The new year had arrived and school had returned, yet Shirou found himself going through the motions like every other day. Walking through the hallways, he pondered if other students shared the same sentiment.
Earlier, Issei had asked him to fix a number of appliances that had broken over break. He hadn't gotten to all of them before homeroom started, so Shirou decided to finish off the rest during lunch.
On a typical day, Issei would have escorted him, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, Shirou entered the art room on his own. The dreary sun of a cloudy winter afternoon shone through the windows, casting the postered, plastered walls in a mellow gray light. Issei had told him the heater had broken, and the abandoned easels carrying half-finished paintings and sketches were evidence to that. A few students usually occupied the art room at all times, chatting or working, but today he was by his lonesome.
Shirou shivered, feeling the frigid air peck at his skin. Way too cold. He supposed it was for the best. He wouldn't need to kick anyone out.
Shirou spotted the heater along the windowed wall. He maneuvered through the art room, careful not to bump into any incomplete works, halting once he was close enough.
He switched his circuits on. Circuits. He couldn't say if they actually were Magic Circuits, but they functioned in the exact same way, so he labeled them as such. He had spent most of his break activating, tinkering, and practicing, until he had twenty-seven Magic Circuits up and running.
Grasping the heater, Shirou processed the information streaming into his head. It was old, a part of Homurahara for decades, installed far before he was born. Damaged as it was, Shirou liked it. Old tools had an odd charm to them, a faith born from years of use. An archer wouldn't pick a new bow every time they wanted to shoot. They would use the one they trusted the most.
Maybe that was just his inner curmudgeon speaking. He had always preferred classic wooden bows to the new and shiny carbon ones.
Still, sometimes tools had to be retired. This heater had seen better days. Structural Analysis told him that the foremost issue was a blown fuse, but there were a multitude of smaller problems waiting in the wings.
He had a replacement fuse ready in his toolbox, but he decided to knock out two birds with one stone. Concentrating, Shirou Traced a new fuse, running through the seven steps. It had copper end-caps, a glass body, and tin-lead alloy wires that together composed one structure. Well designed, this fuse was a mass-produced product, made by machinery, used by machinery. Shirou exhaled, and the finished projection formed in his hand. Perfect.
Projection was already his best magecraft, and having circuits made it even easier. Reinforcement, on the other hand, was as cumbersome as ever. His failed Reinforcements outweighed his successful ones hundredfold. At his current rate of improvement, years would pass before he could call himself proficient at it.
From there, he replaced the blown fuse. While he was at it, he replaced the dirty air filter, unclogged the core, and repaired the thermostat. Finished, Shirou stretched his back, tested the heater, then left the classroom, satisfied.
He made his way over to the student council room.
"Issei, I'm done wi-" Shirou abruptly cut off. For once, Issei wasn't by himself in the student council room. Seated to his side was Mitsuzuri. They were close, shoulders nearly touching, discussing something animatedly.
He closed the door. Issei was popular, both for his personality and his appearance, but Shirou had never seen him alone with a girl before. A glimmer of hope appeared in his mind. Had spring finally come for Issei? He was beginning to think it would never happen. Shirou smiled and began walking to the cafeteria.
Issei burst out of the door, Mitsuzuri at his heels. "Wait! Emiya, where are you going?" His cheeks were pink.
"I finished up the repairs, so I'm going to eat lunch," he said.
Mitsuzuri laughed. "It's alright, come back in."
"I wouldn't want to interrupt you two," Shirou said. Relationships were allowed in Homurahara. Impeding his friends' romance would only lead to bad karma.
Mitsuzuri's eyes narrowed. "Shut up, don't complain."
Before Shirou could respond, she yanked on his sleeve, dragging him back inside the student council room.
"Sit down," she ordered, and Shirou obeyed, perplexed as he was. She took the chair opposite to him.
"Ahem," Issei coughed. He pushed up his glasses. "I must clarify that Mitsuzuri and I are not in a relationship, nor do we have any intention of being in one. What you saw was misleading."
Shirou tilted his head. "So it was all a misunderstanding?"
"Yeah." Mitsuzuri crossed her arms. "You left before I could correct it. Now go and reflect on your actions." Strangely, Mitsuzuri smiled, but wasn't smiling at the same time. It reminded him of Tohsaka in a way.
"Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to jump to conclusions." Now that he was closer, Shirou noticed the sheets of paper spread out across the table. "Is the archery club in trouble?"
Mitsuzuri snorted. "Not on my watch. We were planning our grade's field trip."
"Shouldn't the student council be handling that then?" he asked.
"We formed a second-year field trip committee at the beginning of the school year," Issei said. "I invited you to join before break, and you said you would consider it."
"Right," Shirou said, scratching his head. "That totally slipped my mind."
"You've been zoning out even more than usual," Mitsuzuri sighed, slouching. "Let's just call it a day, Ryuudou. We'll figure out the rest later."
Issei nodded. "Rest is important. Our progress has been steady, and we have several weeks to finalize our plan."
"Sounds good to me," she said, gathering the papers into a neat stack. She put it in a manila folder and handed it to Issei. "Mind if I eat my lunch here?"
Issei raised his eyebrows, then looked to Shirou. "If Emiya approves."
"Sure," he shrugged. He liked talking to Mitsuzuri. "But don't you usually eat with the archery club?"
Mitsuzuri gave a wide grin. "Eating with Emiya is a rare opportunity! Tohsaka's been hogging all your time lately, so I might as well take this chance while I can."
Shirou was taken aback. "You know about that?" He had tried so hard to be secretive, too.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm pretty close with Tohsaka," she chuckled.
"Don't remind me…" Issei groaned. "You two need to quit spending time with her. It's harmful for the spirit."
Mitsuzuri smacked Issei on the back, causing him to flinch. "Lighten up, Ryuudou. Tohsaka's not that bad."
Shirou silently agreed.
Issei frowned. "She's a thorn to my side, along with all the other issues I've yet to solve."
"Student Council work?" Shirou prompted him to elaborate.
"The budget is a mess, the calendar hasn't been sorted yet, and we've barely received any new applications, for both the Student Council and for our vacant physical education teaching job," he grumbled.
"That's our president," Shirou said. No other Student Council member seemed to care as much as Issei did. He dealt with all the planning, budgeting, communicating, and even spoke at school events. "You have so many responsibilities."
"It is but a trifle compared to my duties on the mountain," Issei said. Shirou supposed the labor of an aspiring monk must be far more strenuous than administrative duties. "Still, somehow I know this is the work of Tohsaka, plotting from afar."
Shirou had a sneaking suspicion.
"Issei, do you miss Tohsaka?" he asked. Mitsuzuri chortled, then muffled her mouth with her hand.
Issei's mouth stumbled back at that, arms crossed before him. "W-w-why would you ever say that?"
"She's only been gone for a few days, but you keep talking about her," he said plainly.
Mitsuzuri's laughter filled the room. "I feel the same way, Ryuudou. It's lonely without a rival around."
"I can't believe you would accuse me of such things!" Issei shouted, jaw quivering, mouth agape. "Unbelievable! Has she gotten to you too, Emiya? This is why you mustn't eat lunch with her any longer!"
"I don't know about that, Issei." Tohsaka was still on vacation. She had told him before break that she would be going abroad for the entirety of break, and a little longer. She was supposed to be back by now, but she hadn't shown up at school yet.
He had never realized how much he missed eating with Tohsaka until she wasn't there. It had only been a few weeks since they had started talking. From afar, he was always interested in her, but talking with her, learning more about her, seeing her smile… Shirou felt heat in his cheeks.
"Emiya! W-what is that blush?" Issei exclaimed, a feeling of horror dawning on his face. To his side, Mitsuzuri sported a curious expression, peering at him closely.
Shirou looked away. His lunchbox awaited.
The sun had set and darkness coated the sky. Sakura and Fuji-nee had come and gone hours ago. Shirou strolled along the deserted road, wending his way to Shinto.
He crossed the Fuyuki bridge, a wintry breeze piercing his layers. He traveled through the shopping district. There wasn't a soul outside. The residential district was a similar sight. All the reasonable people were indoors, hiding away from the cold. He passed by some rowdy bars, scanning for trouble and discovering none. He recognized some of the regulars, loud and florid. He had helped them a couple times. He wondered if the regulars recognized him.
Finally, Shirou found himself on the edge of Fuyuki Central Park. Wind whistled through the flowerless grass to an eerie tune, accompanied by the swish and sway of the silhouettes of barren trees. The park was a memorial, a graveyard for the hundreds of unknown, a blight, uncelebrated, unvisited. People avoided it in the daylight, so of course it was empty in the night. Shirou stopped for a few minutes, staring, before heading back to the city.
Part of him acknowledged he would never unearth the magus like this, aimlessly wandering the streets like a specter. But he would persist.
He made his rounds once more to no avail, halting once he was on the outskirts of Shinto. There were fewer buildings here, a few apartments and a parking garage. Another peaceful day.
Shirou yawned. His breath was misty under the streetlight. For whatever reason, magical energy alleviated the need to sleep, but there were limits to it. He was ready to rest.
A shrill scream pierced the night.
Shirou spun around, fatigue forgotten. His head whirled wildly, searching for the source. There was no one in his vision, but there was a nearby apartment building to his left. Somehow, he hadn't noticed it before. The person in danger had to be there.
He burst through the glass doors of the building, finding himself in a luxurious, modern lobby. But it was empty, no danger at all. The scream stopped, just as abrupt as it began. Shirou ground his teeth together. Where are they?
He didn't know where the victim was, so he had to check every floor until he found her. An elevator would be too slow. He sprinted up the stairs, two steps at a time. Up a flight, he opened the first door he saw and crashed through.
Shirou was blasted with heat.
Azure flames raged across every surface. From the granite floor to the marble pillars, the fire claimed every surface. Even the pool was ablaze, embers capering across the waves.
The foul odor of charred meat and black smoke pervaded the air. Everywhere, the flames hissed and spat, inescapable, and suddenly the memories were overflowing, and Shirou was a little boy again, treading on desolated earth through the red inferno, a remembrance. He remembered the voices, pinned beneath the rubble, pleading for salvation. He remembered the people, selfless, digging with charred, bleeding hands through searing rocks and ruin, all to rescue the ones they loved, even as the fires devoured them. And he remembered the boy who had ignored their pleas and cries and screams.
But here there were no voices and no people, save for the solitary figure in the midst of the sea of blue, shrouded in black and amethyst robes.
Shirou rushed through the blaze, ignoring how the flames licked his limbs and gnawed at his skin. He stopped on the tile before the figure, one of the few spots untouched by the fire. Even there, he could feel the heat through his soles. "We have to get out here!"
The hooded person turned towards him. He could taste mana emanating around them, pulsing like a heartbeat. "Are you one of his? It seems not," the figure whispered, smooth as song. A woman. "You should not be here, little magus. Turn back."
What? Shirou stopped, tense. "Did you do this?"
"The fire?" The woman spread her arms as if she was showcasing the flames. "Why, of course. This building will burn to the ground once I'm done. Isn't it lovely?"
Shirou's lips made a thin line. "There was someone screaming. Where are they?" His tone made it a demand rather than a question.
"Oh, I remember her. She almost managed to escape. I killed her with the rest." The woman said indifferently. She was never in any danger, he recognized.
Shirou reached into his bag. "How many people?"
"Around a dozen or so. I wasn't counting."
He pulled out his shinai.
The woman scoffed. "And what will you do with a stick? This is not your fight, boy."
Shirou leapt forward, aiming for her head. But with a single movement of her lips, he was halted, cemented in the air. His body was bound, his arms and legs frozen, unable to move a muscle. Arid smoke traveled into his lungs. Shirou's throat shriveled up, but he couldn't even cough.
"Now do you see the difference between us?" she said, bored in inflection. "I care not for wanton bloodshed. Swear to leave, and I will set you free."
"You… won't… hurt… anyone…else," he said, more rasp than coherent.
The woman stopped. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could tell she was staring at him, analyzing him. "You were not here," she said, soft and bitter. "Do not judge that which you do not understand."
"You… murdered… them!" He could barely breathe.
"Murdered who? Did you know them personally?" she questioned.
"Innocent…people!"
She released a weary sigh. "Your morals are admirable, but your mind is misguided. Very well." She formed a small, layered circle bordered by fuschia sigils at the tip of her finger. "Come to the next floor, or leave and forget about this," she commanded.
The woman vanished with a flicker of violet light, and Shirou dropped to the floor, narrowly rolling away from the fire. Gasping for air, he coughed and sputtered until it felt like his stomach was in his throat.
Coming to his feet, Shirou watched as his bag and shinai were consumed by the fire. It was too late to save the wooden sword, but he was able to salvage his first aid kit and pepper spray, small as they were. He stuffed the spray into his pocket and held the first aid kit in his hand.
He was ready to go. The flames were spreading, erasing the path to the stairs. Shirou would have to dash through. But on his first step, the fires parted like blazing tides, clearing a path straight to the elevator. How powerful was she?
The suggestion was clear. The next floor or leave, she had said. Just from that brief encounter, Shirou knew he didn't have a chance at defeating her. Another fight would end with another loss, or worse. If you could even call that a fight. But he had no other choice. He tapped the button for the next floor, feeling like he was signing his own death warrant. The elevator doors closed, and fires passed from sight.
The elevator couldn't have moved any slower. Anxious, Shirou's body thrummed, adrenaline and fear pumping through his veins. He had neither plan nor preparation. Stupid, he thought.
The elevator stopped with a ding, and he exited into a hotel corridor. To his left and right were more hallways, both furnished to the extreme, with carpets, tapestries, and flowers decorating the interior, yet devoid of people.
The central corridor led straight to a pair of sleek metal doors, a sharp contrast to the elegance of the surroundings. Something told him that what he was seeking lay behind them.
Shirou proceeded towards them. Automatically, the metal doors slid open. He walked inside, bracing himself, ready for a fight. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
The doors glided shut behind him. He was in a laboratory. Clean and polished, every facet was sanitized like it was part of a hospital. There were flat screens, wires, and glaring lights on the ceiling, surrounding an elevated, circular platform in the center of the room. Six large glass cylinders were arranged around the platform, each connected to a central metal post through tubing.
There was complicated magecraft embedded into the machines. It was beyond anything he had ever seen, but that wasn't what gave Shirou pause. Nor was it the robed woman from before, who had immobilized him ever so easily. She had someone at her feet, pleading for mercy, tears streaming down their cheeks. He didn't spare them a second thought.
What chilled him to the bone were the children, suspended in the air, strapped to the ceiling. Dozens. Like meat in a butcher shop. Waves of horror roiled through his core, twisting his stomach into knots.
"So you've come. I was hoping you would," the woman said from the corner of his eye. She smiled and shimmered away, as if she was never there in the first place.
"Was this what you wanted to show me?" Shirou said aloud. No response. He walked to the other person in the room. She was a woman, garbed in a mix of doctor's scrubs and nun's clothing.
"She's gone?" she said, glancing around in fear. "The witch is gone?"
"Tell me what happened. Are they alive?" Shirou barely felt himself speak. The doctor turned towards him, just now perceiving him.
"W-were you sent by McRemitz?" The doctor swallowed. "It's too late. Caster killed everyone but me. We couldn't do anything to stop her." She got to her feet, wiping away tears. "There's still a chance we can survive. We have to find Lord Atrum. He can put an end to this madness."
"I'm asking about the children."
"What about them?" the doctor asked. "We have to stop Caster."
"Why are there children here?" he repeated.
"They're just material," she said impatiently. "Even if we lose them all, we can import more. Look, we need to get out of he-"
"Material for what," he interrupted, dreading the answer.
The magus stopped, confused. "Have you not worked with human sacrifice before?"
Shirou's heart turned to stone. "Sacrifice?" he snarled, all thorns. "You mean to sacrifice children?"
The magus stepped away, suddenly wary. "You aren't from the Association," she realized.
"No," he said. He didn't even know what that meant. "But I'll stop you all the same."
The hammer slammed down. Shirou's circuits awakened.
"If the witch returns, we're both dead!" the magus shouted.
"I don't care." The magus' face twisted at that, and she jumped back, creating space between them. She muttered an incantation. Sharp bolts of ice flew rocketed toward him, faster than he could possibly move.
Shirou reinforced his legs like he had done it a thousand times before. With newfound speed, he easily dodged all the projectiles. Behind him, the ice ripped through the wall.
Shirou leapt forward, evading the next set of icicles. He had to close the distance if he wanted to defeat her. But the more he advanced, the less time to react to the magus' spells. The next barrage whistled through the air, and he barely avoided them all. The margin of error was shrinking.
"I don't have time for this!" the magus screamed desperately. Her back was against the wall, as far as she could retreat. The subsequent bombardment cascaded from three angles at once. Shirou was forced away.
But he was too slow. A bolt had barely nicked his left arm, and he felt numbness pervade his body. Magical ice. Just from a single scratch. He ignored it, pressing onward.
Using all his magical energy, he reinforced his legs beyond their limit, and sped through the room, feet slamming into the floor like pistons. He was gaining ground. The magus was in arm's reach! Shirou reinforced his hands, then pumped his fist back, aiming for the head. But in the magus' eyes flashed triumph.
It was instinct that saved him. Swiftly stopping, Shirou reared. Where he once stood, a massive spike of ice pierced the ground. If he had stayed the course, he would have been skewered from the bottom up.
The magus grunted, frustration visible on her face. With that spell, she could have killed him at any time. Why didn't she? Because she couldn't. There had to be something prohibiting her. A range limit? But that knowledge didn't help him.
And so, their dance continued. Shirou weaved through countless bolts of ice, trying to find an opportunity to strike. But every time Shirou got close, the magus would conjure an icy stake between them. She timed each stake so that he would have to choose being pierced or being forced back. He couldn't hit her without dying himself. It was a stalemate, but one Shirou was losing. He was slowly losing sensation, affected by the icy magecraft.
The woman also produced far more magical energy than he did. She would outlast him, and she knew it.
"Is Reinforcement all you have, novice?" she said. "Stop wasting my time."
Shirou gritted his teeth. He hurled himself forward, closing the distance. Once more, he was only a few meters away, but it felt like a kilometer. If only he had his shinai, then he could extend his reach. But it had been swallowed by the fire.
The answer came to him in an instant.
Shirou swung a half-open fist. Mid-swing, he projected his shinai between his fingers and reinforced it in the same breath. The magus' eyes widened, but before she could act, the wood crashed into her side with a ferocious crunch.
The magus let out a scream of pain, interrupting her incantation, and Shirou followed with rapid strikes to the head, shoulders, and torso. The magus collapsed, eyes rolled over. Shirou readied his sword, poised for a counterattack, but there was none.
The fight was over.
Shirou breathed a heavy sigh of relief. This woman wasn't used to combat, he had noticed. She had gotten too comfortable in the fight, too accustomed to the rhythm. Once he had broken it, she was too slow to adjust.
He crouched down, checking on the magus' status. She was alive, but she wouldn't wake up any time soon.
Assuaged, Shirou walked to the glass wall, now punctured by several shards of ice. He found a door, opened it, and entered. He had to get all the children down, but they were too high up for him to reach.
Shirou projected a stepladder, dropping his shinai. Kiritsugu had deemed projection a useless magecraft, but here it was his saving grace. Slowly, carefully, he positioned the ladder, ascended it, unstrapped a child, then gingerly laid them on the floor, repeating the process several times. Each child was taking in shallow little breaths. They were alive, healthy. He let them rest.
There were so many kids trapped in this room. The magi would have sacrificed them all, like lambs to the slaughter. Shirou had to confront himself; how many children had already been killed? Worse yet, how many more would have died if it weren't for that woman? He was still too naive. There could be countless atrocities in Fuyuki, committed right beneath his nose, and he would be none the wiser.
"Quite an interesting technique," a voice said behind him. Shirou flinched. It was the shrouded woman. He spun around, but there was no one. "If I had not seen you create them, I would have never guessed they were projected."
"It's the only thing I can do," he said, on high alert. By now, he didn't think of the woman as an enemy, but she certainly wasn't a friend.
"Is that so? Then how will you handle this, little magus?" she whispered, sending shivers down his spine.
The doors to the laboratory slid open with a metallic hum. A blonde man walked in, dressed like a gentleman, with a white dress shirt, black vest and black pants. He scoured the room with his eyes, noting the damaged walls and unconscious magus.
"What has she done?" the man breathed, shock evident in his features, before smoothing all visible doubt away. "I warned you, Caster," he said, suddenly composed. "Show yourself."
The man continued when there was no response. "Too afraid to show your face? You cannot escape me. Distance means nothing to a Command Seal," the man said, eyes wolfish and cold.
There was silence.
"Such a shame," he said at last. "I would have liked to watch you die in front of me." He raised his right fist before him. "I order you with my Command Seal. Kill yourself, Caster," he announced.
The back of his hand glowed red. From it, a burst of mana that quickly fizzled away.
The man lowered his fist, then ran a hand through his long hair. "To summon the worst Servant. What a waste."
He turned to Shirou, as if finally noticing his presence. "Poor kid. Has the witch seized your mind?"
"Who are you?" Shirou growled, suspicious. He was beginning to understand why his father had disdained magi.
The man smiled, but there was no mirth to it. "Atrum Galliasta, at your service."
Shirou recognized the name. The defeated magus had mentioned him. "This is your Workshop."
"It was," he said. "The witch destroyed it. I'll have to make a new one."
"You kidnapped these children. You meant to sacrifice them."
"Imported," he corrected, not an ounce of remorse in his voice.
Anger prickled through Shioru's spine, hotter than any flame. He raised his wooden sword.
"Good, good!" Atrum exclaimed, before turning serious. "I'll vent my frustrations on you."
Atrum raised his hand once again, magical energy concentrated in his fist. Shirou charged forth with reinforced legs.
Lightning shattered the air.