A sea of stars.
Beneath, a swirling mass of white.
Above, the endless darkness of the night sky.
The echoes of distant thunder.
…
He awoke with a migraine. That was the first sign that something had gone completely wrong. First off, he was a Servant - they don't get migraines. Secondly, he woke up. He didn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was…
Was?
Nothing.
He could remember nothing.
'Ha. Just my damn luck.'
He opened his eyes - he didn't even notice they were closed - and immediately shut them again, 'Too damn bright.' He was lying on his back, facing directly into the sun. With a grunt of effort, he rolled himself to the side. Slowly opening his eyes once more, he could see that he was in some sort of forest. He could barely move. A bad sign, considering his body should be able to restore itself with mana so long as his Saint Graph wasn't too damaged.
'Mana. I need mana.'
And that was the main issue right now. He was a rogue Servant. He had no Master to provide him mana. Though he may be an Archer with Independent Action, it was all but useless if he couldn't even heal whatever was keeping him down.
A faint rustling of leaves.
Blearily, he tried to look towards the noise. He couldn't even lift his head. It felt as though his neck would snap if he even moved the tiniest bit.
"...th? What are you doing?"
"I thought I saw something."
"Really? Alright, I'll leave you to it. Don't hesitate to call for help if you need it."
The rustling continued. He tried to call out for help, despite hating every moment he even gave it a thought. He shouldn't need help. But right now, he very much did. So, going against the instinct to shut up and do everything by himself, he tried a bit harder.
"Hm. Guess it was nothing."
'No!' It was a thought that startled himself. He didn't remember much. He hated remembering, to be honest. But there was one thing that he was certain of.
He wanted to die.
His cursed existence was nothing but a blight on the world. Everybody would be better off without him. He wasn't even supposed to exist in the first place. Hell, even he didn't know who he was. So what right did that give him to continue living?
However, that small, almost insignificant part of him wanted to go on. He'd have crushed it mercilessly, had he not been as delirious as he was. But he was. So, desperate, he raised his hand, and let it land meatily on the dirt.
For a moment, nothing happened. The rustling of the leaves ceased, and he thought that he was going to die once again. He was ready to accept it, this time.
A speck of blue popped up from behind the bush.
On that day, just like countless eons ago, Ë̸̺̪̟́͊͝M̸͔̞͙̔͐̚I̴̞͖̺͆͐Y̵͖͔͎͋͝͝Ä̴̙̘́͋͘͜ was saved from the brink of death.
Byleth looked once more at the man they had found nearly dead. Strange would be the nicest thing they could describe him by. First off, his skin was completely black. And she didn't mean it in that he was dark-skinned - no, the man's skin was just a touch lighter than coal. She had never seen anything like it in all her years as a mercenary.
Secondly, his clothes were in tatters, with more than one part of it having circular burn marks. It was clear from that, and the numerous wounds all over his body that the man had been in battle, and just recently. The problem was, if it was recent, then they would have noticed it. But they hadn't seen nor heard of any significant scuffle nearby their camp.
There was also the idea that the man may have done it to himself, but Byleth didn't put much stock into it. The strange figure didn't seem like a person for self harm.
It was why she decided to take him back to camp, despite Jeralt's protests. She didn't hold it out against him though. He was both her father and the leader of their group. It was only reasonable that he try and take care of them first before some half-dead man.
Regardless, as she took the man back to their camp, she noticed that he was surprisingly light. The man was nearly two heads taller than her, but she was certain that he was less than half her weight.
It was an oddity she would shelve until later. For now, she intended to get the unconscious man into their camp and cared for.
If he became a problem, then she would show him why exactly she was called the Ashen Demon.
Emiya woke up once more, but instead of pain, he was greeted with the softness of a bed. It was a far cry from his previous situation. He could feel bandages all over his body, useless to him as a Servant. It reeked of people finding him injured, and thinking him a regular human.
The room he was in was quaint. It was decorated with a simple table, and a shelf full of books. Beside the table laid an unoccupied chair.
Beneath the bandages, the wounds that should have healed by now were still present. Disconcerting. He tapped into what should have been the Master-Servant bond, but found that he had none.
'Impossible.'
His contract with his summoner was severed. He knew that for certain. He was not summoned by the World this time. He knew that he had a summoner to begin with.
But the problem was, he couldn't remember who.
He knew he had a Master. Keyword being had. But he couldn't for the life of him recall what had happened. He knew that he had been summoned before, but not when. He knew he had a Master, but not who.
He knew that he was in a bed, but not where the bed was.
He shot up from the bed, and attempted to Trace his favored pistols. A shot of pain, and his left leg starting to dematerialize reminded him that he had zero mana to spare, else, his body should have already repaired itself. He immediately cut off his projections, and watched as his leg went back to normal.
Just as he thought of going into his astral form to conserve mana, the door to the small room opened up, and a blonde man came walking in. The man stopped and raised an eyebrow at Emiya's form.
"Well, look who's up." The man walked towards the wary Emiya, "Oh calm down. I'm not about to hurt the man my daughter saved. Name's Jeralt." The now named Jeralt grabbed the chair and sat down on it, staring contemplatively at Emiya.
For his part, the Servant stared at Jeralt in wariness. He was extremely weak right now, to the point that if he and some random human were to get into a fistfight, then the human had a worryingly decent chance of winning.
Jeralt scoffed at Emiya's silence, "What, no name? Least you could do is tell that to the people that saved you."
Saved.
"...Archer."
A raised eyebrow from the blonde, "Archer? Huh. Weird name, but I've seen weirder. Settle down, you're still injured. I'm not going to let my daughter's rescue kill himself from something stupid."
Reluctantly, Emiya did so. The man was so far not being hostile.
"...Saved me, did you?" But he couldn't stop his mouth, "Ha. Would have done us both a favor if you'd just let me die." The self deprecation was thick. He didn't know what had possessed him to strive to live when death was a preferable option to his existence. He didn't have a single answer to which he wouldn't be just grasping at straws.
"Well now," Jeralt frowned, "Never had someone be as depressing as you."
"You would do well not to." Emiya gave a cynical smirk, it being almost instinctual on his lips.
A snort came from the other man, "Can't imagine the look on her face when she realizes you're just suicidal. You do that all to yourself then?"
"Can't say I know."
"What, you don't know what happened to you?"
"Nope."
"Fine, keep it to yourself. How'd you find our camp then?"
"Who's to say?" The smirk on his face was becoming more and more pronounced. It reached its apex when Jeralt breathed out a sigh of frustration.
"Alright, I don't care what my daughter says, you're leaving."
"Kicking an injured man out of his bed? My, and I thought I was bad."
"Forgive me when I say that I don't give a damn." Jeralt was cold, "Now get out."
The door opening caught both their attention. In the door was the familiar speck of blue he had seen before.
"Byleth, you're awake." Jeralt called out, as if he hadn't just tried to kick out Emiya, "I'm just talking to your little guest here." The girl, Byleth, nodded as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Soon enough, she turned her head towards Emiya.
"You're still injured."
"Amazing deduction skills." He sarcastically applauded, "Next you're going to say that the sky is blue." Byleth narrowed her eyes at the Servant. She didn't appreciate his snark, it seemed. Good.
Their conversation was halted, and the glare from Jeralt from behind Byleth was stalled, when a mercenary came running into the room, shouting for their leader.
"What is it?"
The blonde was the first one to speak, "Please, we apologize for the intrusion, but our situation is most dire."
There were three of them. All three of them wore a dark colored uniform accented by their color scheme. A dark haired man wearing gold, a blonde man bearing blue, and a woman with red. Emiya chuckled, even as his ribs hurt from getting up from the bed.
Indeed, he had dragged himself from where he was recovering. The pain he was experiencing was nothing compared to what he'd suffered before. Moreover, he knew how fate worked. Had he not gotten up, he'd just be pushed into that same situation he tried to avoid.
Better to nip this one in the bud before it comes to anything.
Neither Byleth nor Jeralt seemed to approve of his decision though. Both of them for clearly different reasons. Regardless of his feelings, Jeralt showed remarkable leadership when he ignored Emiya to focus on their newest visitors.
"What's a bunch of kids doing out here?"
"Once more, we apologize, but we're being tracked down by a troupe of bandits. We understand that you're mercenaries, and we're willing to pay for your assistance." The blonde continued as Jerlat frowned at the news.
"Bandits? Here?"
"It's true." The pale haired woman frowned in frustration, "They ambushed us at our camp earlier."
"They even separated us from the rest of our companions." The dark haired one continued, "They're likely after our gold, possibly even us as a ransom."
They were all too calm, in Emiya's opinion. They weren't even putting up a front, as teenagers were wont to do. No, they truly were as calm as they showed.
It reeked of foul play, and had he been capable, he would've shot these three dead in the eye. They were way too suspicious. Apparently, Jeralt was of the somewhat same opinion, as he frowned at the three with a critical eye.
"You all are way too calm for this. Who-"
"Jerallt!" Another, armor-clad mercenary came running towards them, "Bandits, right outside the village! We need help or we're going to be overwhelmed!" Jeralt spun towards the three teenagers and gave a nasty glare.
"They must've followed you all the way here." The three had the decency to look ashamed, "We can't abandon this village now. Everyone, to battle formations!" He turned to Byleth, "Better get ready, who knows what we're up against."
Byleth nodded, before the two of the turned to the injured Emiya, "And you, get back to bed. We can't have you get in the way."
Emiya smirked at the man, "What, you don't want my help?"
"Help from someone who can barely stand?"
"You would be surprised what I can do with enough mana."
"Mana?" Both Jeralt and Byleth frowned in confusion. And for the first time, even Emiya threw a confused stare at them. They didn't know what mana was? Despite the sheer amount he could smell coming off of the blue-haired girl?
And that was the crux of why he was doing this. He needed mana to repair his body. If he made a contract with Byleth, he could easily fix himself. The only issue now was convincing them, and him tempting a probable magus with unknown magecraft usually worked.
Except they didn't know about mana. That threw a wrench in his plans.
Regardless, he thought he had a good read on this Byleth girl, "It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that if you want my help, you're going to have to make a contract with me." He extended a hand, painful as it was, in a handshake.
Contrary to his belief, of Byleth being a selfless hero who'd take the deal to save more people, she didn't.
Instead, she stood back and shook her head in a negative, "Go back to the house, you need to rest."
Surprised at her choice, Emiya looked at her, before laughing a rueful laugh, "Suit yourself, then. I'll be inside if you need me."
Byleth didn't say anything as she watched him walk back inside.
The sounds of battle were unmistakable to Emiya. The clashing of blades, the shouts of pain, all of them were familiar. Long forgotten memories as they were, the sounds of them brought back a sense of nostalgia for the injured Servant, though he couldn't truly pin them down.
Byleth not accepting his help was a move he wasn't expecting from someone like her. Especially when they were quite clearly outnumbered. Emiya didn't even need to see the approaching bandits to know that - he could hear the sound of rushing footsteps from far enough away to know that the mercenary band was likely to be annihilated.
'Oh well.' He thought sardonically, 'Guess I really am meant to die, huh?' Without a source of mana, he was doomed to die a slow death, even through the bandaging that was done to him. What little chance he had for survival had been thrown aside by the stubborn girl.
He relished in the sound of clashing steel, as they grew more and more intense. The bandits had likely fully entered the village now, and the mercenaries were probably fighting more and more desperately.
He could've killed them all by now, had Byleth accepted.
'Their loss, then.' He didn't bother himself with the knowledge that they'd all be dead, or worse. He had no illusions as to what those bandits were wont to do. Especially for the objectively attractive females in the group.
He would likely be gone by the time they were done. The only thing now was to close his eyes and wait.
…
It came with a sudden shock.
The acute smell of indescribability, and yet, one that he knew far more than he should have.
The scent of a God.
He could feel the very earth beneath him lurch as the God's presence warped around it. Emiya stood despite his ever worse injuries, as he tried to locate just where the God was. Such a thing was an affront to Proper Human History.
The gods were supposed to be gone, nothing more than mere nature sprits that had no true control over the world. Their time was done, as was the Age of Gods.
For one to appear here, Emiya's instincts screamed at him to do what needed to be done.
To kill. As he always did.
He Traced his modified Kanshou, ignoring the immediate loss of feeling in his left hand. There was no time to worry about that. If he didn't act now, the God could likely use their Authority to do something irreparable.
He'd rather kill it now while it was here, after all, than to be sent in by the Counter Force a second time. Call it professionalism.
He ripped the door to the house open, and he was greeted by a nostalgic sight. Dead bodies littered the ground, as the corpses of bandits lay motionless. Among them were their blades, each telling how they had died. Some through a sword to the throat, some through an axe bisecting them, some by just tripping and hitting their head too hard.
Nostalgic.
But he didn't have time to take in the scenery. He had to locate the God, now. And he already spotted it. Or rather, her. The scent of the God was coming out of none other than Byleth herself. The scent was increasingly growing as he watched a bandit spring up to try and hack the red-clad girl that had come to the village earlier.
He watched as Byleth pushed the girl out of the way, opening herself to being hacked to death by the bandit.
Emiya took the shot.
The bullet caved through the bandit's skull.
Blood splattered all over the forms of both.
"Oh?" Emiya smirked as he trailed his gun still at them, "Looks like I arrived just in time." He didn't let up even as the God's - Goddess's - scent flared even stronger.
He could kill her right now.
Emiya could take the shot, before this host of a Divine Spirit awakened their power. He could end her before she even do anything of worth.
Except he wouldn't. He lowered his gun even as the smirk never faded from his face. His appearance here was a complete mystery. His injuries, doubly that. But he had arrived. He, for some reason, was then found by Byleth on the brink of death. There was no rhyme or reason why those series of events happened as they did.
Unless there was one.
The Counter Force's less subtle way of influence was a mystery to most. It could be nothing more than a fleeting thought to do something, a series of unconnected events that leads to someone killing a would-be warlord. Subtle influences that most see as naught more than coincidence.
And his entire encounter with Byleth reeked of it.
There was a reason why he was injured, why he needed mana, why the host of a Goddess was the one to find him. To him, it was the Counter Force screaming to him that he needed to contract Byleth. He didn't know why, but he would eventually.
For now, all he could do was follow the whims of the ever present Counter Force.
"Heh. Servant Archer, at your service." Emiya's smirk grew as static in the air grew to new heights, "My armory is waiting. Tell me, are you my Master?"
"Yes." Unbidden, Byleth's mouth spoke for her. As soon as the word left her mouth red energy encompassed them both, as red lines formed on the back of Byleth's hand. Three twisting marks, blood red.
Emiya didn't know why he was here. Emiya didn't care. His service to Alaya was still ongoing, so he'd play its games. He'd kill for it, just as he had for eons.
It was just a matter of professionalism, after all.
…
Edelgard didn't trust the black clad man one bit. 'Archer' may have assisted in saving both her and Byleth's lives were not in question. She was, reluctantly, indebted to him due to that. But the way he carried himself was…off.
It started with whatever happened just after he had killed the bandit leader that was attacking them. The energy that had pulsed out after Byleth had replied to his question was the most alarming bit. Not once in her tenure as a student of Garreg Mach had she seen anything like it.
Moreover was the fact that she, along with everyone there, bore witness to the man's wounds seeming to stitch themselves together right before their eyes. While healing magic was a plausible answer, it did not look to be the correct answer as to how, as Archer hadn't even used a spell.
Then there was the strange weapon he had used. It had the makings of a bladed front, but the handle, and the way he had used it to dispatch the bandit leader was anything but a sword or a dagger. No, it had fired a projectile that had killed the man near instantly.
She didn't even see it coming.
It was terrifying, Edelgard would admit privately, to be standing next to a man that could easily kill her without a blink of an eye.
And she knew that if she gave him reason to, he would do so in a heartbeat. The look in his eye when he'd killed were that of a man who took pleasure in the act.
She'd held her tongue for now, out of that same debt she owed him. But she promised that if he proved a threat, she would make him regret it.
Garreg Mach was a wonder to behold for those that had never seen it before. A towering castle nestled in between the mountains of the continent they called Fodlan. Had Emiya been anyone else, he probably would've whistled in appreciation.
As he was, he couldn't bring himself to bring up even the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
He followed his new Master to this place, despite all the distrusting looks that, quite literally, everyone gave him. There was even that one time that Jeralt had tried to force him to stop following. He just simply went into his astral form and popped up next to Byleth.
He had to block a swing that came rushing at his neck though.
It was clear to them, then, that he wouldn't stop, and that he was more than capable of dealing with all of them with no trouble. With great hesitation, the party eventually left him alone, but he could clearly see them not let go of their weapons the entire journey towards the Monastery. He smirked at the thought.
And that was another thing. He was nearly completely healed, with the only remaining damage being his lack of memories. He was clearly fighting something before he got shoved here, so why would the Counter Force take that specific version of him when it could've just sent a fresh copy?
He didn't understand it, but it wasn't his place to ask. He'd find out, if not when the reason showed itself, then when his soul returned to that barren wasteland of a world.
"I-I-I-I-" He looked down as something bumped into him. A stack of books fell on the floor as a purple-haired girl sat stuttering her head off. Emiya stared at her dispassionately. It was clear to see what had happened. With him being lost in his thoughts, and the girl not seeing what was in front of her, she'd bumped into him without him noticing.
It was likely the lack of intent coming from the girl. After all, there was no real harm done, nor was there ever any concrete intention in an accident.
"Bernadetta!" Edelgard exclaimed as the group he was with turned towards him to see what had happened. The red-clad girl - princess, with how she carried herself - placed herself between them.
"You!" She glared at him, "You would dare assault a student of the Black Eagles?" She held her still sheathed ax.
"I did nothing of the sort." Emiya calmly replied, "But please, feel free to attack me. I'll make sure you regret it."
"AH, L-Lady Edelgard, it wasn't his fault!" The purple-haired girl started, "I-I bumped into him when I wasn't looking, s-so please-" She cut herself off with a bow, "I apologize for my actions!" She didn't even wait before she hurriedly collected the books and left.
"...Tch." Edelgard seemed almost disappointed that it wasn't his fault.
To be honest, he kind of was too. He would've liked to see her face when he shot her arm off.
Still, he frowned internally. That girl, Bernadetta. She reminded him of someone. Someone he shouldn't have forgotten, but had.
He quashed those feelings. He didn't need any of that. He was a machine, a tool made to kill. A machine didn't need to feel.
Much less the pang of loss when he watched her scurry away.
Commissioned by: Oliver vasquez
A/N: As you can probably see from the above, this is a commissioned piece by one of my tier 3 patrons. Currently, I'm not taking more commissions beyond the two that already have done so, as I am currently being swamped by IRL stuff, hence why you can't see that reward on my page if you were to go to it right now. Expect this to be updated every so often, along with the regular schedule of Disassociation-Anomaly-Living Life.
If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.
Thank you to my newest patron: Fakhrurrozi.
And a special thanks to: Oliver vazquez, and brutalcrab. Thank you once again.
