The clock struck midnight when Charles set foot outside his family home. He didn't want to look back.
No. Looking back wasn't an option anymore.
He suddenly remembered being three years old and seeing the house from the outside for the first time. It towered above him and seemed to stretch on towards the sky, crushing him. Choking him.
"Charlie." The voice of his mother spooked him, though he wasn't all that surprised. While his father was the ruler of the house and head of the family, his mother was its protector. There wasn't anything that happened within the property that she didn't know about.
"Where are you going?" she asked gently.
Charles' fist trembled, though he turned towards his mother. Her gold-straw hair was almost translucent in the moonlight, and she looked frustratingly understanding.
"I'm going to compete in the Holy Grail War. I've made up my mind, so don't bother trying to stop me. If the Command Seals don't appear on my hand, I'll cut them off someone else's."
His words were pure bravado, and they both knew it. She was a former Pride of the Mage's Association, and as the winner of the ill-fated Cairo Grail War a decade prior, she'd been banned from stepping foot in London for the duration of the War, much less competing. If she wanted to stop him, she could, so why was she just looking at him sadly?
"What?" Charles asked. He was immediately pulled into a tight hug.
"Bring him home for me." Irene started to shake around him, it took Charles a moment to realise that she was holding back tears..
"Your father's right, you know?. Your brother will do anything to take the Grail. He won't give up, he's like his father like that. You need to make sure he makes it out okay, alright?"
Charles hesitated, then nodded, returning the hug. "You're not losing either of us, alright? I'll make sure, even if I have to get a Necromancer to walk his corpse back."
His mother chuckled, wiped her nose, and let him go. "Go, then. Go win that Holy Grail."
"I will, Mother!" he said, giving her the bravest smile he could muster.
"Ah! One last thing!" His mother pulled a small box out of the folds of her nightdress. "Open this when you get to London. It'll help."
"Vague," Charles said wrily.
His mother only giggled. "Your father will be busy with his experiments until late tomorrow, so don't expect an angry message until then."
"Mother," Charles said suddenly. "When is James going to attempt summoning his Servant?"
Her eyes turned serious. "Are you prepared? Masters of the Clock Tower probably won't fight to kill other Masters, but we don't know if their Servants will oblige, or if any outsiders will intrude. This isn't paltry magecraft you're dealing with from here on out. It's Magic, True Magic. Your life will be in danger as soon as you enter the city limits."
Charles nodded. "I'm aware of the risk."
"Then go. And don't forget the box!" she said, forcing it into his hands.
'Thanks.. Mum." he said, turning and running down the path. Soon enough he had left the Bounded Field that protected his familial grounds.
He didn't need to turn around to know that the family home would be invisible to him now. That he wouldn't be able to return without admitting defeat and asking to be admitted back.
"I suppose there's no going back now without severely pissing off Father," he mused.
The plane trip to London was blessedly uneventful. He'd been to the Clock Tower once before, so he was already well versed in the magus protocol when it came to carrying… putting it delicately, items of dubious ethical origin, aboard a commercial airliner.
Of course, there was the Hydra in the room to address. Charles' Command Spells. No sooner had the pilot announced they were crossing over into the Greater London airspace had he felt that horrible crawling on the skin of his back. They had materialised, or at least they had begun to, in the form of three vague etchings on his back. The irony of the fact that they had painted a literal and metaphorical target on his back was not lost on him.
It was understandable then, he supposed, that he felt somewhat apprehensive about a Clock Tower mage waiting for him in the airport terminal. He was a spritely young man with cropped, blonde hair and two rings in his ear. In his boredom, his fingers spasmed sporadically, as if he were performing on an invisible piano. Being frank, in terms of blending in, he did the opposite.
His eyes lit up when they met with Charles', and he ran to greet him.
"Charlie! Charlie Yaranes!" the boy cried, as if he were greeting a long-lost brother. He took Charles' hands in his own, and the sudden breach of personal space instantly had the young mage's hairs standing on end.
"That is I," Charles said carefully. "I assume you've been sent to collect me?"
The young man grinned. "Yep! My name's Flat! Flat Escardos! I'll be your liason with the Clock Tower throughout the upcoming Grail War!"
Charles raised an eyebrow. "I didn't tell you I was involved with the Grail War."
Flat made a funny face, as if he had just been enlisted in an in-joke with Charles. "Well… I can see them, you know."
Charles' hands instantly went to his face, suddenly terrified that the three angry-looking marks had shifted to his cheeks and nose. The reaction seemed to greatly amuse Flat, but he patted Charles' reassuringly, which unfortunately set off the young mage's 'no touch' reaction again.
"Don't worry, Charlie. I can't see them, see them. Well, I can, but.. Ah, it's okay. They're not on your face, don't worry."
His eyes darted left and up, like he was trying to remember something. "Aaand, yep. That's all I have to say for now. Master V told me to pick you up and make sure you get to the Clock Tower safe, said he owed your mum a favour. Say, you look kinda familiar. Have I seen you before? What's your Clan? You are a Master, right?"
The emotional rollercoaster was wearing Charles down, and the most frustrating thing was that it didn't seem to be intentional at all. Apparently some people were just that annoying."
"No, I haven't seen you before. I'm of the Yarenes Clan. Yes, I am a Master," Charles sighed. "What do you mean 'Master V' owes my mother a favor?"
To that, Flat simply shrugged.
"Dunno. Guess it must be pretty important if he sent me all the way here. I had to catch transport since I'm not allowed to use magecraft in public, you know? Ah.. actually, I'm not allowed to use magecraft in class either, technically. Or in the library. Or the cinema."
Charles put a hand to Flat's mouth.
"Take me to Master V."
The Clock Tower was a little less grand than Charles remembered it, though to be fair, it had been over a decade.
"Who is this 'Master V?'" he asked Flat.
"My teacher, duh! The Big Bang London Superstar himself!" Flat suddenly pulled Charles into a headlock, as if to tell him a secret.
"You know, he nearly won a Grail War himself back in the day."
Charles shook himself free. "He did? Wa- 'Nearly?'"
"Mmm," Flat nodded. "He always tells me to place extra emphasis on the 'nearly.' Dunno why."
The two eventually arrived at a large wooden door. "Alright. Here we are. Now, remember-"
Charles couldn't take any more of Flat's blathering, so he pushed the door open and slammed it behind him. The inside was pretty much exactly what he expected- shelves stretching to the back of the room chock-full of various magical items.
The most impressive item on display was a large crimson mantle in a glass case behind a desk. Time had faded its splendour, but something about it still commanded Charles' attention. The man who wore that cape must have been massive.
"Yeesh. Two Yaranes Masters in my office in one week. Hopefully you'll be a little less grating."
Charles turned to the source of the voice to behold a tall man with long hair and cold eyes. Unlike the majority of the important figures of the Clock Tower, he was dressed in a more contemporary suit and tie, even though Charles found a mourner's color palette in slightly bad taste. Behind him stood a figure almost entirely concealed by the black cloak they were wearing, save for the large, pale eyes that peeked out from underneath the hood.
"Greetings," the tall man said. "I am Lord El-Melloi II, Head of the Department of Modern Magecraft Theory, Fes of the Clock Tower. And you shouldn't be here."
Charles set his mouth in a firm line. "I get that a lot."
El-Melloi II scoffed and procured a cigarette seemingly out of nowhere, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. It seemed to be a well-practised routine.
"I'll be frank. Whoever wins or loses the Grail War is of almost no concern to me or the Clock Tower. I've personally ascertained that all seven Masters have received their Command Seals with your arrival today, and four of them are Clock Tower representatives. After her, that just leaves your brother, and you."
The professor seemed to grow even taller as he grew more serious. "I assume you have the same intentions as your brother? Glory for your family?"
Charles hesitated. After a moment's deliberation, he slowly shook his head. "I couldn't care less about my damned family right now. My father gave my Crest to my brother without consulting me. If he's going to squander it by sending it to the most lethal battle of his lifetime, I'd rather cut my brother's arm off and preserve the Crest until I can give it to my descendants."
It felt good to say. A reason to feel something, even if it was anger.
El-Melloi II seemed a little surprised by Charles' statements.
"You didn't strike me as the magus type, boy," he said, procuring a sheet of parchment that wrote itself in front of Charles' eyes.
"Charles Yarenes III, aged nineteen and eight months. Thirty Magic Circuits of decent quality, but haven't been geared for battle like your brothers' have. Additionally, you lack a Family Crest, something that every other Master of this War has. If you're engaged in one-on-one combat with an enemy Master, you have almost no chance of winning. You know that, right?"
Charles nodded. "I'm aware."
"Magic Circuit count and quality directly scales the battle performance of the Servant you'll summon, as has been documented. You're also aware of this, correct? Just which Hero will you attempt to summon, anyway?"
Charles gave him a thin smile. "I'm sure you'll understand that I wouldn't want to divulge that information at the moment. Even if I'll give the Clock Tower my wish, I still want a fair chance to prove myself."
El-Melloi II cracked a smile in turn. "If you have enough sense to know that, then you might just stand a chance at winning this thing."
Flat's voice behind Charles startled the young magus. When had he come in?!
"Hey, if you win this thing, I want you to come back to the Clock Tower, alright? You seem like a really cool dude, you'd fit in well here!" he said with a large smile.
Charles returned the smile weakly. Receiving compliments wasn't something he usually had to deal with in his upbringing, much less people whose eyes probably literally sparkled.
"Er.. I'll make sure to make a note of it, Flat."
"Mmm! Yo, Gray, what do you think?"
The cloaked figure who stood behind El-Melloi II seemed to jump a little. They seemed to look at the Lord for confirmation, who nodded wordlessly.
"Good luck, Charles. I hope you and your brother find what you're looking for in this Londinium Grail War."
El-Melloi II gave her a strange look. "Londinium Grail War? Since when was it designated as such?"
The hooded figure slightly jumped again and began to stutter. "Well.. I overheard one of the other Professors calling it that and.. I suppose I'd been thinking on it.. Please, disregard-"
"No, I like that. The Londinium Grail War. It'll be one for the ages," Charles said, smiling. Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"Lord. Flat said you owed my mother a favour. What was it?"
El-Melloi II's gaze shifted to the mantle in the display case, his expression turning almost… wistful?
"Fifteen years ago, your mother used two of her Command Spells to save my life in the Cairo Grail War. I'd already lost my Servant to Archer because I wasn't strong enough to support him, and I would've been killed if she hadn't empowered her Servant so he could triumph."
"Hmmm.." Flat smacked his fist into his palm. "Is that the Grail War that you lost all those years ago?"
El-Melloi II's face turned dark, and he suddenly snapped at Flat. "Shut your piehole!" As quickly as it was lost, he regained his composure, once again cleared his throat.
"The Grail War that I would have won, if it weren't for that meddling Einzbern. To answer your question, Charles, that favour was to ascertain your worth as Masters, and if I wasn't satisfied, I'd have your Command Spells reallocated and sent you back home. Two Command Spells expended, two sons evaluated. Between his competence and your hunger, you both do stand a chance of winning. My debt is paid."
Charles relaxed. "Good to hear. Ah, one last thing."
He pulled the box that his mother had given him out of his pack. "While you're in a giving mood, could you see if this is openable? I tried on the plane here and didn't have any luck."
El-Melloi II cocked an eyebrow as he took the box and turned it over in his hands. He seemed to recognise it.
"Could this be.." he mused.
The professor closed his eyes and concentrated, and eventually the box opened with a hiss. The Lord reacted to the contents a second before Charles did, and so he threw the box across the room.
Space itself seemed to warp around the lid, and an impossible amount of what looked like liquid metal had started leaking out.
"What have you brought into my office? Another one of Irene's pranks?" El-Melloi asked.
Charles could only shrug as it started to take shape. When it had finished forming, Charles could barely believe his eyes.
"Calpurnia?"
The liquid metal had finished taking its final shape, a maid of Victorian dress that was almost indistinguishable from the mud interface back home.
Waver also seemed to recognize it, though he had a much different reaction. Charles could actually see a vein start to burst on his head.
"That's.. That's my Mystic Code! That's Volumen Hydrargyrum!" El-Melloi exclaimed.
"Incorrect," came the maid's hollow voice.
"Correction: Current designation: Calpurnia of House Rayanes. Mystic Code of Charles Rayenes III."
"No, no, no, Irene, this is too far!" El-Melloi declared. The air in the office suddenly heated up. The Lord had manifested his Family Crest.
"I declare myself Lord Waver Velvet, of the House El-Melloi. Your being is my House's creation, and I assert ownership of you, Volumen Hydrargyrum! By the power vested in me, in my House! Return to base form at once!"
The maid shook her head.
"Order denied. Second correction: You are not Lord Waver Velvet of House El-Melloi. You are Lord Waver of House Pint-Sized, and you are a fifth-rate magus who would walk into an ambush because he 'had a good feeling about it.'"
"Why you… Irene!"
Flat took the opportunity to restrain the Lord, who was on the verge of nuclear meltdown.
"Take this opportunity to leave, 'kay? I'll see you around, Charlie!"
Charles gave Flat a thankful nod.
"Come on, Volumemo... No, that won't do. Er.. Calpurnia! We're leaving before the Lord sends us back home to Mother!"
"Acknowledged, Master Charlie." The maid picked up the box she had come packaged in, and dutifully followed her Master out of the room, much to the dismay of the Big Bang London Superstar.