The burn on the back of Haley's hand was a signal for a change she had not been expecting. Her cerulean eyes had been fixated on the three swirling scarlet marks intertwined into a triangle for what felt like hours—but it had only been a few minutes.

It was then her heart trembled.

Tears filled her eyes and her hands shakily worked for the burner android phone hiding within her tattered shorts pocket. There was only one person on the other side of that line who could guide her through this—who could give her the honest answers that would make or break her existence once again.

Briscella's British accent was energetic as always, packed full with charismatic energy that lightened the heaviness of the brick-like load on her chest. The woman was at too far a distance, but any time conversing with her risked the safety of them both. The pristine Magus was advocating for the Psychic at the Magus Association and surely they were keeping watch on her. But this took precedence; and Haley would be lying if she were to say that speaking with the older woman was not a gift.

"I-I haven't had any time to prepare. No catalyst and I'm still on the run, so this could bring unnecessary attention. A war of Magi? It's—asking to be found. What, what do I do?" The phone was convulsing from her tremors, as the Psychic turned her gaze to the large, tumbled over backpack.

The thought had crossed her mind of one Heroic Spirit contained in the miniature novel hidden inside the knapsack. As nerve-wracking this all was, maybe she could find something relating to him. Or even use the book.

"According to what I'm getting from the, Association's report, there are five Magi at this moment, all of whom are accounted for besides one, so you do have time to find a catalyst for whoever. Once you're picked to be a Master, Haley, that's it. You're stuck. So if you choose to summon a specific Servant given your exergen and special circumstances, it has got to be a Servant that'll look past it which," Briscella's voice trailed off with concern, as if contemplating how to relay the message that Haley had begun formulating in her mind. "Might not be many, if any."

Knees curling to her chest, Haley plucked absentmindedly at the sleeve of her sweater. It was dangerous, attempting to summon a Servant and then dispelling the news she had no interest in the Grail War. As her friend had rightfully warned: they could kill her—ditch her for a person more capable of receiving the Grail. It left her mind filling with increased dread and pulled her eyes closed with worry.

"Now what you could do, is summon any Heroic Spirit, love, and just use your command seals to either break your contract with them or order their untimely end, which would then remove your status as Master, which—"

"No." Haley broke off the woman's tangent quickly, the words horrifying her. She could not fathom doing something so indecent. It was an insult to the Heroic Spirits—to summon them just to write them off so quickly? It felt disgusting. There was no doing that.

There was a heavy sigh on the smartphone, then a pause before then the older woman continued, "Your third option, sweetheart, is to head to the church to seek asylum. They might be able to remove the command seals too, but that's a grey area, from what I know. It also looks bad on you, but your reputation is in shambles anyway."

This decision Haley had on her plate was not at all appetizing.

No matter what she did, the responsibility and sense of self-preservation that came with being a Master surfaced at the tip of the tide that represented her emotions. There was nothing left to do but ponder, and figure the best course of action to keep her life in check. She had to make the right play, or else the twelve years she'd spent protecting herself would be lost in the rift.

With the quilt beneath her packed, and the packages of take-out stuffed away in the plastic bag, Haley traversed the layers of pine, sunset colored leaves, and grassed edges. The forest was rich in fall colors; the freshness of nature grounded the telekinetic. The warm hue of the sky—peppered with the calls of the night and the symphony of the tranquil environment— further helped her come to grips with a choice.

As night overtook the day's space, Haley found comfort in her sleeping bag. She mapped out her destination on her phone and popped her headphones in her ears. This would be over dangerously slower than it started—nevertheless, she would find the strength to grapple with her fate.

When the uber left her at the end of the street the next day, time froze as the gloom of grey clouds hovered overhead. The waft of rain accumulated in her senses and nearly gave way to the turmoil residing deep in her being.

Something was off-putting about her perception. Sucking in a reassuring breath, she strolled the short path of the upward hill to the Church setting at the top. The breeze was sharp, cutting into her plain jacket. Stray leaves danced in the crisp air.

The Church gave off an old vibe. It was tall, with large brown and gold doors positioned at the center of the pointed building. Window panes were decorated with Catholic images, and large steps lead to the massive entrance.

Haley stood a few feet away, her small hands shoved deep into her jean pockets. Maybe she was just being cowardly, but she couldn't move her boots to bring her any closer.

The world fell stagnant. Her breath refused to release. Were her hackles standing on end because she was cold—or because something felt terribly wrong somehow?

"I can't do this," she breathed, swiveling on her toes and turning tail like a mouse running from a cat.

The only explanation for her unease was to emphasize the effect of the solely negative energy permeating from that small area. It felt disgusting, and violated every bit of her perception. There was no way she was going to be safe there. That was certain.

The first Grail War of America and this was the energy coming from a place to seek security? If that was what she was going to deal with—hiding from this farce of a war was the better option.

However, the Psychic now had no idea where she was going. The familiar aroma of salt water tickled her nose. If she followed the direction the wind carried her long, chestnut colored-hair, Haley would end up at the waterfront. To her right, though, that direction brought back memories she hadn't dwelled on in quite some time of a person she hadn't visited since her return to this part of the State a few years ago.

Haley followed the trail to the cemetery with her mother in mind. Maybe she could ask her for advice on what to do next. Only half-way down the sidewalk the rain glazed her skin. The cool tears from the sky soaked into her garments and brought a chill to her bones.

Nothing could take her casual stroll down a worse path than the shadow she felt lurking in the trees that lined the sidewalks. Peering around, she realized the streets of the small city were empty. The rain must have chased away any civilians.

"Oh no, Please," If her hairs were standing on edge before, they were now sharp as knives as the wind ominously gusted behind her .

It was pure instinct that turned her eyes in time to catch the glimmer of daggers flung her way. Haley tripped over her own two feet, but cast the blades away with her telekinetic energy; the sharp implements missing her by a mere sliver.

Magic fueled her blood unhesitatingly, coloring her body with a cerulean glow. Haley instinctively retreated along the narrow path, towards the downtown area. People thrived there, regardless of rain—her pursuers would have to avoid her, no? Wasn't it the rule of the Magus to keep their work secret?

Gods, she prayed she was correct, because the cloaked figure travelling the neighborhood exhibited her speed (if not completely outmatched it). The dark shape blurred past, twirling through the houses and trees with a finesse that barreled more blades and knives, barely missing their mark; others nicking and tearing her already worn linens.

The enhanced woman skidded to a stop, smacked upright by the Servant cutting her off; he instigated hand-to-hand combat that she knew nothing of how to counter. Immediately she tried to halt the caped, masked man's left hand as it skimmed her cheek, while her waist screamed from the piercing it received.

Panicking, Haley recovered quickly enough, using a wave of energy to dispel her and her attacker in opposite directions. The dagger wedged into her torso was swiftly pulled out and redirected at the ghoul while she hurtled towards the civilians.

The strange noises coming from the Heroic Spirit had her wrinkling her brows in confusion. The way he moved reminded her of a bat: sporadic, but honed and brisk. The masked man was athletic and his tactile moves cut her off at every turn.

He knew her strategy—she needed to change it.

Yet again, Haley had little time to implement a decisive change to the outcome of this chase. Too agile, too forward—the Heroic Spirit rocketed her about like a rag doll. The ground met her book-bag (cushioning the blow), and mud obscured her vision. Her only saving grace from the knife that missed her shoulder was the slippery slope; it dragged her down into an awkward roll.

Curses left her mouth, just before the lanky foot colliding with her brow made her squeal like a pig.

"You run—a feeble move. I would give in now. I do not mean to take your life, but you." His voice was harsh and crude.

Haley smeared the mud from her side bangs, finally glimpsing in full the Servant before her. Bat-like he truly was, with a shaggy cape and hidden arms. His legs were skinny, and under the cloak was a skull mask.

The man had to be of the Assassin class. He fit the bill with his unnerving outfit, but what befuddled Haley more was his absurd declaration. "You what? No way! I'd be insane to go with an enemy Servant!" Not ready for any more chatter, Haley bolted again, feeling his disgruntled stare boring into her.

"Just leave me alone! I don't have a Servant, I don't want anything to do with this!" her begging really was pathetic of her, she thought, as she dodged another barrage of dirks.

No time—no way out. Haley maneuvered through the sheeting rain, casting away the Servant with a heaving breath and another outlay of her mental energy. Behind her were houses. She could knock on a door, but when she gazed about in a brief moment of respite, she realized there was a barrier hiding their every move.

"Crap, crap! I've been sealed in from the start, and going in circles!" Haley gasped, her lungs on fire from the constant movement. Avoiding the man was no longer an option. She was to fight it—but defeating a Servant?!

The Assassin dropped directly in front of her quivering frame. "You realize this is futile, yet you ready your stance. I do not understand you."

Shaking her head, the woman stalled, trying to come up with some sort of plan to end this. "I have to try!"

Haley wanted this to be over. The only weapons she knew of were the scattered blades of the Assassin. Her enhancement magic could strengthen her fists and feet, but would it be enough? As long as the Servant was in her eyesight she could keep him still, to prolong her chance of devising a plan. In retrospect, she needed help.

The Servant tried to strike her: she felt it against her psyche as the Heroic Spirit cryptically cracked his head sideways. "You. What? You do?"

"Yeah, you're not moving! If I can't fight you, then I can least keep you the hell away from me." The squeak in her voice did little to hide how dubious she was of her own declaration. This was a Servant. Not some run-of-the-mill Magus she was up against, her hold would only last so long.

"Hmm. Moving things with your mind." The Assassin contemplated; Haley was running on little time.

What am I to do? Ack! Just as expected, her power was quickly faltering. The magic prowess of a Servant pushed against her hold, testing her mental capacity. His movements were slow, but successful in edging their way past her mind and giving her an immense headache.

Haley came to the worst conclusion.

I can't… do this. Somebody… help...

—

This realm was never quiet. For what felt like an eternity, haunting memories assaulted the Spirit floating in the vast space. Above, the ring of silver taunted him. it laughed at his inability to change his fate. it mocked his failure to reach it.

Useless Servant. A beast. Yeah, that's exactly what he was; given his eyes were still coated in crimson, the bloodied tears indicating his useless attempt to defend his honor. The gaping hole in his chest reminded him of the loyalty he had never attained.

Thus—the Heroic Spirit remained in this limbo of a pathway between the Throne and the Grail. His grudge held disturbingly close to his heart.

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne will never forgive them. Any of them.

"Oh~ is that so? Are you sure?" A woman's light voice carried like a summer breeze. It was warm, but tinged with mild admonition.

The Lancer closed his beet-red eyes. This was the first time he'd been assailed by voices that were not the appalling, torturous memories of his two previous lives.

Something bright flashed to the left of his floating body. It sprang to life with images of a long-haired woman as she frantically attempted to escape a shadowy figure. The fallen Knight scoffed, uninterested in whatever plagued the war of the living.

The girl's earth-shattering scream bounced off the non-existent walls of the magical charcoal abyss.

"Stay away from me! Just leave me alone!" Her vocals were pitched obnoxiously high, making Diarmuid wince.

Cracking open an eye, he spied the triviality of the woman desperately fighting a Servant on her own. Somehow, she managed to bring an array of the Servant's scattered weapons against him. The Knight knew not how she contrived such a feat—she managed to draw blood. She side-stepped, slipping to the unmatched Heroic Spirit's speed. She fell on her rear, with the Assassin closing in like a hawk on its prey—talons at the ready.

"Stop!"

"Tell me, Diarmuid o' Dyna—" The other woman's voice eerily cut in. "Does leaving a woman helpless bode well with your chivalry?"

Chivalry. a Knight's honorable code. A code which Diarmuid had sworn to uphold—an ethos which had been thoroughly trampled by the very humans from whom he had accepted the Throne of Heroes call. Why would he throw himself in the line of fire once again?

"Someone, anybody, Please—" The desperation laced in the woman's cracking voice caused him to glance once more at the vision before him. "Please... help me!"

The Knight let his eyelids fall as he exhaled through his nostrils.

—

Haley had tried. She really had. The way the Assassin maneuvered through the layers of his own weapons sprung against him by her powers sank any chance she had at victory.

Her heart throbbed hard against her ribcage. In front of her, the Servant closed the gap between them. She would be taken to whomever this bastard's master was, and there was nothing she could do.

Defeated, sprawled out in the mud, and drenched with sweat (despite the cold) she begged to no one. "Someone. Anybody please, please, help me!" Her eyes squeezed shut as the Assassin was a few inches away—

Pain riveted in the slender woman's left hand. She clasped the bright seals that illuminated drastic magic—magic that she could never construct on her own. "What the!"

Glorious white light broke apart the rain, magic spinning circles of Haley's hair. She blocked her eyes from the superstorm of monstrous energy. It swirled—manifesting the figure of a tall male who immediately charged forward.

Two spears: one longer than the Heroic Spirit holding them and cardinal red; the other, smaller and golden like the sun. Both spears twirled with ferocity, colliding against the Assassin and forcing him away from the dumbfounded woman.

Haley gawked in disbelief. "That's!" It seemed impossible. She didn't have a summoning circle, nor any catalyst (though that was less problematic); but clearly the man standing before her was a Servant. She had to use her enhancement magic to track his astounding precision with his weaponry.

The Assassin—clearly overwhelmed by the Servant (cloaked in a green spandex tunic)—gritted his teeth, barely blocking the double-striking blows.

"Hmm. It is quite cowardly of you to attack a Lady when she is undefended," the dark haired man stated. His words were displeased, but his voice was calm and smooth, Haley noted. He readied his lances at his side once more.

The man hidden in black leaped far between them. "I have failed. My orders. Were to retrieve the girl. Chyeeahh !" he then dissipated, breaking down his physical form into a dark dust.

Shaking his raven locks from side-to-side, the man whispered, "So he chooses to flee, after all the trouble he's caused."

Droplets of rain streamed down the Lancer's stalwart build. He said nothing, keeping his taut back turned towards her as Haley gathered her thoughts and felt the magical fortification collapse.

Eyelids drooping, the Psychic hugged her torso. None of this went as anticipated. She was supposed to find a safe haven in the church—to wait out the war's end and return to her life in hiding from the bounty. She never intended on summoning a Servant. it was overly complicated, and yet there he was—getting soaked and refusing to look at her.

It was all too much. These past two days were insanely stressful and now she would be overwhelmed by fighting six other Servants for an omnipotent device; a device she did not want or could trust, given past Wars. How was she going to explain to this man the hell that was her existence—and that he was to be along for the bumpy ride?

Haley resisted the urge to cry. Whoever this Heroic Spirit was—he was going to be utterly disappointed in his new Master. Maybe, hopefully , this Servant would at least entertain the idea of severing their pact so he could find a more suitable person to bring the Grail, he would hopefully listen to her pleas for the gift to keep her life.

Finding her feet through her fits of shivers, the Psychic stood, as the Servant turned his head to peer over his shoulder.

"I must commend your effort and success in holding out for as long as you did against the Assassin," he stated simply, dematerializing his spears. "You are wounded."

Flicking down her blue-eyed gaze, the brunette hovered her palm over the crease in her gut, feeling the majority of her wounds magically sealing themselves back together. She may not be a good Magus, but healing was her specialty. That—and healing injuries as subtle as these compared to a history of much worse horrors, had her forgetting she had even received lacerations.

Sighing, Haley turned her regard from the Heroic Spirit. She looked down to her toes as she thought on what to do what to even say. All she knew was that she was miserable.

"Thank you for, saving me," she managed to choke out with as much sincerity she could muster, officially drained and watered-down. "We… should probably find a place to talk. If, if you want, why don't you take spirit form until then? Both of us don't have to be drenched from the rain."

Silently, Haley looked up from underneath her lashes at the Servant, who offered her suggestion a light nod, before he disappeared in emerald flurries. He was a quiet one, she surmised, adjusting the straps of her mangled backpack.

The Psychic felt like a ghost slowly and aimlessly drifting through the world, plagued with grief. Her clothes were in shreds, her mind in shambles. The shops of the downtown area were vacant aside from a few customers. She took the moment to enter a clothes shop and purchased her replacements.

The task of wandering through her favorite apparel emporium succeeded in turning on the lightbulb idea of a location where Haley could collect herself; she rapidly turned tail to quickly travel there since it was such a short distance away.

In the downpour, the massive three-story structure brought the weakest of smiles to her countenance. The elementary school brought back nothing but pleasant moments. Given that it was the weekend: it should give her some time to collect her barrings..

Sliding through one of the windows, Haley blew a raspberry and surveyed the familiar halls. The walls were lined with pictures of students, teachers, and classwork. She grazed her fingers over the plaster, admiring how little the school had changed in—what, twenty-one years since she'd been there?

Choosing a classroom, tossing her soaked clothes to the side and throwing on a t-shirt with jeans and some sneakers, Haley collapsed tiredly into one of the tiny chairs of a large desk. "Lancer… are you here?"

Haley cocked her head as the Heroic Spirit materialized, kneeling before her. His head hung low, turned slightly to the left, his golden eyes transfixed on the wooden floors. He possessed a quirky strand of hair (one that didn't pull back with the rest of his locks) that constantly rested at the bridge of his nose. Despite his dull expression, the man was quite handsome.

But why was he settled in a pose that suggested she was someone superior? Haley propped her chin on her knuckles, elbows keeping her upright. "Hi."

Hi? Really? What the hell was she doing?

The Knight's stare remained vacantly trained on the floor, leaving the woman feeling uneasy. Why wouldn't he look her in the eye? Had she offended him somehow? Did she really suck that much?

"Hello," he answered back. "How are you—" his pause only added to all the questions Haley had swelling in her heart. "faring?"

Haley released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Despite her hair trying desperately to dry, and her body slowly recovering its warmth, she felt okay. "I'm okay, I think. Thanks for asking. So, there's a lot to discuss and I have no idea where to start," she chuckled, trying to relieve whatever tension was lingering in the air. "But I think, our names should probably be a good place. So, I'm Haley, just uh, Haley."

"Indeed. I am Diarmuid ua Duibhne, your Lancer class Servant, who is here to serve you."

Chin lifting slightly from her fist, the Psychic's mouth opened slowly. Were her ears playing tricks on her? Was this some sort of joke? It was too impossible, the chances were so strictly low. He couldn't be, there was no way.

"What?" she muttered incredulously.

The Lancer's expression fell grim by her question; she immediately felt terrible for expressing her shock. "Are you familiar with my tale, Master?"

Azure eyes slanted to her backpack, then back to the Servant. "I, yeah. I know it very well."

The Heroic Spirit did well at masking his disposition. However, Haley had the ability to sense intentions and it pained her deeply to be aware of his resolve to conceal his emotions from her. It merely begged the question why , but furthered her desire to simply end this pact and ditch this war.

Diarmuid nodded at her omission, leaving nothing but question marks spinning in her mind. Those punctuation marks were quickly replaced by exclamation points as an extremely pressing matter associated with this specific Spirit slapped her in the face.

The stupid, tear-drop mole under his right eye! It had a charm spell and that magic did nothing but bring this man a tragic end, in the stories she loved. Of course he'd be guarded around her! She was a woman and he was probably weary of what that entailed, especially since he had already had to come to her drastic rescue.

"And since I do, I think it's important to tell you that your love spot won't affect me," Haley started, pushing out of the chair and mirroring the Knight on his knee before her. "So it's okay to look at me."

Hesitation danced across Diarmuid's quivering, valiant brow. His reluctance saddened Haley. Knowing his legend, trusting her must be a great struggle. When debating his summoning, she hadn't really thought about how his past might drag down their partnership. Maybe suggesting to sever their ties would be beneficial for him.

Finally meeting the Hero she read about so often was the only thing keeping her from speaking the idea. If only there was a way she could reassure him. "Hey, really, you don't have to worry. Even though I'm not a proper Magus, I can cycle through the magic, and as a Psychic, my mind had mental barriers put up to keep things like that from warping it."

There was a brief hint of vulnerability—swept quickly under the rug—as Diarmuid finally lifted his sunny hue to her crystals. "Are you certain?"

A smile crept its way onto Haley's thin lips. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about crazy love geases here," she splayed her hand over her heart. "I promise."

"Alright." Was that relief in the way his shoulders relaxed and he held her stare? Finally, some sort of good sign. "Master, you said you were not a proper Magus. May I ask what that means, if I am not overstepping?

Overstepping? Well, at least he was polite but the way he regarded her was beginning to make her uncomfortable. He remained in a bowing position, and his tone indicated he was talking to someone who demanded respect. Gross.

"One, you are not overstepping. Feel free to ask me whatever you want, I don't mind." She plopped on her bum instead of on her haunches. "And two, yes. I was brought up a Magus but didn't really follow through with it so my ability in that regard is kind of lacking."

If Diarmuid had any reservations about her lack of competence—he didn't show it. That at least settled her nerves that he'd detest her for her lack of skill. She swallowed, thinking of that prospect. There was still an uncertainty that he—being a Servant—might attack her; it loomed over her like the dark clouds gathered outside.

Rain pattered against the window glass, but it was the sound of a stomach rumbling that caught them both off-guard.

Heat rose in Haley's cheeks as she hid her face in her hands. "Oh gosh, that's embarrassing."

Was that a chuckle? A hint of emotion coming from the stoic Knight? Haley wasn't so sure given how strained their interactions had been; but she was certain that the mighty call of needing to eat was coming her way.

"It is fine, Lady Haley. Why not take time to replenish yourself and we can discuss this later," Diarmuid gently said.

Haley nodded into her palms, gingerly rising to her feet and retrieving her bag. She had a snack or two in there, but the idea crossed her mind to see if there were still vending machines in the cafeteria, and maybe some refreshments in their fridges.

"Oh, hey, I guess, while I get some food, you wanna maybe scope out the building? I was attacked by a Servant so I guess I'm a little…"

"Say no more," Diarmuid's interruption was not rude, but instead laced with eagerness. "I will return soon."

Haley couldn't help but smile at his readiness. She nodded her approval, and he instantly broke down his physical body into spirit form.

It was then that the woman exhaled. There was still so much she had to relent to her Heroic Spirit, and all of it was the negative bits that she feared would change his demeanor. He had been somewhat accepting of her thus far but if he knew all of the layers of the cake—would he still be able to handle the bite? She wasn't so sure. After all, there were few if not any that would accept a woman who had a demanding bounty on her head. Right?

There was a lot riding on the shoulders of her being a Master. The question was: could she handle the weight? If she were being honest—she didn't believe in herself.

Then there was Diarmuid. She could place some sort of faith in him, couldn't she? The man had taken down armies alone. What she loved most about all his fantastic stories was his loyalty to Fionn. Never, ever, did he waver. That whole Grainne tale was not in his control; and yet he tried, he really did, to remain true even if his situation didn't allow it. If the Irishman was here—serving her now—she presumed that would mean he'd offer her the same dedication, no?

With so many decisions requiring her attention in a single day, Haley collapsed at the lunch table with the school milk and protein bars. She dug out a small paperback book from her bag and beamed contentedly.

Even with all the uncertainty that surrounded her, this particular narrative mended her broken pieces. Of which she unfortunately had many, raked in the dust pan. Haley could only but hope that those fragmented parts wouldn't be emptied into a trashcan, but instead would be valuable enough to attempt to glue together.