Chapter 6: Do or Die


"Alright, again."

Shirou nodded, rising to his feet despite the aches and bruises covering his body. The young boy's legs wobbled slightly, a testament to the rigorous sparring sessions with his adoptive father. Kiritsugu Emiya stood nearby, arms crossed, his sharp gaze never leaving Shirou's form. He watched as the boy repositioned himself, struggling to mask the pain and exhaustion that were gradually overtaking him.

"Focus, Shirou," Kiritsugu commanded. His voice, though firm, carried a weight of concern that he tried to suppress.

Shirou wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Even though he was hurting, his eyes remained sharp, driven by an unwavering determination. He took a defensive stance again, feeling the ground beneath his feet and forcing his body to obey his will. With a deep breath, he steadied himself, his mind clearing as he anticipated Kiritsugu's next move.

Without warning, Kiritsugu lunged forward, moving with a speed that belied his deteriorating condition. His strikes were precise and unrelenting, each blow testing the limits of Shirou's reflexes. The boy could barely keep up, struggling to block and evade as Kiritsugu pressed him further. Every hit reverberated through his frame, reminding him of how far he still had to go.

"Keep your guard up!" Kiritsugu barked, his voice cutting through the haze of Shirou's fatigue. "Don't just react—anticipate! Read your opponent's intentions before they move!"

Shirou gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had heard those words countless times before, yet each time he felt he was falling short. He was doing everything he could, pushing himself to his limit and beyond, yet the gap between him and Kiritsugu still felt insurmountable.

Kiritsugu dodged one of Shirou's strikes with ease, sidestepping the attack and using the boy's momentum against him. With a quick counter, he pushed Shirou back, sending him stumbling across the training ground. The young boy barely managed to stay on his feet, his body trembling from the effort.

"Again," Kiritsugu ordered, his tone unwavering. "Precision is key. Conserve your energy, and be deliberate in every move. If you overextend, you'll give your opponent an opening. Wait for the right moment—then strike with intent."

Shirou nodded, though his chest was heaving and his limbs felt like lead. He took a moment to breathe deeply, centering himself before charging forward once more. This time, he tried to focus on predicting Kiritsugu's movements, not just reacting to them. He watched the subtle shifts in his father's stance, trying to decipher the next attack before it came.

As Kiritsugu advanced, Shirou's movements became more precise, his blocks stronger, his counterattacks sharper. For the first time in the session, he managed to land a few strikes of his own, forcing Kiritsugu to adjust his approach. The older man's expression softened for just a brief moment, a flicker of pride crossing his face.

But behind Kiritsugu's stoic exterior, a storm was brewing. He could feel the strain in his own body—the curse eating away at him from the inside. His vision blurred at the edges, and every strike felt heavier than the last. Even as he pushed Shirou, he knew that time was slipping away. The boy was improving, yes, but Kiritsugu couldn't shake the fear that it wouldn't be enough. He needed to impart everything he knew before it was too late.

Finally, Kiritsugu called for a break, raising his hand to signal the end of the session. Shirou collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his body drenched in sweat. Kiritsugu watched him with a mixture of pride and sorrow, knowing that their time together was limited.

Just as Kiritsugu was about to speak, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the room. Kiritsugu's expression darkened as he turned toward the doorway, where Mephisto stood, leaning casually against the frame. His ever-present grin was plastered across his face, and his red eyes gleamed with amusement.

"My, what a pleasant sight," Mephisto drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A heartwarming family moment. It almost brings a tear to my eye."

Kiritsugu's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want, Mephisto?" he demanded, his voice laced with irritation. He didn't have time for the devil's games, not when every second mattered.

Mephisto chuckled, stepping into the room with a graceful ease that belied his sinister nature. "Oh, nothing much," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Just passing by and thought I'd see how the training was going." He glanced at Shirou, who was still catching his breath on the floor. "Though, from the looks of it, not too well. You seem to be struggling, Magus Killer."

Kiritsugu's fists clenched at his sides. He had grown accustomed to Mephisto's taunts, but today they stung deeper. The truth in the demon's words gnawed at him. He was struggling—fighting against the inevitable, knowing that his own strength was fading.

"If you're not here to help, then leave," Kiritsugu said tersely, his voice cold and steady despite the turmoil within him. "Shirou, go inside and rest up" The magus killer dismissed the young boy, he wasn't to keep Shirou as far away from the demon as possible.

His adoptive son complied making his way into the house, the young boys lingering on the demon and his father before he entered the home. Away from the demon's gaze much to his father's relief.

Mephisto's grin widened, his eyes glinting with malice. "Oh, but I am here to help," he said cryptically, his tone light but laced with danger. "You're doing such a fine job raising my little rider into a useful weapon."

Kiritsugu's hand instinctively moved toward the weapon concealed at his hip, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his Thompson Contender. He didn't trust Mephisto—never had, never would. The demon had his own agenda, one that Kiritsugu was determined to keep Shirou away from.

Mephisto's grin didn't falter as he watched Kiritsugu's hand tighten around the weapon. "Ah, but you wound me, Magus Killer," he said, feigning hurt. "I thought we were far past such petty threats. You're welcome to try again, of course. Who knows? You might actually hit me this time."

Kiritsugu's grip tightened, the weight of the Contender grounding him. "Don't push your luck, Mephisto," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "I won't hesitate to use this if you give me a reason to."

Mephisto raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the threat. "Oh, I'm trembling in fear," he said sarcastically, taking another step closer. "But let's put aside your little toys, Kiritsugu. We have more pressing matters to discuss."

Kiritsugu's eyes narrowed as he watched Mephisto approach. Every instinct told him to keep the demon at arm's length, but the reality of his situation weighed heavily on him. He knew that Mephisto wouldn't have shown up without a reason, and whatever the demon had in mind, it couldn't be good.

"What do you want?" Kiritsugu asked, his voice colder than ever. He was in no mood for games. Not now.

"Must I repeat myself, has that curse already robbed you of your hearing, my dear Magus Killer" The demon taunts much to Kiritsuguis ire "Like I said, I'm merely here to help and check up on you and dear Shirou"

Kiritsugu's jaw clenched at Mephisto's taunt, but he kept his composure. Ever since their second meeting, the demon had a knack for worming his way into their lives at the worst possible moments, seemingly taunting him, taking enjoyment in his struggles.

"I'm fine, and Shirou doesn't need your 'help,'" Kiritsugu said firmly, his voice edged with defiance. "If you're here to gloat or make more of your veiled threats, save them."

Mephisto chuckled, a low, mocking sound that echoed through the room. He stepped closer, his movements almost serpentine as he circled around Kiritsugu and Shirou, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Oh, Kiritsugu, always so serious," Mephisto said, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy. "But you see, I'm not here to gloat or make threats. I'm genuinely concerned. After all, your time is running out, why, I'm only making sure you're remaining well informed, considering your...current condition"

Kiritsugu's grip on the Thompson Contender tightened, his knuckles turning white as his fingers dug into the weapon's cold steel. He knew Mephisto's words were laced with manipulation, yet the bitter truth beneath them gnawed at him. The curse was devouring him from the inside, and every agonizing day brought him closer to his inevitable end.

"If I don't ensure you both are properly prepared," Mephisto continued with mock concern, "then the poor boy might not live long enough to fulfill the destiny I've so carefully arranged for him."

"Shirou is stronger than you think," Kiritsugu shot back, his voice unwavering, layered with an iron resolve. "You've had enough influence over him. He'll forge his own path, make his own choices—without you pulling the strings."

But deep down, Kiritsugu knew he was clinging to a fragile hope. The pact they had made with the devil, forged in desperation, meant Mephisto's shadow would always loom over them. Kiritsugu could only pray to steer Shirou away from the demon's insidious grasp, to prevent him from becoming reliant on the creature's deceitful promises.

Mephisto's smile widened a flicker of dark amusement in his crimson eyes. "Oh, I don't doubt the boy's potential," he purred. "But forging one's path in this world is never as simple as you'd like to believe, especially when burdened with such a legacy. But then, you're all too familiar with that, aren't you, Kiritsugu?"

The word *legacy* struck Kiritsugu like a blow, a reminder of the heavy burden he had carried throughout his life. His existence had been a relentless pursuit of an ideal drenched in violence and sacrifice, a dream now seeming impossibly distant. And now, that same burden was being passed on to Shirou, a boy who had been forced into a world of horrors long before he was ready.

"Get to the point, Mephisto," Kiritsugu snapped, refusing to let the demon twist the knife any further. "What do you really want?"

Mephisto's grin widened, his red eyes gleaming with a sinister delight. "Ah, Kiritsugu, how cruel of you," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Did you forget about the daughter you abandoned to the mercies of her family?"

A dark chuckle escaped the demon's lips. "I imagine you're aware of how the Einzberns must have reacted after your destruction of the Grail. That poor girl, left to the cruel machinations of her own kin, while you turn your attention to adopting a son."

Kiritsugu's expression hardened, his gaze narrowing as he fought to keep his composure. Mephisto's words were a deliberate strike, aimed to wound him where he was most vulnerable. The memories of his past failures, the consequences of his choices, resurfaced with a raw and painful clarity.

"Your point?" Kiritsugu repeated, his voice edged with forced calm. His fists clenched, and although anger flared within him, it was overshadowed by a deep, consuming shame. Shame for his failure to protect his daughter, shame for the weakness that had allowed his family to suffer.

Mephisto chuckled softly. "Oh, Kiritsugu, I merely want to help. Keep you well informed, that is all. Now I wonder what you will do. You've already attempted to save the poor girl once, haven't you? Only to fail, with that aching body of yours betraying you in the end."

Kiritsugu's jaw clenched. The demon's words cut deeper than he cared to admit. He had tried, once, to rescue Illya from the Einzberns, but his cursed body had failed him. That failure still haunted him, a constant reminder of his own limitations. And now, Mephisto was rubbing salt in the wound, taunting him with the one thing he couldn't bear to think about—his daughter, forced into the Holy Grail War, just as he had been.

The demon watched him with a twisted smile, savoring the tension in the air. "So, Kiritsugu, what's it going to be? Will you try to save her again? Or will you let the curse finish its work, and watch as both of your children are drawn into the same nightmare that destroyed you?"

Kiritsugu's mind raced, calculating, searching for a way out. But deep down, he knew there was no easy answer. The curse was taking everything from him—his strength, his time, his family. And Mephisto, ever the opportunist, was there to exploit every crack in his resolve.

"I'll find a way," Kiritsugu finally said, his voice low but resolute. "With or without your help, I'll protect them. Both of them."

Mephisto's grin widened, a flash of malevolent satisfaction crossing his face. "Ah, Kiritsugu, always the stubborn one. But remember, the clock is ticking. And time… time is not on your side." The demon straightened his posture, the air around him shimmering with a dark energy. "Well, I suppose the purpose of my visit has been fulfilled. Take care, my dear Magus Killer. I truly wish you luck in your training of the boy. After all..."

Mephisto's form began to waver, flames licking at the edges of his silhouette. With a final mocking grin, he vanished in a burst of fire, his voice echoing in the air.

"A dull blade is useless to me."

The flames dissipated, leaving behind only a faint scent of sulfur and the lingering echo of his taunts. Kiritsugu stood alone, his grip tightening around the Thompson Contender. He had no time to dwell on Mephisto's words, no time to give in to the weight of his failures. There was only the mission. Protect Shirou. Save Illya. No matter the cost, and for Shirou, he had to do anything he could to prevent him from following in his footsteps.


Shirou sat up in bed, the remnants of his dream clinging to him like a heavy fog. The echoes of Kiritsugu's relentless training still pulsed in his muscles, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen—or rather, the path that had been thrust upon him. Mephisto's mocking laughter from that twisted encounter reverberated in his mind, the demon's grin etched into his memory. These were the ghosts that haunted him, the remnants of battles fought not just with enemies, but within himself.

He exhaled slowly, pushing the memories aside as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, a familiar sound that usually brought a sense of comfort, but today, it only reminded him of the precariousness of his situation. The morning light filtered through the window, casting the room in a golden hue, but it did little to warm the cold resolve growing within him.

His gaze drifted to the door of the next room, where Ayako had spent the night. He'd convinced her to stay, though he could see the skepticism in her eyes when he insisted it was necessary. Shirou knew she still struggled to grasp the reality of their situation. The Holy Grail War was no mere nightmare to be shaken off upon waking—it was a living, breathing battle that threatened to consume them all. And now, she was part of it, whether she wanted to be or not.

Quietly, Shirou crept past her room and made his way to the kitchen. He found Saber sitting at the table, her expression caught between boredom and impatience. She had abandoned her armor for casual clothes, but even in her relaxed state, she radiated the aura of a seasoned warrior. The morning light highlighted the red-tinged tips of her hair, casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around her. But there was nothing ethereal about the sharpness in her eyes; they remained vigilant, always assessing, always ready.

"Ah, Master, you're finally awake," Saber greeted him, her voice loud and jovial, though it carried an edge of impatience. It was a stark contrast to her behavior the night before—boisterous, yes, but with an underlying brutality that reminded Shirou, that she was once Oda Nobunaga, a warlord who had cut a swath through the Sengoku era with ruthless precision.

Shirou nodded in acknowledgment, masking his weariness with a forced smile. "Morning, Saber. Did you sleep well?"

Saber smirked, a mix of amusement and mild irritation flashing in her eyes. "Well enough, considering this modest setup. Not quite the grand quarters a Master should provide, but it has its charm, I suppose." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone, though the playful lilt of her voice softened it.

Shirou chuckled, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The act of making coffee, though mundane, offered a small comfort—a tether to normalcy in a world that was anything but normal. "I'll take that as a compliment. I'm more about practicality than luxury."

"Practicality," Saber echoed with a faint shake of her head, her tone shifting from playful to something more thoughtful. "A noble trait, though I do miss the finer things—a grand hall, a lavish feast… But as you said, practicality. We make do with what we have."

Shirou poured the coffee, the routine action grounding him momentarily. "You've adapted well, considering. I wouldn't have thought Oda Nobunaga would be content with instant coffee and a cramped kitchen."

Saber chuckled softly, the sound tinged with nostalgia. "Times change, and so do strategies. A good commander knows how to make do with what's at hand. Besides," she added, a glint of steel in her gaze, "a well-fed army fights better. And a commander knows that even small comforts can be weapons in their own right."

Handing her a cup of coffee, Shirou nodded, his expression hardening as he took in her words. "You're right. Complacency is dangerous. We can't afford to let our guard down."

Saber's smirk faded into a more serious expression as she sipped her coffee. "Indeed. This temporary calm is just that—temporary. War is always lurking, waiting for the moment you least expect."

Shirou's grip tightened around his cup. He had spent his entire life preparing for this war, and now that it was here, he felt the weight of it crushing down on him. But he couldn't falter. He had to become the weapon Kiritsugu had trained him to be, even if it meant chipping away at his own humanity. "I won't let that happen. Not again."

He turned towards the kitchen, ready to start breakfast. The familiar routine was a small anchor in the storm of his thoughts. As the sound of clinking utensils and the hiss of the stove filled the room, Saber watched him with an appraising eye, her previous playfulness giving way to a more contemplative demeanor.

"You take this task seriously," she observed, leaning back in her chair. "I admire that. Even the simplest things, like preparing a meal, hold significance in times of war."

Shirou glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I had to learn early on. Kiritsugu wasn't much of a cook, so it fell to me. It became… a way to keep things normal, I guess."

Saber nodded, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "There's wisdom in that. Maintaining a semblance of normalcy can be a strength, especially when everything else is falling apart."

Soon, the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the room, a brief respite from the tension that loomed over them. Shirou placed the plates on the table, and Saber eyed the meal with an approving nod. "You may have missed your calling, Master. This is excellent. Perhaps I should have had you as my personal chef back in the day."

Shirou chuckled as he sat across from her, picking up his chopsticks. "Maybe. But I think I'll stick to fighting for now. Cooking is relaxing, but it won't win us the Holy Grail."

Saber's eyes sparkled with a mix of humor and something more profound as she took a bite. "You never know, Master. A well-fed warrior fights better. And sometimes, wars are won by more than just brute strength."

As they ate, Shirou couldn't help but think of Ayako, likely still asleep in the next room. A pang of guilt struck him—he had dragged her into this nightmare. He couldn't afford to be careless, not with her life on the line.

Saber, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in his mood. "You're worried about Mitsuzuri, aren't you?"

Shirou sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I am. She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. I didn't want her involved, but now that she is… I can't let anything happen to her."

Saber set her cup down, her expression softening as she met his gaze. "You're carrying a heavy burden, Shirou, but remember, you're not alone in this. As your Servant, it's my duty to support you, to protect you. And as your ally, I understand the sacrifices you're making. But don't lose sight of yourself in the process. You have to survive this war too."

Shirou nodded, though the weight on his shoulders only seemed to grow heavier. "I know, Saber. But I can't afford to fail. Not now."

As they spoke, Ayako emerged from her room, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Morning," she murmured, her voice laced with a mixture of fatigue and confusion. Her gaze shifted to Saber, who offered her a nod.

"Morning," Saber replied, her tone lighter, though still with that underlying sharpness. "Just discussing the finer points of war and breakfast."

Ayako managed a small laugh, though there was an edge of disbelief in her expression. "I still can't believe this is real… a magic war for a wish-granting cup. It sounds like something out of a dream."

Shirou handed her a cup of coffee, his tone gentler than before. "It's real, Ayako. But we're in this together now. We have to be prepared for whatever comes next."

She's a liability

He buried that thought, he had made his choice.

Shirou's smile faltered as he joined them at the table. "I know it's a lot to take in. I'm sorry you got dragged into this… but I promise, I'll protect you."

Ayako's gaze softened as she looked at him, but the lingering fear was still there. "I trust you, Shirou. But this… it's still hard to believe."

Saber leaned forward, her voice cutting through the moment with a calm intensity. "Believe it. The war is real, and the stakes are higher than you can imagine. But rest assured, Ayako, your safety is as important to my Master so that means it is important to me as well."

The girl let out a breath and put on a smile, "Well I suppose that's reassuring" She chuckled getting back into her usual mood "Besides I did say I wouldn't't let you do this alone would I Shirou, someone has to watch your back" She had gotten back her usual grin.

The three of them settled into their breakfast, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. For a moment, the weight of the Holy Grail War seemed to lift, replaced by the simple pleasure of shared company and a good meal. But even in this brief reprieve, Shirou knew the battle was far from over. The war loomed over them, a constant reminder of the cost of victory.

Saber's playful banter and Ayako's warm presence provided a small, yet meaningful respite from the looming danger. For Shirou, this felt nice... really nice. No, he had to focus, this wasn't his goal. All that mattered now was winning—and the cost of that victory was something he was becoming increasingly willing to pay.

After breakfast, Shirou made sure to leave some food out for Taiga, knowing she would appreciate it. They had moved on to the tasks of the day, and one of the first was repairing the bounded field around the estate. Rin had broken it the previous night during their skirmish, and while the repairs were simple enough, the act of reinforcing the barrier brought a sense of unease to Shirou. It reminded him of the fragility of his current situation—the thin line between safety and danger.

Convincing Saber to take on her spirit form hadn't been difficult. She understood the necessity, her pragmatic side outweighing any desire for physical presence. Her boisterous nature from the previous night was now tempered by a calm, calculating demeanor, aware that her visibility in public would draw unwanted attention. The advantage of her invisibility allowed her to stay close without raising suspicions, a small tactical victory in a day that was already shaping up to be filled with challenges. But even with this minor success, Shirou couldn't shake the tension gnawing at the edges of his mind.

As they walked side by side on their way to school, everything seemed deceptively calm. The morning air was crisp, and the sounds of the city waking up around them should have brought some comfort. But neither could find peace in the normalcy. Not with the war looming over their heads. Saber walked behind him, hidden from sight, and Ayako walked by his side, her presence a fragile link to the everyday life Shirou was struggling to protect.

'How do you intend to deal with the Matous and the Tohsaka girl?' Spoke the familiar voice of his adoptive father in his mind

The weight of it hung over him like a storm cloud, heavy and unavoidable. He had already encountered both families, he was close friends with them, well former close friends with the Matous.

Shirou tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, his expression hardening as he mulled over the unspoken answer. He didn't respond out loud, but the thought churned within him, cold and calculated. The Matous were in decline, many dismissed them as a fading Magus family, but Kiritsugu had taught him to never underestimate an enemy. The Matous may have been diminished, but they were still dangerous. He would most likely have to face one of the siblings—or perhaps even both.

And then there was Rin Tohsaka. Her family had centuries of expertise in magecraft to rely on. Kiritsugu had told him that her father had been a formidable Magus, and if Rin had inherited even a fraction of his skill, she would be a threat he couldn't ignore. Rin was someone he had always considered a friend, someone with honor and strength. But this was war, and in war, sentimentality could get you killed. He couldn't afford to let emotions cloud his judgment. If he hesitated, it could cost him everything.

Beside him, Saber remained silent, though her presence was a steady, reassuring weight. She could sense his inner turmoil, but she didn't pry. A commander needed space to think, to plan. She understood this all too well. Despite her loud and jovial exterior, she was still Oda Nobunaga—a ruthless warlord at heart, capable of brutal calculation when the situation demanded it.

Shirou's thoughts drifted back to Rin. She had proven herself to be a person who could be reasoned with during their conversation last night, there was a part of him that still respected her. There was integrity in her, even amidst the competition. But he couldn't afford to trust her, not fully. Not in this war.

The Matou siblings, on the other hand… His thoughts darkened. From what Kiritsugu had said the cruelty, the lengths they would go to preserve their declining status—it made his stomach churn. He would need to be cautious with them. The family's ambition could be just as deadly as their magecraft, even if a part of him wanted to say that while Shinji may be like that, there was a chance that Sakura was nothing like that. The spirit he was housing, seemed to have other thoughts on the pair of siblings. Shirou could feel spirits discomfort whenever they were near the Matous, It couldn't stand their presence. It was disheartening. They had once been friends.

Be the weapon

His mind reminded him, echoing the lessons Kiritsugu had drilled into him.

A weapon doesn't hesitate. A weapon doesn't falter

The streets grew busier as they neared the school, the ordinary sounds of life filtering in around them. But Shirou's mind remained locked on the war ahead. Each step he took was deliberate, every movement fueled by the resolve that had been growing inside him. He couldn't let his guard down—not for a moment.

As they approached the school gates, Ayako's voice broke through his thoughts, a gentle but concerned tone that pulled him back to the present. "Shirou, are you okay?"

Shirou hesitated for a moment, then responded in a low voice, careful not to draw attention. "Just… thinking about the other Masters. About how we should approach them."

Ayako frowned, glancing around as if expecting to see danger lurking in every shadow. "This whole thing still feels like a bad dream. But it's real, isn't it? The Grail War… the magic… all of it."

Shirou nodded, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "It's real. And it's dangerous. We can't afford to make any mistakes." His voice carried a weight that hadn't been there before, the edge of someone who had already begun to see the world differently, through the eyes of a soldier rather than a boy.

Ayako fell silent, absorbing his words. The reality of the war was settling in for her, too—slowly, but surely. She had been dragged into this conflict, and now there was no turning back. She looked at Shirou, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "I'll do whatever I can to help, Shirou. Just tell me what you need from me."

Shirou glanced at her, appreciating the sincerity in her voice. But a part of him wished she didn't have to be involved at all. "Just… stay close. And be careful. This isn't something we can afford to take lightly."

Saber's voice echoed in his mind, calm but firm. "She's right to be cautious, Master. The war is only beginning, and the strongest players have yet to make their move. We must be prepared for anything."

Shirou nodded, both to Saber and to himself. They would face whatever came their way, together. But as they stepped through the gates of the school, Shirou couldn't shake the feeling that the battles ahead would test more than just their strength—they would test their very souls.


The day passed uneventfully, but the tension never fully left Shirou. Routine was a double-edged sword—it allowed him to slip back into the familiar rhythms of normal life, but it also made the ever-present danger feel even more surreal. It was as if the war existed in another world, just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break through. Every interaction, every seemingly mundane moment, was colored by the knowledge of the battles that loomed ahead.

Shirou moved through his classes with practiced ease, his mind on autopilot as he went through the motions. Saber had reluctantly agreed to watch over Ayako, convinced by Shirou's insistence that Ayako needed more protection than he did. While Saber had initially argued that her place was by his side, her warrior instincts eventually won out, and she agreed that protecting Ayako was a tactical necessity. Despite her boisterous nature, Saber understood strategy better than most. And Shirou knew that if anything happened, Saber would respond with the swift, brutal efficiency of a warlord.

But even with that reassurance, Shirou couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. The act of sending Saber to guard Ayako wasn't just a protective measure—it was another step in the direction of becoming the weapon Kiritsugu had trained him to be. A weapon didn't have personal attachments. A weapon didn't falter. He had to trust in his decisions, even if they meant distancing himself from the people he cared about.

Between classes, Shirou found himself scanning the hallways for familiar faces. Rin, with her confident stride and sharp gaze, had passed him earlier in the day. They hadn't exchanged more than a brief nod, a silent acknowledgment of their new, complex relationship. She was a fellow competitor now, someone he might have to fight—and yet, there was still that lingering respect. Rin was someone he could reason with, someone who understood the stakes just as much as he did. But that didn't mean he could trust her, not completely. Trust was a luxury he could no longer afford.

Shinji Matou, on the other hand, had been conspicuously absent. Normally, his loud presence was hard to ignore, but today there was no sign of him. That only deepened Shirou's unease. He couldn't shake the feeling that Shinji was up to something—something dangerous. His thoughts drifted to Sakura, Shinji's quiet, kind sister. She seemed so different from her brother, so gentle. But appearances could be deceiving, especially in a war like this. He wanted to believe that Sakura was nothing like the rest of her family, that she hadn't inherited their cruelty. But the spirit inside him—the embodiment of vengeance—seemed to think otherwise. It recoiled whenever they were near the Matous as if it sensed something darker beneath the surface.

Shirou tried to focus on the lesson in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to the war, to the enemies he would soon face. Rin and the Matous were only the beginning. There were others out there, other Masters with their own Servants, each with their own reasons for seeking the Grail. And then there were the Servants themselves—powerful warriors from history, each with their own motivations and desires. Kiritsugu had told him some of the stories of the heroic spirits that might be summoned, and while they were fascinating, they were also terrifying. Any one of them could be his enemy, and each was capable of feats far beyond what he could achieve alone.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Shirou packed his things and headed out of the classroom, his mind still racing. He had a brief moment of peace during lunch, eating alone on the rooftop where the noise of the school seemed distant. But even then, his thoughts were consumed by strategy, by the endless calculations that came with trying to survive this war. He felt the weight of the expectations placed on him—not just from Kiritsugu's training, but from the very world around him. He had to be strong. He had to win. There was no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.

When the final bell rang, Shirou found himself walking back towards the gates, his steps heavy with the weight of the day's burdens. He knew that once he stepped outside the school, the veneer of normalcy would fall away, and the war would come rushing back in full force. Saber would return to his side, and the brief respite of the day would be over. But for now, in these final moments of calm, he allowed himself a brief flicker of hope—that somehow, they would make it through this war. That somehow, he could protect those he cared about.

But as the gates came into view, that hope felt fragile, like a thread stretched too thin, ready to snap under the pressure of the battles yet to come. Shirou let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw Ayako waiting for him at the gate. For a moment, he had feared that the tension of the situation might have worn her down, that the weight of the war would have shown on her face. But instead, she looked calm, unaffected—like everything was still normal. She stood casually, her arms crossed as she watched the students file out of the school, a small, familiar smile playing on her lips.

It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside Shirou. Seeing Ayako like this—so composed—made him wonder if she was truly unaware of the gravity of their situation, or if she was simply better at masking her fears than he had given her credit for. Either way, her calmness offered him a fleeting sense of relief. She hadn't been overwhelmed, not yet.

As he approached her, Ayako caught sight of him and waved, her smile widening. "Hey! How was your day?" Her tone was light, almost teasing, as if nothing had changed between them, as if they weren't standing at the precipice of a deadly battle.

Shirou forced a smile, his thoughts still lingering on the war and the enemies that lay in wait. "Same as always," he replied, trying to match her easy tone. "How about you? Everything okay?"

Ayako nodded, her expression remaining bright. "Yeah, everything's fine. Saber was very protective, though. I could practically feel her eyes on me the whole time." She laughed softly, but there was a trace of something else in her voice—an understanding, perhaps, that there was more at stake than she had originally thought. "It was a bit tough with Tohsaka since she was giving me the stink eye for the whole day, but everything went fine"

Saber, still in her spirit form, remained silent but close by. Shirou could sense her presence, a comforting weight that reminded him he wasn't facing this alone. But even with Saber at his side, the responsibility weighed heavily on him. He couldn't help but wonder how long Ayako's calm exterior would last. The Grail War was a brutal, unforgiving conflict, and the longer she remained involved, the more she would have to face that reality.

He glanced at her again, trying to gauge if she was truly alright or if she was simply putting on a brave face for his sake. "You sure you're okay? I know this is... a lot."

Ayako shrugged, her smile softening into something more serious. "It's strange, sure. But I've been in tough situations before. I'm not going to break down just because things are getting weird." She paused, her gaze shifting to the horizon for a moment before returning to Shirou. "Besides, you're here. That makes it easier to handle."

Shirou felt a flicker of guilt at her words. She trusted him, believed in him—and yet, he knew that the war would only get more dangerous from here. "Just stay close, Ayako. We don't know what's coming, but I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

Ayako's eyes softened, and she nodded, her expression one of quiet resolve. "I know, Shirou. I'm not afraid."

But as they turned to walk home together, Shirou couldn't shake the feeling that the calm wouldn't last. The battles ahead would test them all, and no matter how much he tried to protect her, Ayako would have to face the harsh realities of the war sooner or later.

As they walked together, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. The soft glow of the street lamps flickered on, bathing the path ahead in a warm, golden light. Despite the quiet, peaceful evening, Shirou couldn't shake the growing unease that had settled in the pit of his stomach. There was something in the air, something wrong. He felt a tingle run down his spine, his senses on high alert. Instinctively, his hand tightened around the strap of his bag.

Then it came—Saber's voice, sharp and urgent in his mind.

"Master, ahead."

Shirou's breath hitched. Saber's warning confirmed what he had already felt. He followed her gaze and saw her—just ahead, standing beneath one of the street lamps. A young girl, no older than a teenager. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, and her eyes were a deep crimson, gleaming with an unsettling intensity. Long, snow-white hair cascaded down her back, stark against the growing darkness.

She stood still, watching them approach, as if waiting for them.

Shirou's heartbeat quickened. There was something otherworldly about her, something that made the air around them feel heavier. He could sense the magic radiating from her, a cold, eerie power that sent a chill through him. This was no ordinary girl.

'Illya'

Shirou felt the voice of his adoptive father in his mind, the man's grief and anguish were palpable in a way Shirou had never felt before

Ayako, still oblivious to the danger, continued walking beside him, her expression relaxed. But Shirou subtly stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body as they drew closer to the girl. His mind raced, analyzing the situation. She hadn't made any hostile moves yet, but the way she stood there, so calmly, unnerved him. She was confident—too confident for someone who might be an innocent bystander.

The girl's crimson eyes locked onto Shirou's, and a small, almost amused smile played at the corners of her lips. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with an air of casual curiosity, as if she knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

"Well, well," the girl finally spoke, her voice soft but laced with an underlying coldness. "I finally found you dear brother, or do you not know me and our dear father kept me a little secret?

Shirou's breath caught in his throat as the girl's words sank in. Brother? The chill in the air seemed to deepen, the weight of her gaze pressing down on him with an eerie familiarity. The name his adoptive father had whispered in his mind echoed now with even more clarity.

'Illya.'

A rush of conflicting emotions surged through him—confusion, disbelief, and something darker, something that came from Kiritsugu's voice, laden with grief and regret. He had never known his adoptive father to show such emotions so vividly, not even in the worst moments. The mere thought of this girl—the one now standing before him, claiming to be his sister—had stirred something in Kiritsugu.

The man felt his mistakes come crashing down on him at the sight of his daughter, reminded of his failure, his inability to save her. And the resentment she must feel at what she thought of his willful abandonment and replacement of her.

The girl—Illya—continued to smile at him, her expression amused yet sharp, as though she enjoyed his shock. "Ah, I see it now. You didn't know, did you?" Her voice was laced with mock pity, but there was something more in her crimson eyes—a coldness that sent a shiver down Shirou's spine. "Father was always like that, wasn't he? Keeping secrets, playing his little games. But here we are, reunited at last. Isn't it sweet?"

Shirou clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions in check. He had heard of Illya before, he had known that Kiritsugu had another child, and from what he told him, he would never see her again. But now, standing here, with his adoptive sister, he felt a strange sense of responsibility—toward her, toward whatever had been left unsaid. But at the same time, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. This girl, despite her innocent appearance, was dangerous. The magic radiating from her, the way she carried herself—it all screamed of power and experience far beyond her years.

"What do you want?" Shirou asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. He needed to understand her intentions, to figure out where she stood in this war.

Illya's smile widened, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Isn't it obvious? I came to find you, of course. To see the boy Father chose over me. To see what makes you so special." Her tone was light, almost playful, but there was an edge to it—a sharpness that hinted at something far more sinister beneath the surface. "And of course… I came for the Holy Grail. Just like everyone else."

Shirou felt Saber's presence intensify behind him, her readiness to protect him palpable even though she remained in spirit form. He could sense her tension, her instinctive wariness of this girl. But Illya's words dug deep into Shirou's mind, stirring something he had long buried: the realization that he was just one of many pieces in a game much larger than himself.

Ayako, still standing beside him, finally seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. She glanced between Shirou and Illya, her brow furrowing with concern. "Shirou… who is she?"

Shirou took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "She's… Illya. My… sister."

Ayako's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could say anything more, Illya interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Oh, it's true. We're family, Shirou and I. But I'm afraid that doesn't mean we'll be getting along." She giggled softly, the sound eerily out of place in the growing darkness.

Shirou's heart raced, his instincts screaming at him to be prepared for whatever came next. He could sense the danger looming just beneath Illya's playful exterior. She wasn't just here to talk—there was something far more dangerous about her presence.

"Why now?" Shirou asked, his voice low and measured. "Why did you come for me now?"

Illya's smile never wavered as she took another step closer. "Because, dear brother, the game has begun. And I wanted to see how well you'd play." Her eyes gleamed with a predatory light, her innocent facade slipping just enough to reveal the ruthless intelligence behind it. "I wonder… how long can you survive in this war? How long before you break?"

Shirou's breath caught as her words struck home. She wasn't just testing him—she was challenging him, taunting him. And as much as he wanted to find answers, to understand the truth behind Kiritsugu's past and her connection to it, he couldn't afford to be lured into her game.

"Saber," Shirou called out internally, his thoughts urgent. Be ready.

Saber's voice came back, calm yet focused. "Always, Master. She is not to be underestimated."

Illya's eyes flickered briefly as if she sensed Saber's readiness. Her smile grew, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, dear brother. After all, family reunions should be cherished, don't you think?" With that, she pointed at them "Go get them Beserker~"

On cue her servant came out of spirit form, a colossal, statue-like man, his hair was wild and a gloss black, his muscles bulging and his eyes a bestial red. Shirou's heart slammed in his chest, his blood turning to ice as the word echoed in his mind—Heracles. The figure that materialized in front of him was no ordinary Servant. This was a monster, a towering force of destruction that radiated sheer power. The air seemed to tremble around him, his presence suffocating and oppressive. The stone axe-like sword in his hand looked like it could cleave through mountains, and with Heracles' brutal strength, it didn't need to be sharp—it simply needed to connect.

The spirit of vengeance within Shirou screamed, raging against the presence of the demigod. "Kinslayer! Murderer!" The words rang out in his mind like a thunderous roar, overwhelming him with the weight of the Heroic Spirit's sins. Images flashed before Shirou's eyes—Heracles' madness, the blood of his family on his hands, the unrelenting cycle of violence that had defined his existence. The hatred surged through Shirou like wildfire, threatening to consume him. He could feel the spirit within him lashing out, trying to tear its way to the surface.

But even as the fear paralyzed him, Saber's presence cut through the chaos like a blade of light. "Master! Focus!" Her voice was sharp, and urgent, pulling Shirou back from the edge of panic.

Illya's laughter echoed through the street, her crimson eyes gleaming with twisted delight as she watched him struggle. "Oh dear brother, isn't he magnificent? Berserker, the strongest of all Servants. Let's see how long you can last against him."


A/N

Yo, boys and gals, I'm back sorry it took so long ran into a few life issues. Wanted to get this chapter out last week but was feeling kinda burned out, but hey taking a breather let me make it a bit longer. Hope this lives up to what you were waiting for, and I kinda just like writing Mephisto and Kirir, something about their dynamic makes it easy for me, next time we'll see how our trio deals with Herc and his pint-size master.

The next update is probably gonna be Arcalibur, or maybe, just maybe Tyrant, pfft yeah right, anyway ciao, Azure out.