Emiya and Kotomine

The air was thick with ash and the acrid stench of burning flesh. The once vibrant city of Fuyuki was now a desolate wasteland, its streets littered with the charred remains of buildings and bodies. The Great Fire had consumed everything in its path, leaving behind a hellscape of smoke and ruin. Kiritsugu Emiya moved through the devastation like a ghost, his eyes scanning the wreckage for any sign of life. His coat, tattered and stained, billowed behind him as he pressed forward, his movements mechanical, driven by a singular purpose.

He had failed. The grail, the cursed vessel he had sought to destroy, had unleashed its wrath upon the city. The fire was his punishment, his penance for daring to believe he could change the world. And yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of hope remained. He had seen a child—a boy—running through the flames, carrying another child on his back. Kiritsugu didn't know how they had survived, but he knew he had to find them. If there was even a chance to save someone, he would take it. It was the only thing left that gave his life meaning.

The sound of his boots crunching against broken glass echoed in the silence. His breath came in shallow gasps, the smoke stinging his lungs. His body ached, his wounds from the grail's curse still fresh, but he pushed through the pain. He had endured worse. He had to keep moving. He had to find them.

In the distance, he saw a figure standing amidst the ruins. The man's black priestly robes stood out against the backdrop of destruction, his presence an anomaly in this lifeless world. Kiritsugu's hand instinctively went to the holster at his side, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of his Thompson Contender. He knew who it was. Even from this distance, he could feel the weight of that man's gaze, the same gaze that had haunted him since their last encounter.

Kotomine Kirei.

The priest stood motionless, his expression unreadable. His eyes, dark and hollow, seemed to pierce through the smoke, locking onto Kiritsugu with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. There was something different about him, something unsettling. The last time they had met, Kotomine had been consumed by the grail's curse, his body torn apart by the very evil he had sought to embrace. And yet, here he was, alive and whole, as if the grail had spat him back out into the world.

Kiritsugu's grip tightened on his weapon. He had no illusions about what Kotomine was capable of. The man was a monster, a predator who thrived on suffering. If he had survived the grail's destruction, it could only mean one thing: the grail had chosen him, just as it had once chosen Kiritsugu. And now, they were bound together by the same cursed fate.

For a moment, neither man moved. The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken words and unresolved hatred. Kiritsugu's finger hovered over the trigger of his Contender, his mind racing. He could end it here. He could put a bullet through Kotomine's heart and rid the world of one more source of evil. But something held him back. The coldness in Kotomine's eyes, the emptiness that mirrored his own, made him hesitate.

Kotomine broke the silence first. His voice was calm, almost serene, but there was an undercurrent of malice that sent a shiver down Kiritsugu's spine.

"Kiritsugu Emiya," Kotomine said, his lips curling into a faint smile. "I see you've survived as well. How… unfortunate."

Kiritsugu didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on Kotomine, his body tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He could feel the weight of the Origin Round in his Contender, the bullet that had once shattered Kotomine's heart. But he knew it wouldn't be enough. Not this time.

Kotomine tilted his head, his smile widening. "You look tired, Kiritsugu. The weight of your sins must be heavy indeed. Tell me, do you still believe in your ideals? Or have you finally realized the futility of your existence?"

Kiritsugu's jaw tightened. He had no interest in Kotomine's taunts. The man was a snake, twisting words to provoke a reaction. But Kiritsugu had long since grown numb to such tactics. He had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear.

"I'm not here for you," Kiritsugu said, his voice low and steady. "Step aside."

Kotomine chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Ah, but you misunderstand. I have no intention of stopping you. In fact, I find your desperation… fascinating. You cling to the hope of saving others, even as the world crumbles around you. It's almost admirable, in a pathetic sort of way."

Kiritsugu's finger twitched on the trigger, but he held his ground. He couldn't afford to waste time on Kotomine. Every second he spent here was a second longer that the children were in danger. He had to find them. He had to save them.

Kotomine's gaze shifted, his eyes narrowing as he looked past Kiritsugu. For a moment, his expression softened, a flicker of something resembling curiosity crossing his features. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same cold indifference.

"I see you've found a new purpose," Kotomine said, his tone mocking. "A child, no… two children. How fitting. But tell me, Kiritsugu, do you truly believe you can save them? Or are you merely deluding yourself, as you always have?"

Kiritsugu's grip on his weapon tightened. He could feel the anger rising within him, the frustration and despair threatening to overwhelm him. But he forced it down, burying it deep. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not now.

"I don't have time for this," Kiritsugu said, his voice cold. "Move, or I'll make you move."

Kotomine's smile warped, replaced by a twisted smirk of genuine amusement. He took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Very well, Kiritsugu. I won't stand in your way. But know this: the path you've chosen will only bring you more suffering. You cannot save them. You cannot save anyone."

Kiritsugu didn't respond. He watched as Kotomine turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the smoke. For a moment, he considered firing, ending the threat once and for all. But something stopped him. The coldness in Kotomine's eyes, the emptiness that mirrored his own, made him hesitate.

As the sound of Kotomine's footsteps faded, Kiritsugu lowered his weapon. He took a deep breath, the weight of Kotomine's words settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew the priest was right. The path he had chosen was one of pain and sacrifice. But it was the only path he had left.

With a grim determination, Kiritsugu turned and continued his search. He had already glimpsed the two children in the distance.

The boy retreated for some reason when he witnessed the confrontation between Kiritsugu and Kotomine. And now, Kiritsugu had to find them before it was too late, no matter the cost.

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It didn't take long for Kiritsugu to find them. The boy was small, his body frail and battered, but his movements were steady. He carried a girl on his back, her body wrapped in a strange red shroud that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. It was a holy shroud without a doubt, the analytical part of Emiya Kiritsugu analyzed the children's possible origin and their potential association with the church or even Kotomine, but these thoughts were immediately discarded. Kiritsugu was simply too relieved to care. He had found survivors in these hellish flames.

The boy's face was streaked with soot and blood, but his eyes burned with a determination that Kiritsugu recognized all too well.

Kiritsugu's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he was frozen, his mind racing. The boy was alive. The girl was alive. They had survived the fire, the grail's curse, the very hell that had consumed the park. And now, they were here, within his reach. But did he have the ability to save them?

The girl seemed fine, but there was something wrong with the boy. Whether it was survivor's guilt or something else, there was an inhuman steel within his gaze. Whatever color the boy's eyes had been, they now glowed a metallic gold and flickered with motes of prana.

But even so, the boy was human and he stumbled, his legs nearly giving out beneath him.

Kiritsugu moved without thinking, his body propelled by instinct. He caught the boy before he could fall, his hands gripping the child's shoulders with a firmness that defied his own exhaustion.

"You're safe now," Kiritsugu said, his voice low and steady. "I've got you."

The boy stood there, small and skeletal, yet his body remained impossibly steadfast as it supported the full weight of a small girl. Kiritsugu detected prana. The child was using reinforcement magecraft. He was burning up his own body to carry the girl through the flames.

His skin was raw and blistered, his clothes singed to ash, but his eyes—those golden eyes—burned with a resolve that cut through the haze of smoke and ruin. A resolve Kiritsugu knew too well. The same reckless, self-destructive drive that had once lived inside himself.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed. The acrid stench of burning flesh, the crackle of dying embers, the hollow screams of the dead—all of it fell away. All that remained was the boy, the girl, and the hollow echo of a choice he had made a lifetime ago. Necessary sacrifices.

But the grail was a lie. There was no salvation, not for Kiritsugu. But for these children, he would save them.

The boy didn't speak. He didn't need to. With a shuddering breath, he peeled back the bloodied shroud clinging to the girl's body and thrust her toward Kiritsugu. His arms were steady, and his gaze never wavered.

Take her, his eyes conveyed. Save her first.

Kiritsugu's hands froze mid-reach.

Kiritsugu saw himself in those eyes—the same desperation, the same need to save someone, anyone. The boy clung to the hope of saving someone else from the flames, even as he himself struggled on the brink of demise.

The girl stirred in the boy's arms, her breathing shallow and ragged. Kiritsugu's gaze shifted to her, his mind already calculating. The girl was injured, but alive. Burns mottled her skin, her hair reduced to brittle threads. She was dying. They both were. But he could save her.

The boy would also survive so long as he stayed awake and circulated his prana. The girl would most certainly die without assistance. He quickly came to a decision. He would try to save the girl first.

Kiritsugu's gaze focused on the girl, his expression grim. Her condition was deteriorating. He could feel her weakening. She had potential to be a magus, forcibly awakened magic circuits were the only reason she was still alive. But her body was much too young and much too weak. Without assistance, she would die.

If you save one… He moved before the thought could finish. Reaching into his coat, Kiritsugu pulled out Avalon, the Ever-Distant Utopia. Its golden surface gleamed faintly, even in the dim light of the ruined city. The scabbard hummed faintly, threads of Saber's lingering prana still woven into its core.

The auburn hair and golden eyes of the boy glowed in Avalon's light and he seemed captivated and drawn by the holy relic, but other than observing, he held himself absolutely still.

Kiritsugu pressed it to the girl's chest, his fingers brushed the boy's as he relinquished his hold. His skin was fever-hot, his magic circuits writhing beneath the surface like live wires.

Too much. Too young.

Perhaps the boy needed Avalon more. But the boy wanted him to save the girl. He hesitated for only a moment before placing Avalon against the girl's chest, the artifact humming with a soft, otherworldly light as it slowly sank into the girl and began to heal her wounds.

The girl jerked as Avalon's light engulfed her. Flesh knit itself raw and pink, blisters retreating like snow under the summer sun. Hair sprouted in silken waves, her breathing softening into the rhythm of deep, untroubled sleep. A true miracle.

But the boy—

Kiritsugu turned his attention to the boy, his brow furrowing as he assessed the situation. The child was burning with fever, his skin hot to the touch. But there was something else—a faint pulse of prana emanating from his body, shrouding him in a protective veil. The boy's magic circuits were active, instinctively shielding him from the worst of the damage. But he was burning himself alive, his own power devouring him to keep death at bay.

Kiritsugu's jaw tightened. The boy was a magus, or at least had the potential to be one. But his body was too young, too fragile to handle the strain. If he didn't stabilize soon, the prana coursing through him would consume him entirely.

For a moment, Kiritsugu hesitated. He had already given Avalon to the girl, and without it, his options were limited. But as he looked down at the boy's face, pale and drawn but still holding a flicker of life, he felt something stir within him—a resolve he hadn't felt in years.

Kiritsugu lifted the boy onto his back and tied him in place with the holy shroud.

"Do you think you can stay awake?" Kiritsugu asked, his tone curt but not unkind.

The boy nodded. Kiritsugu didn't wait for further confirmation. He scooped the girl into his arms, his movements efficient and precise.

Then he ran. He ran away from the hellish fires and his own mistakes.

As they moved through the ruins, Kiritsugu's mind was already racing ahead. He would take them to safety, tend to their wounds, and ensure they survived. It was the least he could do. It was the only thing he could do.

But even as he carried the boy and the girl, their weight a reminder of the lives he had failed to save, Kiritsugu couldn't shake the feeling that Kotomine's words still lingered in the air, a grim prophecy he couldn't escape.

"The path you've chosen will only bring you more suffering."

Kiritsugu clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the girl. He didn't care. He had made his choice. And he would live with the consequences, no matter the cost.

Without Avalon, his own body burned and festered with curses, death was approaching, but not today. At least, he would make sure these children were safe.

There was hope yet.

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How amusing.

The Magus Killer, reduced to this—a hollow-eyed wraith stumbling through the wreckage of his own failure, clutching at the barest scraps of meaning. The fire had taken everything from him, just as it had from me. And yet, there he was, still playing the hero. Still refusing to see the truth.

I watched from the smoke as he knelt beside the boy—that small, broken thing with eyes too much like his own. The child was dying, his magic circuits devouring him from within, and yet he had carried another. Had prioritized another. How very like Kiritsugu. How very painful.

A smile curled at the edge of my lips.

Will you save them, Emiya Kiritsugu?

The question lingered, sweet as sacrament. He had given the girl Avalon, hadn't he? The scabbard of miracles, the last remnant of his futile war. A part of me wondered if he realized the irony—that in saving her, he had condemned himself. That in granting life, he had surrendered his last tether to the artifact that could have saved him.

Ah, but you never think that far ahead, do you?

You never consider the cost.

The boy convulsed in his arms, his body alight with the searing glow of overtaxed circuits. Kiritsugu's face was a mask of grim determination, but I could see the cracks. The doubt. The quiet, gnawing terror that he might fail again.

It was beautiful.

Would the boy live? Would the girl? It didn't truly matter. What mattered was the struggle, the exquisite torment of hope clashing against inevitability. Kiritsugu would pour everything into this—his strength, his pride, the last dregs of his crumbling ideals—and for what? A child who would grow to inherit his curse? A girl who would never understand the weight of the gift forced upon her?

How cruel.

How delightful.

I turned away, the echoes of Kiritsugu's suffering clinging to me like incense. Let him play the savior a little longer. Let him believe, just for a moment, that this time might be different.

After all, the fall is so much sweeter when the climb is steep.