Pain. Familiar, unwelcome pain. A dull, insistent throbbing behind my eyes, like my brain was staging a violent protest against the very concept of being conscious. Coupled with heat – a thick, oppressive blanket clinging to my skin, stealing the air from my lungs, making every breath feel inadequate. And the smell… Acrid smoke, burnt metal, something else underneath, sweetish and sickeningly foul, like decay trying desperately to mask itself with cheap perfume. Wrong. Utterly, fundamentally wrong.

A voice cut through the hazy agony, soft but urgent. Familiar now, laced with concern.

"Senpai. Please wake up."

My fingers twitched against something rough and gritty – cracked earth. Not a sterile floor. Reluctantly, I forced my eyelids open, half-expecting the blinding white of Chaldea's corridors, or maybe the depressing beige of my assigned holding cell.

Instead, I got a face full of white fur. Again.

"Fou!" The creature chirped, standing directly on my chest like a furry paperweight, peering down at me with those disturbingly intelligent, unblinking eyes.

Ah. Déjà vu. A truly terrible, repetitive kind. I seem destined to wake up in horrifying situations with this thing perched on me.

"…Feels like something just licked my face again," I muttered, the words raspy, tasting of ash. The sheer persistence of this furball was frankly astounding. Or maybe it just enjoyed the taste of existential dread.

Then, beyond the creature, the world swam jarringly into focus. And my breath caught, freezing in my chest.

The sky wasn't blue. It wasn't even the artificial crimson of the simulation. It was a sickening, angry, permanent-sunset red, choked with thick black smoke and swirling embers that danced like malevolent fireflies against the bruised canvas. Blackened skeletons of buildings clawed towards this hellish expanse, twisted and broken, frozen mid-collapse like screaming figures turned to charcoal. The ground beneath me was cracked asphalt and scorched earth, radiating palpable heat.

The air itself felt... thick. Stagnant. Like time itself was clotting here, coagulating, refusing to move forward properly. That buzzing static cling sensation from the simulation, from the Rayshift… it hadn't dissipated. It was worse, a constant, low-level pressure against the skin that set my teeth on edge and made the hairs on my arms stand up. Everything felt slightly out of phase, like reality had a persistent, grinding migraine.

This wasn't Chaldea. This wasn't anywhere I recognized from maps or memory. This looked like a postcard from the literal end of the world, designed by someone with a pyromania fetish.

"…What the hell," I breathed out, the words barely a whisper against the sudden, crushing weight of this impossible reality.

Mash, kneeling beside me, let out a shaky sigh, relief washing over her soot-streaked face, briefly overriding the grim set of her jaw. "Thank goodness you're awake, Senpai."

I pushed myself up slowly, every muscle protesting vehemently. My body felt sluggish, heavy, still processing the violent transition, the aftershocks of being turned into data and flung across… time? Chaldea burning. The alarms. Chaldeas turning that horrifying red. Mash's hand gripping mine with desperate strength… Right. Rayshift. The word echoed with Lev's smug, clinical explanation. They'd literally ejected us from one disaster straight into... this. This burning ruin. This wasn't a simulation. This wasn't a dream. This was the goddamn destination.

Before the sheer, overwhelming scale of this urban bonfire could fully register, a high-pitched screech ripped through the charged air, raw, guttural, and utterly inhuman.

Every muscle in my body seized instantly. Instinct, primal and cold, screamed DANGER louder than any alarm.

I twisted my head towards the sound—and froze.

It emerged from the skeletal husk of a nearby building, shambling out of the swirling smoke. Not a person. A thing. Gaunt, emaciated, limbs stretched unnaturally long and thin like pulled taffy, ending in jagged points that looked disturbingly like freshly broken bone shards. Its movements were jerky, spasmodic, puppet-like, fundamentally wrong. Its face – or the mangled ruin where a face should have been – was a horror show of empty, weeping sockets and a mouth stretched far too wide in a silent scream that abruptly became a guttural snarl as it spotted us.

My analysis was brief, brutal, and didn't require any forcibly downloaded combat data: This thing wasn't here for a friendly chat or directions. It wanted to tear us apart and feast on the pieces.

The creature lunged.

Inhumanly fast. Far faster than its broken-looking frame should possibly allow. Those jagged bone-claws lashed out, aimed squarely at my head with terrifying precision.

No time to think. No time for strategy, or cynicism, or even coherent panic. Just pure, unadulterated survival instinct hijacking my entire system. My body moved before my brain caught up. Feet scrabbling for purchase on the broken, uneven ground, shoulder wrenching painfully as I instinctively yanked Mash – the closest solid object – backward with me in a clumsy, desperate motion.

A sickening scrape as claws tore through empty air, inches from where my face had been a heartbeat before.

Too close. Way too damn close. Cold dread spiked through me, sharp as ice.

Mash reacted instantly, planting her feet firmly, her massive shield – seemingly materialized from nowhere, strapped firmly to her arm now – slamming up between us and the creature with practiced speed.

CLANG!

The impact was deafening, echoing through the ruined street. Sparks flew as the creature's razor-sharp claws raked uselessly against the shield's nigh-indestructible surface, a sound like nails scraping frantically down the inside of a locked metal coffin. The sheer force of the blow shuddered through the ground beneath us.

Mash gritted her teeth, holding firm against the assault, but her eyes darted sharply past the creature, widening slightly. "Senpai—behind you—!"

Another one. Bursting from the ruins to flank us while the first one kept Mash occupied. I spun—too slow, still off balance from the initial scramble—and reflexively kicked out at a chunk of loose rubble near my foot, trying to at least distract it, buy a fraction of a second. The pathetic projectile bounced harmlessly off the creature's bony shin, not even slowing its predatory lunge. Utterly useless. Great contribution, Hikigaya. Top tier survival skills.

The world became a blur of movement. Not the enemy's this time. Mash's.

She wasn't just blocking anymore. She pivoted, shield dropping low then swinging upwards in a brutal, devastating arc, catching the second creature squarely mid-lunge. The impact sounded sickeningly like concrete breaking under immense force. The thing was flung backwards, airborne, skidding across the scorched earth before slamming into a pile of collapsed rubble with enough force to shatter more stone. The sudden display of explosive speed and raw, focused power was jarring, utterly unlike the helpless, injured girl pinned under wreckage mere minutes ago.

She was… fast. Unnervingly fast. And strong. Inhumanly strong. Where the hell did that come from?

A third creature emerged from the smoke, circling wide, aiming for my exposed side now that Mash was momentarily focused elsewhere.

No time to process Mash's sudden combat badassery. Threat assessment. Prioritize. The simulation data surged unwanted into my mind again – angles, timings, weak points. It wasn't a conscious thought process, more like… tactical muscle memory I didn't earn and couldn't control.

"Mash, right flank! Incoming!" The words were out before I consciously formed them, sharp and clipped. A tactical call ripped straight from the phantom battlefield, delivered with an authority I didn't feel.

Her response was instantaneous. No hesitation. No questioning. She shifted her footing with impossible speed, shield angling perfectly, deflecting the incoming claws with contemptuous ease. The creature stumbled, its own momentum turned against it, thrown off balance.

Okay. That worked. The realization was jarring. The phantom combat knowledge wasn't just data; it was somehow applicable. Here. Now. Against these… things. Whatever they were.

But the creature recovered faster than the simulation's shadow phantoms ever did. It reeled, bones seeming to snap back into place with audible clicks, then snarled, a sound of pure malice, and charged again, ignoring its stumble.

"Don't let it regain momentum!" Simulation data again. Consistent pressure required for targets exhibiting rapid recovery or adaptation. Maintain offensive tempo.

Mash nodded grimly, understanding implicit. "Understood, Senpai."

She didn't wait for it to reach her. She surged forward, closing the distance in a single explosive step that cracked the pavement. Her shield wasn't just a defense; it was a battering ram. A weapon of brute force. It crashed into the creature's side with a sickening crunch that echoed horribly in the ruined street, sending it flying through the air like a discarded ragdoll. It slammed hard into the crumbling remnants of a concrete support pillar, which crumbled further under the impact, burying the creature under a shower of heavy debris.

Silence fell again, thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of nearby flames and the distant groans of the dying city. Mash held her stance, shield held ready, scanning the dust cloud where the creature had landed, anticipating movement.

Then, a low, scraping sound. A grotesque snap-crackle like bones resetting incorrectly, followed by shifting rubble.

Mash tensed visibly, grip tightening on her shield handle.

My own stomach churned. Not enough. That incredible brute force… it still wasn't enough to guarantee a kill. The simulation was clean, efficient – erase target, move on. This was messy. Visceral. Brutal. These things refused to die easily. They just kept coming.

The creature dragged itself agonizingly from the rubble, mangled and twisted but still relentlessly moving, and charged again, screeching a sound of pure, mindless hatred.

Mash met it head-on. No fancy maneuvers this time. She pivoted, shield raised high, absorbing the full impact of its desperate lunge with a solid THUD. The moment its claws scraped uselessly against the reinforced steel, she twisted violently, using its own desperate forward momentum against it, leveraging its weight to slam it face-first into the cracked pavement below.

"Now—!" The word was an instinctive cry, tearing raw from my throat. Finish it! Before it gets back up!

Mash didn't need telling. Her shield rose high above her head, then slammed downwards like a colossal hammer onto the downed creature.

BOOM!

The impact cratered the already broken ground. A shockwave pulsed outwards, rattling debris around us, kicking up dust and grit. The creature let out a final, choked-off shriek that was abruptly cut silent—then went utterly still amidst the newly formed crater.

It twitched once. Twice. A final, pathetic spasm.

Then, just like the phantom enemies from the simulation, its physical form lost cohesion. It dissolved rapidly, crumbling into black dust and fading embers that were quickly snatched away and dispersed by the hot, swirling wind. Gone. Erased.

Silence returned, deeper this time, more profound. The immediate battlefield was empty again. For now.

I let out a long, shuddering breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My hands felt numb, distant. My heart pounded a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs, a stark contrast to the sudden, eerie stillness. The air tasted thick, burnt, metallic, fundamentally wrong.

Not a simulation. Definitely not a dream. This was real. These things were real. And Mash…

She turned towards me, lowering her shield slightly, though her stance remained ready. Her face was composed, focused, but her breathing was quicker now, more ragged. Despite the impossible display of power, she looked steady. Concerned, even. "Senpai, are you hurt?"

I automatically flexed my fingers, did a quick mental check of my limbs. No obvious wounds this time. No blood spilled. Just… a fine tremor running through my hands. The adrenaline crash hitting hard, leaving me shaky and nauseous.

Then—a sharp, sudden heat flared intensely on the back of my left hand. Like touching a live wire had been pressed against the skin.

I hissed involuntarily, instinctively yanking my hand back, staring at it in alarm.

Mash's gaze followed mine instantly, and she stiffened, her eyes widening. "Senpai. Your hand—"

I looked. Really looked this time.

Etched onto the skin, glowing with a faint, pulsing crimson light that stood out starkly against the backdrop of the fiery sky, were three intricate, commandingly shaped symbols. Command Seals.

My stomach plummeted. Cold dread washed over me, momentarily silencing the adrenaline buzz and the lingering fear. I knew these marks. The simulation. The three Servants I somehow knew. The phantom link, the unsettling sense of control I shouldn't have had. The weight of responsibility settling onto my shoulders like heavy, invisible chains.

Master.

The designation, imposed upon me by a dying system and sheer proximity, landed with the finality of a prison sentence.

Ah, hell. This was really happening.

I pressed the fingers of my other hand against my temple, trying to force my thoughts into some semblance of order through the throbbing headache and the sheer, overwhelming insanity of the situation. Undead monsters are real. The city is literally burning down around us. The world might actually be ending. And Mash…

My gaze snapped back to her. Calm, steady Mash, who had just effortlessly, brutally annihilated creatures that moved like nightmares given form, armed only with a shield and impossible strength.

"…Mash."

She blinked, meeting my gaze, her expression still laced with worry for me. "Yes, Senpai?"

"You just obliterated those things like swatting particularly stubborn flies," I said flatly, gesturing vaguely at the spots where the creatures had dissolved into nothingness. "Back in the Command Room… literally minutes ago… you were pinned under wreckage. Helpless. You couldn't shift that beam an inch until I somehow brute-forced it out of sheer spite." My eyes narrowed, fixing on hers. "The math isn't adding up here. Explain."

She hesitated, her gaze flicking down for a fraction of a second before returning to mine. Caught. Deflecting.

Before she could formulate a reply – or perhaps concoct a plausible evasion – a loud burst of static crackled violently, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"—ksssh—ally! —crackle— I got through—can you—zzzzt— hear me?! Mash? Hikigaya-kun?! Anyone?! Respond!"

A familiar voice. Exasperated, slightly panicked, but unmistakable. Dr. Roman.

Figures. The world ends, Chaldea is destroyed, and the guy caught slacking off in an empty room is the one who somehow figures out long-range, interdimensional communication first. The universe clearly possesses a deeply twisted, ironic sense of humor.

Mash reacted instantly, pressing a nearly invisible receiver embedded in her ear armor. "Doctor? This is Mash Kyrielight. Reporting in. Signal received, faint but readable." Her voice was formal, precise, instantly switching to operational mode. "At this time, I have confirmed completion of the Rayshift to coordinates designated Singularity F. My sole companion is Candidate 48, Master Hachiman Hikigaya. Mind and body are both confirmed intact." Master Hachiman Hikigaya. Hearing it said out loud like that felt wrong. Like wearing someone else's ill-fitting clothes.

Roman's voice came back, thick with palpable relief, though still laced with static. "Good! Oh, thank goodness, good! I was monitoring your vitals on my end, but the main feeds fried during the blast… I was seriously worried you two wouldn't— Wait." A distinct pause, then confusion coloring his tone sharply. "…Mash. Hold on a second. What the hell are you wearing? Your biological signals are… completely different from baseline. And that faint visual feed I'm getting… that's definitely not the standard Chaldea uniform."

Mash glanced down at herself, as if just noticing her own attire for the first time. "Ah. Yes. About that, Doctor."

I looked too. Properly this time, now that the immediate threat was gone. The standard white Chaldea uniform she'd worn earlier was gone without a trace. Replaced. Now she wore a form-fitting black bodysuit overlaid with segmented purple and silver armor plating across her torso, arms, and legs. It looked sleek, functional, undeniably combat-oriented. And held firmly in her grasp, resting easily against the ground, was the massive shield, no longer looking like a cumbersome accessory but an integral part of her being. It wasn't just clothing; it was serious gear. Battle gear.

Her voice remained steady, matter-of-fact, betraying nothing. "Doctor. Regarding my current state and equipment… I have undergone a significant transformation."

Roman fumbled audibly on the other end. Static spiked violently. "Okay—okay, hold up. Mash, take it from the very beginning. Slowly. What do you mean, 'transformation'? Your energy readings are completely off the charts! I thought the diagnostic equipment was malfunctioning!"

Mash paused, took a quiet, steadying breath, then finally answered, her voice clear and unwavering, dropping the bombshell with detached, clinical precision.

"During the final moments before the Rayshift sequence fully initiated, in order to ensure survival… I fused with a Servant."

Silence on the comm line. Heavy, pregnant silence, broken only by the distant crackle of flames and the faint whine of lingering static.

I let out a slow breath, the air rasping in my throat. Fusion. Servants. Heroic Spirits made manifest. Magic bullshit layered thickly on top of sci-fi bullshit. This day just kept delivering new, exciting levels of impossible, didn't it?

Roman finally sputtered back to life, his voice tight with disbelief and rising alarm. "You—you WHAT?! Fused?! Mash, that's… that's impossible! That's not how Servant summoning is supposed to work! That's not how Demi-Servants are supposed to stabilize! Viable fusion requires precise compatibility, controlled mana transfer, synchronization—!" He cut himself off abruptly, his professional concern overriding the theoretical impossibility for a moment. "—No, forget the theory for now. We'll dissect that catastrophic clusterfuck later. Most importantly: Are you stable? Physically? Mentally? Any signs of rejection or personality bleed-through?"

Mash nodded, though Roman couldn't see it. "I believe so, Doctor. My body feels… unfamiliar, stronger, but fully functional. I retain full operational control and cognitive function."

I wasn't so sure about that last part. I watched her closely. She stood straight, posture perfect, expression composed, delivering her report like a machine. But her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of her massive shield. Too tight. Her breathing, while steady, was just a fraction too controlled, too rhythmic. Like she was deliberately, consciously holding herself together, piece by painstaking piece, afraid of what might happen if she relaxed for even a second.

"...Mash."

She looked at me, blinking, her expression carefully neutral. "Yes, Senpai?"

I crossed my arms, meeting her gaze directly, ignoring the throbbing ache in my hand where the Seals burned. "Are you really okay?"

A flicker. A bare hesitation, lasting less than a heartbeat, but it was definitely there. Her fingers flexed, almost spasming involuntarily, against the shield's smooth surface. Then, she pasted on a small, brittle, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. A practiced mask.

"I will be, Senpai."

Not convincing. Not even remotely close.

But before I could push further, before I could dissect the lie trying to hide behind that fragile smile, the comms erupted in a violent burst of static, louder this time.

"—krrsssh—ngh! Dammit! Interference spike! Strong!" Roman's voice distorted badly, breaking up into unintelligible fragments. "Something's actively blocking the signal transmission! Can't—zzzt—hold the—crackle—connection—!"

Mash frowned, pressing her earpiece tighter against her helmet. "Doctor? Repeat last transmission!"

A final crackle, cutting through the noise for just a second. Clearer this time. Urgent. Desperate.

"Listen—kssh—leyline coordinates—stable point—sending now—!"

A faint chime sounded from Mash's gauntlet, indicating data received on her end. Her internal visor display, invisible to me, likely updated with map data.

Then, another violent surge of overpowering static, drowning out Roman's voice completely.

"—zzzzzzzztttt—find the leyline point! Stabilize the signal anchor—! Must secure for—GHH!—"

Silence. The line went dead. Utterly dead this time.

A tense beat passed, filled only by the roar of the burning city and the oppressive weight of the corrupted air.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "Of course. Because nothing about this situation can ever be remotely simple or convenient."

Mash lowered her hand from her ear, turning to me, her expression grim but focused. "The Doctor managed to transmit the approximate coordinates for a potential stabilization point before the connection failed completely. Based on the partial data, the designated leyline convergence point should be… that way." She pointed deeper into the ravaged streets ahead, towards a particularly large, skeletal ruin silhouetted starkly against the hellish red sky.

I sighed, running a hand through my already messy hair, feeling the grit and grime. "Well. Suppose that's better than wandering aimlessly through Armageddon." A small mercy in a vast sea of escalating disasters. "Lead the way, then."

Mash gave a small, firm nod. Shield held ready, posture radiating a competence that seemed both inherent and newly acquired, she started forward into the ruins. Fou readjusted his position on her shoulder, surprisingly quiet now.

The road – or what little remained of it – stretched ahead, a broken ribbon of cracked asphalt disappearing into hazy, flame-licked ruins under the oppressive crimson sky. We walked in a tense silence, the only sounds the crunch of debris underfoot, the omnipresent crackle of unseen fires devouring the city block by block, and the distant groans of collapsing structures.

The unnatural red sky pulsed overhead like a dying star, raining down embers that died against the scorched earth like so many false hopes extinguished. Calling this place 'hell' felt less like hyperbole and more like an accurate geographical assessment based on available data.

"Senpai," Mash said, her voice quiet but steady, cutting through the oppressive quiet after several minutes of grim progress. "Based on the coordinates Dr. Roman managed to send before we lost contact, the designated leyline convergence point should be just ahead, near that large intersection."

I scanned the vista ahead. Skeletal frames of buildings clawed desperately at the blood-red sky, metal warped into grotesque nightmare sculptures by intense, prolonged heat. The air remained thick, heavy, tasting of ash, ozone, and something else indescribably foul. It wasn't just hot; it felt fundamentally wrong, pressing in with an almost physical weight, making my skin crawl. That constant static cling sensation, the signature of the Singularity perhaps, hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

"Right. 'Ahead' somewhere in this picturesque urban disaster zone," I muttered dryly, squinting into the smoky haze. "Not exactly pinpoint GPS navigation, was it?"

Mash hesitated, her grip tightening slightly on her shield handle. "This environment… it still doesn't match any historical data Chaldea possesses on Fuyuki City for this era. Records indicate an ordinary regional city. No large-scale disasters documented, no recorded singularities within this timeframe." Her voice held a note of professional confusion. "But this…" She trailed off, her gaze sweeping the burning horizon with a troubled expression. "The ambient Mana concentration is abnormally high. Almost unnaturally dense. It feels… corrupted, somehow. And archaic."

"Archaic how?" I prompted, wary. Here we go again. More magic nonsense.

She searched for the words, frowning slightly. "It's difficult to quantify precisely, Senpai. But the texture of the mana, the pressure it exerts… it feels closer to theoretical descriptions of mana from the Age of Gods."

I blinked slowly. The Age of Gods. Like, actual Greek gods throwing lightning bolts and Mesopotamian deities having cosmic wrestling matches? "Great. So, add a 'Potential Divine-Era Expansion Pack' to the rapidly growing list of potential apocalypses we're dealing with." Just what we needed. More variables. More unknown threats.

Mash looked like she wanted to elaborate on the theoretical magical energy signatures, probably involving charts and graphs I wouldn't understand, but before she could, a scream tore through the thick, stagnant air. High-pitched, frantic, laced with pure, unadulterated terror. And disturbingly familiar.

My eyes snapped towards the source of the sound. Ahead, amidst a particularly dense cluster of ruined, collapsed structures near the intersection Mash indicated, a lone figure stumbled, clearly trapped. White uniform, distinctive platinum-silver hair tangled and wild, smudged with soot. She darted left, then right, breaths coming in ragged, panicked gasps, searching desperately for an escape route that wasn't there. Because blocking her path, converging on her, were two more of those skeletal, jerky things.

"Wh-why?! Why does this always happen to me?!" Her voice cracked, a jarring mixture of aristocratic fury and near-hysterical panic. "Lev! Where are you?! You useless technician! Come save me already! You were always there for me, weren't you?! You promised!"

Lev. The name echoed, heavy with implication after Roman's earlier words, Olga's previous desperation. Her default reaction to danger: scream for the subordinate who always cleaned up her messes.

Mash inhaled sharply beside me, recognition flashing in her eyes. "That voice… Director Olga Marie?!"

The Director. Right. The tiny, slap-happy tyrant who'd assaulted me hours ago. The magical aristocrat supposedly running Chaldea into the ground. And apparently, also prone to getting cornered by bony monstrosities while screaming for her absent fixer. Seeing her stripped of her command room authority, reduced to frantic, ineffective panic… it was jarring. Almost pathetic. Almost. Given her earlier behavior, a tiny, vindictive part of me felt a flicker of grim satisfaction.

Quickly suppressed. Mostly.

She must have heard Mash's exclamation, because she spun towards us, eyes widening. Relief flashed across her soot-streaked face for a nanosecond – raw, unguarded, desperate relief. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a prickly, familiar irritation as she recognized us.

"You two?!" she snapped, her voice regaining some of its cutting edge despite the visible tremor still running through her hands. "What the hell are you doing here?! What is going on?! Why is everything burning?!" Still demanding answers instead of focusing on survival. Typical.

No time for pleasantries or lengthy explanations. The skeletal creatures reacted immediately to our arrival, their empty sockets swiveling towards us, fixing us with unseen, predatory intent. They recognized new targets. Then, they moved.

Mash reacted instantly, no hesitation, stepping fluidly in front of me, shield raised protectively. Reflex? Habit? Or the servants instinct kicking in? Hard to tell.

Three enemies, my brain automatically cataloged, the unwanted simulation data flickering like faulty neon. Converging formation. Threat priority: Director.

One creature lunged straight for Mash, ignoring Olga.

CLANG!

The harsh sound resonated sharply through the ruined street. Steel met razor-sharp bone with immense force. Sparks showered the pavement. Mash held her ground, shield unwavering, absorbing the impact without giving an inch.

Analyze. React. "Mash, angle shield thirty degrees right!" The command sprang out, fueled by that phantom tactical knowledge, bypassing my conscious thought. "Use their momentum for a counter-shove!"

She pivoted instantly, feet planted firmly, shield twisting smoothly. The creature, expecting solid resistance, overextended its lunge fractionally. BOOM! Mash's powerful follow-through slammed into it like a freight train, sending it careening sideways into the burning wreckage of a nearby collapsed storefront. Rubble cascaded down on top of it. One down. Temporarily, maybe.

Another creature dashed low, agile despite its jerky movements, coming around Mash's flank, aiming for my blind spot while Mash was resetting. Primal instinct screamed. I lurched sideways, stumbling over unseen debris. Too close! The air whistled where my head had been a split second before.

CRASH! Mash, already turning, sensing the threat, brought her shield down in a wide, sweeping horizontal arc, catching the second creature across the ribs with brutal force. It skidded across the scorched ground like a discarded toy, bones audibly cracking, before collapsing in a heap several meters away. Two down.

The third one… paused. It didn't immediately charge. It twitched erratically, head cocking at an impossible angle, empty sockets seeming to flicker between Mash's imposing form and me, the obviously weaker target. Evaluating? Learning?

Shit. It's adapting. That wasn't in the simulation data. My breath hitched. If it got past Mash, I was unequivocally dead. Simple as that.

The creature tensed—then lunged, faster than the others had been, aiming directly for me, deliberately bypassing Mash's defensive posture.

"Mash!" My voice cracked, raw instinct overriding any pretense of tactical command.

She was already moving. A blur of purple and silver armor. Not just blocking this time. Attacking. Intercepting. Her shield wasn't a wall; it was a weapon unleashed. It slammed downwards like a guided piledriver, meeting the creature's desperate charge head-on with pinpoint accuracy.

BOOM!

The impact cracked the pavement beneath it into a spiderweb pattern. A shockwave pulsed outwards, kicking up dust and debris, making the nearby flames dance wildly. The creature let out a final, garbled screech that was cut short—then its form dissolved instantly, crumbling into black ash that vanished on the hot wind before it even hit the ground.

Silence fell again, heavy and absolute. Mash straightened slowly, shield held ready, scanning the ruins meticulously for further threats. Then, seemingly satisfied, she lowered it slightly. "…Battle complete." Her voice was calm, measured, devoid of triumph or relief, just a simple statement of fact. Professional.

Olga Marie, meanwhile, was hunched over, hands braced on her knees, gasping for air, the facade of control shattered again by sheer terror. Her face was pale, streaked with grime, eyes wide with residual panic. When she finally looked up, her expression was a chaotic storm – anger warring with fear, confusion churning underneath it all.

"What… what the hell is going on?!" she repeated, her voice tight, trembling, demanding answers from a world that had clearly stopped making sense to her.

Mash approached her cautiously, shield held non-threateningly at her side. "Director, are you injured?"

Olga waved a dismissive hand, shaking her head sharply, as if trying to physically reset her reality and deny the danger she'd just been in. "No. No, this… this isn't right. The Rayshift failed? Chaldea was destroyed? This burning city… Lev wouldn't have allowed this…" Her voice cracked, threatening to break. "Lev was supposed to be overseeing this! Chaldea isn't supposed to fail! I wasn't supposed to fail…" She trailed off, biting her lip hard, suppressing a sob that shook her small frame.

I watched her, detached. Observing the widening cracks in her carefully constructed facade of authority. She was desperately trying to reconcile the catastrophe unfolding around her with her ingrained worldview, where Chaldea was infallible, magical nobility was inherently superior, and Lev was always there to fix things, to clean up the messes. And the equation wasn't balancing. The cognitive dissonance was tearing her apart.

Abruptly, her head snapped up, sharp golden eyes fixing on Mash, latching onto the most immediate anomaly. "You." The accusation was implicit, seeking a target for her confusion and fear.

Mash straightened slightly, meeting her gaze calmly. "Yes, Director?"

"That power… the shield… the way you moved… You're a Demi-Servant, aren't you?" The question was sharp, demanding, but the underlying tremor gave away her own uncertainty.

Mash hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding firmly. "…Yes, Director. I am."

Olga let out a short, derisive snort, a harsh sound that was more pain than amusement. "Of course you are. The experimental subject achieves stability just as the entire facility is destroyed. Just perfect." The sarcasm was thick, but brittle. Her voice hitched almost imperceptibly at the end. It wasn't just anger or frustration anymore. It was fear. Raw, naked fear staring into the abyss of total, catastrophic failure. Her body trembled, a fine, barely controlled shiver running through her despite the oppressive heat.

Then, predictably, inevitably, she rounded on me, the easier, less intimidating target. "And you!"

Ah. My turn. I sighed internally. Here we go.

"Yeah, greetings again. Hikigaya Hachiman. Designated Quota Filler Number 48. You might remember me from the orientation you slapped me at earlier today." Sarcasm felt like the only appropriate, honest response to her misplaced fury.

She ignored the jibe completely, her voice rising, cracking slightly. "How did you become a Master?! That designation is impossible for a random civilian! Only first-class Mages with established circuits and proven potential can form a contract with Chaldea's system!"

I rubbed my temple, the familiar headache pulsing insistently. "Director, assuming I wanted any part of this convoluted mess is probably your first mistake."

Mash stepped forward slightly, calm and steady, drawing Olga's volatile attention away from me. A deliberate buffer. "Director, I initiated the contract with Senpai."

Olga's eyes widened, breath catching sharply in her throat. She stared at Mash, then at me, then back at Mash. "…You? You forced a contract? With… with him?" The disbelief and faint disgust were palpable.

Mash nodded, her expression resolute, unwavering. "It was the only way for either of us to survive the Rayshift transition after the blast compromised the Coffins, Director. His compatibility was flagged by the system during the emergency sequence."

A heavy, suffocating silence descended, thick with unspoken accusations, the reality of their desperate measures, and the sheer unlikeliness of it all. Olga stared, visibly torn between condemning the blatant breach of protocol and acknowledging the brutal necessity that must have driven it. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her shoulders trembled once, a visible struggle for control, before she forced herself rigid through sheer willpower. She took a slow, ragged breath, releasing it carefully.

"…Fine." The word was clipped, grudging, tasting like defeat. "Temporary tactical approval granted, under duress. Don't expect this irregularity to become standard operating procedure." She crossed her arms tightly, chin lifted defiantly, trying desperately to reassert control over a situation spiraling rapidly beyond her comprehension. A fragile shield of arrogance against the encroaching panic.

We started moving again, making our way towards the designated intersection, the unspoken tension between the three of us thicker than the smoke. Olga radiated stiff disapproval and simmering anxiety. Mash projected quiet competence and unwavering focus. And me… just weary resignation and a persistent throbbing in my hand. We followed the coordinates Roman had sent, winding through streets that looked like fresh bomb sites, the destruction absolute.

The air grew heavier still, almost suffocating, as we approached a blasted-open intersection littered with debris. Mash slowed, scanning the area intently. "Director. Senpai. According to the map data Dr. Roman sent, this should be the designated leyline convergence point."

Olga Marie jerked, startled out of whatever internal crisis she was navigating. "H-Here? This… this rubble-filled crater?" She blinked, surveying the devastation, then quickly composed herself, pasting on a mask of knowledge. "Ah. Yes. Of course. I recognized the subtle energy signature fluctuations peculiar to this region."

Liar. I saw the flicker of uncertainty, the way her fingers twitched before she forced them still. She was lost, disoriented, pretending she wasn't. Clinging to the appearance of control.

"Kyrielight," she ordered, her voice sharper now, grasping for the familiar anchor of giving commands. "Place your shield at the epicenter of the convergence. We need to establish a stable summoning anchor point immediately to re-establish communications with Chaldea."

Mash glanced at me, a silent question in her eyes. Seeking confirmation? Or just solidarity?

I sighed. "Might as well. Can't get much worse, right?" Famous last words, probably destined for my tombstone. Assuming I get one.

Mash nodded once, firmly, then moved to the center of the ruined intersection, kneeling amidst the rubble. She pressed the bottom edge of her massive shield firmly into the cracked, scorched earth.

The instant the shield made contact, a low pulse resonated outwards, a deep, thrumming vibration that crawled up my spine through the soles of my worn school shoes. The ground around the shield began to glow faintly, intricate lines of pale blue light spiderwebbing outwards across the debris, forming complex geometric patterns that pulsed rhythmically. The heavy air grew thicker still, charged with palpable energy, an ancient-feeling power coalescing tangibly around us.

Then, cutting through the low hum, a crackle of static, followed by a voice, shaky but blessedly familiar. Clearer this time.

"CQ, CQ. Testing, testing… Hello? Can anyone hear me? Chaldea command to Fuyuki field team, come in! Please respond!" Roman.

He sounded simultaneously relieved to have made contact and utterly terrified by the situation he was apparently now managing.

Mash touched her earpiece instantly. "Doctor Roman, this is Kyrielight. We hear you. Signal strength is weak but stable. We have secured the designated leyline point."

Roman let out a whoosh of breath audible even over the faint static. "Oh, thank God! Mash! Hikigaya-kun! You did it! Good work! Okay, now we have a stable anchor, I can start relaying telemetry data, maybe send support packages once the system is stabilized, coordinate—"

"What?!" Olga Marie's voice sliced through the comms like shards of ice, sharp and furious, instantly overriding Roman's relieved rambling. "Why are you giving commands, Romani?! Where is Professor Lev?! Put him on this instant! I demand an explanation!"

There was a distinct sound of Roman flinching audibly on the other end. "D-Director?! You're alive! Oh, thank goodness! You made it through the Rayshift? I—I saw your vital signs drop off the board during the second blast, I thought for sure—"

She cut him off brusquely, impatience overriding any relief at his survival or concern for her own near-death experience. "Irrelevant! Answer the question, Romani! Where is Lev?! Why is the head medic acting as command coordinator?! This is completely unacceptable! Put Lev on!"

A beat of heavy silence stretched across the fragile comm line, thick with unspoken dread. Roman hesitated. Just for a second. But in that second, the entire fragile structure of Olga Marie's denial, her reliance on Lev, began to visibly crumble.

"…I… I can't put him on, Director," Roman finally said, his voice soft, stripped of its earlier fluster, heavy with a grief he clearly hadn't had time to process.

Olga Marie froze where she stood. Utterly still. Her hands, already clenched, tightened further, knuckles turning white. Shoulders locking, bracing instinctively for the inevitable impact she refused to acknowledge. "…What do you mean, you can't?" Her voice was dangerously quiet, loaded with forced calm.

Roman sighed, the sound filled with static and profound weariness. "Director… Olga… Please, don't ask me to explain the impossible right now. I know I'm not cut out for this command role. I'm just… I'm just a doctor." His voice cracked audibly. "But there's… there's literally no one else left, Director."

She didn't react. Didn't breathe. Didn't move. A statue carved from panicked denial, staring blankly at the glowing shield.

Roman's words continued relentlessly, heavy as falling rubble, dismantling her defenses brick by brick. "Chaldea's overall operational capacity is below twenty percent. Most of the facility is sealed off, burning, or structurally compromised. We have… we have fewer than twenty confirmed survivors among the primary technical and command staff. Including me." He paused, the silence amplifying the horror of the numbers. "The reason I'm coordinating this response? The reason I'm the one talking to you now instead of Lev, or the Chief Engineer, or anyone else higher up the chain of command?"

Another devastating pause, delivering the final blow.

"There's no one higher-ranked than me left alive, Director."

The statement landed. And Olga shattered.

Her breath hitched violently. Her eyes went wide, vacant, staring through us, through the burning city, seeing nothing but ghosts. Like something fundamental inside her, the core pillar supporting her entire worldview, had snapped cleanly in two.

"…No." The word was a whisper, fragile as spun glass. Denying the undeniable truth.

Her breath hitched again, a choked, tearing sound. "No." Louder this time, laced with rising anger, a futile shield against the crushing weight of reality. She stumbled forward blindly, grabbing the communicator clipped to Mash's armor, fingers trembling uncontrollably. "No, you're wrong! You have to be wrong!"

She swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. "Lev wouldn't— He wouldn't just die! He was supposed to be here! He always… he always fixed everything! He promised!" Tears welled, blurring her vision, but she blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. She shook her head violently, repeatedly, as if trying to physically dislodge the reality embedding itself irrevocably in her mind. "No! This is a mistake! Some kind of stupid system error! A technical glitch! A mistake!"

A horrible, choked laugh escaped her lips, sharp and hysterical, bordering on madness. "Lev would never just abandon— He wouldn't—!" Her breath caught again, strangled on a sob she couldn't suppress. The anger crumbled completely, revealing something stark, raw, and terrifying beneath. "…He wouldn't leave me alone."

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms so hard they must have drawn blood, seeking purchase on a reality that offered only emptiness. Just fire. Just silence. Just the crushing, irreversible weight of loss and failure.

I clicked my tongue, the sharp sound cutting deliberately through her spiraling grief. Loud enough to break the spell. Deliberate. Unkind. Necessary? Maybe.

Tch.

She flinched violently, head snapping towards me, eyes unfocused, wild, still seeing ghosts, or maybe just the wreckage of her expectations.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Damn it all. This pattern. This breakdown.

I know this look. The way the world shrinks down to the single, agonizing point of loss. The way responsibility feels like drowning in icy water. The way the pursuit of perfection becomes a suffocating cage, and failure feels like utter annihilation. Someone pushed onto a pedestal they never asked for, expected to lead without faltering, terrified of falling, terrified of being seen as weak.

I've seen it before. In Yukinoshita's rigid posture, trying desperately to shoulder impossible expectations without cracking. In Yuigahama's frantic attempts to please everyone, terrified of disrupting the fragile harmony. In myself, grimly playing the villain to force a broken, stagnant status quo forward because no one else would bear the unpleasant truth or the consequences.

And now, here it was again. In this burning hellscape. Another broken person clinging desperately to impossible hopes, about to drag everyone else down with her into the abyss of despair.

A familiar, ugly weight settled heavily in my chest. The bitter, metallic taste of anticipated self-loathing. Yukinoshita wouldn't want this, a traitorous voice whispered. Yuigahama wouldn't want you to carry this burden alone, not again.

But they weren't here. Mash was capable, maybe even powerful now, but seemed emotionally incapable of handling this particular kind of breakdown. Roman was barely holding it together himself on the other end of a fragile comm line. That left… me. Again. Because there was no one else. Because someone had to shove things forward, drag reality kicking and screaming into the light, even if it meant being the bad guy. Even if it meant breaking something else to fix the immediate problem.

"Are you done?" My voice sliced through the air, cold, flat, deliberately devoid of sympathy. Stripped bare of warmth.

Olga blinked, startled out of her spiral, her unfocused gaze sharpening slightly on me. "…What?"

"Wallowing," I clarified bluntly, crossing my arms, making myself an obvious target for her deflected grief and misdirected anger. "Or do you need a few more minutes? We can wait. Maybe those skeleton things will come back for dessert while you cry about the guy who's not coming back."

Mash stiffened beside me, inhaling sharply, a soft gasp of protest. "Senpai—"

I ignored her, keeping my gaze locked firmly on Olga. Her face flushed crimson, then paled dramatically, twisting with disbelief, then sharp hurt, then pure, incandescent fury. Good. Anger was better than catatonic despair. At least anger could be channeled, directed. Functionality over feelings.

"You keep saying his name like it's some kind of magic spell," I continued relentlessly, my voice deliberately harsh, grating against her raw nerves like sandpaper. "Like repeating it over and over will somehow reverse the explosion, rewind time. Newsflash: Lev's gone. Chaldea's wrecked. Humanity's future is apparently cancelled. Permanently. And you standing here having a complete meltdown isn't changing a single damn thing about any of it."

She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, vibrating with barely contained rage. "You—! How dare you—!"

"I dare because someone has to," I cut her off again, ruthlessly pressing the point. "You're the Director, aren't you? Supposedly in charge of this whole doomed operation? Then act like it. Lead. Or step aside and let someone else try to salvage this mess."

Her whole body tensed. I braced myself internally. For the shouting. The accusations. The inevitable blame shifting. Just like Sagami back then, desperately trying to deflect her own failure onto anyone else, anyone perceived as weaker or responsible. And just like then… I'd take it. Because someone had to bear the weight of the unpleasant truths. Because watching someone drown in despair without trying to pull them out felt… unacceptable. Even if pulling them out meant being cruel.

I met her blazing golden eyes directly, unflinching. Not challenging her authority, exactly, just… waiting. Waiting for her to lash out, to crumble completely under the weight, or to find whatever scrap of strength, whatever flicker of pride or duty she had left, and use it. Prove me wrong, Director. Prove you're more than just a spoiled kid playing dress-up. Or prove everyone who thinks exactly that right. Your move.

The silence stretched, taut as a high-tension wire, filled only by the crackling flames and Olga's ragged, uneven breathing. Mash looked desperately uncomfortable, shifting her weight, unsure whether to intervene or flee the emotional crossfire.

Roman's voice came over the comms again after a long moment, quiet, heavy with resignation. "Damn, kid…" It wasn't disapproval. It sounded almost like tired, reluctant agreement.

Then, something in Olga shifted. A visible shudder ran through her. She took a deep, ragged breath, held it for a long count, then released it slowly, deliberately. The furious blaze in her eyes didn't extinguish, but it banked, hardening into something cold, sharp, brittle. Focused. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself upright, piece by painful, deliberate piece. Assembling herself back together through sheer force of will.

"…Forget it," she muttered, the words tight, clipped, devoid of emotion now. Her voice was steady. Chillingly steady. Not because she was okay. Far from it. But because she was forcing herself to be functional. Because the Director couldn't afford to break. Not here. Not now.

Just like I couldn't afford to look away.

Relief should have been the dominant emotion flooding through me. It worked. She's back online. Instead, that familiar, ugly twist tightened again in my gut. How many times, Hachiman? How many times will you resort to breaking things, hurting people, just to fix the immediate situation?

"Romani," she snapped into the communicator Mash still held, her tone all business now, crisp, sharp, brooks no argument. Back in command mode. "You said fewer than twenty survivors among primary staff?"

Roman, likely startled by the abrupt, almost violent shift back to functionality, replied, "…Y-Yes, Director. That's the current confirmed count. It's… bad." His voice was grim. "And the other Master candidates… the forty-seven caught outside the Coffins… their condition is critical across the board. Vital signs unstable. We don't have nearly enough medical personnel or resources to treat them all, Director. At this rate, most of them won't make it through the next few hours—"

"Cryopreserve them," Olga ordered instantly, the command ruthless, utterly pragmatic. "All of them. Now."

Roman hesitated, clearly shocked. "Director! Cryopreservation without consent, especially in their critical condition—that's a massive ethical breach! There are protocols! And the technical risks of initiating cold sleep on unstable subjects are enormous—"

"I don't care about the ethics right now!" she shot back, voice like chipped ice, cutting him off cold. "If they die, we lose any chance of restoring the timeline with qualified Masters! We lose everything! We deal with the consequences and the paperwork later! Preserve them. That's a direct order, Romani."

A long, heavy pause crackled over the comm line. Then, resigned, weary acceptance. "…Right. Understood, Director. Initiating emergency cryopreservation protocols immediately. God help us."

The comm channel fell silent again, leaving only the sound of Fuyuki burning. Mash shifted beside me, looking hesitant, troubled by the cold calculation. "…Director, that was… decisive thinking." She chose her words carefully.

Olga scoffed, turning away slightly, though the rigid line of her shoulders didn't relax. "Don't be ridiculous, Kyrielight. It's damage control. Triage. As long as they're technically alive, suspended, I can justify my actions later based on mission necessity." Cold. Detached. Pure strategic calculation.

But then her fingers, hidden from view in the folds of her coat sleeves, clenched again. Too tight. Her knuckles must have been bone white. Anchoring herself again with contained tension.

I saw it. Mash probably did too. Neither of us commented.

Silence lingered again, heavy with unspoken grief, the weight of irreversible decisions, and the harsh realities of command in a disaster.

Then, so quiet it was almost lost to the wind and flames, a whisper escaped Olga's lips. Fragile. Raw. Heartbreakingly sincere. "…Please don't die." A desperate plea directed at the distant, dying candidates she'd just ordered frozen, or perhaps at herself, begging for a reprieve she knew wouldn't come. "…I'm begging you…"

Her fists trembled slightly where they were hidden. "If only…" She cut herself off sharply, but the missing name hung heavy in the air between us. If only Lev were here.

She didn't say it aloud. But maybe, just maybe, she was starting to truly accept that saying it wouldn't bring him back. That wishing wouldn't fix this. That she was, truly, alone at the top now.

Just like I had to accept certain things, long ago.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. It's always the same damn story, isn't it? People rely on their pillars, their constants, their crutches, until the pillars inevitably crumble. Then they either fall apart completely, or they somehow learn to stand on their own, however shakily, however imperfectly.

Roman's voice returned, deliberately steadier now, trying to project competence for both their sakes, trying to fill the void Lev left. "Okay, Director. Chaldea is… operational, barely. I'll reallocate surviving personnel as per your orders. Priority focus on maintaining Rayshift stabilization systems and ensuring the core Chaldeas and Laplace functions remain online." He sighed heavily. "It's going to take time to assess the full damage and regain basic functionality."

Olga folded her arms, steel returning to her posture, latching onto the mission parameters. "That's the correct prioritization. See it done, Doctor."

A beat of silence. Then, decisively, accepting the burden:

"Until I return successfully from this Singularity, Romani Archaman, you are hereby appointed Acting Director of Chaldea."

Roman inhaled sharply, a choked, panicked sound erupting over the comms. "Wait—Acting Director?! Director Olga Marie, you can't be serious! You're putting me in charge?!" His voice cracked, bordering on sheer hysteria.

Olga turned fully towards the spot where the summoning circle glowed faintly, anchoring their fragile connection, her expression weary but resolute. "Do you see anyone else qualified left standing, Romani?"

"I'm a medic!" he protested frantically. "I deal with fevers, routine checkups, and mountains of digital paperwork! I don't command world-saving clandestine operations involving time travel and ghost soldiers!"

"You're the highest-ranked survivor with security clearance and system knowledge," she stated flatly, cutting off his panic. "Rank dictates responsibility in emergencies."

"That doesn't mean I know how to run Chaldea!" he wailed, despair creeping into his voice.

"Neither did I when I unexpectedly took over!" she snapped back, a flash of her own past frustrations and insecurities surfacing briefly. "But someone has to. And right now, that someone is you. End of discussion."

Roman groaned, a long, despairing sound that spoke volumes. "This is an absolute nightmare. A complete, unmitigated nightmare."

"Trust me, Doctor," Olga muttered darkly, staring into the flames. "I am well aware."

Another pause. Roman seemed to gather himself, hesitating. "…Director… Olga… are you sure you're okay? Really? After… everything?"

She stiffened almost imperceptibly at the personal address, the flicker of concern. Then, the walls slammed back up, hard and fast. "I don't have time not to be."

Roman exhaled slowly, a complex mixture of relief that she was functional and profound uncertainty about her actual state. "…Right. Well. Whatever keeps you functional, I guess." His silence spoke volumes about his own doubts regarding her stability.

Olga squared her shoulders, the Director persona fully re-engaged. Locked down. Like the last five minutes of emotional breakdown had never happened. Compartmentalized. Buried deep. Functional.

I remained silent. Didn't need to say anything else. I recognized the pattern intimately. Force yourself forward. Stay busy. Don't stop moving, don't stop thinking obsessively about the mission, about the next step, because if you stop for even a second, everything else – the grief, the fear, the crushing inadequacy – catches up instantly. I get it.

"Hikigaya. Kyrielight." Her voice was curt again, focused, devoid of warmth. Business as usual. Her golden gaze locked onto us, steel-hard. "New objective. We investigate this city. Thoroughly."

I blinked, pulling my attention back to the immediate situation. "…Come again?"

"You heard me. Reconnaissance mission parameters updated. We aren't just identifying the source; we need to understand the current state of this Singularity."

I looked at her. At Mash, holding her massive shield, looking ready. Back at Olga, standing there in her slightly singed, definitely-not-combat-ready attire. "…Right. Because the three of us wandering aimlessly through a burning city filled with regenerating bone monsters sounds like a solid, well-thought-out plan. Why am I involved in this again, exactly?"

She glared, the familiar irritation returning. "Because you're here, you're somehow, inexplicably, a Master candidate, and Kyrielight needs backup she can ostensibly direct, while I provide tactical oversight."

"'Ostensibly'? That doesn't fill me with confidence in my directorial capabilities," I muttered.

"Do you have an alternative suggestion that involves less complaining and more productive contribution to our survival?" she countered sharply.

I clicked my tongue. "Tch." Fine. Point taken. Again.

Mash hesitated. "…Director, with all due respect, the area is unstable, the enemy concentration is unknown, and your own direct combat capabilities are… compromised without your Mystic Code and familiar support."

Olga cut her off, expression grim, resolute. "The Mana density confirms it. This Singularity's core distortion is still actively propagating. We can't simply sit here and wait for extraction; the corruption might spread or intensify." She crossed her arms, gaze sweeping the ruins. "This remains primarily reconnaissance. We are not engaging the core anomaly directly. We are not attempting to unilaterally fix this timeline ourselves. Understood?"

Her gaze didn't waver. Hard. Determined. Trying to project control. "We identify the primary source of the distortion. We gather crucial data on the current state of Fuyuki and the nature of the enemy forces. We report back to Chaldea via leyline points. They send a properly equipped, specialized team later, maybe with more Servants, to handle the actual cleanup and correction."

Mash processed this, brow furrowed in thought. "So… observation, data collection, and survival?"

"Precisely." Olga nodded once, curtly. "We go in cautiously, we assess the situation, we find out what caused this inferno, we get the data, and we figure out how to go home. Stick to the plan."

I sighed, the sound heavy with foreboding. "Yeah. Because field missions involving untrained personnel, unstable leaders, and unknown magical threats always stick to the plan exactly like that."

For a fleeting second, Olga's gaze met mine across the flickering firelight. A flicker of something – shared weariness? Mutual understanding of how badly things tend to go wrong despite best intentions? – passed between us. Then it was gone, replaced instantly by her usual stern, commanding mask. She ignored my comment completely.

"Move out."

And with that, the self-proclaimed Director clinging to control, the newly forged Demi-Servant grappling with her new existence, and the profoundly unwilling, accidentally promoted quota-filler Master stepped deeper into the burning, broken ruins of Fuyuki. Together. Sort of.