A serenity lies in the waving water of an ocean. The moon's light on the gentle waves, each ripple a soft smile and shooting sound; and on its other shore the stars, each twinkling like diamonds from their perches on the clouds.
A silence rests upon the night as it was when the sea itself slept, its beauty undisturbed by the passing moon. A perfect stillness in which to breathe and to listen – for all sounds are muffled by distance, muted by the vast expanse of space, and so even the breathing of the sea is quiet.
The sea breathes slowly, its chest rising and falling with the grace of a sleeping giant. The horizon stretches endlessly, an image painted with the hues of peace: azure blending into cerulean, with strokes of turquoise for fair measure.
Sailors speak of the Aegean's calm with a reverence reserved for hallowed grounds. They tell of mornings when the sea is so still, that it becomes a mirror, reflecting the souls of those who gaze upon it. Even the seagulls, those raucous heralds of the ocean, lower their cries as if to not disturb the quiet majesty.
But for the being over the sea, who has been flying through this endless sea with exhausting patience ever since the past two years, it is not peaceful; it is rather intolerant. A great aggravation grips her stomach at the thought of never reaching anywhere her objective.
A divine presence, with a cloak of stars wrapped around her shoulders and the crescent moon adorning her brow, she soared above the Aegean Sea's expanse, her eyes reflecting the depths of the oceans below.
In the modern era, where the gossips of magic were thought to be silenced by the roar of technology, there existed a realm where gods still surveyed the world from their thrones called Olympus, and this divine being hailed from it.
Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic, witchcraft, crossroads, ghosts, and the night.
Her mission was one of silent lookout, a quest that had consumed two years of tireless search. Among the deities, she felt a stirring—a whisper of souls that should have long since passed from the world. Her children, her champions, whose threads of life had been severed, a signature that resonated with the ancient blood, whose powers had once shaped myth.
Medea and Circe.
The other gods had felt it too—the stirrings of their past champions and blood. They sensed the echoes of Greek heroes, a ripple across the world that beckoned them from their thrones—and they watched with bated breath as Hecate pursued the trail.
Almost a year ago, there was a stirring in the old lands of Greece. Hecate was not one to sit idly by in the heavens. She was a deity of action, and when the faint but unmistakable aura of Medea and Circe's magic brushed against her senses, she knew it was time to descend from Olympus.
Zeus, with his lightning bolt in hand, and Athena, with her owl perched upon her shoulder, as well as the other Olympians observed from on high.
The presence she sought was elusive. It was as if their presence desired an anomaly that did not go unnoticed. The faint traces of their magic now pulsed with life across the seas, it led her across continents, over the rolling hills of Europe, and into the heart of a land known for its romance and revolution—France.
The gods knew not why they had emerged in France, but they trusted Hecate to unravel the unknown.
As she glided over the waters, her thoughts were a cyclone as tumultuous yet fluid as the waters beneath her.
Some time ago, that echo of a foreign magic that reverberated across the world had not left her mind. It was the first sign of a powerful magic that was not dissimilar to a reality-manipulation spell, but more astute. Whatever it was, the origin was related to the revived heroes.
She mulled over the implications of these formerly deceased mortals wandering so far from their native hearths.
Were they mere echoes of a bygone era, or harbingers of a tale yet to unfold? Her heart, if one could call the immortal essence that, was a magic of resolve, but within its walls, there brewed a barrage of curiosity.
She was a powerful goddess. Her mind was a fortress of knowledge and magic craft. She assumed the possibility of a power so audacious as to challenge the finality of death, to deny Hades, to undo what had been ordained by the threads of destiny.
"Is there a force that dares to rewrite the end?" She mused, curious, her voice a mere murmur lost in the wind.
In her immortal life, Hecate knew the Three Fates were not to be trifled with. But, the unmistakable presence of her beloved champions, Circe and Medea, spoke of the impossibility.
The goddess's connection to the arcane was unparalleled, her affinity with the moon and its cycles granting her a perspective beyond the ken of mortals. She felt the pull of the celestial bodies, and, to her ears, the silent dialogue between the earth and the sky.
"Odd. The stars whisper of change, of a new era where gods and heroes tread the earth once more," She reflected.
With a heart troubled by questions, Hecate took to the skies, her form shrouded in the cloak of night. She flew over the wine-dark sea, feeling the cold wind rushing past her unaffected.
"And yet, how could these mortals be the ones to usher in such a new era?"
The clinking of beers echoed through the halls of Chaldea 2, echoing the noise it left behind as it was emptied and refilled. The sound seemed to reverberate in the air rather than bouncing around in a space with too much empty air. It was a familiar sound that made people happy in their quiet ways.
"We herald the end of another successful mission!"
Though not all had fought in the battle, the spirit of victory was infectious, and the Servants gathered to share in the joy of their comrades' return.
"To victory, to glory!"
From the side, Iskandar, raised his mug high, his booming voice cutting through the din, and the crowd roared in approval.
"May we have a long life, and many more victories ahead!" He downed the rest of what was left of his beer and set his now empty mug down with a bang on top of his other three empty mugs on the table.
Tables were cleared for dancing and eating; and music began to play, one song after another blending together, creating a lively atmosphere that brought smiles to most faces.
Leaning against the bar, Francis Drake, a tankard in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Aye, let the world know that we celebrate not just the win, but also the loss!"
Several others, including Iskandar, responded in kind. "And may we never lack for ale!" He said and then took a large swig.
There were more cheers than drinks tonight, and after they finished celebrating the victory they moved on to celebrate their survival. This happened every time a Servant returned victorious from a mission. It was an easy habit for everyone but some preferred to sit back, sip their drinks, and watch as other members interacted with their fellow members.
In the corner, with his quill smoking across the page, Shakespeare scribbled furiously, inspired by the scenes unfolding in front of him. "Ah, what tales I could weave from such jubilation! The very air is thick with stories waiting to be told,"
Astolfo darted between groups, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Chiming, he lifted his drink to anyone who caught his eye. "Come now, let's not let the night grow old without a proper toast!"
The partygoers raised their glasses and cheered their way through two more pints and several more songs. The music wasn't loud, but there was no shortage of voices shouting over one another; laughter and conversation rang throughout the tavern.
The mood was lighthearted and cheerful. However, this might have been because there was only a celebration. Only friends and comrades, enjoy each other's company. And even if they had a job to do tomorrow, today was theirs. All that mattered was that they were here.
Just like any other previous parties, they felt good about their accomplishments and enjoyed themselves in a way they hadn't before. Perhaps the alcohol would loosen inhibitions, and they would speak freely to each other, without fear of being distrustful. For tonight, they were free to enjoy themselves, without worrying about the future.
"Ridiculous."
A woman with long flowing white hair reaches down her back and ankles, with pale skin, and dissatisfied eyes. Wearing a revealing casual dark dress and high heels, she leaned on the wall.
"They didn't even do a single thing."
Jeanne 'Joan' Alter muttered, her arms crossed as she observed the festivities with a scowl. She hadn't lifted a finger in the battle, yet here they were, celebrating as if they had won the war themselves. For sake, they didn't even join the battle!
Beside her, with a serene smile, Jeanne 'Laeticia' d'Arc sipped quietly on a glass of fine French wine. Preferably, she would've gone for a simple and modest fruit drink, but a taste for an expensive wine wouldn't spoil. "Let them have their fun, sister. It's not about the fight; it's about the camaraderie that follows."
Ignoring the sister part, Jeanne Alter huffed. "Camaraderie? More like an excuse for a boisterous party. You'd think they'd find something better to do." She retorted, yet her eyes lingered on the joyous scene before her.
Even if her expression remained stoic and unkind, a flicker of longing danced along her cheeks, the shadows underneath her eyes giving way to a small hint of redness. Noticing this, her eyes twitched, "Damn Sword-for-brains."
A ruthlessly cruel and stern woman she was. Before her affection and reluctance to her Master influenced her bitterness.
The partygoers danced together on the small dance floor near the cafeteria chairs. Some sat together talking with one another as they ate, while others drank and talked animatedly among themselves, or simply listened as a couple sang at the bar.
Some kitchen Servants, though busy, didn't take their duties lightly. Many of them were present behind, keeping track of the flow of beverages and making sure the food and supplies did not run out.
Jeanne smiled softly, placing a hand on her Alter's shoulder. "Sometimes, the moments we share in peace are just as important as the battles we fight. They remind us what we're fighting for." She whispered.
"We can't always give ourselves wholly, or willingly, so we should be appreciative of those moments when it comes. You know, when our minds stop racing and we can just relax." Her lips curled into a demure smile.
Jeanne Alter glances and rolls her eyes, "Trying to make me accept your compelling point? I suppose my concerns stem from the fact that we live in a society where everything has a price. It's unfair, really."
The 'older' sister sighed. "If you don't like it, go somewhere else. We'll work on it." The last sentence was spoken gently.
A smirk tugged at Jeanne Alter's thin, dry lips. "No need. My place has already been made known to me. There's nothing more to say."
"Then I'm glad you decided to stay, after all. You won't get bored." A gentle, almost tender smile, a little teasing, flashed through Jeanne's face.
"Hmph. I don't believe you, sister. You'll get tired of it soon enough, anyway." She turned away, walking towards the dining area to grab a wine.
Behind her, her elder sibling chuckled. "That's what you think, Joan?"
"Why am I even around you?" She snorted, walking faster.
Jeanne crossed her arms over her chest as her lips curled into a small, sly grin. "To keep an eye on me!"
"That was a terrible joke," Jeanne Alter scoffed, "and I'm leaving, now."
"Okay!" Her sister called happily after her as she walked away.
Her sister was right. Of course. Why else would Jeanne Alter be there?
She shook her head.
But it was hard to admit it. Even as her feet began moving on their own accord again.
She sighs in dismay, "I want a full-bodied."
The picture of the vampire monarch was crossed out in the hologram in the middle of a dark room with bright lights.
"And that's that."
Cassius Tenebrae Zegrath, he was called, the name received from the lips of the captured Desmond at Chaldea's dungeon.
The conference room, usually silent, was alive with the low hum of conversation as the Guardians of the Mortal World gathered. At the head of the table sat Olga, her eyes reflecting the flickering technology.
"One less major threat on the open. Obviously, we'll be expecting more from the rest of the world with the flashy war you took part in. Especially after using that divine sword."
She scowled at a certain red-hair magus across sitting calmly. Their existence being revealed to the Supernatural was inevitable, she knows of it, it was just she was not expecting it to be early, and hiding from it was supposed to be the main priority.
Shirou deadpanned, "How do you expect me to defeat him without using one of my traced weapons suited to stop someone like him?"
He could've used others like Caladbolg II and Clarent, even degraded Divine Constructs like Arondight. It was just a problem that the opponent was closely as strong as Karna in full power. He spent the majority of time fighting the monarch analyzing him until he found an inkling to a weakness.
The monarch's vampiric heritage, the dark power he produced, and the evil in his heart were what led Shirou to take Asi out.
"You could've called us to help you." Rin chimed in. "But then again, we were occupied with our own business so you had to ask help from the few Servants left here."
"I had no choice. It was either to let the war pass and destroy most of the city or to personally interfere." At his words, he frowns at the recollection of the innocents who died before his arrival.
"No, you did the right thing. You saved those people." From beside her sister, Sakura tried to cheer him up.
"At any point, our organization will be attracting threats left and right. Those either be gods or any other unnatural beings with enough power to overcome both our quantity and quality. Henceforth, I say we accelerate our operations and ready preparations." Olga laid out their goal.
A quick agreement from around the room from Da Vinci, Nemo, and others.
"What of the vampire imprisoned downstairs?" Lord El-Melloi raised a question. "We still hadn't finished extracting information from him. After that?"
Reines answered, "Do you even bother to ask? Dispose of him once his usefulness ends." She crosses her arms dismissively. Waver grimaces after hearing that.
"We deal with his fate at another time," Olga responded. "For now, let one of the Hassan continue to take information." She paused. "Without Jack and her best friend."
"Didn't worry. I'm sure to prevent those two's sadism from showing up." Carmilia spoke up amusingly from behind Olga.
Olga nodded appreciating before she turned to everyone. "We need immediate action to prepare our defenses. Based on what we learned at the last meeting about this world's dangerous beings, some of them could destroy what we created for a year and take what we have."
Unmistakably, everyone knows this. But a reminder was crucial.
Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous knowledge. "What we will be doing next... is a necessary risk. We are the shield against the other side's darkest creatures. If not us, then who?"
The Servants exchanged looks, the weight of their duty settling upon them like a mantle. They were the line between humanity and the horrors that lurked in the shadows. They were the Heroes of Humanity, and they would not falter.
As the meeting drew to a close, plans were made, roles assigned, and the fate of countries hung in the balance. They rose from the table, not as individuals, but as a united force against an enemy that never rested.
And neither would they.