Just for those who are curious, this chapter is a continuation of the event in the earlier chapter as an alternate ending of the Fate route where Ilya survive and help Shirou to sustain Saber with her prana.

At any rate, do enjoy!

Epilogue (Ilya Side): For those who remain

"…Obon?" Ilya asked during one lazy morning for the Emiya family.

"Yes, Obon. It's a festival to honor the dead." Lazing on the tatami mat was the docile form of Emiya Shirou. His current appearance made it difficult to believe that he was the victor of the most recent Holy Grail War. It was a rare spectacle to see him loitering around at a sluggish pace. Ordinarily, he could either be seen in the dojo, practicing swordsmanship, or in his workshop, practicing magecraft.

"Oh, is it?" Ilya said, lazing at the opposite end of the room. Her physical form had undergone limited changes in the time span of a year, but her demeanor had seen the most drastic transformation. Save for some occasional bout of childishness, Ilya had matured.

The physical limitations and the stigma of her family might not disappear, but, more so than most, the Einzberns knew well enough not to make enemies of the magi who had the tenacity to live through the Grail War. For now, there was peace and they were content with it.

"During the day we'll clean the grave and burn some incense."

"…I wonder if he would like it…" Ilya hesitated for a moment. Her distant gaze trailed up toward the sky.

"Well, you see, there's a belief in Japan that your ancestors will continue to hang around. Let's say like a guardian spirit. We pray for them and they protect us."

"Do you believe it then? Even though we are all magus here?"

"Hard to say, but what does it matter? Real or not, it's still reassuring to think that they're still here." Half crawling, half trudging, Shirou came to take a seat beside her. "Besides, we're just showing that we care enough to still be taking care of them after they're gone."

"Ok then, I'm counting on you to a great job to make both graves squeaky clean without a spot of dust." Ilya's lips curved into a devious grin.

"Mooching off my labor again, I see."

"Don't forget, dear brother. The only reason that you…and she are standing here is because I lent you my prana. I'll freeload off you and your labor for as long as I want."

"…Duly noted."

"You. Are. Still. Indebted," Ilya happily reminded him, stressing every word. It was their usual routine exchange, made every once in a while to her delight.

"I know and for that I still am grateful," Shirou said, with a wry smile on his face. He had neither the wits nor the tongue to counter her teasing with a jab of his own. Blunt honesty was his greatest asset, the kind that worked wonders upon her. "It's a huge debt I'm not sure I can repay, so every day I'm grateful for you. I really am, so once again, thank you, Ilya."

"…You sure know how to say the most embarrassing things, brother." Ilya's devilish teasing expression softened, her gaze turned downward and her cheeks brightened with embarrassment.

"But that doesn't mean you are exempted from your duty and don't you think he would be happier to see his beloved daughter cleaning it up herself?

"I suppose so…" Ilya sulked for a moment. "Fine, I'll do it…"

Shirou smirked. The verbal match ended with his victory.

"Breakfast is ready, head to dining room, you two. It will soon get cold otherwise."

"Oh, thanks, Saber"

"…And, Shirou, I will need your help with the seasoning…"

"Coming…Still, please give me something I can work with. Even I can't turn charcoals into proper human food…"

"H-How rude! That was only an occasional blunder and a teacher should have more confidence in his student…Besides, I did graduate from that chopping board."

"Dear, I'm sad to say that there are still a lot more you have to master-" The increasing hostile intent in the air made Shirou reluctant to continue his teasing. "Well, it's not like we don't have all the time in the world."

Leaving the couple to their banter, Ilya loitered in the yard for a brief moment. Her feet rested before two small mounds of dirt, each marked and adorned by a small protruding pillar. At her insistence, the two small makeshift graves had been erected by the courtesy of her adoptive brother. Her Germanic roots could never quite understand the tradition of the Orients to keep a sculpted piece of wood to remember deceased relatives.

Then again, her preferred tradition involve a block of carved stone, so she couldn't exactly claim any better. Two wilting flower wreaths rested above the earthen mounds. Ilya made a mental note to replace them later that day.

"It's alright. I won't cry anymore…I'm already done crying, after all."

She was grateful to both men that had a memorial made in their honor. The first brought her into this world. The second gave her a second chance to live a full life. Although the time she had spent with each was brief, the love that they bore for her was undeniable. They both deserved no less than a monument, although she knew in her heart that neither of them was one for lavishness.

It seemed strange to her that the bond of a family could be forged in only a few months' time. She often missed the feeling of his hand resting upon the crown of her head. Even now, she woke up in the night groping for the sturdy hand that calmed, soothed, reassured, and was never far beyond her reach.

"You know, it's been such a fun year for me…lots of new things. We just came from camping in the mountain, just only last June. You did say you like summer, so you would have loved it. There were fishes and stars…and campfires and barbeque."

Ilya stooped over. Her wistful hand rested atop the headstone - a smooth-cut block of marble. It was difficult to believe that his spirit could reside within something so cold and lifeless. Cold wind rushed by, carrying along with it the nostalgic scent of autumn. Just only last year, he was still here with her to ward off the cold.

"…Don't worry, I'm already done…crying."

She thought it was unfair; the dead reveled as a hero and the living had to cope with guilt. He came into her life then disappeared like a gust of wind, not even staying long enough to be repaid.

"…Ahh, what am I doing after you told me to smile." Her right hand quickly raised up to flick away the silver droplet before it could roll down her cheek. Somewhere beneath the unfeeling surface of marble, she could feel his warmth, reassuring and comforting. His unsaid words seeped out from the stone and echoed within.

"Live, my daughter. Live and be happy."

Just like he had been in his final moments…Stern, tender, and full of compassion.

"Ilya…Are you happy?"

She could not respond to his question, and the momentary hesitation robbed her of the final chance to answer it in person. Her reply was muffled by the enemy that came blasting through the oaken doors.

With a chuckle, Berserker turned away, not in anger or exasperation, but in an understanding of her reluctance. He was fully aware that he may no longer have the chance to hear her reply.

It didn't matter.

Until she would be ready to answer with all of her honest heart, his strength would be committed to the mission of restoring her happiness. For this, he would wait to an eternity if need be.

Until she could truly answer without any tiniest shred of hesitation, he would never rest.

"Take as long as you need to answer, Ilya. Until then, I will stay by your side."

His commitment was one made with sheer devotion, and now it had borne fruits.

"…I am…I am…I am…" Her words were squeezed out, initially as a whisper, then growing in strength. She loudly sobbed out the words as if making up for the opportunity that had passed, hoping somehow that her voice could be carried to the beyond.

"I am…I am very happy…"

She repeated it until all air seemed to have been expelled from her lungs.

"Thank you for everything…"

Ilya whispered, with an almost inaudible voice. She moved a step closer and leaned down before the small gravestone, where she planted a gentle kiss.

Their bond remained safe in her heart, where it endured the passage of time.

"…Father."

Once she started back toward the dining room, her face was adorned with the same radiant smile from the time of their parting, traces of tears wiped away by her sleeve. She knew he was watching and wished to let him know that the smile was meant for him.

To live, fall in love, raise a family, grow old, and finally die in the peace, all these were simple happiness that were denied from her, ones that he'd managed to win back for her sake. With pride in her heart, she faced the day as the living testament of Heracles' final and most daunting feat.

The fruit of his thirteenth labor.

"Ahhh, no fair, don't just start breakfast without me!"

Done! Hope you guys enjoy it. Berserker's epilogue will follow shortly, so stay tuned until then.