*Disclaimer*
The following fanfiction story, "Threads of Destiny : Shirou Emiya's Journey through Myth," is a work of fiction based on the characters and settings from the "Fate/stay night" series by Type-Moon and the "Percy Jackson" series by Rick Riordan. I do not own any rights to these original works, and this fanfiction is created solely for entertainment purposes.
*Author's Note*
Hello. All is well, and I am happy to present a new chapter. My writing juice has been in such a hyper mode this week.
I am releasing Chapter 2 of Shirou's Cooking Drabbles Tomorrow. By this time Chapter 3 will be up on p a treon .
Also going up is a preview of the first chapter of 'My name is Percy Jackson'. a sitcom style series that revolves around Percy's many encounters with different people from within and outside his pantheon and universe.
The link is p a treon .com (slash) sayanjerr
For those who want to ask, may i respectfully ask that you throw away fate canon?. Since Shirou's world is different from that of Percy Jackson, I want to use the opportunity to dive deep into the mythos of the characters being used.
The Amount Of Research I Have Done For This Fic Alone Is Amazing!
Within the hallowed halls of Olympus, a palpable tension hung in the air, suffusing the divine assembly with an air of unease.
"Apollo," Athena's voice cut through the silence like a blade, her gaze piercing as she fixed her attention on the god of prophecy. "What news of the prophecy?"
Apollo shifted uncomfortably under her penetrating stare, acutely aware of the weight of her expectations. "I... I regret to inform you," he began, his voice faltering slightly, "that I currently lack the details of the prophecy."
Hestia, ever the embodiment of warmth and serenity, interjected gently. "Surely there must be a way to uncover the truth," she suggested, her tone imbued with quiet concern.
Apollo nodded, grateful for her support. "Yes, I may need to delve into meditation," he admitted reluctantly, "a practice I've long avoided since the Great Prophecy."
Hera's brow furrowed with impatience as she leaned forward, her regal bearing demanding answers. "We cannot afford delay," she insisted, her voice tinged with urgency. "The fate of Olympus hangs in the balance."
Just then, Zeus entered the chamber with a thunderous presence that commanded attention. His gaze fell upon Apollo, a silent question burning in his eyes.
Apollo swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Zeus's scrutiny. "Perhaps," he began tentatively, "Zeus could summon the Fates..."
Zeus's expression darkened at the mention of the Fates,ending the discussion there.
Meanwhile, at Camp Jupiter, Octavian found himself besieged by a barrage of questions from the Senate, each inquiry like a spear aimed at his composure.
"What do you know of this prophecy?" demanded Senator Marcus, his voice dripping with skepticism.
Octavian squared his shoulders, steeling himself against the onslaught of inquiries. "I must consult Lord Apollo," he replied evenly, though the uncertainty gnawed at his resolve. "Though I fear even he is in the dark."
Senator Lucia chimed in, her tone laced with suspicion. "And what if Lord Apollo cannot provide the answers we seek?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.
Octavian's facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features before he regained his composure. "We must trust in the gods," he asserted, though his words rang hollow in the face of uncertainty.
Apollo, listening in from Olympus, inwardly despaired at the thought of Octavian's impending consultation.
At Camp Half-Blood, Chiron observed the placement of the Oracle with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "We must trust in the Oracle's guidance," he told the campers, though his words offered little solace in the face of their mounting anxiety.
Meanwhile, Percy and the hunters pressed forward with their quest, their minds plagued by the specter of uncertainty.
"We've dodged a bullet for now," Percy remarked to the group, though his tone betrayed his unease. "But we can't let our guard down. Who knows what's waiting for us around the next bend?"
As dusk settled over Nosappu, Shirou and his companions stood on the precipice of the unknown, the weight of impending destiny heavy upon their shoulders.
In the fading light, Shirou's mind wandered, drifting into the ethereal realm of visions. There, amidst the mists of dreams, he found himself face-to-face with a familiar figure: his mother.
"Mother," Shirou breathed, his voice a mere whisper in the vast expanse of his subconscious.
His mother's spectral form regarded him with a mixture of love and solemnity. "Shirou," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of ages past. "In order to navigate the treacherous depths of the nether, you will require a weapon of unparalleled strength."
Confusion clouded Shirou's features as he processed her words. "But how?" he ventured, his brow furrowing in consternation.
A ghost of a smile flickered across his mother's visage. "I have arranged for you to receive a sword forged from stygian iron," she revealed, her tone tinged with a hint of pride. "Along with a bow and quiver enchanted to never run out of stygian iron arrows."
Shirou's eyes widened in astonishment at the revelation. "But from whom?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
His mother's expression softened, a fondness shining in her ethereal gaze. "From my brother," she confessed, her words carrying a weight of familial bond. "You see, normally, only children of underworld deities can wield weapons made from stygian iron. But I have the power to waive such conditions for you."
As the vision faded, leaving Shirou standing once more on the precipice of reality, he felt a newfound sense of purpose coursing through his veins. With his mother's guidance, he knew he could face whatever trials lay ahead.
At the stroke of midnight, the group found themselves standing before the ominous gateway that marked the threshold to the nether. A shroud of fog enveloped them, obscuring their surroundings in an eerie haze.
With a collective breath, they stepped forward, crossing the threshold into a world cloaked in sepia tones. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy, sending shivers down their spines as they ventured further into the unknown.
Alongside the path, a weathered signpost stood sentinel, its message a foreboding warning: "In haste come in and in haste get out. 3 days in and too late it is."
Despite the ominous words Shirou and his companions pressed on, their resolve unwavering in the face of uncertainty. With each step, they drew closer to their destiny, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the whispers of fate that hung heavy in the air.
As the gates of the nether closed behind them, sealing their fate within its shadowy embrace, Shirou steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead. With his mother's blessings and the strength of his companions at his side, he knew that together, they would overcome whatever trials awaited them in this strange and mysterious realm.g the ramifications of his own uncertainty.
In the desolate expanse of the nether, a solitary figure pressed forward, his steps heavy with the weight of his burdens. With each stride, he clutched a child close to his chest, the small form nestled against him offering a faint glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.
"Why did I make the damn sword?" the man muttered to himself, his voice strained with exhaustion as he trudged onward. With every heartbeat, the weight of regret pressed down upon him, a constant reminder of the choices that had led him to this desperate flight.
As he fled through the shadowed labyrinth, the man's mind raced with memories of happier times, a stark contrast to the grim reality that now surrounded him. He thought of his son, the innocent soul whose life hung in the balance, and the sword he carried upon his back, a weapon forged in both love and desperation.
But even as he ran, pursued by those who sought to claim his most precious possession, the man's resolve remained unbroken. With every breath, he vowed to protect his son at all costs, to shield him from the dangers that lurked in the depths of the nether.
Finally, as fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, the man came to a halt, his chest heaving with exertion. With trembling hands, he gently lowered his son to the ground, the child's wide eyes searching his own with unspoken trust.
"Listen to me, my son," the man said, his voice trembling with emotion as he knelt beside the child. "I may not be able to stay with you, but I need you to be strong. Do you understand?"
The child nodded solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he listened to his father's words.
"I love you more than anything in this world," the man continued, his voice thick with emotion. "And no matter what happens, I will always be with you, in spirit if not in person."
With a heavy heart, the man reached for a medallion hanging around his neck, a token of love from the child's mother. He explained its purpose to his son, the weight of its significance hanging heavy in the air.
"This medallion will keep you safe, my son," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Use it wisely, and remember that I will always be watching over you."
With a final kiss and a whispered goodbye, the man activated the medallion, a single tear trailing down his cheek as he watched his son vanish from sight.
Alone once more, the man rose to his feet, his resolve steeled as he prepared to face his pursuers. With the sword slung across his back, he squared his shoulders and braced himself for the battle to come, his thoughts consumed by the memory of the son he had sacrificed everything to protect.
As the man faced his pursuers, a fierce determination burned in his eyes, driving him forward despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him. With each swing of his sword, he fought with all the strength and skill he possessed, a lone warrior against an army of adversaries.
But even as he battled valiantly, the man knew that his efforts would not be enough to overcome the forces arrayed against him. With each passing moment, his strength waned, his body weary from the relentless onslaught.
As the man's life ebbed away on the blood-soaked battlefield, a goddess with flowing black hair passed by the scene. Her heart heavy with sorrow, she witnessed the devastation wrought by the conflict, the lives lost, and the families torn apart.
With tears streaming down her face, the goddess knelt beside the fallen warrior, her touch gentle as she cradled his lifeless form in her arms. In that moment of quiet reverence, she felt the weight of his sacrifice, the bravery and determination that had driven him to fight until the very end.
Gazing upon the sword that lay beside him, a testament to his unwavering resolve, the goddess knew that she could not let his memory fade into obscurity. With a solemn vow, she lifted the sword from the ground, its weight a tangible reminder of the man's courage and sacrifice.
Carrying the sword with her, the goddess disappeared into the depths of the nether, a place where few dared to tread. There, amidst the shadows and silence, she found a sanctuary for the weapon, a hidden chamber where it would remain untouched by the passage of time.
Shirou and the others entered the nether, cautiously navigating through the eerie surroundings. Although it wasn't as terrifying as Yomi, they remained vigilant, knowing the nether was designed to ensnare unsuspecting travelers.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, they encountered a peculiar sight: a massive tree with a weathered face, seemingly asleepShirou and the others cautiously approached the slumbering tree, exchanging wary glances as they took in its imposing form.
Rin, ever impatient, couldn't resist the urge to break the tense silence. "So, anyone got any bright ideas on how to wake up this giant log?"
Sakura shot her a reproachful look. "Rin, we need to be respectful. This tree might be more than it seems."
Shirou nodded in agreement. "Let's try a gentle approach first. We don't want to anger it."
With a hesitant step forward, Sakura cleared her throat. "Um, excuse me, Mr. Tree? Would you mind waking up for us?"
No response.
Rin rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. "Guess he's not a morning person."
Undeterred, Rin stepped forward and delivered a swift kick to the tree's trunk. "Wakey-wakey, Mr. Tree! We've got places to be!"
The tree remained unmoved, prompting Sakura to intervene. "Rin, maybe try asking nicely? Like this: 'Please wake up, Mr. Tree.'"
Rin sighed in frustration but complied. "Fine. Please wake up, Mr. Tree. Pretty please with sugar on top?"
To everyone's surprise, the tree let out a deep rumble, its branches trembling as it stirred from its slumber. Shirou couldn't help but stifle a laugh at Rin's exaggerated plea.
"See, Rin? Politeness goes a long way," Sakura said, unable to hide a smirk.
With a groan, the tree opened its ancient eyes and fixed its gaze upon Shirou, who braced himself for whatever might come next.
"How dare you return here after all these years!" the tree bellowed, its voice echoing through the forest.
Shirou, caught off guard by the tree's sudden outburst, raised his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. What do you mean?"
The tree studied Shirou intently, its eyes searching for something familiar. Then, as if struck by a sudden revelation, tears welled up in its ancient eyes.
"My apologies," the tree said, its voice now trembling with emotion. "I mistook you for another, someone I thought lost to the sands of time. But seeing you now, I realize you are his son."
Shirou exchanged puzzled glances with his companions, unsure of what the tree was implying. Before he could inquire further, the tree's expression softened, and a bittersweet smile crossed its gnarled features.
"Your father was a brave soul," the tree continued, its voice heavy with nostalgia. "He ventured into these depths long ago, seeking to protect that which was dearest to him. Even though he is lost forever, now I see a glimmer of him in you."
Realization dawned on Shirou as he grasped the significance of the tree's words. His father's legacy lived on through him. With a solemn nod, the tree summoned a shimmering magic circle that enveloped Shirou and his companions. It carried them long and far into the nether.
**OMAKE**
Inside the Apollo cabin, where laughter usually echoed like music, now resounded a symphony of stomachs grumbling in discontent. The campers, usually a lively bunch, were huddled together in solemn silence, their gazes fixed on the empty hearth.
"I never thought I'd miss tofu so much," one camper mumbled, earning a round of chuckles from the group.
"Remember that time Shirou made baklava and accidentally set the kitchen on fire?" another reminisced, a fond smile playing on their lips.
"Yeah, and then he served us 'flame-kissed baklava' as if it was some exotic delicacy," a third camper added, stifling a laugh.
High atop Olympus, Apollo and Aphrodite reclined on golden thrones, their divine forms radiating with ethereal beauty. Yet, even among the splendor of the divine realm, there was a palpable sense of longing in the air.
"I never thought I'd find myself craving mortal food," Aphrodite sighed dramatically, twirling a lock of golden hair between her fingers.
Apollo nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Who knew Shirou's cooking could rival nectar and ambrosia?"
"But remember the time he tried to recreate ambrosia and ended up with fruit salad?" Aphrodite giggled, the memory bringing a smile to her lips.
"And the time he accidentally summoned a group of satyrs with his barbecue sauce?" Apollo added, unable to contain his laughter.
The gods erupted into peals of celestial laughter, their divine forms shaking with mirth.
