Disclaimer: Don't own either Rwby or Type Moon. So enjoy or don't
Chapter 35: A Hero's Past
The vision reformed, this time revealing a scene that could only be described as apocalyptic.
A city consumed by fire.
Tall buildings that once scraped the sky were now reduced to skeletal ruins, their structures twisted and melting under the oppressive heat. The ground itself seemed to pulse with the fury of the flames, glowing red as if the earth had cracked open and bared its molten heart. Smoke billowed into the air, so thick and black that it choked the stars, blotting out the night sky. The sound of crackling fire was deafening, but it could not drown out the other sounds—the distant cries of survivors, the wails of the dying, and the desperate pleas for help from people who could no longer be saved.
In the midst of this hell, a small figure stumbled through the ruins.
A boy. No older than seven, maybe eight, with soot-streaked hair and wide, terrified eyes. His clothes were tattered, barely holding together as he dragged himself through the ash and debris. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale burning his lungs as smoke filled the air. His skin was smudged with soot and dirt, his face smeared with tears that couldn't wash away the horror around him.
Shirou.
"That's me," came Shirou's voice in the present, disembodied but filled with the quiet sorrow of someone who had long since come to terms with the nightmare they had lived through. "The Fire of Fuyuki. It was a disaster that destroyed everything. Thousands of lives, all gone in one night."
The group watched in stunned silence as the young Shirou moved through the burning city, a lone survivor in a landscape of destruction. His steps were unsteady, his body weak from hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. He called out—his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation—but no one answered. There were no survivors left to hear him.
Flames roared on all sides, growing closer and closer. The heat was unbearable, searing his skin and forcing him to stumble forward in a desperate attempt to escape, though there was nowhere to run. Buildings collapsed around him, sending plumes of sparks and embers flying into the air. The ground trembled underfoot, shaking as explosions echoed in the distance, signaling more destruction.
"I didn't understand what was happening," Shirou continued. "I was just a kid... all I knew was that everyone was dead. My family... my friends. The city was gone, and I was alone."
The vision lingered on Shirou as he fell to his knees, his body finally giving in. His small hands pressed into the ash, trembling as his strength faded. His eyes, wide and unfocused, looked up at the inferno surrounding him. The fire was closing in. Soon, there would be nothing left but flames.
Blake gasped softly as she watched the scene unfold, her heart tightening at the sight of the boy's hopelessness. She could feel the weight of his fear, the overwhelming sense of despair that must have gripped him in that moment.
Ruby's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Shirou..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Just when it seemed like the flames would consume him, a figure appeared through the smoke.
Tall, imposing, and resolute.
A man with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes—Kiritsugu Emiya. His black coat whipped in the hot wind as he moved through the burning wreckage with purpose. His face was hardened by years of battle and loss, yet in his eyes, there was a faint flicker of something—determination, perhaps, or maybe hope. He scanned the ruins, searching for survivors.
And then he saw him.
Young Shirou, collapsed in the ash, barely clinging to life.
Without hesitation, Kiritsugu rushed forward, kneeling beside the boy. His expression shifted, a rare softness appearing on his normally stoic face as he reached down and gently lifted Shirou into his arms. The boy was too weak to protest, his body limp as Kiritsugu cradled him, shielding him from the flames.
"That's when Kiritsugu saved me," Shirou's voice narrated, tinged with quiet reverence. "He pulled me from the fire when no one else could. He became my father that day."
The group watched as Kiritsugu carried Shirou through the burning ruins, his figure barely visible through the smoke. The flames seemed to rage even harder around them, as if trying to claim the boy for themselves, but Kiritsugu didn't falter. Step by step, he moved with purpose, determined to save this one life even if the rest of the city was lost.
In the distance, the faint glow of dawn began to pierce through the darkness, a thin sliver of light breaking the overwhelming black of the night. It was the smallest glimmer of hope in a world consumed by despair.
The vision faded, the roar of the fire replaced by the quiet of the present moment.
Shirou's voice was calm, but there was an undeniable weight to his words. "That fire destroyed everything. It's the reason I became who I am. Because Kiritsugu saved me, I swore to save others. I wanted to be a hero, like him."
Silence filled the room once again as the group processed what they had just seen. The devastating fire, the death and destruction, the sheer hopelessness of a young boy trapped in a nightmare—and the man who had saved him.
Blake's heart ached as she imagined what it must have been like for Shirou, to grow up with that memory seared into his mind. She felt a deeper understanding of him now—the pain he carried, the reason he fought so hard to protect others, no matter the cost to himself.
Yang clenched her fists, her expression somber. "No wonder... you fight the way you do," she muttered.
Ruby wiped at her eyes, trying to regain her composure, but the sadness lingered.
Shirou's voice broke through the silence again, softer now. "It was only the beginning."
The vision shifted again, moving away from the ashes of Fuyuki into something different—a new kind of battlefield. The burning city was replaced by moonlit streets and ancient mansions, shadowed alleys, and mystical forests. It was a different war now. A war fought not just with weapons, but with magic and legends brought to life. This was the Fifth Holy Grail War.
"I was older now," Shirou narrated, his voice tinged with the weight of what he had endured. "But I wasn't prepared for the kind of battle I was about to face. No one ever is."
The group found themselves in a bustling, yet eerily quiet, city at night. The towering skyscrapers loomed overhead, their lights illuminating the darkened streets, but the emptiness was palpable. It felt like the calm before a storm. Ruby, Blake, and the others watched as Shirou, now a young man, walked alone through the streets, unaware of the supernatural war he was about to be thrust into.
The scene shifted quickly, dissolving into chaos.
Shirou stood at the center of a large field, his hand extended toward a magical circle etched into the ground, glowing with ancient symbols. Sparks of light flashed around him as the ritual was completed.
The summoning had begun.
A burst of light erupted from the circle, and when the blinding glow faded, there she stood—Saber. A warrior in shining armor, her golden hair flowing in the breeze, her piercing blue eyes filled with both strength and sorrow. Excalibur, the legendary sword, rested in her hands, its weight both a burden and a blessing.
"I summoned Saber," Shirou explained, his voice soft with a touch of awe. "The spirit of King Arthur, the greatest of knights. She was my Servant, and together, we fought for the Holy Grail."
Weiss's eyes widened at the sight of the legendary warrior, while Ruby marveled at the beauty and power Saber seemed to radiate.
The vision shifted once more, showing Shirou and Saber fighting side by side. The air crackled with magic, and the ground trembled under the force of their battles. They fought against powerful opponents—other Masters and their Heroic Spirits, each one summoned from different points in history, wielding abilities beyond human comprehension.
"This was no ordinary war," Shirou continued. "It was a battle between the greatest heroes of legend, summoned from across time. Each one was bound to a Master, like me, and they all had the same goal: to win the Holy Grail, a relic capable of granting any wish."
The vision showed one of those battles now—a fierce clash between Shirou and another Master, flanked by their respective Servants. The camera seemed to zoom in on the opposing Servant—Lancer, a towering figure with a crimson spear that gleamed ominously in the moonlight. He moved with the precision of a predator, his spear blurring through the air as he launched attacks that would have felled a lesser opponent in an instant.
"I wasn't strong enough to fight him," Shirou admitted. "I could barely hold my own."
Ruby gasped as she watched Shirou struggle, dodging Lancer's deadly attacks by the thinnest of margins. Each thrust of Lancer's spear seemed to cut through the air like a flash of lightning, and the young Shirou, though determined, was clearly outmatched.
But then, Saber moved. With a flash of golden light, she parried Lancer's strike with Excalibur, sending sparks flying through the night. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her strength undeniable as she forced Lancer back.
"But Saber protected me," Shirou continued. "She was always there, fighting by my side, even when I couldn't do it myself."
The scene shifted again, faster now, showing moments of intense combat. Shirou could feel the weight of each battle, his body and soul pushed to their limits. He wasn't a skilled fighter—not yet—but the Holy Grail War didn't wait for anyone to be ready. It was life or death with every encounter.
The scene changed once more, and this time, the group found themselves in the middle of a dark and twisted battlefield, a far cry from the previous scenes of heroic battles and noble clashes. The air was thick with malice, the sky darkened by swirling, malevolent energy. The very ground seemed to be alive with writhing shadows, each one threatening to consume everything in its path.
"This is where I made one of my hardest choices," Shirou said, his voice quieter now, filled with a sense of grim determination. "I lost my arm... protecting someone I couldn't let die."
The vision focused on a figure standing at the center of the chaos—a young girl with silver hair and red eyes, Illyasviel von Einzbern. She stood frozen in terror as the ominous, corrupted shadows threatened to engulf her. The monstrous shadow writhed and pulsed, growing stronger and more violent by the second. It was ready to devour everything in its path.
Shirou, breathing heavily and already bloodied from the ongoing battle, sprinted toward Illya. His face was filled with fear—not for himself, but for the girl he had sworn to protect.
"I had to reach her," Shirou said, his eyes filled with pain as the memory replayed before him. "Illya... she didn't deserve to be caught up in the Grail's curse."
The group watched in horror as the shadows surged forward, ready to consume Illya entirely. Everyone could feel the tension building in the air, the moment of danger becoming painfully clear. Time seemed to slow as the dark energy crackled, preparing for a final, deadly strike.
At the last second, just as the shadows were about to engulf Illya, Shirou threw himself between her and the explosion of darkness. He raised his left arm, trying to shield her with his own body. The shadowy energy collided with him in a violent burst, sending shockwaves through the battlefield.
A scream of agony tore from Shirou's throat as the corrupted energy ripped through his arm. The group gasped in unison as they saw the explosion sever his left arm completely. Blood poured from the wound as Shirou collapsed to the ground, clutching the empty space where his arm had been. His body trembled from the pain, but his eyes never left Illya. He had protected her, even at the cost of himself.
"I lost my arm that night," Shirou said softly. His voice was steady, but the pain behind it was clear. "I would have died too... if it weren't for Archer."
The vision shifted, revealing Archer—the older, future version of Shirou himself—standing over his younger counterpart. His expression was unreadable, but there was a grim understanding in his eyes. Archer knelt beside Shirou's wounded body, his own left arm extended.
"He saved me," Shirou explained. "Not just by giving me his arm, but by giving me the strength to keep fighting."
In a flash of magical energy, the group watched as Archer's left arm was transferred to Shirou. The process was brutal, Shirou's body convulsing from the overwhelming surge of power that came with it. Archer's arm wasn't just a replacement—it was filled with the knowledge and abilities of a Heroic Spirit, far beyond what Shirou had ever wielded. It was a blessing, but also a curse, as the power threatened to consume him if he wasn't careful.
Yang, watching the scene unfold, instinctively touched her own prosthetic arm. "I get it... losing an arm, it's more than just losing a part of your body."
Shirou's face was pale, his body trembling as he adjusted to the new arm grafted onto his shoulder. The magical energy coursing through him was immense, nearly too much for a human body to bear. But despite the pain, Shirou stood again, driven by his unshakable determination.
"I couldn't give up," Shirou said. "Not while people I cared about were still in danger."
Blake's eyes softened, understanding the depths of Shirou's resolve. He had sacrificed so much—his arm, his body, his very soul—to protect others. She knew what it was like to fight for the people you loved, even when the cost seemed too high.
The scene shifted once more, plunging the group into a vast, ruined battlefield. The air was thick with corrupted energy, and towering in the center stood Berserker, the legendary hero Heracles—now twisted by the power of the shadow. His already enormous frame had been further enhanced, his muscular body pulsing with dark energy that distorted the space around him. He was no longer just a fearsome Servant; he had become a true monster, fueled by both his immense strength and the malevolent power of the shadow.
"This... was one of the hardest fights I've ever faced," Shirou said quietly, his voice laden with the weight of the memory. "I was alone. Saber wasn't there to help me this time. It was just me... and him."
The group watched in silent awe as Berserker, now more terrifying than ever, let out a deafening roar that shook the battlefield. His stone axe-sword, massive and worn from countless battles, was raised high in the air, ready to crush anything in its path. The sheer pressure of his presence seemed to warp the air, the ground splintering beneath his feet as he took a step forward.
"Heracles was the strongest Servant in the Holy Grail War, but with the shadow's corruption, he had become something far worse," Shirou continued. "Facing him alone... it felt like staring down death itself."
The group's attention turned to Shirou standing at a distance from Berserker. He was battered and bruised from the relentless attacks, but his stance remained firm. His left arm, now Archer's arm, was concealed beneath the Shroud of Martin, a black cloth that restrained the overwhelming magical energy of the cursed limb. Even though the shroud protected him, it was clear that the arm's power was a double-edged sword.
"I couldn't control the arm entirely," Shirou explained, his voice tense. "The power Archer gave me was too much for my body to handle, so I had to seal it."
Berserker charged, his monstrous form a blur of shadow and raw power. The corrupted demigod swung his axe-sword down with devastating force, aiming to crush Shirou beneath its massive weight.
The group watched with bated breath as Shirou barely dodged the attack, the ground beneath him exploding into dust and rubble. Despite the overwhelming difference in strength, Shirou stood his ground, refusing to back down. His body trembled under the strain of his left arm, but his resolve never wavered.
"I wasn't going to let him win. I had to protect Illya, no matter what," Shirou continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Even if it meant risking everything."
As Berserker prepared for another attack, Shirou made his move. He reached deep within himself, accessing the power of Archer's arm. His mind raced through countless possibilities, drawing upon the vast knowledge embedded within the limb. At that moment, he made a decision.
"I had to use his own weapon against him," Shirou said quietly.
The group watched in awe as Shirou's left arm pulsed with energy, the Shroud of Martin crackling under the strain of Archer's power as he loosened the seal. Without hesitation, Shirou traced Berserker's axe-sword—the very weapon Heracles wielded—and in a brilliant flash of light, an identical copy of the massive stone blade materialized in his hands. The weight of the weapon was immense, but Shirou held it steady, his body surging with newfound strength.
"He traced Heracles' weapon," Blake whispered in disbelief, her eyes wide with amazement.
With the traced axe-sword in hand, Shirou's eyes narrowed, his focus razor-sharp. This wasn't just about brute strength—it was about using the very technique that had made Heracles legendary. Drawing upon Archer's memories and knowledge, Shirou prepared to unleash a technique that few could even fathom.
"Nine Lives Blade Works," Shirou whispered, as the battlefield erupted into action.
The vision blurred as Shirou launched himself at Berserker with blinding speed. The group could barely follow his movements as he dashed around the shadow-enhanced demigod, his traced axe-sword flashing through the air with precision. In that moment, Shirou perfectly replicated Heracles' legendary technique: Nine Lives.
Each strike of the axe-sword was executed with inhuman accuracy, targeting Berserker's weak points with devastating precision. The massive weapon seemed weightless in Shirou's hands as he slashed through the air, delivering nine simultaneous strikes that cleaved through Berserker's corrupted body.
The group could feel the raw power behind each blow as Shirou moved faster than the eye could follow. The final strike landed with a thunderous crash, and for the first time, Berserker let out a howl of pain as his corrupted form began to disintegrate.
"I couldn't just overpower him," Shirou explained. "I had to end it in one final move. Nine Lives Blade Works was the only way."
The scene slowed once more, showing Shirou bringing the traced axe-sword down for the final blow. Berserker's monstrous form shuddered before finally crumbling into dust, his body dissolving into the ether as his final life was extinguished. The battlefield fell silent as the legendary demigod, now corrupted and enhanced by the shadow, was defeated.
Shirou stood over the remains of Berserker, his body trembling from exhaustion. His left arm, still pulsing with dangerous energy beneath the Shroud of Martin, twitched slightly, but the battle was over. Against all odds, Shirou had faced the legendary Heracles alone and emerged victorious.
"I wasn't fighting to win," Shirou said softly, his voice filled with bittersweet emotion. "I was fighting to save Illya."
The vision faded, leaving the group to process what they had just witnessed. Shirou had not only fought a shadow-enhanced Heracles—he had defeated him using the very technique that made the hero legendary: Nine Lives Blade Works. The immense weight of that battle, and the resolve it took to win, left everyone in stunned silence.
The vision plunged deeper into the heart of the nightmare. The once familiar city of Fuyuki was now barely recognizable, consumed by the spreading darkness of the shadow. The tendrils of Angra Mainyu writhed across the landscape, devouring everything in their path. But at the center of this chaotic ruin stood Sakura Matou—her once gentle form now transformed into something monstrous.
Her body was wrapped in writhing tendrils of the shadow, pulsating with the corrupting energy of the Corrupted Grail. Her eyes, which once held warmth and kindness, were now glowing with a cold, eerie purple light, devoid of humanity. The shadow had consumed her, turning her into the vessel of Angra Mainyu, a creature of pure malice and pain.
The group watched in horror as the vision revealed Sakura, standing amidst the devastation, her face twisted in anguish. But the most heart-wrenching detail was in her arms—she was cradling the lifeless body of her sister, Rin Tohsaka. Rin's body hung limply, her eyes closed in eternal rest, a faint smile still visible on her face as though she had died at peace. Blood stained Sakura's dress, evidence of the tragic final moments between the two sisters.
"Sakura… had already lost everything," Shirou said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. "Rin had tried to stop her, but the shadow was too powerful. By the time I arrived, Sakura was already gone… consumed by the Grail."
The vision focused on Sakura's face, now streaked with tears, but still twisted in torment. Her arms trembled as she held Rin close, the last remnants of her humanity flickering beneath the overwhelming darkness. Her lips quivered as she looked up at Shirou, the purple glow in her eyes momentarily dimming as something familiar—a trace of the girl she once was—began to surface.
"Shirou… please..." Sakura's voice broke, the words escaping her lips like a desperate plea. "I don't want to be this… anymore."
The group watched as Shirou stood frozen, his body battered from the battles and torn apart emotionally. He wanted to save her, to bring back the girl he had loved, but the shadow had taken everything. Sakura's mind, her body, her very soul were entangled in the malevolent force of Angra Mainyu.
"I tried to save her," Shirou explained, his voice trembling. "But the more I tried, the more I realized… Sakura was already lost. I had failed her."
Tears streamed down Sakura's face as she clutched Rin's body, the corrupted shadow wrapping around her more tightly with every passing second. The malevolent energy of Angra Mainyu surged, threatening to fully consume what little remained of Sakura's true self. But in this moment, a flicker of her former self emerged—fighting against the darkness for the last time.
"Shirou… please… just let me die…" Sakura whispered, her voice breaking as she gazed at him, her eyes filled with despair. "I want to die… as myself."
The group could feel the weight of her words, the unimaginable pain and guilt that coursed through Shirou as he stood before her. Even as the shadow twisted her body and mind, Sakura fought for one last moment of clarity, pleading with the one person she trusted to end her suffering.
"Sakura…" Shirou whispered back, his voice choked with emotion. The image of Rin in Sakura's arms, the blood staining both their clothes, made it clear: there was no saving her now.
The group watched in stunned silence as Shirou stepped forward, his eyes clouded with tears. His body shook with the weight of his decision. There was no other choice left. He had to free her—from the shadow, from the Grail, and from the endless torment that had consumed her life.
With trembling hands, Shirou pulled out the Azoth Dagger—the very blade that had been given to him by Rin. The symbolism was not lost on anyone. This blade, entrusted to him by Sakura's sister, would now serve as the instrument of mercy.
As the vision reached its climax, Sakura looked up at Shirou, her tears mingling with the blood on her face. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For saving me… please, find your own happiness."
Shirou hesitated for only a moment, then plunged the Azoth Dagger into Sakura's heart, the blade cutting through the tendrils of the shadow. A burst of energy erupted as the shadow began to dissolve, the darkness losing its hold on her at last. Sakura let out a final sigh of relief, her body relaxing as the glow in her eyes faded.
The vision faded to black, leaving only the echo of Sakura's last words and the sight of Shirou standing alone in the aftermath. He had done what he had to do—ended the life of the girl he loved to save her from a fate worse than death.
The vision shifted again, plunging the group into the cold, oppressive caves beneath Mount Enzo. The Corrupted Grail loomed above them, a twisted pillar of malevolence, pulsing with dark energy, filling the cavern with an overwhelming sense of dread. The corrupted chalice, once a black mass, had transformed into a terrifying vortex of destruction, threatening to consume everything.
In the center of the cavern stood Kirei Kotomine, his eyes glinting with malice as the power of the Grail coursed through him. "This is the truth of the Grail, Shirou. This is the fate you've chosen to fight for. The world's salvation is nothing but an illusion."
On the opposite side of the chamber, Shirou Emiya faced him, panting heavily. His body had been pushed to the brink. His left arm—the Archer's Arm—was covered in the Shroud of Martin, but the shroud had started to unravel, unable to contain the immense magical energy flowing from the grafted limb. Blades began to erupt from Shirou's flesh, their sharp edges tearing through his skin as his body strained under the power of Unlimited Blade Works.
Every movement was agony. Shirou could feel his body breaking down from the inside, the unnatural power of Archer's Arm slowly consuming him. The slightest use of it made his entire frame tremble, but he could not stop. He had to finish the fight, no matter the cost.
Kirei, strengthened by the Grail's corruption, discarded his weapons and advanced, ready for a brutal fist fight. Each blow from the dark priest landed with bone-crushing force, but Shirou met him blow for blow, refusing to give in. Blood spattered across the rocky floor as the two exchanged devastating punches, their bodies colliding with raw, destructive power. Kirei's sadistic laughter echoed through the cavern as he pummeled Shirou, reveling in the battle's brutality.
"You're only prolonging your own suffering, Emiya," Kirei sneered as he slammed another punch into Shirou's chest, sending him crashing against the cave wall.
Shirou gasped for breath, the pain unbearable as more blades burst from his back, slicing through his clothes and skin. The toll of using Archer's Arm was far greater than he'd anticipated. He staggered to his feet, his vision swimming, but just as Kirei prepared to deliver a finishing blow, something shifted inside Shirou—the shroud fully unraveled, and Archer's Arm was completely unsealed.
A surge of power flowed through him. Unlimited Blade Works, the inner world of swords, began to manifest around him, his entire existence now intertwined with that of the Heroic Spirit, Archer. But the cost of this power was immense—more blades pierced through his body, and his mind felt like it was fracturing under the weight of it all.
In that moment, Illyasviel von Einzbern stepped forward, the Jeweled Sword Zelretch glowing in her hands. She had watched the fight unfold, and though she held the key to destroying the Corrupted Grail, her eyes were focused on Shirou.
Shirou, barely able to stand, raised his head to see Illya approaching the black pillar of malevolence. "Illya…" he gasped, his voice hoarse. "You… you have to destroy the Grail. End this… save the world."
But Illya shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at him, her heart breaking. "I'm sorry, Shirou… I can't let you die. Not like this. Not after everything we've been through."
She stepped forward, her resolve clear. Kirei, noticing her movements, attempted to strike, but Shirou intercepted him with a desperate punch, knocking him back. The clash between Shirou and Kirei continued, but Illya's choice had already been made.
The Jeweled Sword Zelretch shimmered in her hands as she invoked the power of the Second Magic. The air around her crackled with dimensional energy, the sword tearing through the boundaries between worlds. But instead of using it to destroy the Corrupted Grail, Illya used its power to open a path—a portal to another plane of existence. With the Second Magic, she was bending space and time, ensuring Shirou's survival.
The Jeweled Sword's light bathed the chamber as Illya stepped toward Shirou. She reached out to him, her small hand clasping his as she invoked her second power—the Third Magic, the Heaven's Feel, the forbidden magic of soul materialization. With it, Illya poured her own life force into Shirou, intertwining their fates.
Shirou felt the surge of Illya's magic flow through him. His vision blurred, his body failing under the strain of Archer's Arm, but the pain was fading. The swords that had been erupting from his body began to retract, the overwhelming force of Unlimited Blade Works receding. He could feel Illya's warmth, her gentle presence wrapping around him like a protective embrace.
"I'll save you, Shirou," Illya whispered softly, her tears falling onto his bloodied face. "I won't let you die. Please… live. Find your happiness."
As Illya used the Third Magic to stabilize his soul, Shirou's consciousness began to slip away. He could feel the weight of his body easing, the intense pain fading into numbness. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was Illya's radiant smile as she poured her very essence into saving him, choosing his life over the world.
The scene faded, and Shirou lost consciousness, his body gently cradled by Illya's magic as she kept him safe from the overwhelming power of the Grail and its corruption.
The vision faded, and the bitter chill of reality snapped back into focus. The group stood on the frozen tundra of northern Anima, a vast expanse of snow and ice stretching in all directions. A biting wind cut through them, but the cold paled in comparison to the weight of what they had just witnessed in Shirou's past. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they stood in silence, the enormity of the revelation freezing them more than the icy surroundings.
Everyone was shaken, emotionally reeling from the horrors they'd seen: the Fire of Fuyuki, the corruption of Sakura, the endless bloodshed of the Holy Grail War. Shirou, standing motionless in the center of the group, stared at the snow-covered ground. The vision had stripped him bare, revealing everything—his past, his pain, his sacrifices. His breath came out in cold puffs, but his mind was still in the dark caves of Mount Enzo, reliving the moment Illya had chosen to save him at the cost of herself.
Yang broke the silence first, her mechanical arm faintly whirring as she clenched her fist. The memory of Shirou's brutal fight against Kirei, where his body had been wracked by the overuse of Archer's Arm, hit too close to home. She knew what it was like to lose control of your own body, to sacrifice part of yourself to protect the ones you cared about. She couldn't forget how Shirou had stood his ground, fists raised, as blades erupted from his skin, pushing his limits beyond reason.
"That was... a lot," Yang finally said, her voice hoarse but steady. "He kept fighting, even when everything was telling him to stop."
Blake stood silently nearby, her cat ears twitching beneath her hood. She stared off into the endless white expanse, though her thoughts were clearly with Shirou. The sight of Sakura, broken and corrupted, pleading with Shirou to end her life—holding her dead sister Rin in her arms—had struck something deep inside Blake. It reminded her of her own guilt, her own struggles to fight for what was right, even when it seemed impossible.
"He's been carrying so much pain," Blake said softly, her voice almost lost to the wind. "All of that... and he's still standing."
Shirou shifted slightly but didn't speak. The cold didn't bother him—he was too used to numbing his emotions, keeping everything locked away. But now, he had no choice. They had seen everything.
Weiss, standing a bit farther back, wrapped her arms around herself, though it was less from the cold and more from the shock of what she had witnessed. "How did you survive all of that?" she muttered, half to herself and half to Shirou. Her voice was laced with disbelief and a touch of awe.
Qrow hadn't said anything yet, though the look on his face told them he was processing it all, as deeply affected as the rest. His typical sarcasm was nowhere to be found; the gravity of Shirou's past, the sheer devastation, had left him without words. He took a swig from his flask, the alcohol doing little to thaw the chill running through him.
Ruby took a step forward, her red cloak fluttering in the wind. Her wide silver eyes were full of concern, fixed on Shirou's slumped posture. "Shirou," she began softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "I can't even imagine how hard it must've been, going through all of that. But you're here now—with us. You don't have to keep carrying that burden alone."
Shirou finally looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, there was silence between them, the storm of emotions swirling inside him, but Ruby's words pierced through. Her hope, her unwavering belief in the goodness of people—it reminded him of Saber and her knightly ideals. Shirou let out a breath, watching it frost in the air, and gave a slight nod. "I'm trying," he said quietly, his voice cracking just a bit. "But it's not easy."
Blake, standing closer now, placed a gentle hand on Shirou's arm. There were no words between them, but her touch was enough. She understood—she knew what it felt like to carry burdens too heavy for one person. Shirou felt a small wave of warmth seep through him, even in the freezing tundra.
Suddenly, the air shifted as Jinn reappeared, her colossal form towering over the group. She floated just above the snow, her presence immediately commanding attention. Her sapphire eyes glowed, reflecting the icy landscape, and she spoke with her usual calm, resonant voice.
"My task is complete," she declared. "Your questions have been answered."
The group remained silent, still processing everything they had just learned. It wasn't just about Shirou's past—it was about the larger implications of his world, of the Holy Grail, of the sheer power and tragedy tied to his existence.
Shirou stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the towering spirit. Despite everything that had been revealed, despite the overwhelming emotions threatening to drown him, he knew what he had to say. "Thank you," he said, his voice clear against the wind. "For your help... and for your patience." His words were heavy with sincerity, a rare moment of vulnerability as he expressed his gratitude.
Jinn's ethereal expression softened slightly, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Gratitude is not something I often receive," she said, her voice carrying an almost wistful tone. "You are welcome, Shirou Emiya."
Her eyes flicked over to Shirou, noticing the exhaustion etched on his face. For the first time in a long while, the spirit showed a trace of sympathy. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Shirou blinked, surprised by the offer. He hadn't expected Jinn to ask that—normally, the Relic's spirit would leave after fulfilling her duty. But there was something in her tone, something about the way she looked at him, that suggested a rare moment of leniency.
After a pause, Shirou drew in a long, cold breath. There was one question that had been eating away at him since he arrived in Remnant.
"Is there anyone else from my world here?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
Jinn smiled faintly, her eyes glowing a bit brighter. "Yes," she answered simply. "You are not the only one."
The revelation hit Shirou like a hammer. He wasn't alone. There were others—others from his world, with all the complexity, danger, and uncertainty that came with it. But who? And why? These questions began swirling in his mind, demanding answers that would have to wait for now.
With her task complete, Jinn began to fade, the brilliance of her form dimming as she returned to the Relic of Knowledge. "Good luck," she said, her voice an ethereal whisper as she disappeared, leaving the group standing once again in the cold.