Disclaimer: I own nothing in the story below.

Okay, for all those reviews in the past few days: thanks, guys. I'm still relatively new to this entire business, and I must admit that formatting and spellchecking are not my strong suits. I figured that the pagebreak didn't work because I was too used to a different way of page breaking. In any case, the review system on this website is great- I get to see exactly where I've gone wrong, and it's quite helpful (though frankly I'd rather find a beta, but it seems I don't have one in reach just yet.)

Serfius: I see your pain. I was wincing myself when I read through it without the page breaks. If I figure out how to do it when I publish the stories again, that'll be great!

Gettheidea: That's mostly my fault, actually. I thought it was quite unnecessary to describe how they met, given that it'd take a big chunk out of the action (at that time). I'll see if I can find a place to retcon it, but as of now, I'm keeping it the way it is until I can find a way to write it in.

Guest: Hmm. I'd like to agree with you that Shirou is underpowered here, but I think you're missing something- this is Unlimited Saber Works Shirou from the Fate route, and you haven't quite seen everything he can do just yet. He might seem underpowered because he isn't pulling any of his aces just yet, but you'll get to see the tip of the iceberg in this chapter- I promise!

AVP: I think I know what you mean. This chapter started off as a bit of fun writing on my part, and I didn't think it through too clearly. There are quite a few places where I could space out the action, make for more meaningful dialogue, and better scale Shirou's character development.

On Soaring Wings: I can't see Shirou doing that, actually. Given how dense he can be outside a serious situation, especially if it's about a person that he isn't close to yet, I think he'd more likely fail to react to it before Lucy kicked Natsu Dragneel in the face- but I've thrown in a little tidbit for that, too, so I hope it satisfies you.

A little background to this character. Because things didn't quite go as planned in the Kemu Zaleon arc, the timeline has changed. The team gets stuck in the Wind Prison for much longer than intended. As to what that has to do with anything, well... happy reading!

To everyone who liked/didn't like this fic up to this point, here's the next installment. I hope you enjoy it! XD

WHAM!

Natsu's burning fist slammed down. Durandal shook, and Shirou's reinforced arms nearly buckled under his powerful blow. Shirou held his breath and shoved the fire wizard off; Roland's unbreakable sword swung around and nearly took the young Dragneel's head off. The pink-haired wizard skidded away and stared at Shirou, panting ever so slightly. It took all of Shirou's effort to fight back a scowl- fights in Fiore seemed to go far slower than they did in the holy grail war.

"What's the matter, Natsu? By simply standing there you give Fire wizards a bad name." Shirou lifted the Unbreakable Blade to chest level. "If you won't come to me, I'll go to you instead."

Natsu snorted, a breath of fire bursting from his nostrils. "Don't get cocky! I'm going to kick your butt!" He charged forth with both fists blazing, ready to kick his fellow Fairy Tail member into oblivion-

WHAP!

-only for Durandal to smash him in the face.

The poor fire wizard fell to the ground, utterly spent.

"Shirou three, Natsu zero!" Happy chirped and chomped down on his fish. Shirou shook his head and looked down at Natsu- he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he'd overestimated Natsu's suitability for him. It wasn't to say that the Fire Wizard was weak, but Shirou always found him too slow- where Lancer or Saber would've knocked him off his feet, Natsu simply prepared a second attack and gave the young tracer ample time to strike him down.

The fire wizard could handle fights beyond Shirou's ability. He'd seen Natsu overwhelm Bora's flame columns head on, and he admitted that Natsu's perserverance was definitely worth admiring. No, the problem was simply that Natsu wasn't the right type of enemy for him. If he wanted to get better, he had to fight an enemy that could do everything that he could- or more. Somebody like Saber or Lancer, or even a Spirit…

An idea popped into Shirou's head. Even if Natsu couldn't help him here, maybe their mutual teammate could.

"So just what do you think you're doing here?"

Lucy's fingers danced impatiently across the table and her tired eyes bored into the two trespassers. The two idiots before her had just broken in in the most unceremonious way, so just what was she doing, entertaining them with tea... and biscuits?

"Hey, don't sweat it! We're just having a little housewarming!" Natsu flashed her an idiotic grin. It took almost all of Lucy's willpower not to stand up and kick them clean out of the house.

The reason she didn't? Lucy glanced to her right and felt an uncomfortable leap in her heart.

"I'm sure they don't mean any harm." Shirou offered a gentle smile. "Even though it was wrong of them to do it."

Natsu and Lucy grinned sheepishly, and Lucy found a smile tugging at her lips. "They could certainly use some babysitting," she offered.

If the young tracer heard her, he gave no sign. Those intense orange eyes of his continued to bore into the teacup before him with an intensity that made her wince.

Shirou kept mostly to himself, Lucy knew, but right now he looked so tense that Lucy felt as if a single word from her would snap him. She didn't know what exactly to think of him- no matter how she looked at it, the boy just felt strange. Emiya Shirou looked like a normal wizard teenager, what with that intense look in his eyes and that confident gait in his step. He talked, he laughed, and he did his magic, just like any other wizard out there. He was even uncommonly kind, helping her out with that Celestial Key at that Hargeon shop and collecting housing requests for her when she'd been looking for a house.

But those orange eyes of his would never stay on her.

He would say something sweet and give her a reassuring glance or two, but the very moment their eyes met, his would dance almost immediately to some faraway target. He would look at something else with that faraway gaze and forget that a very attentive blonde was right next to him, just like what he was doing now.

It drove Lucy crazy, not knowing what she'd done to him to deserve... this. Did she say something that offended him? Had she bullied the young wizard when he was a kid? The second-guessing made her want to scream, but she couldn't say a thing or she feared he'd blow up.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked tentatively. The red-headed teenager shook his head no, and continued stirring his tea as if she'd never spoken in the first place. It took him a while to notice her discomfort, and even then he only murmured, "don't worry, Lucy, it's nothing."

And it seemed that Happy had noticed, too, because where he'd usually crack a really stupid joke that made her want to punch him, he remained utterly silent.

In the end, it was Natsu who saved them. "Cheer up," he offered. "It's only the start of the day, and all of you are glum already?"

"It's only the start of my tenancy and you've broken and entered," Lucy spat, a tick bulging on her forehead. The tick burst when she realized that Natsu had completely ignored her.

"I've got just the thing!" he declared. "Let's do a quest!"

The change in Shirou, Lucy swore, was a miracle.

"A quest... a quest! That's it!" Shirou slammed his fist on the table. Lucy hurried to rescue his teacup before it could fall off. "Thank you, Natsu," he continued, gratitude bursting from his face. "You're a real life saver!"

Thank the heavens, Lucy thought. "Well, I suppose I could come too," she said offhandedly. "You do have to pay me for trespassing, and this is as good a payment as any." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm taking a bigger cut."

A brief shadow passed over Shirou's expression, but it was gone before Lucy could be sure of it. "I'll come too, and you won't need to pay me," he offered eagerly. Happy punched the air, and Natsu wrapped his arms around all of them. "That's the spirit!" he declared. "Let's go get ourselves a quest!"

"Hmm… a quest, huh." Shirou pondered over the quest board before him.

Several notices and jobs plastered the tiny noticeboard, from treasure hunts to retrieval requests and calls for help. The jobs varied greatly. While some jobs only required the mage to save a cat from a tall tree, others demanded that he/she defeat twenty to thirty vulcans, or even slay a giant dragon. The price for each job also differed- some offered a paltry ten thousand jewels, but for others the price easily went up to hundreds of thousands.

Shirou found himself looking for quests where he could help people in trouble. As he looked through each of them, though, he couldn't help shaking the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he'd bitten off more than he could chew. After all, he could only handle a single Vulcan in a two-to-one fight.

His eyes caught a notice he hadn't seen before on the corner of the board, but before he could read it, Natsu had torn it clean off.

"Two Hundred Jewels for destroying a book?" Natsu stared greedily at the notice in his hands. "So we'll just burn a book from the Duke of Evaroo and we get Two Hundred Thousand Jewels? Man! We're so going for this job."

Great. That sounded like a job that he, Emiya Shirou, could handle.

He wrapped an arm around Shirou and Lucy. "Let's go! The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we'll get those jewels-"

"*AHEM!*"

Shirou turned-and his jaw dropped. Old man Makarov in his orange suit and funny hat sat on the bar before him, his gaze stern as ever. "I'm sorry, Natsu, but I think I'll be borrowing Shirou for some time." The old man jumped down from his bar and walked straight up to the young tracer.

"But we only just met!" Natsu pouted. "I mean, I haven't even brought him on a quest yet!"

A stern look from the short old man shut him up. "Shirou, come with me," he urged, and turned toward the inner room. Shirou followed him. Just what could the Guildmaster have in store- just what was so important that he had to pull Shirou off a quest for it?

"So, Shirou." The guildmaster set down his cup and stared into Emiya's eyes in his own intense gaze. "What do you think of my guild?"

Shirou gulped and sat up. His eyes flickered as he idly moved his stirring teaspoon. "I think it's great," he said, finally. "Everyone here seems to have their own drives, their own dreams and wishes." He took a sip from his cup. "Even if Fairy Tail mages are a bit rowdy, they certainly protect their own when they need to. It's the one place that makes me feel at ease," he finished with a tentative smile.

"That's all?"

Makarov crossed his arms. "Shirou, you're not a good liar."

Shirou looked away. "I'm sorry, I guess," he said at length. "I've had a lot on our mind lately." His thoughts drifted to the past few days. His life here had been completely wrecked when he realized that he'd probably never see Saber again, not until his death- and that it was his fault.

Emiya Shirou had never been a fighter. He knew this. Why, then... why did he go head to head against a force he couldn't fight? He wasn't being a hero. He was a coward, a coward who refused to face the fact that he was too weak to be one.

And it'd cost him his most precious friend.

"I've always wanted to be a hero."

Why was he saying this? Makarov didn't need to know that Emiya Shirou wanted to be a hero. He didn't need to know about Emiya Shirou's dream to be one. Heck, it was embarrassing for him to walk around and tell everyone casually about his naive childhood dream. But something in Makarov's serious eyes, as he looked at him, made Shirou want to believe in him. He wanted to believe that Makarov would understand what he meant. He wanted Makarov to know who he was, and why he wasn't exactly... happy.

"I wasn't strong enough."

Thee old man cracked opened an eye at him. "What makes you think that?"

"I was never able to save anyone," Shirou began. "I thought I could, I even staked my life on it- and in the end, I only harmed the one person who was important to me." His thoughts drifted back to Saber, and he laughed, a cold, self-deprecating laugh. "I couldn't even fight a Vulcan on my own. How could I be a hero?"

Makarov's gaze intensified.

"I think you're selling yourself short, my young hero."

Shirou looked askance at him.

"Me? Young hero?" Shirou shook his head. It was ridiculous. How could an eighteen-year-old with literally no specialized skills be a hero? "That's funny," he managed. "I could never be one."

"Emiya Shirou."

The old man leaned forward. "I don't know your past, and I won't ask you about it. But believe me when I say that there's more to a hero than just mere strength alone." He crossed his arms, obviously dissatisfied. "I won't tell you the answer," he decided. "Not because there's no answer to your problem, but because it won't mean anything to you unless you work for it, and understand it on your own. But I can do something for you."

Shirou looked up. For a moment, hope crossed his eyes, but they were swiftly overtaken by his heavy air of cynicism.

"I'm going to an event soon," Makarov revealed. "I think you'll learn a lot from it. Why don't you come with me?"

Shirou looked up uncertainly at the friendly grin on the old man, then at his hand. His mind still lingered in the shadow of Saber's absence; there was nothing, he knew, that could make Emiya Shirou forget his feelings for the King of Knights. But he didn't want to disappoint the affable Guildmaster by turning him down. No, more than anything, Shirou didn't just want to make Makarov happy.

He wanted to be as happy as Makarov was.

"Alright." Shirou broke into a smile. "Where are we headed?"

-Clover Town, Guildmaster Meeting-

"WOAH!"

Emiya Shirou could feel a tear running down his face as he eyed the giant strawberry pie before him. Sure, Makarov had told him about good food, but this pie was just unbelievable! Golden brown custard glittered upon its immaculate marbled surface, and the little slice he got literally bubbled with melting strawberry jelly, the delectably sweet sauce dripping tantalizingly onto his plate, suffusing his palate with just the slightest fragrance of the sweet fruit…

... an esoteric flavour bomb that exploded forth as the sauce flooded his mouth with rich, fruity goodness.

Oh, boy, if only he could make this! Pastry after mouth-watering pastry floated by in Shirou's head. He just needed to add a little less butter, a bit more sugar... the possibilities were endless!

Shirou could feel his blood pumping. His eyes snapped wildly around, looking for waitresses, cooks, anything, but there wasn't a single one in sight. The poor tracer glanced left and right, shoved wizards aside and even looked out of the door. Man, just where was he? he could feel the sweat beads slowly trickling down the forehead.

There was only one night left, the clock was ticking, and Makarov was nowhere to be found. But no, he had to do something- he couldn't just let such a golden chance to cook slip away like this!

"Man, where's that old man?" he wondered aloud. "Come to think of it, I did see him a while ago..."

Ah, yes! Shirou realized with an ecstatic grin. He'd seen Makarov just a while back, dunking one mug after another with a blonde man in a wizard hat- a certain Goldmine, if he remembered correctly. Wait, wasn't he standing right there?

"Goldmine!" Shirou rushed forward. "Have you seen-"

A pudgy hand appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, Shirou found his vision filled with skin. Specifically, sickeningly white, flabby skin, powdered off with makeup and a scent of nauseating perfume that flushed his newfound appetite down the drain.

"Hey, young man, aren't you pretty?" the owner said in a sultry voice(or tried to), and Shirou nearly lost his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Emiya Shirou pleaded. "Now really isn't the time! I need to find old man Makarov-"

"Oh?"

The face of a make-up Buddha popped into view. It took all of Shirou's willpower not to retch.

"So you're one of Makarov's from Fairy Tail, eh?"

Shirou nodded as hard as he could.

"Splendid! I've always wanted one of Fairy Tail's... boys."

The patronizing voice made Shirou want to faint. Thankfully, help came in the form of Quatro Cerberus's guildmaster, Goldmine.

"Ah! Makarov's young apprentice, is it?" Goldmine turned around. "He's out in the woods doing some... research, I think?"

"Research?" Shirou could hear his hopes shattering. "What sort of research?" He shook his head. No, he had to get the recipe, and he had to get it fast! "Thanks, guys, but I really have to go!" He took off as fast as he could, but a hand snapped onto his shoulder and lifted him clean off the floor.

"There's no rush here," Goldmine reassured him. "Come, let's have a talk."

What terrible timing! Shirou's heart slammed away at his chest. Why wouldn't these old Guildmasters just let him go? But each of these old men were powerful, deceptively powerful, and if they didn't want him to go, Shirou knew he wouldn't be able to.

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll stay for a while."

"You youngsters sure are feisty," Goldmine drawled. "But that's youth, right?" He took another whiff off of his cigrattes and flashed a stunning smile. "Free from responsibilities, and free to chase one's own goals. Not quite like the rest of us, stuck in our own worlds and chasing our own goals for a living."

Shirou had to agree. Because Fairy Tail had an abundant armada of budding and freshly matured mages, the atmosphere there was way more boisterous than this guildmaster's meeting. Each Fairy Tail mage was unafraid to paint the guild in their own colours, and together they created a bright, dynamic group.

He glanced around him at the wizards in their robes and wizard hats, chattering civilly among themselves. The civilized air made Fairy Tail look like a zoo. Then again, perhaps it was that wild factor that made Fairy Tail as strong as it was. Because everyone felt strongly about their own goals and motivations, their enthusiasm was contagious, and each of them worked doubly hard toward their passion. Their youthful vigour lent them a momentum that the onset of age had long tarnished.

"I guess it's that youth that keeps Makarov going," he reasoned. He thought briefly of his own stagnant mood, mired in his world of contradictions and regret. It was ironic how old Makarov felt way more alive than he was. "If only I could be as upbeat as him," he said to no one in particular.

"Then maybe I could have saved everyone."

"Ohoho!" the Blue Pegasus guild leader cackled. "It seems we've got a budding hero here!" He tried to drag Shirou into his embrace, but only caught thin air as Shirou leapt over to Goldmine's side.

"You've still got a long way to go, young man," Goldmine consoled him. "Besides, it's not strength that makes a hero, but nobility. People look to a hero to save them not because a hero can do things that other people cannot- but because a hero chooses to do noble things where others would not."

Food for thought, Shirou realized. The words lightened his thoughts, just a bit, but he could definitely feel it. "Thanks, Goldmine-kun," he said slowly. "I think I really needed the talk."

"No problem," Goldmine answered. "If you're looking for Makarov, he's outside the hall, reading a copy of Wizards Weekly."

"Man," the Blue Pegasus guildmaster sulked, as Shirou exited the conference hall. "Makarov's got the eye for pretty boys, doesn't he? If only he'd share some with us."

"Don't bring me into this," Goldmine snarked.

The forest outside the Guild meeting hall felt unusually creepy. Shirou found himself shivering at every gust of wind, and the rustling leaves and bushes jolted his consciousness more than usual. It wasn't just the night, either- through the thickets, Shirou thought he could feel someone's gaze on him, watching his every move.

He glanced around warily and perked his nose. The last time he'd done this, Rider had appeared out of nowhere, her clogging, sweet blood scent flooding his nostrils as she toyed with him with her chained riding daggers, and-strangely-it was only this revolting smell that had saved him from an untimely death at Rider's hands.

He concentrated, tuning out the regular stench of rotting leaves and the calm scent of forest plants. There, Shirou thought, he could make out just the slightest scent of death, of a decay that slowly turned the mightiest works of humans into decaying ash. He shivered slightly. Had this place, perhaps, been a graveyard once? Maybe there were undead ghosts and zombies traversing this land this very instant, or worse still, Dead Apostles. He vaguely wondered if those existed in Fiore. If they did, though, he'd imagine that they were pretty low on the power scale.

His mind snapped to full alert and he found himself seeing one human-shaped shadow in the woods after another. Most of them ended up being strangely shaped trees, but he could never be too careful, could he? He finally caught side of an impish shadow sitting on a sawed tree trunk, reading a book. If he walked just fast enough, perhaps he could scare the imp before the imp could get to him...

With Monoshizao's blueprint loaded in his circuits, Shirou crept through the undergrowth. The impish figure grew, closer and closer, and then Shirou drew forth the five-foot katana and charged in screaming-

"WOAH! don't scare an old man like this!"

It was Makarov. The guildmaster was standing there, shivering, his magazine tucked away under his arm.

Shirou blinked owlishly at the Guildmaster, wondering if he'd made some sort of mistake.

"I'm sorry for jumping you like this." he bowed tentatively. "Though, Guildmaster, what exactly are you doing in the middle of a forest?"

"Eh?"

It was Makarov's turn to act strange. The old man suddenly stood straight, stuffing a strange-looking magazine behind him. "Well, just doing some research on mages," he said with a pointed cough. Shirou tilted his head, confused. Just what sort of research did his Guildmaster need to do on mages, anyway? It sounded really creepy... not like Shirou actually wanted to know.

"I'm flattered, Makarov."

That killer's aura! Shirou turned his back, but before he could see the newcomer, a sudden agony caught him on his side and sent him sprawling into the ground. He struggled to lift his head. The strange decaying scent was stronger now, a veritable stench of death that emanated from this mage. Just his scythe alone spoke volumes about the man's bloodlust and disregard for human life, to say nothing of those ragged robes that coloured his identity as an assassin. Even the skull-headed flute in his free hand looked ominous.

Shirou's Structural Grasp ran through the strange flute. His eyes widened, and he stared at the mage in disbelief.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Erigor of Eisenwald?" Makarov demanded.

" Oh?" The mage flashed an evil grin. "You've got a good eye, Guildmaster of Fairy Tail. I am surprised that you saw your punishment coming." He stared down at the guildmaster with a malice that made even Shirou stir with emotion. "I've brought Lullaby," he continued in a dangerously soft voice. "I'll kill all of you, and make your pathetic legal guilds regret your pathetic mistake in exiling Eisenwald."

And though Shirou wished it were otherwise, he knew, from the bottom of his heart, that what Erigor had just said was true. Sure, the guildmasters had powerful magic, but not one of them could stop him from playing that flute.

And if he did, not one of them could stop the deaths that would come forth.

Shirou grit his teeth. He had to stop Erigor. He couldn't let him kill people just like this!

"Move aside, flea."

Shirou's shoulder exploded in pain again and he crashed back onto the ground. He could see it now, how Erigor was attacking him. There were swords of compressed air surrounding the wind mage, swords that held no substance but wind on them, so that even as fast as he moved Shirou couldn't dodge them. But Erigor himself ignored him, looking only at Makarov with his predatorial glance.

He stared into the sky. It was exactly what he'd expected. The wind mage, Erigor, had never considered him a threat. Just the mildest attack from him incapacitated the young tracer, left him unable to fight.

He would watch, utterly helpless, as Erigor killed everyone. He would rise, again and again, only to be pinned back into the ground by a single blade from the wind mage. What did his efforts matter, anyway? He was never strong enough to save anyone.

Save them.

And yet, his dream would not remain silent. He couldn't let himself die, not without doing anything. He may not strong enough to fight Erigor, but he had to do something. He couldn't just let that upstart wind mage go around killing people as if they were nothing. If he did, then there would have been no point to him having been saved once, no point to his life at all.

"People look to a hero to save them not because a hero can do things that other people cannot- but because a hero chooses to do noble things where others would not."

The words popped again into his mind, and Shirou thought of all the people whom he'd met in Fairy Tail. Sure, each of them knew they weren't the strongest mages in the planet, but none of them let it stop them in pursuing their dreams. Even when he trained with Natsu, the Fire mage, knowing that Emiya Shirou could beat him in a single strike, came after him again and again. It was a determination that seemed absurd, even futile, for the ordinary man- a useless emotion, used to push people to invest useless effort in an impossible endeavour.

And yet, just the determination alone was beautiful. Knowing that each and every one of the Fairy Tail Guild fully intended to achieve their dreams and aspirations, no matter the cost...

He wanted to save everyone, but saving everyone was impossible for someone as powerless as he was. And yet, even knowing that he could not achieve his goal, he still wanted to achieve it.

Was the goal itself not beautiful?

Was it not important?

If not, did it matter that he could not achieve it on his own?

It only mattered that he stood up to achieve it, that he gave everything to its success.

He would save his Guildmaster, Shirou thought. He would save all of these Guildmasters. And if he died in the attempt, he would die knowing that he did everything he could!

So save them.

"That was all there was to it, huh?"

Shirou stood up. The pain continued to eat away at his shoulder, but he stood straight and eyed the dark mage before him.

"Man, I thought that attack would do more damage than this."

"Oh? The flea refuses to stay down?" Erigor chuckled. "Just how stupid are you, little flea? I can kill you with a snap of my finger, and still you rise to defy me!"

"If you can kill me with a snap of a finger, then do it."

Shirou's voice, cold and determined, rang out through the forest. Makarov, who'd tried to pull him back, looked askance at him.

"Let me handle this."

His voice was ragged, torn from the pain of sustaining two wounds near his chest, but Shirou would not meet his glance. He could not step down, not after he'd found his determination back. He could not let Makarov talk him down, not when he had just one enemy and just one job: to win.

"So you're trying to play the hero?" Erigor mocked. "Let's see how heroic you can be with… this." With a second snap of his finger, another twenty blades materialized before him. The young tracer could feel his intense killing intent roaring through each blade as they shot at him, eager to rend him in pieces.

"Trace, ON!"

The blades fired. Monoshizao burst forth from Shirou's hand, rising to meet each blade before him.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The long katana in his hands cut beautifully through the air, and he deflected each wind blade dutifully from their impact course with his body. The nameless swordsman he'd projected was guiding him now, years upon years of sword training moving his arms just right so that even the impossibly thin and unwieldy sword in his hands could block every sword launched at him. But it wasn't enough- even with his reinforced arms he could feel each sword knocking him back, straining the blade in his hands.

CRACK!

The final blade slammed into his guard. Shirou skidded, the ground beneath him fractured. It was too much for his traced weapon, and the five-foot katana broke apart, shattered into a million glittering pieces.

The remains of the last blade slammed into his chest, forcing the air out his lungs.

"I guess that concludes the match," Erigor sneered. "Not like you ever stood a chance."

"I'm not done yet, Assassin."

From his tiny crater, Shirou stood up. One hand clutched his chest, and he was hunched over, but Shirou remained standing.

He may not have the strength to match Erigor, but Shirou knew he'd be damned if he gave up this easily.

Damn if he couldn't save anybody, his body yelled. Damn if he couldn't beat this enemy!

"I think you heard me," Erigor smirked. "I said-"

"Trace, On!"

"-You're DONE!"

Their voices overlapped. A second later, they were swallowed.

A giant sigil appeared before Erigor. The air distorted as a titanic gale swirled forth, tearing up the ground in its wake. It rose to the skies, a titanic zephyr of tornadoes, and its cyclone arm charged for the hapless Shirou-

-only it wasn't Shirou anymore, but an empty-eyed teenager with an arm raised in the air, an arm gripping a sword way too heavy for him. The impossible sword in his hands could only be adequately described with the words "Crude" and "Gigantic". And yet, the teenager stood with the incredible weight raised above his head, his intense orange eyes focused only on his enemy, his minds focused solely on slaying him.

Erigor was a wind mage whose strength lay in his ability to knock people back and harm them with the wind. His lack of a solid attack path made it difficult to block all angles of attack, and so he would pummel his enemy with wind from all sides in hopes of overpowering him. A lean swordsman like Sasaki Kojirou could not withstand his assaults even with his immaculate swordsmanship.

Therein lay his weakness. Erigor was a wind mage, in possession of the omnipresent Wind. However, even the strongest winds were nigh useless before an invulnerable warrior. They could not harm a Berserker whose body had been hardened by godlike strength and unearthly trials alike, whose mind did not falter as he cut through the seemingly unstoppable forces before him.

A berserker whose muscular image now replaced Shirou's own body, even as the titanic tornado arm bore down on him!

WHAM!

The howling wind arm struck with the force of a thousand suns. The terrible winds howled around him, tore at his skin and tried to throw him into its paralyzing grasp. And yet, the furious assault paled before the strongest hero, its fierce challenge a paltry trial compared to the impossible tasks he had once faced.

The circuits burned within Shirou. His illusion of strength would last a mere thirty seconds, a tiny advantage. He had to end this, fast. He searched fervently through the memories of the Hercules, from the rigorous lessons that Chiron had put him through, to the thirteen trials that he had to complete, and his mind crossed over Hercules's experience with the Hydra. He called the incredible memory to his mind, and the technique flowed through his arms like an instinctive reflex, as if he'd used it just yesterday.

He stepped forward. The wind battered at him, but it could no longer hold him back. The sword was lowered behind him, ready for his deadliest strike. He had exactly one chance, and he wasn't going to blow it.

In his mind, a hundred nine sword strikes materialized on Erigor's body, reinforced in his mind with the certainty that he would hit the wind mage, no matter the cost. Erigor could probably fly, so Shirou had to walk within leaping distance, until he was close enough that Hercules's powerful leap could catch him before he could fly. A range of about three steps, close enough for him to strike, too far for Erigor to be suspicious.

"I am the wielder of my sword."

He took his first step. The wind mage raised an eyebrow and looked at him, unimpressed. "Requip and Take-over magic, huh." His smirk grew wider. " No matter, youngster. You can't beat me."

A surge of wind blasted forth from his magic sigil, but it swept harmlessly past Shirou and he took his second step, bracing against it.

"Its steel is my arm, and my light is its heart."

"Still not giving up?"

A cluster of wind swords bombarded him, but each of them clattered uselessly off his Traced body, and not one of them pierced his skin. His mind ran through the attack once more, taking aim at each part of the mage- head, shoulders, chest, waist, diaphragm, thigh, wrist, calves.

"Nine Lives-"

The hydra-slaying memory surged through him once more,reminding him of the speed they needed. Amidst the chaos, Shirou took his third step.

Erigor continued to look at him with his dumb smile. In that moment, Shirou looked up into the his eyes. In those orange orbs of his, Erigor saw his death coming.

"-Severing Hundred Heads!"

"Storm Mail!" Erigor yelled. But he was too late!

With a velocity that could only be described as Godspeed, Shirou burst forth from the ground. The teenager hurtled toward Erigor like a rising star, and the giant blade on his arm swung towards his enemy, a cruel weapon that suffered neither escape nor defiance from its victim!

The first three swings fell within a hair's breadth, Erigor's quick reflexes and swift flight having barely saved him. In dodging them,however, he moved into the path of the fourth. He raised his scythe to block, but the axesword cut clean through the magic weapon with a loud "SNAP!" and kept going. Shirou continued in his motion, and his sword tore laughably easily through nascent wind armour that now guarded Erigor's body, batting him around the air like a badminton player juggling hs shuttlecock. Each swing slammed into the wizard with all the weight of the strongest man on Earth and tossed him straight into the next.

Erigor's limp body slammed onto the ground. Shirou followed soon after, his knees striking the dirt with the force of a comet. He glanced back at Erigor and managed a weak smile.

His arms and legs hurt, burned like someone had poured acid through his circuits; his spine pulsed in agony, as if he'd just created a new circuit, and the rest of his body felt sore like he'd contracted a severe case of muscle cramps. Despite all of that, however, Shirou found himself on cloud nine. He glanced back at the unconscious wielder of Lullaby, and then at the cruel flute which lay utterly harmless at his feet.

He'd done it.

Emiya Shirou had saved everyone. Despite being faced with a magus whose power was head and shoulders above his own, Emiya Shirou had beaten back a homicidal villain and saved everyone. It'd cost him all his concentration and ninety-one blows of the Axe-Sword, but he'd even managed to save Erigor by hitting him only with the flat of its blade. Erigor lay behind him, every inch of his body damaged and bruised, but at least he'd gotten out of all of it alive.

People look to a hero to save them not because a hero can do things that other people cannot- but because a hero chooses to do noble things where others would not.

"Thank you, Gold-mine san."

He knew that without the old man's advice, he could never have found the courage to stand up. Thanks to him, Shirou knew that he would strive forever for that Utopia he'd so admired, even if he knew it was beyond reach. It felt strange to him now, knowing that he'd confront every villain he could even if said villain could put him in the dirt with a snap of his finger, but it put a spring in his step and made him feel less empty.

"Shirou! Are you okay?"

Shirou turned to Makarov. The old man had recovered from his gaping stupor, and he was by Shirou's side now, feeling for wounds and broken bones around his body. "That was really reckless," he muttered. "Even though I'm proud of you, you could have died by Erigor's hand at any moment!"

Shirou shrugged. "I'd gladly do it again, Guildmaster. It's my dream."

Tears flowed from the man's eyes. "I'm relieved, Shirou," he managed. "I'm glad you found your answer." He hugged the young tracer, and Shirou found that he couldn't quite suppress his smile. "Say, that 'Trace, On!' thing you do. Is that Requip magic?"

The alarms went off in Shirou's head. Shit! Why did he have to use otherworldly magic in front of Makarov? A dozen explanations rushed into Emiya Shirou's head and his cheeks grew red. He couldn't exactly tell his Guildmaster that he'd died in another world and found himself in-

-wait. "Requip magic?" Shirou looked confusedly at his master. "Come to think of it, Erigor did mention something like that, didn't he?"

"Wait." Makarov sweat-dropped. "You used Requip magic, and you don't know what it is?" At Shirou's confused look, he sighed and began explaining. "Requip magic is a branch of dimensional magic that warrior mages use. They store weapons and tools in another dimension, and when they fight, they draw forth their weapons from these dimensions to do so." He paced the ground. "You're really fast about that Requip just now- I've only seen one person requip so fast in my life, and I've seen a lot of Requip mages."

"Guess I'm talented, huh?" Now it was Shirou's turn to sweatdrop. He didn't need Makarov to know that he had a girlfriend in another dimension, or that he was still lovesick about the Saber back home.

"I'd love to do that again if it helps you know more about it," he offered at length, "but I don't think I have the energy to do that again- even if I have more mana now than I'm used to." It was true. Projecting Hercules, even if it were the Saber version, had drunk up almost all of his reserves and nearly fried his circuits, but more importantly, he couldn't let Makarov realize that he'd actually been projecting Noble Phantasms- weapons that had their place in a different world than Fiore.

"Pity."

The new voice made Shirou's blood run cold. He turned to the flute behind him and gasped. Lullaby's skull was glowing purple, its strands and roots wrapping themselves thightly around his flute. He reached out for the flute, but Makarov pulled him back.

"It's too late!" he yelled.

Shirou stared at the flute, horrified. The flute was bulging now, its arms and appendages swelling out of a body that very rapidly filled his vision- and then the body was gone, and all he could see were the lakes, tall gigantic Roman pillars of warped wood that supported a titan's body. The monstrous skull head rose above the trees, and its three purple eyes stared down at him, catching the young tracer in its deadly gaze.

"You would have made for a fine battle," it cackled. "No matter. I will feast on your soul once I've found out what makes it tick."

Shirou scowled at the flute. His mind raced as he stared at the evil demon standing before him. Gone now was the familiar sense of self-preservation that roped back his hand; the tiny bit of fear and horror that lingered in his mind made him hesitate for no more than a mere second before it was engulfed by the familiar voice in his mind.

A voice that reminded him of why he'd chosen this path, of the golden sword that fended his death off time and time again, before he discovered a means to seize victory for himself.

Emiya Shirou was not a fighter. As a regular human being, he could probably hold the beast back for about three seconds before its hand flattened him like a pancake. No, Emiya Shirou couldn't handle this monster as an eighteen-year-old adolescent.

But Emiya Shirou was more than an eighteen-year-old adolescent. He slayed demons and stopped catastrophes. He held back the tides of war with his twin blades. One white, one black, those empty blades that held no significance on their own gained a role far beyond their purpose in the hands of that red-cloaked swordsman, who lived for a far greater purpose than his own life alone. The purpose eventually claimed him, his insanity, loss and severe trauma doing what millions of guns and legendary swords could not.

For the few decades that the heroic spirit EMIYA had lived through, his existence burned itself into the retinas and minds of those who worked with him. Even if he never achieved his beautiful dream, his memory lived on in the fabric of the world as the saviour whom mankind needed, but never deserved.

Thank goodness, Emiya thought. That annoying counter guardian, that Archer, had appeared before the one person who needed it most- Emiya Shirou himself. More than that, he'd chosen to specialize in SWORDS, and that had lent him the ability to be a SABER. A Saber that Emiya Shirou could trace!

The two swords entered his mind, fresh as the day he'd seen them stop Gae Bolg in the schoolyard. Twin existences, bound inextricably for an eternity as beautiful blades that could not live without each other. Their experience flooded through his limbs, and Archer's history flooded through his mind. Numerous options presented themselves through him, and Archer's cold, calculative matrix took them each apart.

Archer's most powerful magic, Unlimited Blade Works, was unavailable to him. The magnitude of his dream and his self-perception had long shifted. No longer was he the sword, but the hand behind it, the mind who sought actively a better future for everyone. For that reason, their internal worlds differed, and they could not be reconciled in the mere seconds available to him.

Trace, On!

Kanshou and Bakuya burst into his hands. Shirou tossed them immediately, and the twin blades spun in beautiful arcing paths that converged upon the giant titan. They clattered off the tita's skin, but his reinforced eyes caught sight of the grooves they'd left behind in his body. So the flute monster was destructible, Shirou decided. Even if Kanshou and Bakuya couldn't do the job, it would take only one more rank of power to do so.

"I'm disappointed with you, Shirou." The Titan cackled in his mind-numbing voice. "You're making this battle uninteresting- I think I'll start on the meals." His three eyes converged on the Guild hall before him, and a giant magic sigil materialized above his head.

"So he can use his Death Magic even if he's in Titan form? Crap!"

Shirou's eyes snapped to the guild hall.

The guildmasters and meeting attendees had long filed out of the meeting house. They stood behind him now, staring horrified at the giant monster before him and his terrible magic seal. None of them seemed to have the notion that they made an excellent target for the Death Magic Flute's area attack, or that the Titan was trying to cast it. Just how stupid were they?

"Guildmaster!"he shouted. "Get your mates out of here!" He didn't wait for Makarov's anxious assent. For all he knew, the spell had been cast, and there wouldn't be enough time to get them all away.

It was up to him to save them, and he had to do it quick. But how? His mind rushed through his limited arsenal. He needed something that could stop the flute's death magic, its deadly song, before he could produce it-

-or rather, he just needed to destroy the flute before it could do so. That was it, he realized. His job was actually laughably simple when he realized it. It was a job that Emiya Shirou could do!

Trace, on!

Spirit and technique-

A second pair of falchions materialized in his hands, and he tossed them both at the Titan. The monster laughed them off, but his next blueprint was already loaded, the hammer in his head ready to fire.

-flawless and firm.

"You can't be serious," the flute cackled. "You're still using the same attack? How very stupid of you." He looked amusedly at the defiant mage and paid no attention to the two swords circling behind him.

Our strength rips the mountains.

His hand burst to light. Shirou threw it as hard as it could, and the blade hurtled straight for the chest, ricocheting off the laughing giant's arm. At the same time, Byakuya returned from its arc and struck the gigantic monster in the back.

"AAAAARGGGGGGHHH!" Lullaby cursed, his shrill voice tearing its way through the disraught crowd. He doubled back, his gigantic weight teetering slightly. "I'll get you back for that-"

Our swords split the water.

Byakuya shot toward the Titan. This time, Lullaby paid proper attention. He left one arm to guard against the white falchion behind him while his other arm raised itself to deflect the black sword. But Shirou was already in action, his arms flinging a third pair of blades into the air-

Our names reach the imperial villa.

-blades that tore a terrible groove across the circumference of the giganic flute's chest, even as both of its arms deflected Kanshou and Byakuya from his body!

"Argh! I'll kill you!" The flute was positively angry now, his mouth brightening as he prepared to bring forth the powerful song of death. Shirou leapt, his reinforced legs carrying him well clear of the trees and toward the giant monster's chest. But even if Lullaby was a monster, even if Shirou could only cut miniscule wounds in his body-

The two of us cannot hold the heavens together.

-Lullaby could not block all four swords at once!

Kanshou and Byakuya's jagged, giant blades cut a ragged cross through the flute's hollow body. At the same time, their projected counterparts tore through his shoulder blades. Shirou landed heavily on the other end and stepped back, staring at wounded giant monster.

"That thing's still moving!?"

Against all belief, the monster's spell continued, his arms waving around as he prepared to deliver a scream of death. The magic sigil vanished and an unholy light burst forth from his mouth, only to let out an laughable whimper that quickly died down to nothing. Shirou smirked, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. "It seems I've cut enough holes in the flute," he laughed. "Sorry, but you won't be singing anytime soon."

"Curse you!" the monster raged. "How dare you disrupt my lovely song!" He swung a giant fist towards Shirou, but the archer-lookalike rolled easily away as the fist slammed the ground he'd been crouching in. "Fine!" the flute huffed, turning to the crowd behind him. "If I can't kill you, I'll kill them instead!"

Shit!

Shirou reinforced his legs and dashed between the Titan's own, putting himself squarely before Lullaby's lowered skull. The giant flute opened its glowing mouth-

"RHO AIAS!"

Blazes engulfed his body, and his skin blistered under its heat. An amethyst shield of seven layers burst into existence before him, petals of a beautiful flower that channeled his own unshakeable fortitude through its seven layers and diverted the unbearable heat of Lullaby's cursed flames onto his own, frail body. But Emiya Shirou had been through worse than this. The flames were nothing, not when they barely scarred his soul as deeply as Angra Mainyu's own cursed lava. Even if they made his skin blister, even if they burned through the circuits in his arms, even as his mana burned dangerously low against their terrible fury, his shield would hold!

Behind him, Makarov could only stare. The teenager hadn't seemed like much when he'd entered Fairy Tail, and Makarov only knew that he could do some Take-over and Requip magic. But here he was, pulling forth miracle after miracle with his paltry mana to accomplish the impossible tasks before him.

"I've always wanted to be a hero."

The words echoed through Makarov's head, and he stared at the young teenager's body. He could tell that the shield wasn't fully protecting Shirou's body from the flames, only that he was using his own body to hold its integrity together. Yet, against all belief and logic, the teenager stood strong before the inferno-a weak teenager whose heroism flowered before him like a giant shield, defending the guildmasters behind him with all its might!

Just like a hero in the making.

Just who was this teenager? Makarov found himself asking. Just who was Emiya Shirou?

A hero, his subconscious, much to his own disbelief. Just a while ago, the teenager had seemed-no, felt- like an emotional train wreck, and here he was, already a saviour before the gigantic homicidal flute-demon. His form had changed, too. Platinum, spiky hair now covered his head, and his skin glowed with an unhealthy tan. A red, tattered shroud had appeared behind him, a valiant cape now fluttering in the flames behind the budding hero.

Trace, on.

The hero's hand burst into light. A second sword appeared, an ivory horn saber whose bone plates covered the length of his blade. The teenager brought it behind his back, his other hand holding up the shield against the torrent of flames.

"You're a monster!" the flute was clearly worried now, his arm swinging around for a second haymaker. But shirou would not stop, not while his mana began burning into his life reserves, not while he could slay the monster before him! With a loud war cry, he jumped onto the flute monster's arm, ducking under the demon's futile effort to swipe away his hand. "Don't you dare run on my body!" He yelled.

Shirou ignored him. He jumped, and the twisted sword plunged itself deep into the skulled flute's head.

"CALADBOLG!"

A brilliant flash burst forth. For a brief moment, the forest around Clover town had been painted white. The shockwave hit him like a freight train, and the a giant red ball of fire engulfed the titan's disfigured body. The last thing he saw through his fading vision was the Titan's headless, chestless body, crashing into the forest before him.

Swords.

Before him lay a boundless wasteland of swords. Swords covered the horizons before him, swords that stretched through the endless wasteland. The rust red sky drifted past before him, its thick clouds cracked open by filtered rays of sunlight. He could feel the swords trembling around him now, eagerly awaiting their wielders to draw them forth from the disused ground.

Shirou's eyes passed the sword before him. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the golden crossguard and the blue handle. Once he drew the sword forth, his fate would be decided, and he could never turn back.

But from the very moment he'd first traced Caliburn, Emiya Shirou knew exactly what he'd wanted to do. It was only whether he was brave enough to accept the fate so chosen for him.

"People look to a hero to save them not because a hero can do things that other people cannot- but because a hero chooses to do noble things where others would not."

And even if Shirou were not strong enough to be a hero yet, he would not be afraid to try. His hand closed around the hilt of Caliburn. As the holy sword left the ground, the other swords drew themselves too, hovering in the air above him. A single grass shoot broke through the iron-soiled ground beneath him, and it began to grow.