Fate: Beyond Journey's End
Summary: With the era meteor shower coming soon, Frieren supposed it was time to return as promised. After all, Himmel was holding onto an important item in the summoning spell she was going to attempt. However, none of them had ever expected her to summon someone quite like him. A journey of rediscovery, letting go, learning to love again and reconciliation begins at the end of an era.
Chapter 5: The Power of Belief
Shirou was seriously getting tired of mountains.
As the duo trudged up the steep slopes of the southern west mountains, they realized that the mountain must not have gotten the memo about the winter coming to a close. The howling gale of endless white was deafening as visibility dropped to near zero, blocking out sun and shine. It was only via magic that they were able to navigate forward, aiming for a well-known monastery near the middle of the mountains for shelter amid the storm. However, at their current rate, they would be lucky to survive the next hour or so.
"How are you holding up, Frieren?" Archer telepathically asked, currently astralized to save energy for the slowly advancing elf who blended in seamlessly against the piling snow, only her striking green eyes standing out against the background. He was a bit amazed by her tenacity. Any other regular adventurer would have likely turned back or fled by now, but the elf continued upwards with a single-minded determination.
"Cold," Frieren simply replied, shivering as she wondered if casting a fireball would be worth it right now. The mage had also been pondering the possibility that Shirou had proposed to her about weather-negating magic, knowing that it would have been extremely useful right now. However, she was just having too much trouble imagining it still. Shirou frowned in concern, knowing he'd have to step in before his elf master became a popsicle.
"Hold onto this, and whatever you do, do not swing it at anything unless you want something to die," Shirou said as he summoned a simple looking broadsword sword with an aged blue hilt. However, despite its rather ordinary looks, the sheer magical aura radiating off of the artifact was astounding. Within seconds of the sword landing on the ground, a radius of heat melted away the snow, leaving behind freshly dried mud and dirt beneath only a few moments after.
Frieren blinked, attempting to decipher what she had just witnessed. She stared at the empty air where her companion was, and a manic grin spread across her face. Almost giddily, she ran to the sword and picked it up, marveling at the fact she was somehow unaffected by the magic. Instantly, Frieren's extremities began to warm, and she sighed happily, feeling as if the season of summer had suddenly appeared all around her.
"Amazing. You've been holding back on me, Shirou," Frieren said aloud, looking up to see an entire radius of protection around them centered on the sword. Squinting her eyes, she noticed that the snow that hit the invisible barrier wasn't being blocked. It was being melted and then evaporated almost instantly. It made no sense to her mind. If the amount of heat being produced by this sword was enough to essentially vaporize ice, why was she not being harmed?
"It's an old artifact from my world," Shirou said as he reappeared, "And on second thought. I'll hold onto that." Plucking the sword out of the elf's hands, he dutifully ignored her cries of anguish from being parted from such a specimen of magic. "Don't ask me to explain how the magic works, I hardly know myself."
"It must be a legendary artifact to contain so much magic," the elf said, her eyes shining, "I can hardly even decipher the enchantments on the blade. It also feels almost as old as I am…"
"Well…you're mostly correct. Its name is Excalibur Galatine," Shirou said with a nostalgic smile, "It's from the same era of that knife I showed you, except this blade belonged to a legendary knight who was blessed by the sun per myth. Likewise, his sword contains the power of the sun in the hilt."
"The sun? I find that hard to believe," Frieren said with equal parts amazement and doubt. If Shirou's words were to be believed, it was no wonder that she couldn't comprehend the spells on the weapon. Shirou shrugged, unable to explain the mysteries surrounding the Noble Phantasm.
Now shielded against the blistering cold, the duo traveled up the road in relative comfort, only bothered by the winds and sounds of the blizzard raging around them. Frieren eyed the sword with careful renewed interest, but her curiosity also focused on her unusual familiar. They had traveled for almost a year now, and most of the time Shirou stuck to simple swords and bows for almost all combat encounters, always aiming for the most efficient route to ending the encounter. It was exceedingly rare to see even glimpses of his true capabilities.
Though, she could hardly judge him for hiding his strength…
"We've never really talked about how you interpret magic, have we Shirou?" Frieren suddenly asked. Perhaps it was a bit silly on her part, but she realized she had been so fixated on the artifacts themselves that she never even bothered to question how Shirou summoned them in the first place. Though, perhaps her lapse in curiosity was due to the fact that she hadn't really run into many mages whose style she couldn't interpret almost immediately.
"Well, you know all of my spells," Archer replied with a shrug.
"A mage is more than a spell. Each mage has their own style that flavors their magic. My Zoltraak, for example, is tailor made to annihilate demons due to my past," Frieren said simply, "Some mages learn by example, some learn by intense study, some learn by feel…What is always at the center is how a mage interprets magic." Shirou tilted in head in acknowledgment, even though he hadn't ever really deeply considered the question.
"It's not too different from how this world sees magic," Archer said, trying his best to articulate the subtle differences between magecraft and magic, "However, a magus, our word for mage, practices magecraft. This is defined as phenomena restricted to the mundane world. By utilizing mana, we bypass the ordinary steps associated with the mystery."
"I still don't quite understand your world's distinction. Magic to create a blade out of thin air is quite magical isn't it?"
"A blacksmith of high enough skill could do it though. Like I said, we use mana to bypass the steps required. The process itself is magic, but the end result is not. It's a pedantic distinction, but the only true magic are things not achievable by human means, according to my teachers anyway. From my perspective, your ability to create black holes would certainly classify as one," Shirou said, still able to vividly remember the way the light got sucked into the singularity before his eyes. The inability to truly perceive the gravity well, despite knowing it was there, was unsettling and had certainly been a new experience.
"That's rather backwards from my view. Magic to me is the complete visualization of a process and spell. Without being able to imagine the spell, I'd be completely unable to cast it," Frieren admitted, trying to wrap her head around the unstructured process.
"That is where our magic differs. Your magic relies on imagination, powerful and versatile, but limited in certain ways. My magic is based largely on belief. A magus doesn't have to understand the process truly, they only have to believe it will work." Shirou demonstrated by casting a small gandr, ignoring the question at Frieren's lips and continuing, "Of course understanding the process helps reinforce belief, but all magi are taught that their spells come from a form of self-hypnosis. We choose to believe that the spell will work, and with enough power and practice, it does."
"Self-hypnosis?"
"Similar to mages, a magus will use incantations, rituals, meaningful items or unique arias to reinforce their internal belief of the spell. With powerful enough belief and mana, that belief becomes actualized." It was a generalized and overly simplified view on magecraft, but Shirou was hardly an expert.
"I see," Frieren mused, mulling over the divergent path in practicing magic, "Mages make use of staves and words to reinforce their image of a spell, but magi make use of that to reinforce their belief in a spell. How curious and difficult sounding…It sounds like your magic is rather volatile."
"It is," Shirou acknowledged, "Meaning and practice are paramount. To be a magus is to walk with death. It was one of the first lessons my father taught me. Failure to perform a spell can be deadly because you direct all your mana and belief inward. Visceral explosive death is not an uncommon fate for many unwary magi."
"How gruesome. Is that how you are able to produce that sword? Because you trick yourself to believe you can do it?" Frieren asked, looking back to the swath they had cut through the snow with laughable minimal effort. The impossible display of magic was going to vex her for days.
"Partially," Archer replied with a mysterious grin. The elf pouted at the admission.
The Southern Monastery of the Goddess was a beautiful place, Shirou noted as they passed through the carefully maintained barrier that was keeping out the wind and snow. Its magic felt warm and inviting, as expected from a place of holy worship dedicated to the Goddess herself. The weathered stones of the temple were well cared for, and each brother went about their tasks with a cheerful diligence despite the pallid conditions outside.
"Welcome travelers," a friendly monk tending the entrance greeted them with a smile, "Thank the Goddess, you managed to brave the storm safely. We don't have much, but we're more than happy to shelter you for the night if needed."
"We appreciate it. I'm Shirou, and this is Frieren the Mage" Archer said, feeling some distant kinship to this place. He was reminded of his time spent dealing with and learning from the Church Executors and Exorcists on various hunting missions. He was just glad that this monk wasn't the murder-y type. He'd met enough of those…
Frieren wasn't too nonplussed, taking her time to instead analyze the barrier around the monastery, clearly powered by holy spells. She wasn't great at the Goddess' magic, but she wouldn't pass up the opportunity to discover and study new magic.
"If you would like to wait in the guest quarters, it's almost time for supper."
"Shirou, assist," Frieren all but commanded. It would really raise her spirits if she could eat more of Shirou's cooking. Archer chuckled in surrender.
"I wouldn't want to intrude, but I would be more than happy to help. It's the least I can do to repay your kindness Brother…" Shirou said.
"Kiesel," the human monk replied with a smile, "I'm a rather new initiate, but I don't believe any of the brothers would mind. They are always happy for a helping hand Mr. Shirou." Walking with the new brother, Shirou met with a few of the other monks in the monastery, learning there were about thirty of them currently staying at the temple. Frieren, meanwhile, went to the guest bedrooms to rest and relax a bit before dinner. She wished she could have studied Excalibur Galatine, but Shirou had dismissed it as soon as they had come into range of the monastery. Eventually after a heart meal, the day came to a close, the call of rest after a long day beckoning them to sleep.
As the duo rose in the morning, glad for their reprieve from the storm, they prepared to leave for the port city only to hear a commotion in the early hours of the morning. Deciding to investigate, Shirou and Frieren walked into the main area of the monastery only to find an air of panic rising in the normally tranquil temple.
"Please," a man cried, his voice desperate as he kneeled on his knees, "Please save her! I'll do anything. This was the closest place we could get to. It's all my fault! I insisted we travel through the storm and now my wife…"
The woman on the ground was nearly lifeless. Her skin was a pale whitish blue, almost completely devoid of color. Her lips were already tinting dark, indicating that her condition was dire and only the slow and unsteady rise of her chest indicated she was alive. Shirou grimaced, his eyes able to take in the details of the woman's hypothermia and deducing she had very little time left.
"I'm…I'm sorry sir," Kiesel said, his voice pained, "Our order is not gifted with the Goddess' Magic. While we have some practitioners, we don't have the ability to save her…We can only do what we can to ease her passing. We will pray and hope for a miracle in the meantime."
Shirou looked towards his master who shook her head in denial. She did not possess the gift to cast magic high enough to save the man's wife. While she could identify sicknesses and poisons, that was the general extent of her talent with the Goddess' Magic. She had almost no skill in curing people unfortunately.
All life seemed to fade from the man's face as his wife's grim fate was delivered to him. Silently, he wept as the monks gathered in prayer and attempted to warm the woman up enough for a her to survive. However, even after ten minutes, all signs pointed towards the inevitable.
"Please…I beg for your mercy," the man begged towards the statue of the goddess overseeing the congregation, "My wife should not have to die for my foolishness. Please spare her!"
Archer had heard enough, ignoring the cold logic in his head to hide his abilities in this world filled with monsters and demons. Despite it all, Shirou Emiya would always be a hero at heart.
"Move," Shirou said as he stepped forward, "Help me bring her to the guest room." Confusion broke out as the monks and husband stared at the man, not understanding why he would intervene in such a meaningless way. The white-haired man made an effort to direct his attention to the statue of the goddess, doing a silent prayer and apology for invoking her name and power.
"I possess an art…a spell that was handed down to be by my forebearers. It allows one to bring someone back from the brink of death," he said slowly and cautiously, portraying an air of supreme secrecy, "It is said that the Goddess herself passed this on through my family line, and only those of my family are allowed to witness this spell." The monks' eyes went wide with surprise and disbelief.
"Your family was chosen by the Goddess herself?"
"I don't care what it is!" the husband exclaimed, pushing aside the monks tending to his ailing wife, "If it can save my Sophia, I'd pay any price! Please Sir Saint! Save her!" Clinging onto the smallest hope, the man helped Shirou move her into the private guest bedroom, her breaths already slowing to dangerous levels. Frieren's eyes held a deep question in them, but she allowed them all to back away as the room closed with just the Shirou and the woman inside.
"If you could help me sell this illusion, please try to conjure up something that looks like holy light at the edges of the doorway," the Servant communicated through the door mentally as he prepared to summon something from his inner Bladeworks. It wasn't a blade or a weapon that could kill, and in fact, it was the exact opposite of that. It was ironic that it came from a woman who he had historically disliked, but after learning of her deeper history, Shirou had come to sympathize with the poor woman. It was that history and sympathy that actually allowed him to utilize the Noble Phantasm correctly. Concentrating, knowing that summoning this Noble Phantasm would be costly, he slowly manifested a circled staff to his hand, reflecting on who Medea had once been before the tragedy that had befallen her. Respectfully, he pointed the staff at the dying woman.
"May this become a world where no one gets hurt or hurts others. Pain Breaker," he whispered as he concentrated on the almost divine magic associated with the staff. Frieren stared blankly, having not even bothered to conjure up any magical lights as the prismatic show of colors behind the wooden door was more than enough. A wave of what could only be described as boundless love and tranquility radiated from the room, and after a few moments, Shirou stepped out, clearly drained.
"It is done," he said solemnly, allowing the man to run past him to check on his wife. The monks gave them a respectful berth, many in awe at the miracle they had just witnessed. A few of the more medically inclined entered to check on the woman, and after a few more minutes, they were amazed to find the woman in almost perfect health. "I'd politely ask you all to not spread word of this as I'm sure you can imagine the problems it may cause. The Goddess's spell can't be used often, and in fact, I wont be able to use this one for at least another year."
"Completely understandable Saint Shirou," one of the monks said reverently, completely stunned by the fact that a woman had been rescued just a moment away from death's door to perfect health. Even the priests from the Holy City wouldn't have been able to manage that so easily.
"Shall we go?" Shirou asked, uncomfortable with the attention, "Thank you so much for your hospitality everyone, but we must be on our way." Practically dragging along the smaller elf, Shirou headed out the west exit, silent the entire time. Alone again on the road about thirty minutes later, Shirou stopped to turn towards his master who had been pensive the entire time. "Well…I imagine you have a lot more questions."
"That's accurate, yes," Frieren said, scrutinizing Shirou once again, "You don't possess a Holy Scripture, so I'm certain your spell was not of the Goddess's creation. My understanding was that you are creating weapons out of thin air, but something tells me that is incorrect having seen you heal that woman. How is that possible?" Archer nodded, putting together his thoughts.
"I did not lie. My magic is truly only Projection, a specially tailored form I call Tracing," Shirou said, knowing that the nature of his craft would eventually surface, "I've told you about how I can analyze objects as well. Tracing is exactly how it sounds, I replicate things." Wordlessly, he summoned the staff of Medea from her earlier years.
"But that implies that the staff you hold…you found it once and are able to replicate it and a powerful healing spell. That should be impossible, without any training one can't just utilize a spell."
"Correct. It's nothing more than an inferior copy…" Shirou admitted, allowing the staff to dissipate into motes of mana. Frieren held back her disbelief that he had admitted to the spell being less powerful then intended.
"But that doesn't explain how you used a spell to heal that woman." Archer nodded in understanding.
"True. It was once just a staff…But its master was a mage blessed with divinity and power beyond all modern comprehension from an age far before my own. Medea was a legendary mage whose story was crystalized into her staff, turning what was once an ordinary object into what we call a Noble Phantasm, a legend given true form from the collective belief of humanity." Frieren's brows furrowed in confusion.
"In reality, Medea probably did possess a powerful healing spell, but the staff really was just a staff, a conduit for her potent magics," Shirou explained patiently, "But through retelling of legend and myth, it was turned into a staff that can heal. By the power of human imagination and belief, an artifact was born and imprinted onto the legend of Medea."
"What?" Frieren asked, truly stunned, "Are you saying that belief of a myth turned into reality after her death?"
"Yes."
A moment of silence filled the air as Frieren wrestled with such a world-shattering admission.
"And all your fancy trinkets and weapons?"
"The swords and bows are mostly ordinary…but any with 'enchantments' are all the same. Crystallization of myth and legend, true or false. If enough people believed it in my world, it would come to be true. I just happen to be special enough to be able to archive them and reproduce them."
Frieren was speechless. It simply made no sense to her as a mage. The idea of widespread belief turning into reality sounded too fantastical, too ridiculous…too magical. She paused as a memory stirred.
"I don't know why you continue to try so hard every day," Frieren said to her master, aged and withered, living out the last of her days in her home out in the forest, "The humans have learned so much from you already. They will surely realize your dream." Flamme chuckled, knowing that Frieren did not understand the core of her desires and what truly drove her each day.
"Frieren. Do you know what will remain of me in a thousand years?"
"Your legend?" the elf guessed, earning a negative shake of her master's head, "Perhaps your spells then."
"No, nothing so grand," Flamme replied with a smile, "I suspect almost nothing of me will remain, my visage, my spells, my story, even one day my name will fade. But I have hope that my beliefs will carry on."
"Your beliefs?"
"Yes. Us humans…we forget easily. Names, places, events, history, all fade with time, but the most enduring sentiment that unifies mankind is belief. It only requires a small spark…but the fires of human belief will burn bright until the last one dies."
"That's a terrible pun on your name, master," Frieren deadpanned, and Flamme laughed good-naturedly.
"One day, you'll surely understand."
"The power of belief," Frieren murmured looking up at the cloudy sky as the soft falls of snow began anew upon the mountain. She thought back to what she had learned from Shirou and with a curious expression, she concentrated. It was a unique way of casting, mixing much of her experience with what little she had observed, but the results spoke for themselves. A soft shimmering shield appeared around her, weak and unstable, but clearly effective as she watched the soft snow melt against it. Frieren smiled.
"Say, Shirou," the elf said, her eyes filled with determination, "Teach me."
A/N
It's pretty neat how similar yet different the magic systems are in Fate and Frieren. Who knows what Frieren will learn though. It'll surely be interesting. We're going to the port town and dungeon next! Thanks for reading.