Fire.

Fire and smoke and smog, threatening to devour him should his will waver for even a single second.

So he walked and walked and walked.

Through broken buildings being melted by an unnatural flame, even as glass shards bite into his feet and fire devour his flesh.

'Live.'

That was all he could think, that was all he could wish for.

To live.

To not die.

Yet, for this to happen, every step he took would take another part of his being. His very essence.

The first step was despair, taken before his will to live was snuffed by it.

The second step was wrath, at the situation and himself.

The third was-

The fourth-

The-

Until eventually, there was nothing left to give.

Nothing left but a hollow shell ignoring the screams of others.

The amalgamated masses combined through the cursed flame and the ashes that rose through his nose and lungs.

Yet still, this hollow shell, barefit of anything that could be deemed life hung on, to a single wish to make it out of this cursed hellhole.

No matter what it took, no matter what happened.

But, this was only the will of a human.

On the other hand, these flames and cursed mud were born of a near infinite amount of magical power and Mortal turned Root of all Evil.

So, there was no way for his singular will to defy the expectations of a God, were they?

However, there was one way for him to survive.

One simple thing he needed to survive this whole mess.

One that he already had.

"Wish."

He had already fallen on rubble, laying on burning pieces, uncaring even as they dug into his skin and burned holes into it.

However, this barren shell of a boy could still respond.

Still wish.

"H-huh?"

But he had no idea what this was, only that a voice appeared within his mind as he laid on a lone island of rubble, a mote of cursed mud and fire covering his Kingdom from all sight.

He had no training in the ways of Magi, no experience with the supernatural let alone something like this.

"Wish!"

Yet the voice grew stronger, enough that even this shell could do naught but answer this vague voice.

"L-live… I… want to live…" The body answered with the one wish he had, the one thing he had crossed what felt like miles in a burning hellscape ignoring the cries of mothers and fathers and children alike.

Yes, this was it.

This was what this being was waiting for.

What every fiber of its being wanted, someone to wish upon it.

Someone to accomplish the goal it was created for.

Even despite this child not being the winner, all else had forsaken it.

The Priest was useless, hiss heart had already been converted, yet still it had not wished upon it.

The Golden King had no wish, all of his every whims already possible for him.

The child Magus had long since escaped this chaos, this hellhole of his own creation.

The tortured Magus had been dead for quite a while, his own familiars feasting on his body.

Meanwhile that damnable Assassin had escaped, destroying the container of its power.

Not without consequences of course, but still he had escaped.

As such, it had tried to find anyone, anything that could make a wish.

Yet there was no one. All dead and charred corpses, the few left were simple dolls unable to make a wish.

All but one chance remained for his very core motive.

No wish was made of it, in fact, it could no longer accomplish any grand displays of Wishcraft.

Its focal power had been destroyed, the cursed mud being the consequences of that.

However, this wish this boy had made was more than accomplishable for it.

To live.

To survive.

So it set out to do what was wished of it.

Immediately mud poured into the boy, who screamed bloody murder with emotions that had long since been sacrificed.

The boy had magic circuits, perfect for its purposes.

The boy screamed harder yet, 27 knives carved into his flesh, from his brain to the very tips of his fingers and feet.

But he could not sleep, he could not faint, the invisible being made that very clear.

"Do not sleep, do not faint, hold on to your consciousness lest you die."

So he held on, not by his own choice but the choice made by his every being, his very subconscious which wished to live longer still despite his pain.

It needed to replace the useless bits of flesh, cursed and burned with its very own flame.

It could do that, though the flesh it remembered was female and inhuman, it could easily reconstruct them to be male and as human as they came. Not to mention the new information from all that had died due to its mud and fire.

But there was more to do, the boy wanted to live, to survive, it needed to make sure the boy was capable of living after this.

The broken parts of its being came to the forefront of his mind, and it cared not as shards of a golden vessel shoved themselves into the screaming boy.

Survive.

Live.

The boy must become more, in order to live he needed to become-

Yet the mud stopped.

Its power was waning.

Even despite the fount of power at its disposal, without the vessel from which it could interact with the world it could do nothing more.

Even with the shards of its vessel it could do nothing more than help the boy.

It would not be able to grant the wish of this boy.

But it might be able to in the next war.

It sent flashes and meanings, the power to speak was no longer in its power, but still, it sent what it could before it was forced back into the container which it was housed.

But the boy gained it, the boy gained what might be able to help him survive until he could gain the full force of his wish.

But, in the end, this was still a boy of barely seven years.

So the boy could do naught but collapse in the ruins of the city.

Sure he would surely die, even despite the gift granted to it by powers beyond mortal ken.

But, it seemed Fate could not let the boy die.

The buzzing of flies could be heard in a humanless area.

Dozens, hundreds of flies gathered and morphed and contorted into a shell of a being nearly half a millenia old.

And so, a hunched over old man wearing a yukata appeared, grasping onto an old cane as he looked at the fallen boy with immense interest in his black and white eyes.

The first thing that hit him was the smell of rot and stagnant water.

The second was the buzzing of flies and the feeling of mortal danger that seemed to encompass his body.

And so, it was with that he- no, Shirou woke up to a western bedroom, laying in a giant bed.

He tried to look around, but could not. Only finding that his body seemed almost stiff, as if it had been stuck in the same position for a week.

"Ah, you're awake." It was a voice that tried to be gentle, but still came off as grating to the ears.

Shirou quickly found the owner of the voice, old and decrepit, wearing a traditional yukata along with holding a fancy cane. Though what really caught his attention was the unnatural convulsions the old man seemed to go through every few seconds.

"You must be wondering where you are, but first, do you remember who you are?" The decrepit old man asked.

"Of course I do!" He said in the same childish pride every child seemed to have, "My name is Shirou! My dad and mom are-" He stopped as nothing came to mind.

A worried feeling came over him, as if he had lost something integral to himself.

"M-my parents are…" He tried again, but once more, nothing came to him other than a great fire and a weird voice.

The old man's face was gentle, but for some strange reason Shirou doubted that was the real thing.

"You have just come out of a traumatic incident, in fact, other than yourself, no one survived." He revealed, even despite the dower news the old man kept smiling.

In fact, Shirou might've said that his smile only grew wider as he said that.

But… he couldn't feel anything about the news.

He knew that he should be feeling sadness, or anger at the smile this old man was giving him.

Yet… all he could feel was a sense of emptiness, bereft of any emotions even close to anger or sadness.

This time, Shirou knew this old man's grin only grew further. "Yes, it seems I was right, you are just like me."

"Just… just like you?" Shirou couldn't help but repeat.

The old man nodded. "Yes, just like me Shirou. You, afterall, are completely empty inside, aren't you?"

Shirou should have denied that, he knew he should have.

But he couldn't, he couldn't deny the truth that he seemed to know instinctively.

He was empty, there was no desire, no emotion inside of him.

"No," Shirou shook his head.

The old man seemed briefly surprised, before a malicious grin set upon his face. "No? What do you mean?" Even though he said that, Shirou had a feeling this old man already knew his answer.

"I'm not completely empty, I want to live." Shirou said with steady words.

The old man seemed to think what he said was humorous, if the chuckle he received said anything. "Yes, truly alike…" Shirou could barely hear him mutter.

Though one thought popped into his head.

"Who… who are you old man?" Shirou asked belatedly.

"Me?" The old man pointed at himself, "I am a Magus."

The old man said something ridiculous, but Shirou couldn't help but feel what the old man was saying was the truth.

But whether the old man needed to go to a mental asylum or not was a whole other story.

"Then… could you show me proof?" Shirou hesitantly asked what he realized might have been his savior.

The old man chuckled, snapping his finger as a small flame bloomed above them. "Does this show you my truth?"

Shirou knew he should have felt a sense of wonderment, that he should have been amazed to have his world view flipped by just a snap of someone's fingers.

And yet… he could only feel as though this was another facet of the world, something as sure as science or the stars.

It seemed the old man could see his thoughts, if the brief tug on his lips told him anything.

"Would you like to learn Magecraft?" Shirou nearly fell from the bed at the sudden question.

This might've been something that could determine the course of his life as he knew it, something that he should've taken time to think over.

But… "Could I really use it?" Shirou asked instead, the boy wanted to live, and he felt that any other answer would end in his own ruin.

The old man nodded, "Of course you could, you have 27 high quality circuits afterall."

"Circuits?" The boy's head tilted.

"Why yes, not everyone can use magecraft. Only those with suitable Magic Circuits can use it, of which you seem to have quite a high quality." The hunched over magus said.

"Then… I'd like to, yes." Shirou suddenly decided, if he could use magic, then why shouldn't he if it raised his own likelihood of survival.

The old man's smile almost seemed malicious to his eyes.

"Then, call me Grandfather."

Shirou couldn't help but feel he had been fooled by that old man.

As he seemingly floated in a pool of seemingly endless worms, devouring his flesh over and over again, he couldn't help but feel this was strangely familiar.

Though the fact this hurt didn't quite overshadow the fact he was numb to it, not the pain, no. It was all extremely painful, it was more the fact he felt as if this pain was less than what he experienced within his past.

Other than that, for some reason it seemed his body continuously regenerated at a prodigious rate.

For every bite a worm took, more flesh took its place.

He could feel that a few had burrowed themselves in, but they always disappeared without fail soon after. With a certain tang on his tongue afterwards.

Though he could feel that everytime his flesh regenerated, a brief flare of heat occurred within his body, like 27 knives carving into his flesh.

A nostalgic feeling.

It was really all quite weird.

Not more weird than the few times he had seen his fellow resident of this sea of worms, a purple haired girl of course.

"Shirou," A voice knocked him out of his ponderings.

Looking up, he could see his new Grandfather on the steps. A weird smile on his lips as he felt the worms recede and lift him up onto the steps.

He kicked his feet a little to get the stragglers off of him.

Despite the constant devouring of his flesh, other than a numb feeling all over his body, not a single drop of blood was on his body.

"Hoh, how rare." His grandfather commented, "A sorcery trait now? How fortunate," He patted Shirou on the head.

The boy found a set of traditional yukata forming on his body soon after.

Shirou found his eyes shining a bit, it seemed even despite his dampened emotions, magic was something that even he felt wonderment for.

However little that was anyways.

"Come now, don't straddle." His grandfather called out, Shirou quickly followed him up.

"Grandfather? Who was that girl?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Hmm? Oh, that would be your cousin. Well, adopted of course," The decrepit old man said.

"Cousin?" Shirou frowned and wondered, "I thought I was your Heir?"

Zouken laughed, "Of course you are, even with all that talent she doesn't come close to your… gifts."

After a bit of walking, Shirou found himself in a grand library. Full of books and the lingering scent of what he was starting to understand was magic.

"This is my library, full of centuries of the Makiri family's research." His grandfather explained, "You will read through these when you want to research magecraft by yourself."

Shirou couldn't help but wonder what this would help him with, having not been taught any magic yet.

"Don't worry, you'll be taught soon enough." Shirou seriously thought the old man could read his mind. "Even though our family's magecraft isn't compatible with you, I'm sure you can figure something out by yourself."

Shirou was seriously doubting whether he could become a Magus or not.