Chapter 1: Fading Light
(Chapter 1 is available with images and audio. See the bottom of the page)
The crisp air prickled against Shirou's skin, each breath a faint puff of mist in the night. His steps echoed down the narrow alleyways of Fuyuki City, the usual hum of life muffled by the winter chill. He tugged his scarf tighter, eyes on the dim lights ahead, but his mind wandered. Dinner needed to be made. The heater was still busted, and if he didn't fix it soon—
A weight descended on the air and stopped him in his tracks.
The hairs on the back of his neck bristled with the familiar tingle of something unnatural settling over the streets.
He scanned the shadows, though the alley remained empty, just the quiet of a city settling into its night. His hand curled at his side, muscles tense. He wasn't much of a mage—no formal training, no grand spells—but he wasn't blind to the Moonlit World. Fuyuki had more than its fair share of that.
Footsteps.
They came fast, quick enough to send a shiver up his spine. His heart jumped, legs stiffening as his body shifted, instinct kicking in. Whoever—whatever—was approaching, it wasn't normal. He could feel it, the faint pulse of something more than human, pressing in around him.
The footsteps stopped, and the echo faded.
Shirou turned, eyes narrowing into the gloom, catching a flicker of movement. A pale and trembling figure collapsed down the alley. It looked… It looked like a woman wearing a ragged and tattered cloak.
Shirou hesitated, his instincts screaming to stay back. She could be dangerous—part of some trap, or worse, something he couldn't handle. He wasn't exactly equipped to deal with these things. Not like true mages. And yet... he couldn't turn away. Not when she looked so fragile, trembling like that.
A Hero of Justice cannot even consider turning away.
Even if he wasn't trained, even if he wasn't capable, he couldn't just stand by. His fists loosened, enough to show he meant no harm, and he stepped closer.
His voice, steady despite the pulse in his ears, broke the silence. "Hey... you alright?"
She neither moved nor responded.
Shirou felt his legs move before his mind caught up. He sprinted across the narrow alley, dropping to one knee beside the woman in the tattered cloak. His hands hovered, unsure where to touch. She was trembling, her breath shallow and quick, like a bird trapped in a cage too small to breathe.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he muttered, reaching for her shoulder.
His fingers brushed cold skin. Too cold. Not like someone caught in the winter air—this was something else. She wasn't just freezing; she felt... off.
Wrong.
He leaned closer, trying to see her face through the hood. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the weak alley lights, and her eyes—when they fluttered open—were violet and gleamed with prana.
"Who… Who… goes there…?" Her voice was thin, barely a whisper, like every word cost her more than she could afford to give. She shifted slightly, a tremor running through her as if even that movement was too much.
"My name is Emiya Shirou." His hand rested on her shoulder now, feeling the faintest tremble beneath his palm. "Don't worry, I'm here to help."
Her head tilted, just a fraction, as if she couldn't quite comprehend what he'd said.
His grip tightened instinctively, his pulse quickening at the strange magical pulse surrounding her. A subtle pressure—he wasn't skilled enough to know what kind of magic it was, but it was there, undeniable. Dangerous. But she didn't look dangerous, not now.
She looked fragile.
"I have to get you somewhere safe," he said, shifting his weight to lift her.
She raised a shaking hand, her fingers brushing his sleeve weakly.
"No... it's... not that simple," she murmured, her breath fogging faintly in the cold air. "You shouldn't... be here."
His heart pounded harder. She wasn't just in danger—she was dying. The way she said it, like it was too late, like nothing could be done... It chilled him more than the winter air.
He clenched his teeth, forcing the fear aside. He would find a way, any way. If there was even a chance to help, he couldn't stand by and watch her fade.
"I'll worry about that later," he said, voice firmer now, "but right now, I can't let you stay out here."
He shifted, ready to lift her again, but she shook her head, barely.
"You... you don't understand..." Her voice cracked, the words barely escaping her lips. "You can't help me."
"I can't just stand by and do nothing."
"I… can't…" She clutched at her chest like something was tearing inside her. Her lips parted, and he caught the faintest whisper, though it sounded like she wasn't even talking to him. "…prana… no… not like this."
"Prana…"
The word tugged at his mind, pulling at threads of knowledge he barely had.
Prana depletion?
His father's old books had mentioned it—a slow, painful death, draining someone who'd overtaxed their magical circuits. But the descriptions had been vague, and Shirou had never seen anything like it in real life.
I thought this was just theory.
He'd thought this was something far removed from him, something only real mages worried about. Now, seeing her on the verge of collapse, her life hanging by a thread, that distant concept felt terrifyingly real.
But what can I do?
His circuits barely functioned at the best of times. The two spells he knew had nothing to do with this. And even if he had prana to give, how was he supposed to transfer it?
His mind scrambled for answers, but the only thing that kept surfacing was the fact that if he didn't act, she—whoever she was—would die.
"Hey, stay with me," he tightened his grip. "I don't know what you need, but we can figure it out."
His voice felt small in the cold, the words almost ridiculous. This wasn't a normal wound. There was no first aid kit or bandage that could help here, but he couldn't—wouldn't—leave her to die in the street.
Her breath rasped in his ear, harsher now, ragged.
"I… can't…" Her body tensed against him, and the desperation in her voice sliced through the cold air. Her fingers dug weakly into his sleeve as if clinging to what little life remained. "I… need… prana…"
How was he supposed to help with that?
He barely had enough to call himself a mage, let alone save someone whose life seemed to hinge on it. Not to mention that he didn't have the slightest idea how to give her what prana his circuits could make. But the way she spoke, the way her body was failing—it hit something deep inside him. Like a weight pressing down, like every second mattered more than the last.
He had to do something.
His thoughts spiraled, weighing his options. He could take her home, lay her on the couch, maybe get her warm. It would be a comfort before she moved on. Yet was he really satisfied with that? Blankets and soup? Comfort until her life sputtered out? What else could he do? Pretend he'd never seen her? Leave her here, alone, to waste away in the alley?
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.
No. A Hero of Justice would never do that. Shirou would never do that.
"I'll get you somewhere safe." He picked her up and started running towards his house. She was lighter than she looked. "Then we'll figure this out."
"Stop..." She pressed her hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. "You're... wasting time. I... don't have long."
Shirou's heart lurched. He looked down, meeting her eyes—pale and half-closed, but sharp with something like understanding. Desperation too, but not panic. Whatever strength she had left, she was using it to cling to some sliver of control.
"What do you mean?" He kept his voice steady, though the weight in his chest tightened.
He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"I need... prana." Her head sagged, leaning against his shoulder, as if the explanation itself drained what little she had left. "You need to transfer it to me."
"Okay," Shirou muttered, his chest tightening as the weight of it hit him. "I don't really know what I'm doing, but I'll figure it out."
The words felt hollow. He didn't know how to give her prana. The old books never covered this. How could they? He wasn't supposed to need this kind of knowledge.
"If you need prana, I'll give it to you. But... how?" He gulped. ""How do we do this?"
"It's not that simple." She let out a soft, bitter laugh. "If you don't know how, I have no time to teach you."
His stomach twisted.
Of course, it wasn't simple. It never was. He racked his brain, trying to remember if there were any spells he'd learned, anything he could use to help. Nothing came. He wasn't a mage—not really. Not like the ones who knew all the rituals and spells by heart.
"There has to be something," he muttered, half to himself, half to her. "Some kind of spell, or—"
"No time..." Her fingers tightened weakly on his arm, cutting him off. "There are... two ways."
Shirou felt the weight of her words, something unspoken hanging between them. He didn't push—her hesitation, her guarded tone—it told him enough. But he couldn't stand here and watch her die, not when she was so close to slipping away.
"Just tell me," he said. "I'll do whatever it takes."
She looked up at him, and for a moment, her eyes softened—not in relief, but something closer to resignation. As if she knew what he was offering and knew he didn't understand the full weight of it.
I probably don't.
"The first..." she whispered, her words barely holding together. "Is blood. I could take your blood and your life energy from you, but that is dangerous. Leaves a mark. Permanently."
Shirou's breath caught.
Blood magic?
He didn't know much about it—just vague mentions in the old texts, warnings more than instructions. But everything he'd read was enough to know it was dangerous, the kind of magecraft that left scars, sometimes deeper than you realized.
What does she mean by permanent? Will it drain me for the rest of my life? Will it change me?
His mind raced, trying to picture how it worked. Did she need a ritual? A spell? Would it even work if he didn't know what he was doing? The weight of the unknown pressed down harder.
"And the second?"
Her silence stretched longer this time. Shirou felt her fingers tighten around his sleeve, her breath ragged against his neck. "The second requires intimacy..."
He froze. "Wait, what?"
"Prana... flows easiest... between two bodies joined together as closely as two bodies ever can be," she muttered, barely able to form the words. "It's not... ideal. Neither option is."
The air seemed to still around them, the cold biting harder. Shirou's mind reeled, the gravity of what she was asking crashing over him. He couldn't even process it properly. This wasn't what he'd expected—it was beyond anything he'd ever imagined.
"Are you serious?" He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. "There's no other way?"
"No..." Her voice was almost gone, slipping away into the cold. "If you don't... choose... I'll fade."
Shirou stared at her, feeling the weight of it all crashing down at once.
His mind raced, caught between the impossibility of what she was asking and the simple truth that she was dying. Every second she slipped further away, her body growing heavier against him. Her eyes, once sharp, now barely held onto the edge of consciousness, but the raw humanity in them cut through the chaos swirling in his head. This wasn't about magecraft or risks he didn't understand.
It was about saving her.
He wasn't afraid of the methods—he'd deal with that later, somehow. What lingered in his mind, pressing in harder with each breath, was the thought of watching her disappear. Of letting someone slip through his fingers when he could save them because he didn't act fast enough.
"You'll be fine." The words came out steadier than he expected, more for himself than for her.
He didn't know who she was, what kind of power she held, or why she was here. But she had more to live for than this moment, more than fading away in a back alley under the dim glow of streetlights.
More than he did.
He shifted his grip, turning her body slightly as he glanced down at his own hand. He didn't know how much he could give—but he didn't really care.
"Here," he rolled up his sleeve and extending his wrist. "Take it."
The words left his mouth before he could second-guess himself, but his stomach twisted.
I don't even know how this works.
What if he gave too much? What if he gave too little and it wasn't enough to save her? Or worse, what if she took more than she needed, and he couldn't stop her? His father's old books hadn't covered anything like this.
He clenched his fists, pushing the doubts down.
I have to save her.
But was that really it? Was it her he wanted to save, or was it the idea of being the Hero of Justice? The image of his father flickered in his mind, a shadow of what it meant to be just.
It didn't matter.
There wasn't time to think this through, and right now, thinking too much would paralyze him.
"Take my blood," he said, louder this time, more for himself than for her. "If that'll give you enough prana to survive... do it."
Her gaze flickered toward him, barely focused, but he could see the hesitation.
She didn't want this. Maybe she didn't want to rely on someone so weak, or maybe the cost of survival weighed too heavily on her pride. He didn't know. But he knew one thing—there wasn't time for her to argue.
Shirou brought his wrist closer to her mouth, feeling the cold air sting his skin as he waited for her to respond.
She looked at him, her breathing shallow, her lips trembling with words she wasn't speaking.
He'd never done anything like this before—never given someone prana, let alone through something as intimate as blood.
What if I can't stop it? What if I don't have enough to give? What if she...
He forced those thoughts down, meeting her eyes again. The desperation there—the fragility of her trembling form—pushed everything else aside.
She's going to die if I don't.
His pulse hammered in his ears, but he didn't pull away. The fear was still there, clawing at the edges of his mind, but he pushed past it.
"Take it," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Stop hesitating and take it."
He could sense her reluctance, her need to retain some control over the situation. She shifted, the motion slow, deliberate. Her hand brushed against his, fingers weakly wrapping around his wrist as she finally gave in. Her mouth found the skin just above his pulse, and then he felt it—sharp, quick pain as her teeth broke the skin.
Those are some sharp teeth… Did a Dead Apostle just play me for a fool?
The warmth of his blood flowed immediately, but it wasn't just warmth—it was life itself, draining from him in sharp, pulsing waves. But it wasn't just blood. It was deeper than that.
His prana—his very life force—was being pulled from the depths of him. It wasn't just a physical sensation; it felt like something essential was unraveling inside him, like threads of his soul were being tugged away. His circuits, barely functioning at the best of times, strained under the pressure, each pulse of blood taking something more than just energy.
His vision flickered as the drain intensified, a hollow ache spreading from his chest to his limbs.
The cold of the alley pressed in on him, but it wasn't just the air—it was the absence of his own warmth, his own strength. He clenched his jaw, focusing on keeping his balance, on holding steady, but every second felt like it dragged him closer to the edge of collapse.
Is this what it feels like to die?
The thought flashed through his mind before he could stop it, but he forced it down. He wouldn't die. He couldn't. Not here. Not like this.
The pull slowed, just slightly, as if she were easing off, but the damage was done. The world around him blurred, the alley spinning as the prana flowed into her. He was giving her more than just blood—he was giving her the very essence of who he was.
The alley grew colder, darker, the dim lights around them flickering in and out of focus as he held steady. His body protested, each heartbeat feeling slower, and each breath heavier. But he held on, his mind fixed on her, on the way her breathing steadied with each drop she took. The trembling in her limbs eased, her grip on his wrist growing firmer.
She was coming back.
He gritted his teeth, a wave of nausea washing over him as his energy drained faster than he expected. He hadn't realized just how much this would take from him. Not that it mattered. Even if he had no idea who she was, she needed help.
He was going to save everybody in front of him.
The minutes dragged, each second longer than the last, the cold creeping deeper into his bones. Slowly, steadily, she pulled herself upright, her strength returning little by little. Her grip loosened, and then she released him, her body swaying but no longer trembling. She looked up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment—just long enough for Shirou to see that the worst had passed.
She wasn't fading anymore.
Shirou slumped slightly, his legs feeling weak beneath him, but he forced himself to stay upright. His wrist throbbed, the bite mark burning hotter now, and the cold was deeper, sinking into his bones. His vision swam, the world dimming at the edges as each heartbeat seemed to slow.
How much am I giving her?
He didn't know. He didn't even know how much he had to give, or what would happen if he ran out. But it didn't matter.
She's alive.
That was all that mattered. Even as his strength ebbed, the woman's breath steadied, her grip tightened. She wasn't fading anymore.
He'd given her enough. Enough to save her, even if it cost him more than he could afford to lose.
Shirou's wrist felt numb, the slow throb of the bite still lingering.
He hadn't expected it to feel like this, hadn't realized how much of himself he'd have to give. His father's books had never explained what it was like to lose prana. The energy, the life-force—it wasn't just magic. It was like she'd drained part of him, leaving him hollow and weak.
Is this what it feels like for real mages?
He watched her closely, barely standing, the bite mark stinging as his blood continued to drip in the cold air. But the woman in his arms—she was different now. The tremors had stopped, and her breathing had steadied. She wasn't shaking or gasping for air anymore. Slowly, the color returned to her face, her cheeks regaining a faint flush, her hands steadying.
She staggered as she stood.
Shirou let her go, watching carefully as she regained her balance. It was like watching someone take their first step after weeks of being bedridden—fragile, hesitant, but undeniably alive. The tension between them hung thick in the alley, a shared understanding that what just happened couldn't be undone.
Shirou's knees buckled before he even realized how weak he felt.
His back hit the cold wall behind him, the world spinning slightly. The prana transfer had drained him more than he thought, leaving his body sluggish, his vision starting to blur at the edges. He forced himself to stay awake, blinking hard to clear his head.
Was that enough?
He wasn't sure. He didn't know how much prana she needed or how much he had left to give if he had to. But she was still standing, still breathing, and that had to mean something. His chest felt hollow, but he kept his eyes locked on her.
He'd seen enough of the Moonlit World to know that just because someone was fragile one minute didn't mean they stayed that way.
She stood there, swaying slightly, her gaze unfocused for a moment as if readjusting to the reality that she was still here.
Shirou didn't know what to expect next—whether she'd turn and leave or if something worse was about to unfold. He barely knew who she was, and there was a dangerous edge to her presence now that she wasn't on the verge of death.
He swallowed, trying to focus through the growing fog in his head.
The silence felt heavier with every passing second. Shirou slumped against the wall, still trying to catch his breath, his body hollowed out by the strain of the mana transfer. He looked up at her, searching for any clue about what she was thinking now that her strength had returned. The tension hadn't broken yet—there was still too much he didn't know, too many questions hanging in the air between them.
She stood over him, her posture steadier now, her eyes lingering on him longer than before. There was sharpness in them but also softness. Curiosity. Gratitude. But she kept her distance, as if she wasn't quite sure how to close the gap between them. Her strength had returned, and with it, an air of authority.
He could feel it—the weight of her presence pressing down. She was something powerful and regal.
She took a slow step forward, her gaze flicking down to his wrist, then back to his face.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Emiya Shirou," he managed, his voice weaker than he'd like. His chest tightened with the effort of speaking, and he blinked to clear the fog settling over his vision. "What about you?"
She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before answering. "Medea."
That name...
It tugged at something distant in his mind—mythology, maybe? He couldn't place it. There was no time to ask, anyway. Whatever she wasn't saying weighed more heavily than the name itself, but he didn't have the strength to push her for more.
Not now.
She knelt beside him, her movements slower, more deliberate. Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. Her hand brushed his wrist, light as a whisper, but she didn't look at the bite mark. Her eyes settled on his, and for a moment, everything felt still.
"You've saved me," her voice was barely audible over the wind picking up around them. "For that, I'll repay the favor."
He wanted to ask what that meant—what kind of favor someone like her could owe him. But the exhaustion in his bones pulled at him, dragging him down. The alley spun slightly, the edges of his vision darkening as he tried to focus on her.
He blinked, forcing himself to stay conscious.
Her next words were softer, but they cut through the growing fog in his mind like a blade. "But know this, Emiya Shirou... you're part of something much larger now. There's no turning back."
The wind howled, a cold rush against his skin. He felt his body give in to the weight of it all, his head leaning back against the wall. The world around him began to blur, edges darkening like a candle's flame flickering before it's snuffed out. He tried to stay awake, to focus on her face—the last thing he'd see before the darkness swallowed him whole.
And then, the world went black.
That's a wrap for Chapter 1!
Let me know what you liked and disliked, I would love to hear all your thoughts!
This will definitely be a ShirouxMedea, and they will definitely be summoning Saber. However, I'm still undecided on whether to pair Saber with them. Let me know what you'd love to see.
Chapters 2, 3 are already available in advance on my p. a. t. r. e. o. n. . c. o. m. /. TheStorySpinner (don't forget to remove the spaces and dots).
Chapter 1 is available with images for free for the public there, and so is an audio version. It's a single voice version for now, but I'll most likely be making multiple voice versions in the future. You do not have to be a member of any kind to access Chapter 1 with images.
Audio versions of following chapters are coming soon.
See you in Chapter 2!
