the relic to its master.

Obviously. If they summon the Saber then we're better off observing from afar, too.

Bram coughed into his hand, stifling another chuckle. You just wanna avoid fighting.

Sue me, Archer growled.

The two didn't speak much afterwards. Archer kept to himself, perched Lord knew where in Fuyuki, while Bram strolled through the somewhat active streets with his hands in his pockets. Different restaurants were opening, small businesses were closing; the various smells and sounds of activity made Bram wonder what he was going to do with his own dinner, more so what he would even have in the first place. He wouldn't deny the sounds his stomach was making right now—he just didn't know what to quell his hunger with tonight.

Bram peeked through the windows of different restaurants as he passed them, until his purposeful walk turned into a slow dawdle. There were quite a few things he wouldn't mind trying. There were also a few things he'd had before that he wouldn't mind having again. Anything sounded good right now.

He paused at one sign, reading it aloud to himself. "'Free mochi ice cream with each serving of—' Whoa. Bargain."

Master.

Bram startled. He tripped over his own feet in an attempt to see who had called for him, but Archer's snickering soon reminded him just who would use such a term towards Bram.

What's up, Archer? He ran a hand through his hair and continued on his walk. Anything I should be careful with?

No, no. Your constant thoughts of food are making me hungry, so I thought I'd subtly let you know that the supermarket two blocks to your east is having a sale on some of the stuff you used for lunch yesterday.

Bram rolled his eyes. Right. Subtle.

A few seconds of silence passed them by, until finally Archer grew impatient and pressed on, Well?

Fine, I'll make us the mac and cheese again, he relented. Bram pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and began to sift through the bills inside. Archer seemed to love mac and cheese, and if he bought enough to make leftovers he'd probably be able to save money on food tomorrow. He headed east, towards the supermarket Archer described to him, and was met with blissful silence as he sifted through the prices of each item on each shelf.


Casval Faust

Alright, it was about time to perform the summoning.

He'd been preparing the whole day to go through with it, finishing up small pieces of research to the best of his ability as he did so. There needed to be adequate space in the room—both for the Servant he was to summon and the summoning circle he'd drawn out on the floor—and Casval was more than content with the amount he'd sectioned off for the task. He took his place before the summoning circle, steadying himself with a deep inhale, and held out his hand as he began.

"The Four Prime Factors, the Five Prime Elements, the Six True Magics." He could sense the slightest change in atmosphere—the Grail detected his attempt to summon a Servant. "Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken. From the factors that make the universe, Gravity gives way to Space, Space gives way to Time, Time gives way to Heat, and from all Four in union of the universe is created.

"Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken." Casval could feel the air shifting around him as the summoning circle began to glow. A deep, dark purple colour filled his study, loose sheets of paper threatening to flutter away. "From the Five Prime Elements, from Fire all life is born into the universe and to Fire it returns. From the Water we are given life and to the Water our lives are sent back. From the Earth our bodies are shaped and moulded and to the Earth our bodies are given back. From Air we are given our first breaths and to the Air we give our last gasps. From the Ether our magic is gifted upon us, and to the Void our magic returns when we perish.

"Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken," he went on. "With all these ingredients and all these powers surely the path to enlightenment may be reached, and thus we can reach the Gods and control the Six True Magics."

His vision was overcome by the glow. Casval shielded his eyes with his free hand as the burn of command spells were etched onto his outstretched one. The paperwork on his desk finally lost its position, and soon Casval was bombarded by sheets of loose paper that swirled around the room and battered his face. He could just barely make out the form of his Servant—the glow of a red weapon—before he found himself stumbling back out of harm's way.

She must've been a Lancer, he thought as he rolled along the floor in an attempt to avoid her spear. It scraped against the hardwood floor, leaving a long scar in its wake.

Casval vaulted over his desk, grabbing for his lab coat and holding it like a matador would a cape. Lancer looked him up and down once, striking red eyes sizing him up; beats of silence passed them by as the air around them settled. Casval never broke eye contact with Lancer as the two stood their grounds.

She lunged again, and this time he was ready for her. Casval reinforced his lab coat, forcing the spear to slide along its surface as he charged forward. He needed to push for an opening, force Lancer to move back even by a step. She let out a hum—thoughtful, interested—as she allowed him to create the opening. Casval darted past her, his objective turning to the corpse that had yet to be dissected across the room; he could feel her looming over him from behind, readying for an attack that would surely kill him if he wasn't quick enough.

He looked over his shoulder just in time to see her rear her arm back, spear balanced lightly in her palm. Casval readied the coat again. He crashed onto the operating table with his lower back—the spark of pain was a terrible distraction—as the spear was launched at full speed towards him. The force of the impact against his coat was enough to tear it apart, and Casval just barely managed to duck his head before the spear whizzed past and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

Lancer wasn't done yet, though. Seemingly out of nowhere she produced a second spear—crimson, like her eyes and other weapon—and darted for Casval. With nothing to shield himself on-hand, he was a sitting duck.

Casval rolled over the operating table, grasping tightly onto the corpse's shoulders as he tumbled to the floor on the other side, and for a moment all he could see was a pair of glowing red eyes. Lancer landed atop the corpse, spear pierced clean through the torso and mere millimetres away from Casval's own. She only needed to push a little further, to wear out the limited physical strength Casval had, and he'd be bleeding out on the floor of his study.

His arms began to ache with the weight of both Lancer and the corpse in his grasp. Lancer blinked at him once, gave him a knowing smile, and said, "I see."

And then half of the weight was gone. The spear was pulled from the corpse, and Casval was free to drop it with an exhausted exhale. If he hadn't just summoned Lancer he'd be fine, but with the added fatigue from the ritual Casval only felt run-down and ready to call it a day.

"What is your name, magus?" Lancer demanded. Her spear faded away, and Casval had no doubt the one in his wall had done the same.

"Casval..." he panted. "Casval Faust..."

"Casval Faust," Lancer said. She stared down at him with a blank expression. "I have been called to your side from the Land of Shadows by the Grail as a Lancer-class Servant. My True Name is Scáthach."

She reached out a hand towards him. It was both a peace offering and help, though her expression didn't change much with the gesture. "I have decided you are worthy of being my Master, Casval Faust. Do not make me regret such a conclusion."

He weighed his options, his responses, for a few seconds. Lancer must have been testing him with her attacks, though he wasn't sure just what for right now. Was she interested in a strong Master? Was she the kind of Servant who did not like being summoned without a good reason other than the Grail War? Casval looked back up at Lancer's face once before finally he took her hand. Lancer pulled him to his feet with little effort, and he soon discovered just how much taller than her he was. At least now he knew she was strong despite her size.

"Your reluctance to use a command spell to stop me is admirable, but a foolish decision," Lancer went on. "Had you not been in this particular room, you may not have been as lucky."

He turned his attention down to his hand, where three seals were scrawled onto his skin in red. Casval could immediately recognise two of the shapes the seals formed—an Ouroboros, which sat at the top of the seals, and a pair of wings just beneath it. He couldn't help admiring the design, though he did not ignore Lancer's question as he did so.

"Command spells are precious," Casval said, though he may as well have been stating the obvious. "I would much rather save them for a more opportune moment than this. Besides," he added, this time casting a glance down at the corpse by their feet, "I had to open him up sooner or later."