The knight clad in blue and white stumbled into the Municipal Hall. Her armor, once immaculate, was shattered here and there. Soot and blood, or a fair approximation there of from herself and her opponents, covered her face and hands.

Still, her nobility shone despite the dirt that covered her mortal form. Her far too pale and far too mortal form.

Shone as brilliant as the sword that she held in one hand loosely. A singular sword that spoke of who and what she was; the bearer of the crystallized prayers of humanity, the sword of promised victory.

She didn't stride into the building as a conquering knight would.

But as a wounded warrior would, cautious and prepared. Pain wracking her body. Consciousness was a state that was likely to be lost. Soon. But still...

She had been brought here by the smoke signal. Ambushed by the one thing she could not, would not have expected.

Ahh... the Knight of the Lake.

His death. That resolution.

Upon his death, she had vowed once more to make her recompense.

To win that victory for her homeland. Albion of old, as the men of today called it.

To her, it was always home.

And for them, she would win. She would obtain the grail and with it...

Ah... Saber sighed as she stepped forwards. Ever forwards into building. Walked into the flames that burned away at her form, pain her constant companion now.

Still, she walked on further into the hell that the Municipal Hall had become.

An eternity later, Saber stood at the entrance to the empty music hall. The doors had been pushed open inwards, in the distance could be heard the single echoing shot of Kiritsugu's weapon.

The golden chalice hung in midair, encircled by flames. A golden radiance shone around it, granting the gold vessel an aura of holiness that caught one's eyes.

This. For this she had struggled.

For this, Irisviel had died, with Saber unable to protect her despite her vows.

Witness her friend, fallen into madness for the love that he had shared with her queen. The torment she could not end, could not resolve.

As had her realm fallen. Failure upon failure.

If as a king, she could not connect with her closest of friends and companions, how could she understand the condition of those she ruled?

Cruel. Heartless. They had labeled Saber such in her existence.

A distance that she couldn't bridge. For she had to be the perfect king for her people, thus she had to rise above them all. Her home country. Nothing else would suffice for that which she had loved with all her heart.

That which she had sacrificed everything for; the life of one of Uther's daughters.

The life of an ordinary human.

The existence where she could connect with another person, truly.

To be a king was to suffer. To have an existence filled with nothing but regrets. No matter what the Golden King who had played at Archer, or Iskander the King of Conquerors had said.

An existence of regret.

But one that could be... would be corrected soon.

And so, she would fulfill that oath laid upon her by Irisviel as they exchanged vows beneath the falling snow as immaculate whiteness shrouded the city around them.

"Saber, you must get the Grail. For you, and your Master"

That promise. That was all that kept Saber moving.

To gain the grail.

For Kiritsugu.

For herself.

For her beloved homeland long lost to time, concealed by the mists of yesteryear and buried within history books.

For those who dwelt in it.

For those who suffered from her rule.

For her friends.

For Lancelot.

For Guinevere.

For those two who upheld the same ideals as she had, but fallen and yet forgiven.

Yes, for them.

And so, she stepped forward. Step by step. Pain filling her body, slowing her down. But never dulling that purpose within her frame.

And the world revolved around that single reason.

The grail was descending before her, and as it did, she could see its aura flaring brighter as yet more servants fell in the distance.

Of the three kings who drank together that night, there stood but one now.

The one filled with regrets.

The one filled with arrogance and the notion of discarding her crown and mantle heavy upon her head and shoulders.

The one who desired.

The one who burned with the hope of a better yesterday.

The one whose pain served to narrow her world down to herself, the golden and most holy chalice that she stepped towards.

Kiritsugu's presence wasn't acknowledged beyond a look of relief when she saw him walking next to her.

Their respective injuries had slowed Saber down to something that a mortal could match.

Especially a human who happened to know magecraft.

"Kiritsugu. So... you made it too."

The not quite nod and silence suited the assassin who was her master, who was Irisviel's husband.

Together, they walked towards the remains of the homunculus whose organs had unfolded and transformed back into the golden material of the Holy Grail, into which were poured the prana of the Fallen Servants, the defeated Heroic Spirits.

Kings, far too brilliant for the world they had been summoned into.

Knights and warriors, most valiant.

Magus and assassins, most insane and loyal.

Standing before the grail and supported by her master, Saber dared to hope.

Allowed herself the slender sliver of a possibility that there would be a happily ever after for her.

But for such a thing to occur.

The grail... could only grant a single wish.

Even as Kiritsugu lifted his right hand to gaze at his command seals, or perhaps to show their presence before using them, Arthuria had already discarded the last of her honor, the remnants of her pride as a knight.

A spin and a loose swing with Excalibur, the sword of promised victory. A splatter of blood and viscera as her armored skirt flared outwards with her movement.

A tactic that she had been renown for in the wars she fought; for the greater good, she would sacrifice.

One village for the sake of ten villages.

A hundred men for the sake of ten thousand men.

The reputation of the heartless king, unknown to time. Nor known to humanity. That was what King Arthuria had been called by those of her era.

"I... I'm sorry Kiritsugu. But Avalon will keep you alive... and heal you in time," she smiled sadly down at her master, his body evenly bisected. Crimson blood splattered from the empty hollow where his guts and lungs had spilled out from.

Without air, one couldn't speak.

Without words, one couldn't command.

And without commands, a master's command seals were useless.

A single enough equation.

Once more, Saber looked at the descending chalice. The embodiment of an unspeakable magecraft given physical form.

"I am sorry, Irisviel.
This is the only way.
The only path.
For even a wretch such as I to make restitution to my people.
To my kingdom.
I would trample upon my pride for this."

Tears filled her eyes as she apologized to the golden vessel that had once being a woman she had grown close to. Had been friends with, for far too brief a period.

Swallowing once more, Saber donned the mantle of rulership in her mind and heart before speaking to the Holy Grail. For this was no longer her friend, this was a mystic engine fueled by prana to grant wishes.

"Now, Mighty Grail, you have supped deeply upon the hopes, dreams, ambitions and wishes of man and heroic spirits alike.
And drunk even deeper upon the despair and curses of those fallen on the path that led to you.
Thus, I call upon you. Tis time for you to pay for your fine meal."

She paused and swallowed, closing her eyes, as she verbalized the conceptualization of her wish. The one true desire that she had been drawn to this time for. The one thing she had contracted with the world for.

A chance to make amends.

And now, that chance was hers. The moment lay in her hands.

"Great and Holy Grail, hear my wish!
I am not a worthy king fit for my kingdom.
I wish that there had been another.
A better ruler than I to guard and guide my kingdom.
Thus do I wish.
Thus do I command."

With that, Saber who once was known as King Arthur Pendragon, and before that, simply Arthuria grasped the holy chalice and let the prana within the vessel absorb her words and her body.

The pain vanished as her body burned away, becoming nothing more than motes of light that drifted upwards, and her existence becoming naught more than a dream.

"I... I am sorry, Irisviel... Illyasviel. Kiritsugu.
But this is the only way.
I have no more regrets."

In the winter pre-dawn of Fuyuki city, a black sun arose from the Municipal Hall.

Puella Magi Schuetze Aurulent

Part 3 : Like books and paper, history burns easily in fire...

"I wish to possess the power to be a queen.
I, Morganna Pendragon, desire to become a great queen.
To possess the power and ability to become the greatest witch-queen known to man.
This is my desire. My hope.
Now, make my wish manifest, oh lord of the fairy, Kyuubey!"

Wishes are, in the end, nothing more than words.
Words shaped by hope.
Desires.
Dreams.
Needs.
Despair.
But, some times, wishes can come true.
Even if their results are unforeseen.

All hail Morganna Pendragon, Eternal Witch-Queen of Britannia.