There is great joy and great pain to be found in responsibility; Samiya believed in that strongly. To say that they were both supplied in equal measures would be a lie, but she supposed all had equal value in the greater equation constructed from little and big moments alike.

Before the orphanage and before the tragedies, she had been an only child. After blood struck true and the sirens of red and blue announced crimes no longer spoken, however, she found herself with quite a few siblings. Some she has lost, now, either taken to another's home or back to where they belonged at their blood's side, and others remained at her side for a while longer.

It wasn't long until she was one of the eldest in the Orphanage, accompanied only by Victor's unruly and inconsistent presence and caring for the young ones when Anastasia was too busy to do and the other elder children had moved away. She'd still been young, of course, far younger than she was now, but children were oftentimes abandoned while still young.

Each new arrival was a little bundle of joy and of arduous tasks, but she valued their presence while she could. If nothing else and despite her personality denouncing otherwise, Samiya was quite fond of children. Having been in cohorts with men of magic and men of religion alike, she often found that Children were draped in a special kind of truthfulness you won't often see amidst grown-ups.

Of course, that being said, Samiya also tried her best not to get too attached to any of them. It was a painful experience, to see someone you hold dear be taken away to stay at another's side, and despite her mind knowing it was for the best, the heart struggled to follow the song and step of arrival and exits. Which is why, when one day the morning came and little Kosetsu was introduced to everyone, she decided she wouldn't.

He hadn't name or tale when he came, Anastasia explained, and so she had decided to name him 降雪 - Kōsetsu. Snowfall, after the snow-white mess of curls that sat atop his cute little face. Curiously, there was a streak or two of auburn mixed in, like remnants of autumn leaves buried in winter snows. His eyes, wide and golden, completed the picture; he'd been such an odd boy, even back then, that instead of crying like all the other babies she'd ever seen had done, little Kosetsu had just watched.

She'd been absolutely smitten. But nope, she told herself, for this is one of those children that stick out enough not to last more than a month or in their care. Instead, she'd let Anastasia herself care for the small boy and occupy herself with everything else she had to do, be it caring for everyone in the orphanage or studying from the tomes she'd been given when no one else lose was looking. In not too long, little Kosetsu would be taken to another home, after all.

— That didn't happen. And as the next few years passed, Samiya found that the winter-kissed boy with a smidge of autumn mixed in tore down the walls she'd been trying to raise without even trying. Even before he'd learned how to talk, he'd taken to staying by her side, oftentimes watching as she cooked with an intense spark of interest in his golden eyes. Samiya despised cooking, honestly - she really hasn't been born for such domestic tasks - but little Kosetsu-kun had made it immensely more bearable. It was fun to see his eyes light up whenever she explained what she'd been doing, or giggle when a smidge of cookie dough ended up on her face.

She'd been there for his first word, too. He'd been around sixteen months-old, by their best predictions, maybe a few months older, and she'd been jokingly pointing at him and asking him if he knew his name. Then, when he failed to do anything more than babble, she'd answer "Kosetsu-kun!" and he'd giggle.

Then, at one point…

"Do you know your name, sunshine?" She had asked.

Silence answered her, as the small child seemed to ponder upon her words. He oftentimes did that, she found; exhibiting understanding beyond his years.

"Shirou." Came the baby's answer, with wide golden eyes suddenly aflame with the joys of recognition. "Shirou." He repeated.

Most children had both - a first name and a second name. Having lacked either when he got there, little Snowfall had been a blank slate, and they'd assumed him to be devoid of an identity. A year and 3 months after his arrival at their doorstep, the nameless child turned Kosetsu was once again given new light, and Shirou Kosetsu was born.

— and, well, Samiya had gained a precious sibling. And now, years later, after years spending hours reading at that precious sibling's side, some Devil had almost taken them from her.

A precious sibling who'd almost been killed just two nights ago. This was an aspect of older-sisterhood she'd never experienced; genuine worry for her brother's life. To be frank, she wanted to be angry at him for leaving at night to do god-knows-what, but she was logical enough to understand that it wasn't really his fault. Many things could be predicted, but a Stray Devil attack isn't one of them.

Then again, he could've been robbed… so she could probably scold him anyways. When he woke up… and no one had the slightest idea when that would happen. On the meanwhile, she cared for Anastasia, who was still recovering from her injuries.

To see the woman with an empty sleeve where her arm used to be was heart-rending. The sister always smiled her worries off, saying that her days as an Exorcist were long since over, but Samiya knew better; there was a hint of worry to her eyes now, brought upon her by the cruel realization that she'd never truly known uselessness.

She wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone. When they suspected Shirou might have been in danger, Anastasia rose to fight for him with a courageous smile on her face. Despite the passing of time, she was proud of her skills as an exorcist, confident in her ability to survive against anything until she could save Shirou. When she'd next seen the woman conscious, that pride was gone.

— What a cruel world, this one. If there had ever been a reason for her disbelief in God, this inherent cruelty in the details and happenstance that made some and broke many more. For all of her heresy, all of her past defiance, that was why.

…Not that she could really say any of that out loud. Magic was considered heresy, and the only reason she'd been spared the business end of an Exorcist's sword was because Anastasia's words of 'setting her straight' still carried enough weight within the local church to call for a stay of execution of sorts. Which is also why she really, really couldn't mention her use of Magic while recounting the odd events of the night in question.

Sitting at a priest's quarters in a rectory near the largest Church around that was actually in the Church's hand, Samiya smiled at Anastasia's fleeting glance and offered her a nod with more confidence than she had inside her. The older woman let out a familiarly fond sigh, taking a slightly more bitter tone the next time she parted her lips to speak to the Exorcist that sat in front of her.

She hoped Shirou really had been using some Sacred Gear, and hadn't headed down the path of the Magician like she'd intended to. Anastasia had enough to deal with already.

The next time Shirou came to his senses, it was to beautiful angels illustrated on the ceiling above. Beautiful tones composed flames that framed beings of unspeakable beauty, with large dove-like wings completing their visage.

He seemed to be in a small room of sorts, with a wooden cabinet next to the soft bed he was apparently laying on. Though the lights were off, the open window let in enough light that he was able to see perfectly. It was still snowing, he noted, but the brightness announced the considerable passing of time.

There was a closed door to his right, on the wall opposite to the one he was near. Maybe he could just… get up and leave. Maybe his life would be as it'd always been.

But he didn't do that. He sat up, little more than that.

For a few seconds, he settled for admiring the painting, casting aside pain and fear as his mind struggled to catch up with his body. Having witnessed warmth of blood in the coldest of winters, the sight of purity in lands of flame was almost as welcoming as drawing breath.

— Yeah. He was still breathing. He thought he'd die, but he was still breathing. Despite everything else, he was still breathing. A triumph conquered, whether by merit or dumb luck, was still something to be celebrated.

Honestly, Shirou had expected to panic after waking up. He'd almost been killed; if he hadn't been saved, he would have definitely died. If he'd misstepped during his clash with the Devil, he would have definitely have died. For a while, his life had been held by something as delicate as a dead leaf in autumn, his fate held at the hands of whims and woes alike.

That realization should have come with fear, with panic; accompanied by the frantic reassurance that he'd lived through the fact to tell the tale.

He felt none of that. Instead, thinking back on the eventful night, the only thing Shirou could feel was relief. Not relief for having survived. Not for having been saved, either.

No, the reason for his relief, the moment that laid at the core of something so intense it threatened to spill over was —

He'd saved them. Despite all else, he'd managed to keep the creature away from Samiya and Anastasia. That had been his doing, his actions. He'd been more than useless and less than perfect, but that was fine. Everyone was…

Except they weren't. The memories came to him in a flash of yellow, a brief flaring of sharp pain in his head accompanying the realization that the horrifying scenes he'd witnessed were indeed true.

How fitting.

Having failed to protect (someone) after promising to, it was only fair that he'd fail to protect anyone else. Cruel justice in its finest, an agonizingly sharp irony that spoke cruelties as if caressing his ears with curses. Or had he? The musing came with the silencing of the vortex that was guilt, fading away until little more than a spark, a lost boy's whimper beneath cherry blossoms he'd never get to see.

"She's probably gone —" was what had been said.

That was the truth. But 'gone' doesn't have to mean dead, does it? It can also mean something worse: Beyond his reach, forever lost within the grasps of the unknown; as far as he was concerned, neither alive or dead to him. Indecisiveness was as cruel as the bitterest insult, because it meant he couldn't even grieve.

There would be no sadness for the nameless one he'd lost, no grief to be offered to the dead who tell no tales. There would be no comfort in the knowledge, no guilt for the forsaking of a past no longer there. Instead, what fate had given him was an encroaching emptiness, mind-numbing cold erupting like pus from a wound in his heart he'd failed to notice.

Shirou let himself let out a shaking breath in the comfort of this room, his hands both finding their way to clutching at the fabric that covered his chest. His heart thumped faintly against the trembling fingers, denouncing the sins committed by hands no longer his with each second drawing longer.

He was fine. He'd been fine without them, living on ghosts of memories and on borrowed time. Despite that, however, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd been robbed of something essential. And how ironic was that?

The sound of someone knocking at the door cut into his thoughts. Once, twice, thrice; and then the door creaked open slowly and he turned his golden gaze to see who came in.

"Ah," came the voice of a man he'd never seen before. He seemed about as old as Anastasia, though undoubtedly better preserved, and wore the traditional garbs associated with a priest. "You're awake! I expected it to take a few more days."

The man seemed kind enough, Shirou noticed. His posture denounced no will to harm, and the smile on his wrinkled face was gentle and aged, the kind you'd see on a stereotypical old man on a movie or something that. He kinda reminded Shirou of Santa Claus, which was a funny thought, but it did little to dissuade the discomfort he felt.

Truth be told, Shirou had always been a little uncomfortable around priests, much to Anastasia's displeasure. He'd tried to keep that under wraps, of course; for all of the Sister's kindness and acceptance, she was still a religious woman through and through, and they'd all been taken to Church here and then.

She'd asked him about it, once, and he didn't have the words to explain it properly. For whatever reason, he just felt like… it was hard to put into words, but he was always on edge around them. Shirou tried to swallow that feeling, unwilling to make the priests themselves uncomfortable.

Despite it going against her wishes, she'd been kind and hadn't made him attend after the first few times. He tried to be extra diligent in following the routine she'd set despite not being much of a believer in the first place. He admitted it felt odd to pray to a God you weren't sure you believed in, but it made Anastasia happy.

"Yeah. I just woke up." He settled for saying, flexing the muscles in his hand a few times. He still felt somewhat numb.

"I see. Well, son, if you feel healthy enough to get up, I can take you where your family is." Came the priest's answer, accompanied by a kind smile and a nod of his head.

Being called 'son' by this man felt —

Wrong. Through no fault of his, Shirou knew, but it felt almost disgusting, bringing up the image of another priest saying such words, one with a cold, interested smile and a pair of dulled, distorted eyes. Though he was cold, the thought of him reminded Shirou of flames - consuming, dancing in a mad and unholy frenzy, spoke of a promise made in a future's past.

Shirou swallowed that wrongness, nodding in appreciation of the man's words, and pulled the covers aside to finally get up. His bare feet touched the cold floor, and Shirou finally noticed that the clothes he wore didn't match those he had been wearing before.

"Ah, wondering about your clothes? They were in… less than perfect conditions when you were brought here, so we were forced to throw them out."

Well, that was that for those clothes, then. A shame; he'd rather liked that jacket, and wasn't in any monetary condition to get another one. Maybe he should browse for 'devil-proof' clothing next time. That might save him some trouble in the future.

— Such light-hearted thoughts did little to convey the bitter feeling that had settled in his chest, sticking to his throat like the blood that had risen to his mouth.

He prepared to follow the man, and when the Priest started walking, Shirou made sure to accompany him. From stepping outside, he could say without a doubt that they weren't in any normal house; though smaller than a church without question, the architecture was still Gothic-like in inspiration. The same amateur paintings he'd seen in the room he'd been in decorated the walls and ceiling of the small hallway they were in.

"They're just ahead in the living quarters. You woke up at a fortuitous time; they've arrived not long ago. I was to lead them to you, but I suppose taking you to them instead works just as well."

He had little to offer but an agreement by means of humming, eyes traveling the surfaces of walls around him. The door in front of them was open, and Shirou forced himself to steel his nerves for the sight he knew he'd see. It wouldn't get to him, couldn't get to him.

The room came into view, and he saw two men draped in what seemed like a priest's garments, much like those of the man he'd followed. Sitting on a couch next to a comfortable-looking fireplace, Anastasia held a small cup of coffee with one hand

He felt no fear and no apprehension, despite knowing that he should. How shameful, how fitting, for someone like him, a man who'd discarded his soul—

Even then, once his eyes locked with his sister's own worried gaze, all shame was thrown away. He let himself find comfort in the warmth of Samiya's embrace, silently letting the fabric of the older girl's jacket dry the tears that couldn't fall, let the whispers of aimless comforts ease his plight. "He's gone, he can't hurt you anymore," came the murmurs from Samiya's thick voice, and Shirou felt the overwhelming urge to scream.

No, he wanted to say. That's not it at all. But the ghosts in the wind around his heart settled his agony into the dulled ache of a mind of steel, and the one named Shirou settled for silence instead.

It took them a few minutes to settle down, and around half an hour after that to convince Shirou that Anastasia was fine. His own eyes kept darting to the woman's missing limb with a spark of guilt, a desperate sort of resigned silence that spoke volumes of his thoughts on the subject. She'd done her best to comfort him, despite probably needing to be comforted just as much.

Eventually, however, they all settled in the couch - Samiya had insisted that Shirou should sit in her lap, despite the boys cries of already being too old. Unfortunately for him, however, he'd never been good at saying no, and thus it goes without mention that Shirou did, in fact, end up taking a seat on his sister's lap.

Though there were three Exorcists - at least that was what Shirou assumed they were - in the room, only one of them was sitting in front of them, drinking from a cup of tea slowly while watching all three of them with eyes that reminded Shirou of Anastasia's own attentive gaze. The other two stood by the door.

For this man in particular, Shirou noted a few physical details. He was a tall man, easily breaking the 190cm barrier, and seemed to be in his fifties or so, with short black hair starting to turn gray. He was also quite physically robust; the kind that was used to physical exercise.

"Right, then. First of all, I'd like to properly introduce myself."

He paused for a second, putting the cup down at the wooden table between them and in front of the fireplace. It seemed like a rather dangerous place to put a wooden table - a wooden anything, actually - but Shirou wasn't about to point that out.

Unaware of the golden-eyed youth's inner thoughts, the man regarded them carefully for a moment longer before proceeding.

"My name is Fukushima Hiroto, a second-class Exorcist here on behalf of the Vatican and at the request of Shidou Touji."

Anastasia's eyes widened at the mention of 'Shidou Touji', but said nothing. In fact, nobody was saying anything; they were all just looking at him… ah, so he was supposed to introduce himself. Alright.

"I'm Shirou. Kosetsu Shirou. It's nice to meet you, Fukushima-san."

His general politeness seemed to unsettle Hiroto some, but the man quickly recovered his composition and smiled graciously at Shirou. Now that introductions between the two were out of the way, Anastasia seemed to feel free to speak, and soon leaned forward slightly.

"You hadn't told me that Touji had asked you to be here, Fukushima-san."

The exorcist nodded with a sigh.

"My apologies for that. Though I've been here for a few months, I'm usually stationed at London, so I oftentimes message Shidou-san about local developments, since he used to be a local himself. When I mentioned that an old Exorcist who'd opened an orphanage had gotten involved with a Stray Devil, he recognized you and asked me to be here. Having heard of your… storied past, Anastasia-san, I can guess why."

All eyes suddenly found Samiya, who diverted her own attention to messing with Shirou's locks of white and auburn while decidedly ignoring the sudden weight. It felt odd, the thought that anyone would dislike his older Sister; but at least for the two men by the door, that was exactly what he identified from their looks. Barely-conceived animosity was something he was somewhat familiar with, after all.

In Anastasia's case, her look was one of disappointment, it seemed; it was quickly followed by a weary sigh, and she too put down the cup she'd been drinking from. Shirou guiltily realized that she'd be required to make some efforts in order to keep her hand free from now on.

"I can assure you I have kept an eye on Samiya, and she has yet to, and does not intend to, break the oath she's made to us. Though heresy is a grave sin, she was still a young and impressionable soul at the time, unaware of the intricacies of the world in which she lived; once again I ask for your forgiveness, as I've asked for the Lord's in many occasions."

Fukushima shook his head, raising an open hand as if a gesture of peace.

"That matter has been settled; the higher-ups seem to trust your word enough and I suppose that is that. You needn't be reminded of what will happen should we find evidence of the contrary, however, correct?"

The man's eyes narrower - dangerously, Shirou belatedly realized with a slight widening of his gaze. That was somewhere between a statement and a threat, and neither sat well with him.

— Fukushima's eyes were instantly upon him, cutting through the protective warmth that had flowed through his veins with surprise. That was… quick; he'd instantly recognized the smallest of hints in his body language and immediately locked his sight on him as if assessing a threat.

Then, he let his shoulders drop.

"My apologies, Kosetsu-kun. I didn't mean to make you feel as if I was threatening her. The church, however, takes heresy rather seriously, and exceptions are rarely made to begin with. It's important that I properly emphasize that, lest we see ourselves forced to face another tragedy."

Samiya was quiet, and that bothered Shirou. He tried to look up at her, but her avoidance and his position made that an impossible task; in the end, he settled for nodding and looking away. After a few tense seconds, Fukushima cleared his throat and moved on.

"Regardless of that, however, we're here to address something else. I'm sure you have many questions, Shirou-kun, and we have some to make you as well, but I believe this shall be a good starting point: Do you know what was it that attacked you?"

"It was… a Devil. At least that's what it said. But… I don't think it was, you know, actually Satan. Was it?"

Despite everything, Fukushima chuckled at that. It was a noise cut short by his quick regaining of his composure, but it had been there and it made the man feel all the more human for it.

"No, young Shirou, that man wasn't actually the Devil you read about on the Bible — he was 'a' Devil. A Stray Devil, to be exact, and we suspect him a Chimera as well, though that has yet to be determined."

A… Stray Devil.

Shirou rolled the name around in his mind, felt the chills it invoked after being linked with the memories he'd made with the creature. It conveyed exactly the emotions a being such as that Man should; Evil, yes, but with a touch of primal necessity, a hunger to him that was more beast-like than anything resembling conscious. A 'Stray' after his meal.

The exorcist continued, running his fingers through his short hair in what Shirou assumed was either an attempt to keep his cool or to appear more human.

"I'll be as clear as I can, and elaborate afterwards. Is that fine? Great. Listen… in this world, there are three main factions at play. We, the Church, uphold the Lord's orders and act in the name of the Angels. The Devils - creatures like that being you faced - and the Fallen Angels, whom I am sure you know of, play the part of our enemies in this millennia-old war. Each faction has different wishes for the Human World, and the ear between them has been going on for thousands of years: The Devils make pacts with greedy Humans and the Fallen use Humans to destroy Devils. Then, when the Church hears of any of it, Exorcists are sent to destroy such filthy beings."

Factions, Wars, Angels and Devils - the mere thought of it was beyond Shirou's own grasp. A millennia-old war, hundreds upon hundreds of years spent in warfare, littering history with death and grief in the name of differing ideals — How bitter, how cruel. It was inconceivable.

The thought of a hidden part of society operating under the cloak of shadows wasn't exactly surprising to him, though he couldn't for the life of him point out why. But there was a difference between that and a literal war waged by creatures from the Bible; one Devil couldn't possibly mean whole groups of Angels, Fallen Angels, etcetera.

Yet, above his incredulity, one thought rose to his mind.

"Then… that guy. There are more of them? A whole... faction?"

Fukushima grimaced at his question, eyes darting across the room to meet with one of the other Exorcist's. Though he couldn't really catch it, he knew there was a question in that look.

"In a way. Stray Devils, such a the man you faced, are enemies to all three factions. Devils are beings of Sin that corrupt man's souls with lies, but for all of their disgusting nature, they're not often predatory like Strays… but they're directly responsible for them nonetheless. They steal your soul, your wish, your human nature, until, one day, you either bend and serve it or you break and kill it. The Strays are the ones who've killed their… masters."

There was something he was trying to keep quiet, a fact he'd said but clearly. "They steal your soul, your wish, you're human nature" — almost poetic, but not exactly clear. What exactly did he mean by that?

The cold truth hit Shirou like a bolt of lightning.

"Wait, you mean that... That man used to be human?"

Fukushima's shoulders sagged as he let out another sigh. From her spot on the couch, Anastasia shot the boy with the white locks a worried look but said little else.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that,"was Fukushima's answer, barely above a whisper. For a second, the man looked centuries older than he already was, a weight settling upon his shoulders that Shirou couldn't quite name.

The exorcist inhaled, and Shirou watched the bolt of thunder coil to strike with cruelty no dream could ever muster once the definitive answer was uttered.

"Yes," said the man, and Shirou felt his heart break a little. "Devils are able to reincarnate Humans into their ranks. That man, whom we've identified as Hirobumi Jin, was unfortunately one of them."

Bile rose to his throat for the second time in only a few perceived hours. His eyes widened at that, pools of gold acquiring a hint of shock and a bitter spark of cold.

That would have meant —

Then, the one he'd killed was —

The Exorcist pursed his lips, laying a hand on Shirou's shoulder, and it took all of his power not to jump away. If Fukushima noticed his flinch, however, he said nothing.

"Listen, Kosetsu-kun, I… It's a cruel duty. Most exorcists are extensively trained from very early in their lives and even then it's not unusual for some to resign when faced with the truth of their jobs. Perhaps it won't do much to help, but try to remember what would have happened if you hadn't fought the man."

What would have happened? He would have died. Samiya would have died. Anastasia would have died. Of course he'd known that. The Devil would never spare him; the second his eyes were laid upon Shirou, the fates decided: someone had to die. The thought of that being his Sister or Anastasia was almost unbearable.

But still. 'Kill one to save many' — How bitter a thought is that?

He had no answer to any of what had been said. He nodded instead, fingers clutching on the fabric of the shirt he'd been given, and the exorcist seemed to take that as a sign to move on.

"I understand that you might need some time to think on things, but there are also some things I must ask you."

Both Samiya and Anastasia tensed at that, for whatever reason. In fact, where a moment ago the atmosphere had seemed solemn, it now appeared tense, thick in suspense and suspicions alike.

Shirou let his own posture relax, banishing the damning thoughts to the back of his heart and met the Exorcist's eyes with his own.

"What is it?"

A dry chuckle.

"How brief. Very well, I'll try to be direct as well. Both Samiya and Anastasia have told him that they've kept you away from such a world to the best of their abilities, but we also know you've been sneaking out at night and therefore can't limit your interactions to what they've told us. Shirou Kosetsu, I will be clear: are you a Magician?"

His eyes spoke of danger. Though it was a nice-sounding title, it was spoken as if a curse to be uttered only when necessary. Unfortunately for him, however, Shirou was just as desperate for answers.

So the boy decided to be honest.

"I don't know."

"...Excuse me?"

"I," Shirou repeated clearly, "Have no idea."