Fate/Hijacked

Chapter 9

The morning sun was peaking through the windows of the Emiya estate. Shirou found himself once again facing off against Archer in the backyard. Despite his natural distaste for the other man, Shirou couldn't deny the progress he had made under Archer's reluctant but undeniably effective tutelage. The clashes between them, though non-lethal, were intense and demanding, pushing Shirou to his limits and beyond.

Archer's twin blades, Kanshou and Bakuya, hummed as they cut through the air with practiced precision, each swing calculated to expose Shirou's weaknesses. Shirou, however, wasn't the same novice he had been only days ago. With every encounter, his tracing skills improved, allowing him to replicate Archer's weapons with greater speed and accuracy. The copied blades felt more familiar in his hands, as if each strike was drawing from some hidden well of experience deep within him.

The clang of metal rang out as Shirou blocked another blow, his body moving more fluidly now, adapting faster to Archer's relentless attacks. Archer's eyes narrowed slightly, and he took note of an oddly indescribable sensation that occurred whenever they clashed blades.

"You're improving," Archer commented, not a trace of praise in his voice. "But don't get cocky. You're still nowhere near ready to survive this war."

Shirou gritted his teeth, stepping back for a moment to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his body sore but his determination unshaken. "I'll keep pushing until I am ready."

What neither of them fully realized was that this accelerated improvement was no mere coincidence. Shirou's tracing ability wasn't just copying weapons—he was unconsciously drawing upon Archer's experiences, absorbing the battle-hardened instincts that had been ingrained into Archer's very soul. Each clash, each counter, each exchange of blades was feeding into Shirou's growth. Archer could feel it too, though he said nothing. It was like looking into a mirror that reflected a younger, more naïve version of himself. But, due to unforeseen external influences, that reflection was becoming more tempered.

Watching from a shaded spot nearby, Lady Avalon silently observed the intense sparring match. Her eyes glimmered with interest, and a small smile played across her lips as Shirou continued to surprise her. She could see more than just the surface-level growth in his swordsmanship. Deep within Shirou's very self, something was awakening—his reality marble was developing.

She knew it wouldn't be long now before Shirou's Unlimited Blade Works would begin to take form, and once it did, his potential would skyrocket. However, the biggest obstacle remained: mana. Without an adequate supply of mana, even if Shirou reached the point of manifesting his reality marble, he wouldn't be able to sustain it. Lady Avalon mulled over the issue, her mind working through various possibilities. Could she offer him enough mana herself? Or would they need to find a more sustainable source?

"One step at a time," she murmured to herself.

As she watched the sparring continue, Lady Avalon's thoughts were also on Shirou's mental state. His progress in magecraft was remarkable, but it was his mindset that concerned her. Shirou was too willing to sacrifice himself, too eager to follow in the self-destructive footsteps of his adoptive father, Kiritsugu. Lady Avalon had seen it time and time again in his actions, his ideals, and most glaringly, his disregard for his own safety. That would need to change if he was to survive this war—and more importantly, if he was to live beyond it.

Inside the house, Rin Tohsaka sat at the kitchen table, a collection of precious gems laid out before her. She was focusing intently on infusing them with mana, each stone glowing faintly as she poured her energy into them. However, her thoughts kept drifting back to the enigma that was Shirou Emiya. His rapid improvement in both combat and his specialised form of magecraft was nothing short of baffling. She knew that training with Archer would help Shirou grow stronger, but not this fast. It didn't make sense.

"How does someone like Emiya… with no formal magical education, no proper lineage, no real foundation… improve so quickly?" she grumbled to herself. "It's like he's skipping steps that he shouldn't even know how to skip. He doesn't make any damn sense!" Her frustration was getting the better of her. She wasn't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed by how quickly Shirou was catching up. It was as if he were evolving with every passing day, absorbing knowledge and skills at a rate that took others years to obtain. Rin had to admit that Shirou was a special case, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Archer, she noticed, was equally perplexed, though he kept his thoughts to himself. There was something between the two of them that Rin couldn't quite put her finger on—something deeper than just a mentor-student relationship. Regardless, Rin had her own preparations to make. She would need to stay sharp, especially with their next move potentially involving a direct confrontation with Caster.

Later that evening, after another day of training and strategizing, Shirou found himself lying in bed, physically exhausted but mentally restless. Lady Avalon had, as usual, found her way to his side, snuggling comfortably against him in the futon. Shirou still wasn't quite used to having her so close, but he had stopped protesting—at least outwardly. Her warmth was strangely comforting, and it had become a routine he couldn't deny, no matter how flustered it made him.

"Shirou," Lady Avalon began, her voice soft and almost distant, as if her thoughts were wandering. "Would you like to hear a story?"

Shirou turned his head slightly, glancing at her. "A story?"

She nodded, her reddish pink eyes twinkling in the dim light. "Yes. It's a tale of a noble king who sacrificed everything for her people. A story of ideals and regret, of heroism and loss."

As she spoke, she began to recount the legend of King Arthur—Artoria Pendragon. However, instead of giving Shirou the direct version of the tale, she weaved it into a more indirect narrative, carefully omitting certain details to make it less obvious. Still, the core of the story remained the same: the burden of leadership, the weight of impossible ideals, and the ultimate regret of a hero who had sacrificed everything, only to question if it was worth it in the end.

Shirou listened intently, his expression contemplative as Lady Avalon's words sank in. Though she didn't say it outright, Shirou could sense the parallels between the story and his own ideals. He could feel the caution in her voice, the way she subtly encouraged him to reflect on the path he was walking.

"Heroes," she continued, her tone thoughtful, "come in many forms. Some fight for justice, some for love, and some for ideals. But no matter the reason, a hero's journey is often filled with sacrifice. The question, Shirou, is how much of yourself are you willing to lose in the pursuit of your ideals?"

Shirou frowned slightly, mulling over her words. "I've always believed that saving people is the right thing to do, no matter the cost."

Lady Avalon smiled softly, though there was a hint of sadness in her expression. "It's a noble belief, but you mustn't forget that your life has value too. If you give everything away, what will be left for you?"

There was a long pause as Shirou struggled to reconcile his ideals with the reality Lady Avalon was presenting. He had always admired Kiritsugu's dedication to saving as many people as possible, but was he truly prepared to follow that path to its bitter end?

As if sensing his internal conflict, Lady Avalon snuggled closer, her playful demeanour returning for a moment. "Don't worry, Shirou. I'll make sure you don't lose yourself. After all, how could I enjoy our time together if you're not around?"

Shirou chuckled softly, grateful for her support even if he didn't fully understand the depth of her concern. "Thanks, Lady Avalon. I'll try to keep that in mind."

Omake

Throne of Heroes: Artoria's Wrath, Part 9

In the serene and timeless realm of the Throne of Heroes, Artoria Pendragon—King Arthur—sat seething, arms crossed, her legendary patience having long since run out. Her normally stoic demeanour was marred by an unmistakable pout, and her famed Excalibur remained beside her, though her fingers twitched as if she was just a hair's breadth away from drawing it in righteous fury.

The cause of her rare vexation? Proto-Merlin.

"Of all the audacity!" Artoria fumed, pacing back and forth across a meadow that looked peaceful but, given her mood, felt more like the calm before a storm. "Using my story—my legend—as a cautionary tale to Shirou? Who does that ridiculous flower-loving mage think she is?!"

Her loyal Knights of the Round Table, ever dutiful, stood nearby, exchanging worried glances. None dared to speak first, not when their king's wrath was this... colourful.

Finally, Bedivere, hoping to be a voice of reason, stepped forward with a soft smile, though his eyes betrayed his caution. "My king, Merlin's intentions may not have been malicious. Surely she—"

Artoria whirled around, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Oh, I'm certain her intentions were anything but malicious. She probably thinks herself rather clever for it!"

Gawain cleared his throat, trying his best to calm the situation. "Your Majesty, Sir Shirou Emiya is but a young man—still forming his ideals. Perhaps Merlin simply wished to guide him away from—"

"From what?!" Artoria snapped, causing Gawain to flinch. "From following in my footsteps? From sacrificing too much for others? My sacrifice was necessary for Camelot, for the world! How dare she treat my story as if it's a tragedy!?"

A soft chuckle came from the sidelines, and Lancelot, leaning against a tree, tried to diffuse the tension with his usual suave manner. "Perhaps it's simply jealousy, my king. Proto-Merlin does enjoy making things... personal, after all." He raised an eyebrow. "You should take it as a compliment."

Artoria gave him a look that could cut down a hundred men in battle, and he quickly found something else to focus on in the distance.

Mordred, who had been reclining on a rock, smirked and put her arms behind her head. "Maybe Proto-Merlin's right. You did kinda go overboard with the whole 'sacrificing yourself' thing. I mean, look at me—I'm awesome without having to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders."

The temperature in the meadow seemed to drop several degrees as Artoria turned her icy glare on her rebellious "son."

"Mordred," she said in a dangerously low voice, "this is not the time."

Mordred shrugged, grinning unapologetically. "Hey, just calling it like I see it.

Tristan, who had been playing a melancholic tune on his harp, sighed deeply. "Ah, the woes of fate... A king's burden, forever misunderstood..."

Artoria pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "Tristan, this is not the time for one of your ballads either."

Sensing the tension rise again, Galahad stepped forward, his voice calm and composed. "My liege, Proto-Merlin may have chosen a... roundabout way to teach Shirou Emiya, but in the end, she is speaking of your strength. Your endurance. The burdens you carried for all of us. Perhaps it's a reminder for Emiya to learn from your greatness, rather than blindly follow the same painful path."

Artoria paused at that, her stormy expression softening just a fraction. Galahad's words seemed to resonate with her. "I suppose," she muttered begrudgingly, "there is some merit in ensuring the boy doesn't fall into the same traps. But still!" She threw her hands up. "She could have *consulted* me first, instead of just weaving my story into her little 'cautionary tale.'"

Lancelot, emboldened by Galahad's success, gave a half-smile. "Would you really have said yes if she asked?"

Artoria shot him a pointed glare, but after a moment, her expression softened further. A sigh escaped her lips. "Probably not," she admitted, crossing her arms again, though the edge in her tone had lessened. "But that doesn't excuse her gall!"

Omake 2: Panic now, he's curious

In the midst of his intense training session with Archer, Shirou Emiya decided to take a short break. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, but it wasn't the usual exhaustion that gnawed at him this time. It was something else—something much stranger that had been nagging at the back of his mind for a while now.

He walked over to where Archer stood, dismissing Kanshou and Bakuya into motes of energy, like he'd done it a thousand times before. Which, of course, he hadn't.

"Hey, Archer," Shirou began, still catching his breath, "I've got a question."

Archer raised an eyebrow, staring at him with an almost bored look. "What is it now, Emiya? Another question about reinforcing your toaster?"

Shirou frowned, crossing his arms defensively. "No! This one's serious."

"Alright, alright. Ask away." Archer sighed, leaning against a nearby tree. Despite his outward nonchalance, he couldn't help but feel a bit of unease. Shirou's sudden bursts of inexplicable knowledge were growing more frequent, and each time it happened, Archer felt an eerie familiarity in the boy's movements. Like he was staring at a ghost.

Shirou paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out the best way to phrase what was bothering him. "So… what's an 'Alaya'?"

The air went still. Archer, who had been nonchalantly leaning, immediately tensed, his eyes wide with shock. His usual stoic mask cracked for just a second, but it was enough to reveal the depths of his alarm.

"Where… where did you hear that name?" Archer's voice, though low, had an edge of danger that Shirou had never heard before. His red eyes were suddenly far too intense.

Shirou blinked, taking a step back. "Uh… I don't know. It just… popped into my head."

Before Archer could respond, a panicked voice cut through the air like a lightning bolt.

"SHIROU!" Lady Avalon's voice rang out from her nearby shaded spot, her usually calm demeanour shattered as she rushed over. In a matter of moments, she was by his side, grabbing his arm with an urgency that Shirou had never seen from her before.

"Shirou, listen to me carefully," she began, her pink eyes wide with concern, "you must forget you ever heard that name. Under no circumstances should you even think about making contact with it. Promise me."

Shirou tilted his head, utterly bewildered. "Huh? What's the big deal? It's just a name, right?" Feeling the weight of both Archer and Lady Avalon's stares, scratched the back of his head, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "I don't know! It's just… when I fight with Archer, sometimes weird stuff gets into my head, okay? That name was just… there." He looked between the two of them. "What is it? Is it bad or something?"

Archer's reaction was immediate. He strode over to Shirou and grabbed him by the shoulders, his face inches away from Shirou's. "Listen to me, Emiya, and listen carefully. You never, ever try to make contact with Alaya. Not for any reason. Do you understand?"

Shirou was thoroughly confused now. "Okay, okay, I get it! But why—"

Archer cut him off. "Because Alaya is not something you want to mess with, Shirou." His voice was serious, deadly even. "You think your ideals are tough now? Alaya is on a whole different level. It's the collective will of humanity itself. And making a deal with it? That's a one-way ticket to a fate worse than death."

"That's right," Lady Avalon added, her tone uncharacteristically stern. "If you make contact with Alaya, you will find yourself bound to it, never able to escape." She placed a hand on Shirou's arm, her usually playful voice now tinged with urgency. "Archer speaks from experience."

"Wait, experience?" Shirou blinked, turning to Archer. "You've...?"

Archer clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening. "Yes," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I made a deal with Alaya once. And now I belong to it. Forever."

Shirou's eyes widened. "Belong to it? What do you mean?"

Archer's grip tightened on Shirou's shoulders. "It means, Emiya, that I was forced into becoming something beyond a hero—something that only exists to clean up humanity's messes. A Counter Guardian. And trust me, it's not a job you want."

Before Shirou could ask anything else, Lady Avalon gently pulled him back from Archer, her expression softening as she tried to calm the situation. "Shirou, you must never even think about making contact with Alaya. It's… complicated, but let's just say that if you go down that path, there's no coming back."

"Yeah," Archer added, releasing Shirou and stepping back. "Whatever ideals you have, no matter how strong they are, you don't want to pay that price."

Meanwhile, on a metaphysical plane far removed from the earthly realm, Alaya herself—manifested as an ethereal, saber-like figure with ashen white hair and cold, steel-gray eyes—was pouting as she watched the scene unfold. Floating in a void that mirrored Archer's reality marble, she crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the silver-haired, red-clad man.

"Baka EMIYA," she grumbled under her breath. "Always trying to stop me from recruiting another Counter Guardian. Why does he have to be so difficult?"

She sighed dramatically, twirling a lock of her ghostly white hair between her fingers as she glared down at Shirou. "I was just about to give this one a shot too! It's not like I don't offer good contracts, you know? Save humanity, become a hero, maybe a little eternal servitude… what's the big deal?"

Her sulk deepened as she watched Archer and Lady Avalon tag-team their warnings to Shirou. "And now they're ruining my plans again! EMIYA belongs to me, and I'm never letting him go. Stupid idiot... doesn't he understand that I love him?"

She huffed, turning away from the scene, though she couldn't help but cast one last longing glance at Archer. "He was supposed to be my perfect Counter Guardian… and he's mine, whether he likes it or not."

With that, she faded back into the void, grumbling to herself about stubborn heroes and the eternally frustrating nature of her job. "Just you wait, EMIYA. One day you'll see things my way… you'll understand and accept my love."