Sword After Spring

VIII — everyday life

A.N: Did you know the age of maturity in Japan is 20? I certainly didn't until one of you told me. That was pretty cool of them.

I, ah, honestly - The support for this has been, honestly, so overwhelmingly positive that I, an introvert, can't really wrap my head around it. Y'all are the best.

This chapter is part 1 of 2 - of the original 'chapter 8', which clocked in at about 12k words. I was going to publish it in its entirety, but… that would be kind of weird, wouldn't it? With the rest of the story, I mean. Plus, I wanted time to check the second part without feeling bad.

Expect chapter 9 in a few days - two or three at most. And give me feedback.

also, thanks for EVA Saiyajin for correcting some stuff. Absolute legend.

Though she kept it hidden from those who might notice it, Anastasia felt time creeping up on her.

It had been a while since she had last seen Vasco, one of the last remaining Exorcists of their generation, but she doubted that man struggled the same as she did. In the few letters they had taken to exchanging a couple of times a year, the man often told her of how he tired of the endless conflict — however, it was clear that it was his mind alone that took a toll, since rumours of the church's slayer of Evil remained on word of mouth. She had no doubt that he was still very firmly in shape and fighting form, if perhaps past his prime as they all inevitably were.

As for her — it had been many years since she quit her position as an Exorcist, now, though time sometimes felt blurry when memories were all you had to off of.

Plus — She had never been of the same caliber of Strada or even Cristaldi, shining more for her diligence in training and prayer than her actual talent, and that meager strength of hers wasn't enough to fill the void each passing day in active duty left in her heart. These men and women who bore the Lord's light as weapons were necessary to perform the Lord's work on Earth by saving Men from evil, but t'was not a job she herself had to do, for she quickly found she could not stomach it — In the end, after a decade of diligent service, Anastasia left that life behind her to serve the Lord in a different way.

Of course, diligence was still part of her and still something that had been drilled into her by training, and she had taken care not to fall out of form as she aged, though swordsmanship was something she had seemed acceptable to abandon. And that diligence had served her well, for the mere thought of having to take care of the amount of children she had looked after throughout the years with a body that was at war with itself as a result of age made her shiver in horror.

That same diligence had also given her a glimmer of hope that she may be able to take up the cross and weapon once again when her curious ward, little Snowfall, was preyed upon on that fateful night.

That hope had proven to be arrogance, and she would carry the mark of that arrogance with her for the rest of her life — however long that may be, for in two years she would be 90, and no amount of diligence would keep her from Heaven's grasp forever.

She was a woman past her prime, inevitably on the last years of her life and with a rearing beast to face as her last challenge —

Time was creeping up on her.

So she had taken to making sure Kōsetsu was as prepared as he could be for the task ahead of him.

Her training was harsh, but it wasn't heartless — and though the task she had placed on his shoulders was surely a hard one, it was as if it had to be. For unlike her, little Snowfall had in him a spark that sang of a fate in war, and the Lord's work on Earth needed to be done. So, as she loved him, she would arm him.

In an ideal world, he would be free to continue his life unbothered by the workings of Heaven and Hell. This was the life she would have wanted for him, the one he deserved and should have been able to live. But, in the end, he was Chosen by one of God's miracles; his was a peace sacrificed for a thousand's.

That didn't make it any less cruel — but, like the very existence of Exorcists, it was a necessary evil. And it would continue to be a necessary evil until the existence of Evil was dealt with and men were free from Devil's guiles.

Fukushima was surprisingly sympathetic, though she wasn't particularly close with the man. He knew of her, of course, but she wouldn't be arrogant in saying that there were few in the local Church's employ who didn't — curiously, her notoriety was derived from the very same event that led to her decision to step down. That alone should have told those who still spoke of it in awe of the truth behind the curtain's fall, but of such things she would rather speak no longer. Regardless, the man had been remarkably kind in their confessional, speaking little but in understanding tones as she spoke of the sins she felt she bore.

They were not blind to the truth — the Church, like any other house made by and from Men, was far from perfect. To be blind to its failings was to forget the bloody history behind it, a history many had yet to forgive their Faith for to this day. You would find very few Exorcists who denied the inherent evil in living a life of slaughter, even if that slaughter is an act of Good against those of Evil. And it was from that recognition of inherent evil that they remained Good.

Those blind to it — those ignorant to it — they both agreed fell always into one of two names.

Foolish and dangerous.

Fukushima had also recommended she tell Shirou to show up every once in a while, but that she didn't feel would be a good idea. As it was, things between Anastasia and Samiya were already more than a little tense, and actively pressing Shirou to attend Church, even if just to talk to Fukushima, would most likely serve as another straw to eventually break the camel's back. Even now, she would sometimes find Samiya deep in thought as she read on topics such as emancipation and the adoption of minors, activities the younger girl took absolutely no measures to hide from her — both a warning and a threat, and though she knew she was right in doing what she did, Anastasia couldn't say she didn't deserve it.

Regardless, Fukushima had taken to attending their little training sessions every once in a while, even going as far as to have them practice on his personal dojo while the local Church representatives saw to it that one was constructed where the abandoned chapel little Kōsetsu had used to practice his Sacred Gear on currently stood. It was, as things with the Church had the tendency to be, both an act of kindness and a veiled warning to her — to he aware of her ward's movements. It had been a year since they had started training and a few months since construction had started on the site of the old chapel, and Anastasia had yet to stop feeling a little guilty each time she knocked the air from the boy's lungs a bit too hard.

Of course — that didn't mean she would stop doing it.

After all, the Church was pressing for little Snowfall's preparation more and more. In time, her words would not be enough, and they would have him tested.

It was clear: time was creeping in on them. It was only a matter of time, now.

Steps taken in the dead silence of a monotonous morning. The dirt was crunched under his boots in uneven intervals; step, step, step. The stray beams of errant sunlight that peeked in from between the odd branches of a dead tree were paramount in lighting the path forward, as the way to the temple wasn't exactly evenly lit during sunrise. Not a time many would expect a boy his age to be up at, but Shirou was never quite the most normal child anyway.

Ah, well.

Child wasn't really accurate anymore - after all, the boy called Kōsetsu Shirou was now 14, and life had changed a great deal since his calmer days of restless youth. For starters, his routine had most certainly changed a great deal… though one could most certainly argue if that change was for the best or not.

He supposed he benefited from it, and it's not like Shirou didn't want to be strong, but still… it felt a little strange, to dedicate oneself so fully to the improvement of skills they valued but at the behest of another's will. Not quite melancholic, but not much behind it, either. The bruises he got from it most certainly didn't help, though he was a little past the point of caring much about an aching rib or two.

But Shirou was a resilient boy with something to prove - and so prove it he would, to himself or to others. The physical effort had long since stopped bothering him, and though he had not chosen the life he received, there wasn't much for him to do about it… nor had he the desire to do anything anyway. This was for the best. Not in the idealistic way Anastasia looked at it, for those were thoughts Shirou could not stomach while he remained himself, but because it gave him the hands to hold what was dear to him.

Which isn't to say it wasn't difficult.

If the physical side of things didn't wear on him, the mental sure did. Every pull from the well of azure flames was a moment spent witnessing that which was blocked from conscious sight, away from one's discerning thoughts; more often than not, these glimpses were of such drowning intensity that to speak of them was to take their sight. Repeating cycles of endless and faceless faces to whom he had, or had not, given his heart once upon a time.

A woman with short, brown hair and a bright smile. A girl in pigtails and crossed arms. A boy with short black hair and glasses. Kiritsugu, to whom he gave both face and name and memory. Illya, whose very name tore whimpers from his throat like coins at the river Styx.

- And her. The softly smiling girl with the hair like a lavender petal. The girl to whom he'd given something dear. Flickers like those of a dying flame on loop, doomed to an eternal descent into nothingness that may never reach it's smothered peak.

Even after all this time,

The girl with the cherry blossoms still owned his precious daydreams. And for his nights,

"...Saber."

… Ah.

Emiya Shirou spoke her name. No, not her name, but a title. A nickname. A prayer - had this been the name he had cried when he struck her down and laid to rest? Had this been the name she gave him on that mellow moonlit night -

. . . Focus.

And this was why Kōsetsu had not quit Kyūdō nor planned to ever do so. Not for the practice but for the mentality - a mentality he had grasped completely once, but did so no longer. It eluded him, as it always had, even if he knew for a fact that he had once dominated it. A mentality of focus - of existing in the moment, of concentrating on your target. Ashibumi, Dozokuri, Yugamae - The first three steps. In archery, he perfected them thoroughly. In life…

Well.

Having reached the Kyūdō field, Shirou glanced thankfully at the set of bow and arrows carefully laid out for him next to the seats. The bhikkhu - name given to an ordained Buddhist monk - had taken to doing him these small favours, and Shirou didn't think he could be more thankful, especially as he took to coming at daybreak instead of his previous 8am and getting equipment became more of a hurdle without inconveniencing everyone else at the orphanage.

- An "everyone else" that felt one person short.

Inahomi Samiya had moved out exactly two months and three days ago, a few weeks away from her 18th birthday. She'd found both a suitable place to live and someone with whom she could split the bill and the apartment, and felt it better to be safe than sorry. She still made a point of visiting daily, or almost daily, and tried to be as present a figure in his life as she could - but there were things that two people who lived together shared that would not be shared if they didn't.

Talk of adoption hadn't ceased, either, for all that she tried to keep it away from his ears more often than not. "I'll find a way," she had promised, and knowing the girl, Shirou didn't doubt it a bit. If it was wise… the answer was 'no', most certainly. With what he now knew of his sister's past, to say that the Church would be 'mildly displeased' would be like saying a war is 'a little unfortunate'. Which is to say, that'd be a massive understatement.

And Shirou disliked that immensely; this feeling of being partly owned by an organization with whom he did not entirely agree nor wanted to work for, all because he was arguably at the wrong place at the wrong time… or because a God had chosen him. T'was a makeshift fake freedom that crawled on your neck when you least expected it, and that pressure built up once you realized that, for all of their talk of Good V Evil, they were a lot more concerned with the 'annihilation of the enemy' than they were with protecting the innocents caught in the crossfire.

No.

That won't do.

Focus - his golden eyes locked on the target in front of him, the same target he had shot when he first touched a bow all those years back. Like then, the sun made sure to bathe him and the surrounding area in a soft, ethereal glow of miserable kindness, a glow that, should he focus, smelled faintly like an evening spent next to a blooming cherry blossom tree. He fixed his footing, raising the weapon and pulling the string and arrow in one fell movement.

The target was there, unmoving, unseeing, and he could still tell precisely where he had first shot it then, and remember the distinctively haunting sound of his first shot arrow. Though his aim was sure, his fingers trembled slightly, and the smell of blood assaulted him like the ghost of a long-gone memory.

If he'd been properly armed, then, and properly trained - would he have been able to stop the tragedy that befell them all?

No.

Focus.

He took in a deep, calming breath, and stilled his hand and heart alike. One, two, three. One, two, three. Focus. His footing was purposeful, his arrow properly aimed. Focus.

And release!

With a satisfying thwack, the arrow violently impacted the epicenter of what was targeted, shredding wood like butter. A pair of golden eyes narrowed.

A perfect hit, Shirou mused. So why did it feel like he'd missed entirely?

Elsewhere, a fallen cherry blossom wilts.

"Rasengan!"
"Chidori!"

"Oh!" Came Shirou's soft exclamation of surprise as the two figures clashed violently in the screen, and Issei took a moment to feel proud of his decision to introduce Shirou to Naruto after they got through Dragon Ball. He himself preferred the latter, because it was a lot more kickass, but Shirou had the look of someone who'd enjoy the pseudo-philosophical discourse in Naruto a lot more… and he did. His red-and-white-haired (what was up with that, anyway?) friend had been almost immediately taken in by the soft tunes of Sadness and Sorrow (Issei could hardly remember what it was like to take that song seriously; the internet did that to you) and Hyodou had internally given himself a pat in the back.

He might not be able to make his too-nice friend into a proper pervert, but he sure as hell could make him into an Otaku! Or so it went.

To be honest, it was nice to have something to share with the other boy. A lot of his conversations with Motohama and Matsuda concerned other, less PG, topics, and while he most certainly loved those conversations, it wasn't like he could have them with Kosetsu. Believe him, he'd tried. Hard, and numerous, numerous times over. He'd gotten the boy to blush quite a few times, but, alas, it seems that Issei's hopes of overwriting what Shirou had been raised to believe were all but gone.

A shame. Shirou could have been the fourth lost member of the perverted trio - the gentleman pervert. His presence would make them all that more successful.

Plus, maybe then he'd be able to introduce Motohama and Matsuda to Shirou.

… Now. Don't take this the wrong way; it's not like Shirou wasn't very, very aware of Issei's perversion. It was something of a point of contention between the two of them, for all that they'd been able to become good friends despite that. Issei was a pervert, Shirou was a little sad, and things moved on. They were friends, and they enjoyed each other's company, and that was that (or so he hoped).

But -

Issei wasn't a pervert with Shirou in the same way he was a pervert with Motohama or Matsuda. They were different people in different places, after all; with the other two perverts, things were taken a lot farther. And it wasn't like Issei wasn't in on the fact that it was going too far for a lot of people, but he'd never cared about that. They didn't get it.

- And yet.

He didn't really want Shirou to think about him like the people at his school did. Because - maybe Shirou would think it was too much, or think less of him. And maybe he shouldn't care; maybe he should just be proud of his appreciation for what really should be appreciated, but…

… It was different, having a friend who actually liked him despite his perversion, and not because of it. With Shirou, being a pervert was just part of his personality, not its entirety. And, okay, maybe that was dumb, because it's not like he didn't talk anime with Motohama, or games with Matsuda, but…

Ugh. Nope. No way! Shirou was the one who got all down and stuff outta nowhere, not him. He slapped his own cheek to get himself outta his funk, eyes once again concentrating on the screen - and, oh, cool, Kakashi's making his dramatic speech to Sasuke. If Shirou noticed his odd behaviour, the boy was too nice to point it out, which was, of course, greatly appreciated, for Issei Hyodou wasn't exactly known for his emotional forthcoming...ness? Ugh, he's losing track of his thoughts.

Life was surely going to change - as it was, the thought of sharing a school environment with Kōsetsu , a boy he'd quickly come to associate with that park and nights spent arguing about anime or just throwing dumb ideas at each other, felt quite alien to Issei, like he and school belonged to two different worlds - but, while alien, it wasn't precisely unwelcome. Rather, it felt strangely nice.

Yeah.

Nice was the right word.

"Hey, Kōsetsu," Issei found himself mumbling, attracting Shirou's gaze away from the orange spectacle that played out. "We're transferring to Kuoh next year, right?"

Shirou blinked at that - a slow, owlish gesture that the Hyodou found slightly amusing. Finally, the golden-eyed boy raised an eyebrow slightly in silent questioning.

"...Yeah?" The boy answered, head tilted to the side just slightly. "Uh, didn't we already talk about this? We'll be in the same grade."

Issei nodded, because yeah, they had, but… Ah, the thought of having both Shirou & the other two members of the aptly named perverted trio was an odd one, like connecting two disconnected parts of your life at once. He felt like asking, 'you won't think less of me anyway, right?'
But man, that would sound reeeeally pathetic. So he did not.

Instead,

Hyodou Issei smiled at the friend with whom he sat.

"Bet I can get a girlfriend before you. On our first month there, even!"

The weary, weary sigh that escaped the younger boy was like music to his ears, even if it sounded a little mean. The boy paused the anime they were watching to turn and stare at him with a deadpan, eyebrows slightly furrowed and eyes entirely unimpressed, which only made Hyodou grin more.

"In your Dating SIMs, maybe." Shirou answered.

With a slightly offended pout, Issei grumbled a few things under his breath, then chuckled - offering the auburn-haired boy his fist, and smiled as Shirou himself grumbled, crossing his arms with an expression he found a little funny.

"We're not Naruto and Sasuke..." He muttered. I sure hope so, Issei mentally remarked, recalling a few unfortunate Google searches. Hit or miss me with all of that fanfiction.

Still, he just waited - and, there it was. With a small smile, Kōsetsu tapped his fist against Issei's own, and the boy finally felt relaxed enough to nod contently, both of their eyes traveling back to the TV.

Yeah. Things would turn out fine in the end. Maybe those were his halcyon days… Ah, damn it, Kōsetsu was getting to him,

A moment of silence was shared between them as they watched.

"...Hey, I have this magazine -" Hyodou began, a smile all too familiar growing on his face.

"No."

Hah. He's blushing.

Sunset in Kuoh, she mused in silence, was strangely beautiful. And she'd been all over the world; the collection of members for her peerage having taken her to all sorts of different places, and still it was the sunset at this place she'd made her home that drew her into dreams of grandeur. Like the closing curtains in an ethereal theatre, it gave an ending to the woes of the day and let the dance of shadows behind the folds of imagined fabric take glorious place.

Still, as she looked upon the entourage of personalities which she had gathered, the girl couldn't help but mentally point out what an odd group of strange individuals she had gathered to sit with. Her knight, ever the gentlemen, sat with perfect posture next to her Rook, who retained her usual neutral expression. As opposed to the two of them, her Queen carried a gentle smile and a steaming cup of tea, motioning with her head to the table between them all, where another was waiting for her.

With a thankful smile, the girl picked up the cup and took a sip from it. To call her beautiful would be an understatement. Exotic didn't even get close to describing her, either; with long flowing locks of vermillion-red hair that reached down to her thighs and a pair of the most brilliant blue eyes one would ever likely see. For a girl who was most likely 15 or 16 years old, Rias was also taller than one may expect, standing at some 167cm.

Hers was a face of soft features, neither childish nor innocent but still light - a face suited to carefree expressions. The expression she wore, however, was anything but; a slight curl at the edges of her lips denounced an interesting amusement that bellied her true identity.

For Rias Gremory was a Devil, and the overseer of Kuoh Town. And those sitting around her were her precious companions, her friends, her peerage. People whom she valued more than life itself. Sitting in front of an organized chessboard that, like the cup of tea she now sipped from, was carefully prepared for her, Rias Gremory saw in each piece a representation of her friends and nodded thoughtfully, playing with the surface of a pawn as she pondered on her next move.

"So you say there have been rumours of Fallen activity?" Her soft question came, uttered in a voice so gentle it was almost hard to hear. Soft, because she knew that while this matter was most certainly of key importance to Rias herself, it wouldn't do to forget that there were those there to whom it was more than just a matter of upholding one's responsibilities; to her Queen and best friend, Akeno, these matters were potentially personal.

To her credit, Himejima didn't offer much in the way of a reaction, merely nodding at her question and relaxing further into the chair on which she sat. The girl's luscious black locks fell just slightly over her eyes, but, at a first glance, she didn't at all look bothered by Rias' words. Perhaps, she mused, even deep wounds heal with time… or perhaps her friend's wrath was directed elsewhere.

"Yes," she replied. "That's what Grayfia-sama told us, at least. The Church has been quite vocal about it in these past few weeks, alongside talk of a Sacred Gear in one of their new members around here"

- Oho,

Her interest piqued, she leaned forward slightly. Grayfia, her brother's Queen, was not usually the type to give them information. After all, it was Rias' position to oversee the handling of Kuoh, not Sirzechs'. That having been said, there were times where exceptions must be made, and information that delicate was most certainly one such a time.

How they gathered information, Rias wasn't sure. Oh, she had asked before, of course, but her elder brother had proven unwilling to give her an answer, which in turn told her only that she probably did not want to know. Such things, Grayfia had once elaborated, will come with experience - experience you do not yet possess.

It was… both good and irksome. Good, because it meant she could take the time to learn at her pace without being afraid of the consequences of her inexperience. Irksome, because Rias Gremory wanted so, so much to become more than just the Gremory heir, and to do that, she knew she had to step out of her brother's shadow, proud as she was of the elder man.

"Do we know which one?"

"Unfortunately not," Akeno replied, her tone deceptively light-hearted. "That'd have been too easy, I think."

A chuckle traveled across the room, but they were all on edge underneath. Kuoh was widely known as a Devil territory, after all; to know of both rumoured Fallen Activity nearby and of an important Church resource was… disconcerting. She vowed then to keep a keener eye on the surrounding area, if for no other reason than to be absolutely sure they weren't looking at an inter-faction disaster in the making.

Her eyes traveled to Koneko-chan's figure, and then past her to meet Yuuto-kun's own eyes. At the mention of the Church, he had predictably stiffened, and she regretted then not being able to spare him the suffering he'd gone through before their paths met. Yuuto's face should always look relaxed and kind - but right then, he looked as if his shadows were gripping at his ankles and dragging him down, like the enemy was about to jump him. He looked ready for a fight, and she hated it.

But it was necessary - this was the job of a Devil Overseer. She wasn't merely the King of a Peerage, but the metaphorical King of the entire surrounding area as well; it was her responsibility to overlook all that happened within the limits of Kuoh, and on her would the guilt fall should something escape her watchful gaze. More often than not, this didn't mean much, but this was hardly the first piece of concerning news she'd received. It would do me well, she mused softly, to communicate what I'm hearing here to Sona. Better safe than sorry.

For now, though.

"Well, we'll look into it. Anything else?"

"Ah, yes…" Akeno replied, a glimmer of cheer in her eyes where there had been none, and the Gremory found some cheer of her own in having seen it now, loud and clear. There was not much in the world that she despised moew than the thought of her best friend feeling miserable. Still, Rias raised an eyebrow, absent-mindedly moving another piece in her ongoing game of chess against herself as Akeno spoke. "If I am not mistaken, there is a Stray hunting nearby."

- !

Yep. Now everyone looked all the keener. It made sense, of course; stopping Strays from wreaking havoc into the city at large, through force more often than not, was another of their many responsibilities. Unlike the previous one, however, this was one they usually enjoyed, for the training it presented if nothing else. Kiba, she knew, also particularly enjoyed the idea of sparing 'innocent's from the Stray's wrath, a feeling she both partook in and found strangely alien.

Regardless. Perhaps this would help get their minds off things, she concluded.

"Well, I suppose we have a Stray to hunt, then."

It was night, and the moon served only to make Shirou feel more nervous. Though the walls of the room he usually had for himself were usually a source of contentment, they brought him nothing but a quiet sensation of creeping anxiety.

Outside, despite the moonlight, it was dark. The kind of darkness that served only to oppress, the type that bid its time while hiding all of a child's worst fears. With his back against the door and his arms crossed, Exorcist Fukushima watched carefully and with a neutral expression as Shirou slowly and carefully attached the small bag to his waist and put on the jacket of the haori he had gone with. Finally, he grasped the golden hilt of the light-sword that had been carefully enveloped in silk before being given to him by Fukushima.

- the sound of a flame being lit, followed by a light humming not unlike that seen in Star Wars. It would have been amusing had his heart not felt like it was about to explode into a thousand small pieces and drown him, but as it was, the light cast by the weapon as he turned it on wordlessly made him feel nothing but uncomfortable.

"It's… quite something, is it not?" Hiroto Fukushima questioned softly, in a tone of voice Shirou would have found sympathetic if he didn't know better. "I remember feeling like I was about to faint when I got my first weapon & hunt."

- That's not it, he wanted to say. No, rather, he wanted to scream. He wanted to let out all of the melancholic obscenities that had swirled within his chest like a vortex of nameless emotions when Fukushima had knocked on their door and told Anastasia that he was to accompany him in the hunting of a Stray Devil. He wanted to scream until his throat was hoarse, until his words were soft and his eyes felt too dry to think about crying. He wanted to scream the memories away - but the silence, ever so watchful, persisted as they haunted him there. T'was an ugly, dark feeling, the one that assaulted him - a mere shadow of the one he felt surging on his throat like rising bile each time he dreamt about the woman with the black sword.

Twin eyes like pools of molten gold traveled to the mirror affixed to the door, and, in unsettled silence, stared at his own reflection. A boy with pale skin and unsettling yellow eyes stared back impassively, his expression somewhere between neutral and panicked. His hair was a mess of white and red locks and curls that framed his face just slightly, hanging just a few millimetres over his eyebrows. He wore a perfectly white Haori jacket over a traditional kendoka's Hakama in black, a choice he himself had made on a whim - as if he was paying respects to someone precious.

- Are you proud of me? He wanted to ask [her]. Do you see me?

But the answer, whispered by the passing wind, was clear in its strange clearness. Illya was right. He really was an idiot. But if he had to guess. . .

The answer has to be "no".

Anastasia had looked alarmed, but neither she or Fukushima had found within themselves the strength to say a thing, and for that he was thankful. This was a big moment, after all, for all the good that would do them. A pitiful showing of compassion, but the boy called snowfall found that, when faced with the reality of this situation, he could do nothing but scream in dead silence.

He had asked Fukushima, a few moments after the statement was made.

'What if I say no?'

The man did not answer. Of course he did not. But the look on his face - the expression of alarmed discontentment combined with a bone-deep sensation of regretful fear - had chilled his blood. Faced with the inevitability of the situation, all Shirou could do was nod.

. . . Samiya was probably worried sick right now. No, scratch that. She was most likely panicking, as she claimed an older sister was required to. This is suicide, she told him, or worse. This is not all that much better than selling your soul to a Devil - and, in truth, he believed her entirely. These were people who sought to control him, to wield him as he was to wield this light-sword, to aim him at an unsuspecting enemy and tell him to slay. They were taking him out for a test drive as if he were a particularly cool new car they'd acquired, to see if he was worth the investment,

. . . And yet -

The thought of killing a Stray (again, his brain treacherously reminded him) made him want to puke. But he was (a Hero) and, each time that thought assaulted him, he reminded himself of what would have happened to those he loved if he had chosen not to fight.

His hand tightened around the golden hilt with such force that it bit into his skin. Beside him, thrown carelessly at the bed, his phone's screen lit up. "43 unread messages from Samiya (Sister)", the top of which read "Shirou?". With a heavy heart, Kōsetsu turned away from the screen, ignoring the echoes of a raging inferno in his ears.

"I'm ready," said Emiya Shirou, and Fukushima answered with a regretful smile.

Hunting Season, it seemed, was on.