#fate grand order au

[surelysilly]

here for a fun time not a long time pew pew

[ziracona]

Got some big old new chapters for you fam. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 22,23, 24, 25,26, 27, 28_1, 28_2, 29_1, 29_2, ?)]{Some spoilers for og FGO/Temple of Time, vaguer spoilers for early CITLB} Chapter 28: Haya Ishida (it's 'too many blocks' 9_9 for tumblr bc they do text weird, so it has to be posted in two parts.)

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Alright. That’ll do for now.

Stiff from crouching so long to draw sigils, I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, then flip up the ornate hood I picked out for this mission again. I’m not the easiest, but I’d still like to give enemies here as little to work with as possible when it comes to identifying me, and for as long as I can. The only time racism has ever worked in my favor; I’m pretty sure most regular human enemies I run into here will have absolutely no idea what I historically looked like. I think a lot of them don’t even know I’m Ethiopian…

“How are you feeling, Billy?” I ask, turning to appraise him. His clothes are still bloody, but the wound is all but gone now. Good, then he’s back to almost 100%.

“Fine, Ma’am,” he replies, tipping his hat to me on reflex. He rolls his shoulder to prove it. “I’m good to go soon as Kotarou is back.”

“Good,” I say, “I’ve done my territory creation and established a little safehouse here. If anything happens, we can come back. Inside, our recouperation will be drastically sped up; it borrows from the natural magical energy in the nature around us, to supplement our own. It’s well cloaked, as well, and the surrounding area has alarm sensors if anything with hostile intent gets close. Plus, if any of our allies get within a mile, they’ll be able to sense it as a location friendly to them; it might help us meet up with some of the others.”

“Great,” says Billy. He starts to get up, but I’d prefer he save all the energy he can until he’s entirely healed, so I sit down opposite him before he can, and he awkwardly sets down again too.

I fold my legs, cup my chin in my hand, and lean forward to study him.

Uncomfortable, he fidgets under my gaze.

“Why did you tell Kotarou to evacuate me?” I ask.

“Huh?” says Billy, genuinely taken aback, “Oh, I thought I told you. That Pissaro guy—he was—”

“-He might have had a skill advantage on someone like me,” I agree, unblinkingly fixed on Billy, “But he might not.”

“Well,” says Billy falteringly, “he was still gonna target you.”

I shrug, chin still in my hand. “So? He’s an Assassin. You realize I’m the best suited to fight against him, right? I’m a Caster.”

“I mean, yeah,” he says awkwardly, “I guess that’s true. …Do you…wanna fight him? Next time, I mean?”

I shrug, still carefully watching him.

“Well uhm. I’d prefer if you didn’t, then,” he says, “Even if he don’t have a skill to counter you, and you got the class advantage, you go and fight him, and he’s gonna be gross about it. Even if you kick his ass, he’s gonna be gross about it.”

My eyes sparkle. Oh, that was it?

I stand up and pick up Billy’s hat so that I can ruffle his hair, then plop it back down. He gives me an incredulous look.

“You’re a good young man, aren’t you?” I say happily, “Thanks for looking out,” and, humming, I summon a little bag and take out the things I need for coffee.

“Uhm. You’re…welcome?” says Billy.

He comes over and watches me create a little hovering fire, and use my smoke to hold a metal kettle above it. I accelerate the process, and it boils almost instantly. Turning, I set down two cups and two little filters of coffee, and pour the water over them, then remove the metal filters.

“You made coffee?” he asks, kind of excited.

Mhm, and I know you love it. “You’re worried about Ritsuka, and we have to wait for Kotarou anyway, right?” I say, offering him a cup, “You looked out for me, so I’ll look out for you. We can take a moment to refresh, and then I’ll see if I can’t find something helpful.”

“Wait, really?!?” asks Billy ecstatically, “I thought you wouldn’t look into the future about this!”

“I—whoa, easy there!” I stop him from choking down the entire boiling hot thing in one swig, just barely. It’s cute how worried he is about her. “—I said I wouldn’t read Doctor Archaman’s. Not Ritsuka’s. I do try not to look into the futures of anyone close to me, but that’s not what I’m going to be doing. Indirect divination is going to be safer. It’s less precise than gazing into the future, so the effects for better and worse, are also less precise.”

Despite my best efforts, Billy inhales the coffee more than he drinks it, and then excitedly hands me the empty cup with grounds at the bottom.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m not going to read the grounds—I was just making coffee; that’s my bad, I can see how you would have thought that,” I chuckle, “No—I’m going to do something from my home.” After taking a sip of my own coffee, I gingerly take off the golden sandals on my feet, and hold them together in my right hand so the one on top points towards me, and the one on bottom points away. “Now,” I say, turning to Billy, “Ask me what you want to know. Just one question.”

“I-I don’t know,” he says, running a hand through his bangs, “I should ask what to do, but that’s so vague—is that too vague? Is it better to ask where she is? Or how to find her? –No, okay—how do we get her help? She’s out there all alone right now.”

I nod, focus, and violently toss the sandals so they change position in the air, and fall.

Billy leans in with me as I study the position. …Huh.

“What is it?” asks Billy, “You got a real surprised look just then.”

“Well…” I look at the results again to be sure, then at Billy, “…Apparently, she’s already got help.”

Relief floods his features. “That’s great! It’s gotta be Robin or David then, right?”

I look at the angle the sandal on top has landed. A piece of the gold chain adornment on the side is still swinging back and forth, when long ago it should have gone still. The shadow it casts, for just a moment at the zenith of its swing…a butterfly?

--------------------------------

“Owwww….”

I look up and squint at the bloody, formerly greyish bark of the tree I scraped my face against on the way down. I can’t believe the first thing to draw my blood here was a damn tree.

Sore, I pull myself up out of the crook between a branch and the trunk, near the base, where I finally hit tree sturdy enough to break my fall. Once free, I drop to the ground, and look up at the damage I inflicted with a wince. The poor thing is a scrub tree—maybe fifteen feet tall. I’ve snapped every branch in my trajectory except the last one.

“Sorry,” I tell the tree sincerely, placing my palm against the rough bark. At least I only damaged a Robin-sized area. It’ll live. Just…damn I broke a lot of branches.

Sadly, per usual, I don’t have time to worry about that. Ignoring the raw patch of skin making up most of the left side of my face, I activate my coms. “Hello? Robin, checking in. I got knocked off course almost immediately. I—” Hang on.

There’s no…fuck, I’m not modern enough to know the word, and the Throne didn’t find it important enough to give me one, but there’s a not-quite-silence to an audio connection. It’s…feedback, maybe—static, or maybe just the hum of electronics. There’s nothing on mine, though. There’s also no answer to my message, as I wait in silence and listen.

“Hello? Does anyone copy?” No. Nothing. I try switching the coms off, and it doesn’t change the amount of sound coming from the coms. I switch it back on. Nothing.

Shit, this means either mine was damaged in the fall, or something’s interfering with it. God I hope it’s the former.

Going for plan B, I glance around the area for a moment, just to be sure nothing’s creeping up on me while I’m distracted, and then I focus my energy inward.

Before I even try contacting anyone mentally, I can tell everything is wrong.

Ritsuka!

I’ve only ever felt this kind of connection severance if my master is dead, and I’m now living off my independent action; fuck! Fuck, did the fall kill her? H-How is that possible?! With so many of us-!

Praying I’m wrong, I shut my eyes and focus every ounce of myself on the connection to my master.

…

I slowly open my eyes, feeling sick. It’s gone.

My body acts on its own, and I stagger back into the tree, then sink to the ground.

I stare ahead, at nothing.

How.

How did we lose her? She was just-!

I have to shut my eyes and breathe for a moment. It’s been a long time since an experience made me want to throw up.

What do we even do now? I start to ask myself, without the kid, what it even matters, but of course it does. We’re trying to keep the entire world alive.

I fucking hate that. I hate that I don’t even get to dwell in the despair of losing her. I should get to want to give up, even just for thirty seconds. She deserves that. She mattered. A lot, to me. I haven’t had another Master I can remember who ever…

…I’m sorry, kid. I’m so, so sorry.

I sink my fingernails into the dirt beneath my hands, then, slowly, drag myself back to my feet.

“Ah! Hello! Robin!”

What?

I’ve barely taken stock of my surroundings, but I’ve landed right near a riverbank, and as I turn to look, I see David jumping up and waving two-handed at me from the other side.

“Hang on! I’ll cross over!” he calls excitedly in my head, and I watch him take a running leap, bounce off a resting crocodile’s back halfway to leap again, and land almost beside me.

“Robin!” says David, beaming at me like this is a great occasion and not one of the worst days of my life, “Oh this is so excellent! And here I thought I got lost alone. –Oh, dear, your head though.” He touches the raw flesh on my face, and I squint my eye shut reflexively. “Don’t worry,” he promises, summoning his kinnor, “I’ll fix that up for you in a jiffy.”

“Don’t bother,” I say, a little angry at him.

He pauses and blinks at me in confusion, head tilted.

“Have you somehow not noticed?” I ask, because it’s the only explanation that makes any sense, “Our Master-“ God damn it. I feel my voice starting to crack, so I choke the emotion back down and take a second to get it under control. “…she’s gone,” I can’t keep the spite out of my voice. I hope he can tell it’s not for him.

“Oh!” says David with the expression of someone who just realized he left the oven on at home, “Of course! –Sorry, I forgot—”

I deck him in the face so hard he goes flying into the river with the force of a cannonball. Birds take flight in fear around us, and even the crocodile he stirred up earlier makes a hasty retreat.

Furious, I walk to the edge of the river to wait for him to crawl out so that I can hit him again.

He comes up about ten feet out, gasping for breath, sees me waiting there, and starts waving his hands. “Wait-wait! I didn’t mean it like that!”

I rush him, and he yelps and leaps over me, landing back on the bank.

“Robin, she isn’t dead!” calls David desperately as I whirl on him again.

I stop my charge, right at the edge of the water, and stare at him.

He’s giving me a very apologetic—no, almost pitying look now. “I-I’m sorry, truly,” says David with sorry little smile, “I forgot you’d of course be thinking that too.”

“What do you mean she’s alive?” I ask, afraid to believe that, “Our connection to her is completely gone.”

David nods earnestly. “It is. I thought she must be dead too, when I landed about fifteen minutes ago-“ Fifteen minutes ago…? “You’re right, our connection was broken, but she isn’t dead.”

I lower my hands. “…How can you know?”

“Well, I prayed about it,” says David as if this is the most obvious answer in the world.

I’m about halfway to a, Oh, so you just have a good FEELING, jackass?! when I remember who he is, and falter. I mean. Actually, considering this is King David I’m talking to, ‘I prayed about it’ might qualify as a credible source of information.

“Okay,” I say, raising a finger at him and walking out of the river, “But when you say, ‘I prayed about it,’ you mean you got a reply, right? Not ‘I felt calmed’ -not ‘It seemed like it’ – you know what you’re telling me?”

“Of course,” says David, cocking his head, “If I just felt reassured, I’d have said, ‘I think she’s fine.’ I’d hate to put my intuition up and claim it was divine information. I do have some scruples.”

Oh thank God. …Literally, I guess? I exhale slowly. “Okay. I guess I believe you.” I give him a dubious look. He’s the picture of innocence, which just makes me trust him less, but, I do believe he’s got some scruples, and I have a hard time thinking this is what he’d lie about—especially in this situation. “But then, how the hell did we lose our contracts?”

What’s more, that means we’re both on borrowed time. Thank God we’re Archers…

“Well, I can’t say I’m entirely sure about that,” says David. He gestures upwards, to the sky, and I squint up, trying to see what he’s indicating. “You’re much more modern than I am, so your ability to sense magic isn’t the same—or your resistance—but you might still be able to see it in the air.”

I can’t so I grimace and shake my head.

“It’s everywhere, in this area. You can’t tell at all down here, because it’s part of the energy layer on everything, but I can see it way up there, where its range ends. The sky past it is different enough for a pretty stark magical contrast,” says David, “I felt it hit me with a spell while I was still rayshifting in, just as I hit the border—well, not a spell exactly. But not exactly a bounded field, either. …”

He considers, knuckles to his lips.

“…Alright you know how hallowed ground comes with its own set of area restrictions? It’s quite like a bounded field. But, areas can accrue such properties naturally, rather than having them set—”

“—I’m familiar with innate magic to a land, or spot, yes,” I say.

“—Right, well, it was like that,” says David, “It was natural magic…well. It didn’t feel naturally placed, but, that was the type. At a guess, I’d say someone has found a way to distort and redirect natural properties-“

“-Like they did with us, at Ur-Shanabi,” I say, “Didn’t the Doctor say that the world state is changed, and right now, all forms of energy transfer are in flux?”

He nods. “I think someone else has gotten a hand on that, and not in a good way. I mean, we knew as much. I can’t say I expected it to be at a degree that could peel off my contract in mid-air. I’m not even sure what natural magic could be reapplied to do that in the first place…”

Huh. I almost feel like I know the answer to that one. It would be something meant to equalize, isolate, or liberate. Where have I seen something like that in nature before?

“Well, anyway,” says David, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving me a piteous expression, “I’m terribly sorry about the misunderstanding. I couldn’t sense anybody in here, and I’ve been running around for a bit, so I was distracted by my relief I’d found you.”

“Sure,” I say, still distracted, “Sorry uh—that I punched your lights out.”

He shuts his eyes and smiles. “Understandable! And no permanent harm done. Actually, it’s sweet you care so much for our little chavera.”

Not really. I think we’re all pretty dedicated to keeping this thing going, and the kid breathing. “If being here snuffed our contracts, that means she can’t call anyone. Our coms are fucked too, so she can’t contact Chaldea. We have to find her as fast as possible.”

David nods, finally looking serious. “Indeed. The Doctor will be in the same position.”

Oh shit yeah, your kid. I’d completely forgotten he was here, but of course David hasn’t. I actually do feel bad about punching him now.

“What’s worse is a lot of our party might be Archers, but not all of us,” I add, because someone has to say it. At worst, all of the Archers have two days, if we don’t fight anything. Some of us, including David and me, a lot longer. But, the others?

“I have thought of that,” agrees David worriedly, “They might not be gone. It’s been less than half an hour, and even the least suited classes can generally hold out a few minutes. The Casters might be able to slow down their vanishing, by sucking energy out of the surrounding jungle, and the Avenger can survive for a while on his own.”

“—Which leaves the Assassin and the Lancer,” I say slowly. Shit, and Cu Chulainn’s our strongest fighter, too. I’d hate to lose him right out of the gate.

“Well, speaking about it won’t save them. If they’re lucky, maybe they’re not alone. One of us could keep them alive for a little while,” suggests David.

That’s so disgusting; God am I glad I landed near David, actually. I can’t imagine the deep discomfort of having to decide if I was going to watch that Lancer vanish, or make an offer both of us would kill me for. Oh God, and the Assassin’s a teenager. That’s even worse…

David pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Come. We have a lot of people to find.”

 “Sure,” I manage, refocusing on the mission. Well, at least we know where to start. “Look, before we rayshifted, they told us to head west, towards the ocean, if we got separated, or lost. If the kid’s landed alone, that’s what she’s going to do; she’s a smart girl. She won’t forget instructions that fast. For that matter, your s----”

David gives me the single most vicious look I’ve ever seen on him. Damn it…I’m going to make them regret giving me sensitive information. I’m usually so careful. What the hell am I doing?

“—suuupposed to, so, uhm—everyone should, including the two humans,” I manage.

David looks up at the sun, which, it being afternoon, is sliding towards the western horizon, and starts off towards it, gesturing me to follow.

“Hey,” I say in his head as we go, “You said you were here for fifteen minutes before finding me?”

“Yes?” he replies, sounding confused.

“I just got here. I did hit my head coming down, but not badly—I didn’t think I’d blacked out at all,” I say, “But, if that’s true, I’m missing something like thirteen minutes of time.”

David doesn’t stop moving, and neither do I—plenty of jungle to scour. But, I see his brow furrow.

“Odd.”

“Yeah, in a word,” I reply warily.

He thinks for a few seconds. “…My best guess would be that the magic shell here hit you a lot harder than it hit me. You don’t remember anything?”

The answer is ‘no,’ but I try anyway. Do I? There’s…the rayshift. I remember seeing sky, and jungle below me, and—

“…No,” I reply finally, “I remember…feeling like I hit ground, while still in the air. It hurt—knocked the breath out of me. But I don’t think it knocked me out, because I remember how it felt, and being confused by it, and if I remember being confused I hit something, then I was awake long enough to react to it. After that though…there’s nothing until I’m snapping off tree branches and scraping my face on my way down.”

“That isn’t very good,” says David worriedly.

Yeah, no shit. I don’t feel great about it myself…

“What’s oddest is that you didn’t wake up in the tree. You remember falling. How did you lose fifteen minutes, falling through the air?” says David in my head as he ducks under a particularly low-hanging branch on one of the trees ahead.

This is a great question, but, it’s one I don’t have an answer for. At all.

“Wait,” I say, and he stops; I stop beside him.

“Yes?” says David out loud, now that we aren’t moving. It’s almost uncanny how thick and tall the forest is—or, ‘jungle,’ I guess, is—so close to the river. When Da Vinci said to be careful of flooding, I assumed the reason we couldn’t climb trees would be the trees were all scrub. Now I’m a little unnerved by our location and my time discrepancy.

“You’re from the Age of Gods. Even as an Archer, you’ve got some sensitivity to magic, right? Can you…sense anything wrong with me?” I ask.

He tilts his head and considers. “A curse, you mean? Something to explain your memory?”

“No. Look, if I just got hit by something that blacked out a few memories, I don’t think it’s a real problem—physically, I’m fine,” I reply, gesturing broadly to the complete lack of damage, “But, if it took me fifteen minutes to hit the ground and I’m missing memories? Then where was I, that I don’t remember? Better not to take chances. As many heroes and monsters as can use some kind of geas or mind control…”

He nods. “Pragmatic. You seem quite yourself, mentally, and I sense nothing off right now, but I suppose someone could have hidden a nasty curse inside you.” David places a finger to his chin and thinks, then waves, and his kinnor appears in the air. “Well, I’m not sure I have the skill to seek out such things, but I do have the ability to banish them. It should only take a moment.”

Relieved, I follow his gesture to sit, and fold my legs. He sits opposite me and begins to play, eyes shut, focus as precise as a surgeon.

It’s truly incredible. King David acts so light hearted and irresponsible—annoying, even—most of the time, and yet he can create melodies so profound and moving, it makes me feel like I’m hearing music for the first time. It’s just a simple stringed instrument, but I feel worries ease and tension fade from my head as he plays. All my lingering doubts, my thoughts about John, Will, Marion—everyone. For a moment, this little lyre plays a song like the world is promising they’re all okay, and the struggle is over now.

A sound like a vase shattering snaps inside my head, and something rips out my left eye from inside, to David and my immense shock.

He yelps and jerks back, snatching at whatever has just ejected from my body, and I scream in pain and reel back against a tree. It hurts. It hurts! It hurts so fucking much. I can’t be down an eye! I need that shit to aim!

Cursing and writhing with as much dignity as I feel I need to scrape together for David, which thankfully isn’t much, I cling to my left eye socket and try to stop the bleeding. “Fuck! What the hell was that?!”

“I don’t know!” comes David’s worried and confused voice, “I didn’t expect anything to happen at all—I sensed no malevolent presence anywhere near you!”

“Well I think you missed something!” I growl from the dirt. Fuck that hurt!

“Are you okay? Did that really take your eye out?” comes David’s worried voice. I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Are you in a lot of pain? –You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“YES! I’m in a lot of pain! Something just blew out one of my eyes from the inside!” I snarl. At least having someone to yell at makes me feel a little better.

There is the familiar sound of David’s kinnor, and a calm settles on me again. I feel the pain in my eye lift, and struggle back up as it clears my head a little, still covering the socket with my hand. “God I hope whatever that was isn’t something meant to steal eyes. If it was just like getting shot and it just happened to be my eye, it should grow back once I recover enough magical energy,” I mutter.

David gives me a sympathetic smile, then stops playing. He reaches into his cloak, and hands me a bright gold stone, the size of a shooter marble, or a slingshot round. It’s still got some of my viscera on it.

I grimace, and take the thing in my right hand.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” I say after a moment, glancing at David, “I mean, I have—there are rocks everywhere—but I can’t remember any kind of myth about a creature or a curse that leaves a crystal of some kind inside you.”

David starts to answer, and then looks alarmed, and snatches the rock out of my hand. I let him, because the last time that thing did something to me, it blew out my eye, but nothing seems to happen. I give him a quizzical look.

“…Odd,” says David, inspecting the stone more closely, bringing it up to an eye and squinting—which uh, I absolutely would not do if I was him, considering what just happened to mine. “I sensed magic—it was interacting in some way when you held it. Here!” He pushes it back into my hand. “Hold it again!”

“I don’t want to hold it!” I snap, throwing it back, “I’m not a huge fan of the way it interacts with my body!”

“Oh, just hold it!” pleads David, catching it and leaning on top of me to shove it against my chest, since I won’t take it.

“Get off!” I snap, but I quit halfway to shoving him off, because I feel it interacting with me. There’s a…a hum to it, almost. It doesn’t hurt. Actually, I feel the remaining pain in my eye dwindle to nothing. What the hell?

Confused, I slowly remove my left hand from my socket. I can see. Poorly, but I can see.

“Oh, well, that’s so deeply disgusting,” says David lightly, trying to smile, “Good thing there’s not a reflective surface here! But you keep at it—I think it’ll reform the rest of the way pretty quickly if you keep absorbing energy from that! Just turn your head away from me please—I don’t want to see it.”

It’s incredibly weird, but I know he’s right. I don’t have very high magic abilities, but even I can sense when I’m actively using it, and I’m definitely absorbing something out of the rock.

“I’m…not sure I should do this,” I say, removing the marble from his hand, and closing my own, gloved hand around it. The sensation stops. “Whatever it is, I don’t really want to chance some other creature getting a glimpse out of my eye because I used its magic to heal myself. I’ll just keep it shut and wait for it to heal on its own.”

“Well, fair enough,” agrees David. He tears off a length of his scarf, and I use it to wrap my head, covering my left eye. “…What about the stone?”

I hold the little marble in my hand and think. Shit, I don’t know. “Well, I could toss it, in case it can track us or explode. Or, I could hold onto it, in case one of the casters can figure out what it is once we meet up, or whoever planted it would just use it again.”

“Of two minds,” agrees David thoughtfully, putting a finger to his lips again. “…flip a coin?”

“That’s not very intelligent, or strategic,” I sigh, “But, on the other hand, I don’t want to spend any more time on it, and there’s no one here to judge us, so…I won’t tell if you won’t?”

David grins angelically. “Tell what? I don’t remember anything odd happening when we were alone at all.”

I smile back in spite of myself, dig out the coin Ur-Shanabi used as a catalyst for me, and flip it. “Heads with me, tails we leave it,” I call, and I catch the coin and open my fist. I hold it up to show David tails. He nods contentedly, and I pull back and chuck the rock as far as I can. Which, as an Archer, is several miles. Shit. Wait. Hope I didn’t hit anything living with it. ...Oh well. Too late now.

I turn and follow David again, making a steady path east.

--------------------------------

Well. At least I didn’t land by any of those snakes or crocodiles Da Vinci was talking about, I think, trying to make myself feel better.

I’m not sure how long it’s been. I wish I had thought to bring a watch. It feels like so long though, and nobody’s found me. Does that mean something’s wrong?

Nervous, I look at the back of my hand. The command spells there remain a stark red. They were able to recharge my first two at Chaldea, so I’m back to three. Maybe…that means that it would be okay to use one?

No. Don’t be like that Ritsuka. You can do this! Da Vinci and Doctor Romani said to only use one to call a heroic spirit to you if you were in danger. ‘I’m scared’ doesn’t count as being in danger. Remember how useful the one you used to save Kotarou was? What if you waste one on this now, and can’t heal one of your friends later?

Still…Da Vinci said on her last check-in over coms that they still couldn’t get a fix on where I am. …The rational part of me that got instructions on what to do when I was a toddler knows that you’re supposed to stay put when lost, because if you move, then you might walk into a place the people looking for you already checked, and won’t think to check again. You might even keep on passing them back and forth forever. When, if you stay, then a methodical searcher has to find you eventually. …But, before the rayshift, we were told to go west if we got separated and couldn’t communicate. I know I can communicate, and I’ve been told to stay, but I see the sun setting, which it does in the west, so I know where west is. I really want to get going. I feel antsy the longer I stay here, like…like I’m running out of time.

Maybe…Maybe if I ask if that’s okay, they’ll say yes?

It can’t be bad to try, right?

“Hello?” I say, turning on my coms, “Doctor, Da Vinci, uhm—I was wondering. It’s been a while, and I still don’t even know where I am. Are you sure it wouldn’t be smarter for me to head west, like we planned? Once I hit the coast, I’d be sure to see stuff I could point out as landmarks, and there was supposed to be a town nearby, right?”

Anxiety building, I wait for their reply.

It doesn’t come.

Anxiety turns to panic.

“Doctor! Da Vinci! Anyone! Please, come in?!”

Nothing. Frantic, I check my coms, and they’re definitely on. I turn them off again anyway, just in case, then back on. I can hear static on the other end, so I know they’re not just dead, but if they’re replying, I can’t hear it!

“Anybody?” I call desperately into the earpiece, “This is Rit—” It explodes in my hand, and I yelp and fall back a step, staring in horror at the pieces. What just -?!

Oh forget it! This definitely counts as an emergency!

“Billy!” I call, raising by hand skyward, and I feel the spell pulse out—and then fold back in on itself like a spring, unused. No. “Billy, here!” I try again desperately, and again, my command spell tries to take, and something stops it.

Oh god.

Sick with worry, I cling to my hand and look around. I can’t even see what’s happening, but there’s no way my coms just randomly exploded! Something’s happened!

At the very edge of my hearing, I pick up something coming this way. I don’t know what to do! I can’t fight well on my own! Do I hide?!

I look around for anywhere to do that—a-at least the foliage is thick! Praying for luck, I scramble away from the sound, and into the bushes and trees, trying to make sure I don’t snap branches and leave tracks behind me—trying to remember the little Billy and Kotarou and Robin told me about sneaking while we were building stuff inside Blade Works. Ahead, I see a tree whose roots are half visible from erosion at the base, and I scramble among them, beneath it, and go as deep in as I can and press my back up to the dirt. I feel bugs crawling around with me, running along my neck and arms, and I remember what Da Vinci said, but all I can do is pray any ones that bite me won’t be venomous.

C-Come on. Think. W-What did he-?

“Your hair is bright, like me. Color gives away quick in the woods. That’s why hunters now wear orange.” I hear Kotarou’s voice in my head, and try to calm down and focus. What did he say after that? “Try to use whatever’s around you to hide that. For me, I usually would wear hoods and scarves. Masks aren’t just to hide your face, they’re also to hide your pale skin if you’re out in the night. Dirt’s not easy to use for hair, but it covers clothes and skin well, and it’s everywhere. Leaves and clothing are better for hair.”

Right! O-okay.

Shaking, I pull the green jacket of the mystic code that Da Vinci made me off, and tie it over my head like a hood, then start digging up fistfuls of earth and rubbing them over my skin as fast as I can. I hear them getting closer, up behind the tree. It’s got to be so many people for that many footfalls! That’s not good—my group wouldn’t have so many. Crap oh crap oh crap.

“This is where the signal stopped,” comes a voice I’ve never heard before, up near where I just was.

“Ah. There,” says another. The second voice is low and serious, firm. It scares me. “That’s why the signal cut out, Master.”

‘Master’? A heroic spirit?

“Damn it,” comes the voice of a third man. There’s an irritated sigh, and I hear something being kicked. “They must have finally figured out we were tracking it. Blown to bits, too—no way we can repair that and piggyback it. Well, no matter. They can’t have gone far. Go—find whoever it was.”

“Will you be waiting here?” comes the voice of the heroic spirit.

“We’ll search the immediate area,” replies the third man, who must be his master, “If it was a servant, though, they might have gotten pretty far already. You’re a rider, though. Catch them.”

“Sir,” replies the spirit.

There’s a sound like a rush of wind, and I squeeze my eyes shut and freeze. Please, please, please don’t let him find me.

“The rest of you!” calls the first person I heard speak, a man with a much higher voice than the master’s, “Let’s go—circle and expand outwards! If they’re hiding, find them. Search for any energy trails; they might be using a mystic code to try and cloak. Don’t forget to look up and check the trees.”

What must be a hundred voices call out assent, and I hear people everywhere, beginning to fan out.

I’m so dead! What am I gonna do?!

My brain flings images I don’t want it to into my head: Toujou. A knife by my eyes. I see all my friends on the ground, in pain. Robin trying to drag himself closer to me. Billy with his gun aimed and his hand shaking, blood dripping out of his ears. I see the images that were only ever in my head, of Mom and Dad and Akira, and what would be about to happen to them. I see Emiya’s face, waiting for me to order him to die. Thinking I’d do it.

I see me, helpless. I see Toujou. I see that knife so close my eyelashes brush against it.

Trembling, I hear footfalls close to me. Someone steps down from the little rise by the tree and hesitates, glancing around. He ducks, and shines a flashlight towards the roots, and I shut my eyes and stop breathing and pray.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry—you’ll wipe away the mud on your face—don’t cry.

The footfalls resume.

He missed me! I breathe again, choking back sobs. Ahead of me, I can see black boots and dark green uniforms, as men move on past me deeper into the jungle, armed with machetes and guns, searching for me.

And I realize. They’re going to turn around, at some point. They’re going to come back.

From the side, I’m hidden by the thickest roots, but from the back, where I crawled in…

I have to run.

My odds of being missed are so small. I know it. I know I should run. But where?! H-How will I get past them? I can’t!

I-I could stay. Maybe they won’t find me!

“No energy sensor response off the path!” calls a man far off to my right.

“Confirmed,” comes another from a long way back behind me.

“Goggles,” calls the man the servant called ‘Master,’ from up ahead and past me now, “Switch to infrared. It might be one of the humans; check for heat.”

No, I can’t stay. I’m dead if I stay. I have to run!

Okay. Okay you can do this Ritsuka. They fanned out, so their backs are all to you. Just walk forward, towards o-one of them, okay? A-and once you see a big rock or something, get on the other side, and try to circle around it when they go back.

I know it’s a bad plan. I know I’m not good at this. I know I’m little and scared and weak, and I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I. …I think I might be about to die. Or get captured, and…hurt, again. But I have to try. I can try. I can do this.

Digging for all the courage I’ve ever had, I wait for the soldiers to get a little further out, and then I crawl out from under the roots as fast as I can and bolt forward. On my first step, a hand closes over my mouth and nose and jerks me back.

I try to scream, but I can’t get any sound out—I can’t breathe! The man’s other arm locks around my arms, and he pulls me against his chest like it’s easy. For a moment I’m kicking at air, then he crouches, dragging me down with him—I’m fighting for my life but he’s so strong! I-I can’t do anything!

“Shh-shh-shhh,” comes a steady whisper in my ear, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to stay quiet, okay? If anyone hears us, it’s over. I’m going to let you breathe now. Don’t scream.”

I’m trying not to cry, but I don’t scream, just tremble as he lets go of my face and I can breathe again. I try to twist my head up to see him, and he obliges and loosens his grip to let me move a little, but he doesn’t let go.

The man holding onto me is wearing a uniform like all the others, dark green, with a logo that looks like an elongated star. He’s wearing an army cap, but under it, I see pale hair. He looks foreign. Maybe…maybe fifty? The man looks tired, and his face is worn and scarred, but he smiles at me, and his gold-brown eyes that looked so terrifyingly fierce a moment ago look gentle when he does.

“You’re the master of Chaldea,” he says as if he’s checking my nametag.

“H-How can you know that?” I ask. I didn’t even think they knew we existed.

“I wish I had time to explain,” says the man softly, “but I don’t. Now, I’m going to start walking. I need you to put your feet on top of mine, so we only leave my footprints, okay? We’re going to walk slow, and careful, and I’m going to make sure nobody sees you, alright?”

I nod, trembling, and try clumsily to get my feet on top of his.

“Hold onto my arm and stay as close to me as you can,” says the man. He wraps one arm around my chest, and I cling to it with all my might. Pressed against him to make as close to one silhouette as we can in the failing light around us, he clicks on a flashlight with the other hand, and begins to walk slowly north-east, mimicking the movements of all the other soldiers.

“You’re doing good,” he promises under his breath after a few seconds, “Alright. I’m going to take you as far as I can. If anybody spots us, I need you to scream and kick me. Make it look like you’re breaking free—I’ll let you go. Then keep running this direction, straight as an arrow. You hear that sound?”

I do my best to listen over the sound of my own blood pumping in my ears. There’s a…a not quite a rumbling sound. Something like it though?

I nod.

“Good. That’s a waterfall,” says the man calmly. His eyes have that razor sharp focus back in them, almost orange with the gold tint to them. It scares me. But—but the color is kind of like mine, which is comforting, and he’s helping me, so I swallow my fear and try really hard to listen and hold still. “There are three groups out here. You see the star on my chest?”

I glance up at the star near his shoulder again and nod.

“There’s another group with a symbol like a yin-yang, and one with a symbol like a crescent moon. All of us are your enemy,” continues the man in undertones, stepping carefully over a branch while keeping me balanced on his feet. “If my group catches you, they’ll kill you.”

I’m so scared I want to throw up. You can’t. Everybody’s counting on you! D-Do what he said. Calm down. Calm down calm down calm down; it’s gonna be okay.

“If the group with the crescent moon catches you, they’ll kill you,” he continues, voice level and calm. Factual, “But if the group with the yin-yang catches you, they’ll take you for questioning. This gives you a chance. Got it?”

I manage to nod. I can hear soldiers around us calling out updates to each other, and I want so bad to look, but I know people can sense when they’re being looked at, and might look back, so I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Good. That waterfall ahead is the boundary between our territory, and the yin-yang group’s. If you make it across the river, make as much noise as you can. We can’t follow you, and they should have border guards close. You’ll survive,” says the man, “I’m not going to be able to take you the whole way. I’m sorry. But I can give you a head-start. Just keep running towards the sound of the waterfall. The louder it gets, the closer you are to the river.”

“You’re not coming?” I ask, opening my eyes to glance up at him.

“I’m sorry; I can’t,” he replies, eyes still focused straight ahead, like a hawk scanning the ground for prey, “This is the best I can do.”

“…but,” I ask, my own voice sounding very small in my ears, “won’t you be in trouble for helping me?”

He pauses, for just a half-second, caught off guard, and glances down at me, then smiles. “Only if they catch me,” he replies with almost playful confidence.

It makes me smile back.

“3D mapping—area scan,” calls the first man I heard speak, off a long way to our right and behind us now.

Around us, about every other soldier stops searching to activate some handheld device, and they begin to trace beams of light around the environment.

Crap!

The man crouches, wrapping himself around me, and reaches both arms forward to inspect the ground ahead, as if looking for tracks. His coat is unbuttoned now, and falls loose on both sides, partially obscuring me.

“Stay calm,” he whispers, voice reassuring and confident, “Get as close to me as you can. We’re one heat signature. Nobody will notice, unless we give them a reason to notice. They’re not inspecting soldiers for an odd shape. They’re looking for heat signatures where they shouldn’t be.”

I lean back against him and then hold as still as I can. He moves calmly and with purpose, fingers tracing a branch I saw him snap himself, as if trying to determine if a human or animal caused it. A beam from the soldier fifteen feet to our right scans over us and I hold my breath.

It passes on behind us, and the soldier calls out, “Readings negative.” Voices around him echo the same.

“Widen the search area!” calls the first man.

The man with me stays crouched a few more seconds, tracing his fingers along the ground, then stands up again and continues to walk, shining his light methodically over the jungle ahead.

“Great job,” he whispers proudly, as if this is such a normal situation and I’ve done a good job on my math test, “Stay brave. It’s keeping you alive. It’ll keep you alive for a long time like this.”

“Who are you?” I ask in awe as we begin to walk again, holding his arm as he takes careful steps with my feet on his.

“Nobody,” he replies, a smile playing on his lips as he glances down at me, “I’m just a friend.”

The sound of the waterfall ahead is loud enough now that I can at least tell it’s water. For the first time, I start to feel like maybe I can really do this. He seems so sure, it makes it seem like it can really be done.

“…Thank you,” I whisper.

The man smiles, and looks at me for a moment as if thinking. He shifts his gaze back to the jungle ahead and keeps walking, but he speaks again when he does. “Listen-“

“—Ritsuka,” I tell him. I-I don’t know if he really cares, but I feel bad. He could get in so much trouble because of me, and I don’t even know what to call him.

“-Ritsuka,” he says, tightening his grip momentarily in a reassuring way, “I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to remember it. Alright?”

We’re at least twenty-five feet now, from the nearest soldier, and I feel a lot less terrified, but his voice is more tense than it’s been.

“I’m going to be playing your enemy while you’re here, and I can’t break character while anyone’s watching. I might have to hurt you and your friends. If I see you again, and I’m not alone, run from me like you would anybody else. This may be the only time I get to talk to you.” His voice is intent and grave, and his face is deadly serious when I look at him. He has that razor focus and the bright gold tint that sends shivers down my spine back in his eyes, but then he glances down and meets my gaze, and the look softens. “Please, though. Whatever happens, whatever I say later or do, know that what I’m telling you right now is the truth. I’m on your side.”

…I believe him. I mean, why else would he help me now? It’s not like I could possibly get away. …That’s not my only reason, though. There’s something about the look on his face, and I just…I trust him. It reminds me…I think it reminds me of the way Emiya looks at me. Emiya’s face gets cold and hard when he’s thinking about a fight, but he’s not like that really, and when he smiles, it’s like he’s lowering a shield to do it. That’s what this man makes me think of. Like the cold look itself is a weapon, and the smile is the real person behind it.

“Okay,” I whisper back, and I mean it.

“There will be a time in the future when I need you to trust me,” he continues, eyes on the jungle ahead, “When it comes, I’ll call you by name. And when I do, no matter what’s happening, I need you not to try and stop me. I need you to stay still, and think about wanting me to reach you.”

I must accidentally have let how confused I am show on my face, because he glances down and gives me an apologetic little smile.

“I know it’s strange, and I can’t explain it, but it’s the only way any of this works. It’s the only way. I promise, you’ve got the pieces now. When the time comes, it’ll all make sense. I just need you to trust me, and to remember this. Can you do that?” He stops moving and waits for an answer.

I meet his gaze. He looks so sincerely worried. I still don’t even have a guess who he is, or why he’s doing this, but…there’s something that makes me sure he’s trying to help.

“I promise,” I reply.

The man looks so relieved, almost happy for the first time, even. “Thank you,” he says like it’s him being rescued by me right now, and he pulls me close and kisses the top of my head like my uncle does, “Good girl. Now, you see that big tree ahead? When I walk up to it, I’m going to set you down. Once I do, you’re on your own. Walk slow and steady until you hear a shout. Once you do, start running. It’s a five-minute sprint from here. No matter what happens, don’t stop running. Even if they fire at you—even if they hit you. Get back up, and keep running. I promise you, as long as you do that, you’re going to make it to the river alive. I’ll make sure of it. And if you make it over the river, you survive. Are you ready?”

“No,” I choke out, but I try to smile up at him, “But I have to, so I will.”

“That’s the way,” he says reassuringly, “Good little adventurer. Run straight. Don’t look back for anything. Don’t stop.”

We reach the tree. I feel him let go, and he sets me on the ground, then steps back, one step, another. Only his hand is on my shoulder now. He gives it a squeeze.

“You can do this. Now: go.”

He lets go.

I start to walk. My steps are steady and slow, methodical, like his were. Constant, intentional, focused. I keep my eyes ahead, on the jungle. The sun is starting to go down, but I can see just fine, and I can hear the rush of water ahead.

Step, step. Another foot, another three. I keep walking, shoulders squared. I pass the first tree I picked out to walk towards at the edge of my vision, and pick a new one up ahead. I keep going.

“There!” comes a shout behind me, and I see a light shine past me and onto the jungle ahead.

I run. I run like I’ve never run before.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest; I can feel it in my throat, but I just keep going, tearing through underbrush and vines, over branches and roots.

Behind me, scores of voices fill the air. I hear people shouting at me to stop, at each other to stop me, to fire, and I hear the crack of a gun and jump in fear. Another goes off, another.

I’m shaking as the sounds like little explosions shatter the night behind me, but I keep running and running. I hear a tree by me crack as a bullet lodges in its side.

All I think is ‘run’. There’s nothing but blind fear inside me, and that one thought.

Run.

Something grazes my arm and knocks me forward, but I keep my footing and tear forward. If the jungle wasn’t so dense, I’d have to be dead, but everyone behind me is basically firing blind. Some part of me I didn’t know I had thinks, ‘You’re going to die, or you aren’t. You have no control, so run.’

I do.

The sound of water churning is getting so loud I just know I must be close. My lungs are burning with effort as I scramble over logs and rocks. The voices behind me are getting closer and closer, but I’m almost there myself. I’ve got to be.

Just run. Just run!

Something smacks me in the back, and I’m on the ground. I don’t remember falling. The pain explodes inside me, and I scream. My hand goes to the right side of my chest, and comes back red. The green of my jacket was brown with mud, and now it’s a wet russet. I realize in a panic I’ve been shot, and I can’t stop the bleeding.

‘Even if they hit you, get back up and keep running.’

I hear the man’s voice in my head. But I can’t—I’m not strong enough! All I can feel is the agony in my chest, and my arms shaking. I can’t push myself up! I keep seeing that vault room in my head, but there’s no one to save me this time.

The voices are getting so close. I hear someone shout, “She’s down! We got her!”

No. I promised!

With a scream of pain, I drag myself up, and start to stumble forward again, picking up speed until I’m choking for oxygen as I run.

I have to stay alive! I’m anchoring my friends! If I die, they have no magic to keep them going, and they’ll all die too! I can’t die—I won’t. I want to go home! I want to see Akira again—I promised him I’d be okay! I want to see Mom and Dad! I want to see Billy! I’m not going to die, not while there’s even a chance I could live!

My shoes squelch as blood runs down my leg and into my shoes. My lungs tear at me. My chest throbs with pain. My nausea builds.

But I just keep running.

There’s something like a bolt of light that slams just past my head, carving open a rock. I don’t even know what kind of gun could do that, and I don’t look. Run!

Ahead, I see clear blue through foliage—a break in the trees.

So many guns echo behind me, I’m sure every second that a bullet will go through my head. Terror turns into speed, and I crash through the last line of trees and stumble out onto the edge of the river.

I did it!

I’m so close! Digging deep for all I have left, I rush forward—but—I-I’m at the top of the falls, and the water is churning here—fast and strong. It’s only about fifteen feet across, but with the current this strong, how do I-? Do I cross on the rocks? They’re so small and so far apart—there’s no way I can jump that!

I hesitate in a panic, right at the edge of the waterfall. Crap! I—I have to try and swim, it’s all I can do! Even if I can’t, I have to try!

“Rider! Stop her!”

I know I have to jump in the water, but I’m so scared, I do what I was told not to, and I turn to look.

A tall man in some kind of roman armor stands at the edge of the trees. Through the slit in his helmet, I see fierce eyes like a raging firestorm.

They lock onto me, and he raises his hand and a bolt of light leaves his palm.

The shot hits me in the chest with a crack, and I go flying off the falls.

Everything feels slow around me.

My back hits something and I grab onto it on reflex. A jolt slams through me as my arms take my body weight and snap my fall to a stop.

A vine, curling out over the falls from one of the trees—that’s what I knocked into—what I grabbed. I'm clinging to it above the fifty-foot drop for dear life. About ten feet up, I hear shouts, and I see the man in armor step into view. He raises his hand at me again as men with guns join him on the ridge to finish me off. I hear the water churning below me, and I know my odds of hitting deep water safely have to be almost nonexistent, but I have to try!

I let go.

Wind rushes past and I tuck my limbs in straight and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to brace for the coming pain if I live. I hear myself scream.

Something hits me in the back, then under the legs, and I feel my descent slow.

Huh?

So scared I can barely think, I open my eyes, and there’s an old man looking back at me. I realize on a delay that I’m in his arms. And we land gently, on a large rock in the middle of the little river below the falls.

I-I’m alive?

Up on the ridge, I hear shouts and movement, and all the relief of a second ago is torn away. I look and can’t see them, but I hear them making their way down.

“H-Help,” I manage, my voice sounding so broken and small in my ears. I think I’m crying. “Help me, please! I-I have to get to the other side of the river—I have to run—please—”

I try to get out of the old man’s arms, but I can barely move. There’s no strength left in me. I see so much blood on my chest, I think maybe I could die any second. I try again, and I can’t even sit up in his arms. I break into sobs; I couldn’t feel more trapped if I was encased in concrete. No. Not so close!

“Please,” I cry.

The old man glances at me, then over at the edge of the river. I look too, and see lines and lines of men with guns form ranks and take aim. The tall man in gold armor is with them.

“Drop her,” calls the man the Rider called ‘Master,’ his own gun leveled at the old man holding me.

“No,” says the old man casually, as if he’s not worried at all by this army of death, “I rather don’t think I will.”

“We have a truce with you,” spits the Master, tightening his grip on his gun, “Getting in our way is a breach of contract. Your Master wouldn’t look kindly on that.”

‘Your Master’? I think, looking up at the old man again. He sounds English, and his clothing is very different from the soldiers chasing me. I look for the yin-yang, or the crescent moon the kind soldier told me about, but neither is on him. He’s wearing a tailored brown suit with a dark cape that fans out at the collar. There is a medal like a coat of arms pinned to his shoulder, but the symbol on it isn’t any of the things I was told to look for—there’s an x and four butterflies.

“Getting in your way on your own turf is a breach,” agrees the old man readily, shifting his stance so his side faces them, and he’s half-between them and me, “But I’m not on it, and neither is she, if you’ll just take a look.”

Irritated, a man with a slightly different uniform then the rest steps up beside the Master and speaks, and I recognize his high voice as the man I heard directing the search. “You’re in the river. That’s no-man’s land.”

“Oh, am I?” asks the old man without an ounce of sincerity, blinking down at the rock, “Damn these old eyes. Well, I suppose that makes what to do a matter of opinion, rather than contract, as I don’t recall any particular rules about no-man’s land itself. Unfortunately, as reasonable as your request is, the young lady here asked me for my help only moments before. I’m terribly sorry, but you see it’s a bit of a first-come, first served in my time off, and well, she was just so much politer than you.”

“Last warning,” says the man with the high voice and unique uniform, “You aren’t the only servant here. We’ll make you regret it.”

There is a glitter in the old man’s eyes, and a hidden sharpness like he’s gripping a concealed knife in his sleeve when he speaks, “Will you?”

Someone fires, and instantly the landscape is engulfed in the sound of guns. I cry out and squeeze my eyes shut, flinching and trying to brace to be shot again. I feel movement, incredibly fast, but no pain, and I open my eyes again just in time to see the old man holding me reach the pinnacle of a 30-foot leap, and summon a massive coffin. He shifts me into just his left arm, and catches a chain attached to the top of the coffin, then swings it like a mace as he comes down on the army, knocking back the first two lines of gunmen below.

The spirit who must be a Rider moves forward just as fast, leaping onto the coffin as it lands, and springing off it at us. He draws the sword at his side and lunges at the old man’s head, but the old man lets go of the chain to summon a walking cane, and manages to knock his blade to the side.

The coffin vanishes, and the Rider and the old man land at the edge of the river and begin to cross blades in the water, me still clinging to the old man for dear life. He’s fast—ducking and deflecting, as the man in armor slices at him again and again, relentless, but focused. They’re both so fast, I can only see the cane and the sword for instants at a time, when they meet. The movements are nothing like the fighting I saw Cu Chulainn or Emiya do—it’s just as fast, but it’s restrained on both sides, feeling out their enemy’s ability with precision and calculation, not trying to overwhelm it with brute force or determination. They move like fencing matches I’ve seen in the Olympics, carefully navigating the rocky edge of the river without ever looking away from their opponent. Even holding me with one arm, the old man seems able to stand his ground. He dodges or parries every thrust, and the Rider, even with less range, seems to effortlessly deflect every swipe he takes.

On the shore, I hear the soldiers shouting and cursing, but I don’t hear more gunshots—I-I guess we’re moving so fast, they’d be too likely to shoot their own servant on accident. I want to look for the man who helped me, but I’m so afraid that one of the other soldiers might notice and I might give something away, so I don’t. I just pray he’s okay.

The speed of blows between the servants speeds up as they get a feel for the style the other man is using, and they begin to leap and duck so fast, I can barely see anything at all. Even the sound of blows is so fierce, I know being hit by the flat of a blade would shatter my bones. Water kicks up around us as they dodge and skid about one another. The old man sweeps at the Rider’s feet, and the Rider sees it coming and jumps early, slamming a foot onto the cane and pinning it there. Target wide open, the Rider lunges at the old man’s chest, but just as quick, the old man rips the head of the cane back, drawing a hidden sword from inside it, and swings up to deflect the blow.

The cane sword is long and thin, wickedly sharp, and the older man starts to go on the offensive, pushing the Rider back as he adds thrusts to his attacks, but it’s like the much more deadly weapon doesn’t even make a difference, and after the first two swipes, the Rider adjusts effectively, and begins to push him back again.

How? The Rider’s sword is so much shorter. He has a lot less range too, a-and I can see that the old man is skilled!

It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because he’s trying to protect me and fight at the same time. What if I get him killed? I-I want to help, but I don’t know what to do! I’m afraid anything I try would just distract him! I try as hard as I can to think of a way, but it’s getting hard to think at all. I can still feel wetness spreading along my chest. It hurts so bad. All I want to do is go to sleep, but I’m too scared to shut my eyes.

The Rider makes a lunge, and the old man slides to the side, using his momentum to sling water from the edge of his cape at the Rider’s eyes. Just as quick, he steps in and thrusts his sword at the opening in the Rider’s helmet, and the Rider doesn’t dodge. Instead, he moves towards the blade, and I think the blade is going to go through his head, but at the last second, a circular shield appears in his open left hand, and he slams it up, knocking the cane sword to the side as he lunges, and his swipe catches the old man across the chest and shoulder, carving a spray of bright red.

No!

My rescuer lets out a sound of pain. Banking on his momentum, the Rider rams the edge of shield into the old man’s side and knocks him back a step, stepping in and swinging for his chest again as he does, and I do the only thing I can think of and shout, “STOP!” at the top of my lungs, raising the hand with command seals.

The command seal fails like I know it will, but like before, a bright ring of light and energy pulses out from my hand before collapsing in on itself, and blinded by the sudden surge of mana, the Rider falters. The old man, whose back is to the light, doesn’t; he runs him through.

Sensing the blade at the last second, the Rider manages to twist and take the sword through his arm instead of his chest, but he falls back bloodied.

“Enough!” calls the Rider’s Master, “Rider! Return!”

Instantly, the Rider is gone, landing back at his master’s side, blood still trickling down his arm.

The old man holding me straightens up, his own chest bleeding like mine now, and lowers his sword.

“Winning would be easy, but this isn’t worth tipping our hand,” says the master to his servant. He turns to the old man then. “Take her, then. But you crossed to our side and injured sixteen of my men just now—your master will hear about this. I will see you’re properly disciplined.”

“Dear me, how petrifying,” says the old man, “I do take it we’re done then, though?” He glances at the Rider, and gives him a little nod. “Not bad, Rider. I’m sure it’s difficult carrying your entire faction on your back, but I daresay you are uniquely qualified for it.”

I haven’t seen a real expression on the Rider’s face before, past the helmet, but I see a hint of a grimace at that. “Archer,” he says, voice low, and I recognize it from before, when I was hiding. “For a man who avoids the front lines with such abandon for those on it, it seems you can protect at least one other when pressed. In that singular aspect, I can respect you.”

The tension in the old man’s posture eases a little.

“Come on,” says the Rider’s Master, “This will sort itself. We have more work to do.”

“Move out,” orders the man with the unique uniform.

Angry, the gunmen follow orders and begin to retreat their own way again, some helping along or carrying wounded comrades. The Rider stays and studies us for another moment, then turns and follows his master back into the trees with the rest.

The old man stands still until they’re gone, then his sword-cane vanishes, and he glances at me again. “You still alive, my dear?”

I start crying.

The Archer looks amused and a little sympathetic. He shifts his grip to hold me in both arms again, and leaps effortlessly to the other side of the river. “Now-now. Cheer up—you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Th-Thank you,” I manage. I’m trying so hard to stop crying, but I can’t. It’s like my body’s trying to cry all the fear in me out, and I can’t make it stop.

“Welcome,” replies the Archer, “Not a bad trick there with the command spells yourself.” He glances at them with interest. “How did you do that? I didn’t think one could cancel a command mid-call.”

“I didn’t—something’s wrong with them here. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything better to help. Are you okay?” I ask through the tears.

He preens. “Naturally. It was just a flesh wound—not to worry. Now, you on the other hand are in a rather bad way, aren’t you?”

I feel tears spilling down my cheeks. “A-Am I going to die?”

“Oh, not to worry,” promises the Archer. He finagles a kerchief from his pocket while holding me, and sets it in my palm, then guides my hand against the wound. “Just keep pressure on it for me, will you? I’ll get you to a medic momentarily.”

I do as he says, and hold the cloth against my wound with all my might, even though it hurts so bad I want to scream, and he turns to the jungle and begins to run, weaving effortlessly through it so fast I only see the trees we pass as blurry colors.

“I-I’m Ritsuka,” I choke out, trying as hard as I can to stay strong, “What do I call you?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean my True Name?” asks the man. He considers. “Probably not supposed to share that with you. –Faction advantages and all that. I suppose you could call me ‘Archer.’”

I can’t hold it in anymore, and I begin to sob uncontrollably.

“—D-Don’t take it that hard, m’dear,” says the old man apologetically, ���It’s standard procedure.”

“I’m sorry,” I sob, “It’s not you; I’m just scared.”

I can’t get any other words out, so I just bury my head in his vest and cry and cry and cry, until I don’t think there’s any water left in me to keep going.

When I finally stop, and my brain calms down enough to think, I can see his shirt is soaked through. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s alright,” he says, and his voice is a little softer. I leave the vest to look up at him, and it’s getting so dark that I can’t see him well anymore through my swollen eyes, but I think he gives me a reassuring smile. “You’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you, my dear?”

I press my head against the vest again. He smells like old books. “Thank you for saving me, Archer,” I manage in a choked whisper, “I’m so sorry I got you hurt.” I don’t have anything left to cry with, but my body tries, and I end up just kind of trembling.

He doesn’t say anything this time.

I’m so tired, I think I pass out. Maybe I’m just so weak that my memory is faulty. Everything around me starts to get fragmented and disjointed, and then I’m not in the jungle anymore somehow; I’m surrounded by buildings made of metal, and there are people moving about around us. I blink, and try to lift my head and focus on them. Where…am I? What’s going on?

My vision is so blurry, everybody just looks like shapes. It’s too hard. I shut my eyes again.

“Well I’ll be damned,” says someone, “Hall called to complain about you stealing some quarry of theirs and brutally attacking their men for no reason. We were all taking bets—I can’t believe you scored the jackpot. Kayano’s gonna be thrilled.”

“She’ll be less thrilled if the girl dies,” says the Archer, “Nearest medic?”

“Someone should be on shift in A wing,” says the first speaker.

I hear the words, but my brain feels heavy and confused. I don’t understand them. Trying hard to drag myself up from the weight of my exhaustion, I lift my head again and try harder to focus.

The man carrying me opens a door, and steps into a hallway. Human shapes turn to look our way, and I realize on a delay that they’re soldiers with guns. I gasp and cling to the Archer, beginning to tremble. “Run, Archer!” I plead, terrified for us, “They have guns!”

“Who’s this?” says one of the soldiers.

“A prisoner in need of a medic,” says Archer’s voice.

Prisoner?

He moves towards the guards, and I bury my face against his vest again, cringing as I wait for a bullet.

“It’s alright,” comes the Archer’s voice much lower, almost a whisper, “They aren’t here to shoot you.”

“How do you know?” I whimper from in the vest.

I feel his hand pat my shoulder.

“Christ. What did you do to her?” comes a voice I’ve never heard, “You know we wanted her alive, right?”

“I didn’t do this!” says the Archer, indignant, “Where do you need her?”

“On the table,” comes the same voice, more rushed, “Hey! Akami—I need two more in here. We’ve got a patient who’s lost a lot of blood.”

I hear the sound of people rushing about, then I’m pulled away from the vest. On a disjointed delay, I realize the Archer is setting me down.

“No, wait!” I say in a panic, clinging to his arms and trying to climb back up to his chest.

“Easy!” A woman in light blue scrubs catches my shoulder and starts to push me down against a table.

“No! Please!” Frantic, I dig my fingers into his sleeve for dear life, “Please don’t go!”

The Archer gives the woman an awkward glance.

I start to thrash, trying to kick the strange woman off of me and get back to my friend. “Help!”

“Shit—guards! Help me hold her down! Akami—I need 47mg of Propofol, now!” shouts the woman.

“Should I just stay?” asks the Archer.

“Please, please,” I sob.

“No!” shouts the woman over me, “You’re in the way!”

Men with guns reach us, and pin me against the table as I thrash. They’ll kill me! I can’t! I can’t die! I promised Akira! I-I want to live! I need to live! I scream and fight, but they’re so strong. Someone presses my head to the side and down against the table, and there’s a sharp, stabbing sensation in my neck.

My head feels funny. Sound begins to fade, and I tell my body to move, but I can’t.

There are so many strange people, in dark purple uniforms with a little symbol like a yin-yang on their chest. They all look so angry and scary. I can’t remember where Billy is. Why am I alone?

My eyes feel heavy.

Past the scary men and women, I see the old man who helped me. He’s watching from by the door. When he sees me looking at him, he smiles sympathetically at me and waves. Does…does that mean…I’m okay?

I can’t keep my eyes open.

I guess…I’m pretty tired…

I should…should……

rest…

--------------------------------

“Octavia, Marcus—anything on Robin and David? Like—at all?” I plead.

The pair of staff members give me sympathetic looks, and Marcus shakes his head.

“Damn it!” I say, whirling my chair back around to face my own desk, “Elron, Kawata, Meuniere?”

“Well, everyone’s alive,” offers Elron, “Other than that, monitoring their readings hasn’t turned up anything useful, except that Robin’s all over the place…”

“-Mapping has improved! We were able to coordinate a lot of the data we got from Emiya and Kotarou, and the small amount of actually useful information Mozart gave us,” says Kawata right on his heels, “It’s not great, but we have a general idea of where in Peru they are now—which is a lot further inland than we were aiming for.”

“And-“

“—What about Ritsuka’s location? –Sorry Meuniere I’ll come back to you,” I say.

“Well, we narrowed it down on Emiya and Kotarou’s information, assuming she’s in one of the blind spots. Cross-referencing that with her description of local flora, she’s north and east of Salieri and Mozart somewhere, but that’s as much as we’re sure,” says Kawata in the voice of someone very sorry because they know how little this helps.

“—Hang on—I’m sorry Ji—uh—Meuniere-?—uhm—do you prefer Jingle, or Meuniere-?” cuts in Roman apologetically.

“Uh, I haven’t thought about it, I guess,” replies Meuniere thoughtfully, “Just so long as you can pronounce it right, I’ll take either.”

“I’m gonna go with Jingle then,” says Roman, somehow with a completely straight face, “I think the first-name basis camaraderie could really help given the uh—the ‘well this is all a nightmare’-ness of the situation. –A-Anyway, back to you in a second; Elron—what do you mean Robin’s been ‘all over the place’? Every time I’ve checked his vitals, they’re fine—well—they’re very, very slightly weaking every second, but he and David are the Archers with the highest Independent Action status, so, by an extremely miniscule amount."

"--Yeah, uh, that's because they only read insane parameters every so often, and for like, a second,” replies Elron, “You remember that human kid, inside Unlimited Blade Works that you told us about?”

“Patxi?” says Adele, who has joined Chaldea staff in the command room after proving her coding skills and arguing her way inside.

“Yes, the Russian,” agrees Elron, “You all mentioned that time was one of the forces in flux right now, and for someone reason, that caused him to—for brief moments of time, and without any lasting damage—appear shot.”

Adele, who I guess never saw that happen, glances at her brother, who has similarly argued and proven his way inside—albeit to the group handling data scanning and translation.

“I saw that,” agrees Macarios, “Freaky. He’s not the only one though—I think he’s just the first one we noticed.”

“—Well, I figure what’s going on with Robin is probably the same,” says Elron, “—I’m keeping an eye on it, and I’m recording the fluctuations in the log, just in case, but it always goes back to normal shortly after.”

“…Hmm—send me that file?” says Roman.

“—Uh—what were you going to add, Meuniere?” I circle back as the Doctor begins to pour over Robin’s log.

“I was going to say that from the air samples, we’ve collected a lot of data on the area that shouldn’t be there,” says Meuniere.

“Shouldn’t be there?” I echo.

“Yeah,” he agrees worriedly, “There’s magic concentration like we’re in the age of Gods or something. We knew energy transfer was in flux, but this is way beyond what we predicted. Or…makes sense.”

“…Which suggests to you..?” I prompt.

“Well…” he pushes his glasses up, “I noticed a really small density reading change in some of the areas our people are in compared to others. Out of curiosity, I asked Mozart to send a familiar out as far from the action as possible, towards the sea. It’s not reached the end of its range yet, but last transmission it sent, the energy has already dropped steeply, towards the upper end of what we expected.”

“So,” says Roman, who must have been half-listening after all, “That means either something in this specific part of the jungle is generating extra magical energy, or it’s being stored or drawn here by something.”

“Exactly,” says Meuniere, “Damned if I know what that means or what could cause it, but. It’s definitely a thing.”

Hmmm….

“Roman? How about you—anything on Robin’s data?” I ask, whirling my chair to him, which, since he’s at the desk next to me, is super easy.

“I regret giving you a wheelie chair,” he says, eyeing me tiredly, “—Elron was right about it not seeming to have caused him any permanent damage. It’s not a time fluctuation though. It’s an item.”

“An item?” asks Elron from over at his station.

“Or a spell that’s already been cast,” adds Roman, “But my money is on item. It’s really hard to flip a powerful spell on and off and on and off again, but it’s not hard to open and close a box with an artifact inside.”

“Weird,” I comment, “But, if it’s an item, then it’s almost certain he’s the one essentially turning it on and of, so at least we don’t have to worry.” I pat Roman on the shoulder.

He still looks worried, but he tries to give me a smile. “Uhm…Alright—We’ll need to check in and give Ritsuka an update soon. I wish we had anything but ‘sorry keep waiting,’ to say, but at least she’s safe. …It’ll be sundown in a few hours though, and…in the jungle alone.”

“—Don’t worry. We’ve got time,” I encourage, “Everyone already split up to look, and we know the general areas to check out.”

“—I-I’m getting a call from Akira and Mash,” says Roman, harried, “Can you please check in with me? It’s been a while since we made sure he wasn’t…you know, being hunted by some monster again?”

“Sure-sure—tell the kids I say ‘Hi’ and ‘Great job kicking ass in France!’ Mash is already so much stronger—I watched that last fight,” I say.

He smiles, and then turns away, answering the call.

As bad as it probably is that Roman split into two again, I’m pretty relieved not to be doing all this alone. Having him here means we can tag-in, tag-out who handles the kids in Orleans, and who handles the group in Peru. Trying to do both simultaneously would have been a nightmare.

“Heeey, Romani!” I say, pinging his communicator.

“Ah—Da Vinci. I was hoping you’d check in. Any news on Ritsuka?” comes his garbled voice. We’ve done everything we can to improve the connection, but ‘poor quality’ is the best we’ve been able to upgrade to.

“She’s still fine,” I reassure, and since I’m sure he’s wondering even if he won’t ask, I add, “No sign of David and Robin yet, but their readings have remained optimal. I’ll be sure to let you know if that changes.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

“How about yourself?” I ask.

“Well, I’m alive,” he tries rather pitiably to joke, “Uh—air quality isn’t great, and I haven’t been able to move up towards the surface at all, but I’m working through this floor of maze pretty well. I can at least keep a record of where I’ve been, and I am extremely glad to confirm that at least the walls don’t move. I don’t have enough magical energy to scan very far ahead, but I’ve picked up a reading I think might be a leyline! I’m heading towards it. Slow going, but okay so far. Once I get there, if I’m right and it is a leyline, I’ll have some real options.”

A massive weight lessens just a little on my shoulder. I smile even though there’s no one to see. “It’s good to hear your voice,” I say, a pang in my chest.

“Huh?” comes his confused reply.

Crap. Da Vinci, why did you say that to the poor man? You’re a stranger. “—I mean, I can see your readings, but just the same, every time I check in with one of you and you actually say, ‘Don’t worry, Da Vinci, I’m still alive!’, it really puts my fears to rest,” I cover pretty flawlessly. I almost wish I wasn’t so good at lying—it doesn’t give a lot of chance to everybody else.

He chuckles—nervously, I’m pretty sure—but hey, a laugh is a laugh. “Well, glad to help! I am still alive, and I’m going to keep heading towards that reading I hope is a leyline.”

“Great. You keep it up, and we’ll check in again soon,” I say.

“Ah.” He sounds disappointed. I shouldn’t be surprised—I mean, he’s down there completely alone in some pitch-black labyrinth with a horrible creature in it. I’d be hoping for some conversation too. “—Uh—before you go! Any word on the others? Is everyone still okay?”

“Mmmm, mostly,” I reply, which is mostly the truth, “Emiya took a pretty bad hit in a fight with another spirit, but he’s on the mend. Billy got a little scraped up too. Other than that, so far everyone is fine. We’ve gained a lot of information, too.”

“…Could uh. …Look, I know I’m…’there’ already, sort of—but the me here on the ground would really like whatever information we’ve figured out too. I know you have to be slammed trying to monitor all of this and Mash and Akira’s work at the same time, but is there anyone up there who could just give me a summary of what we know so far?” he asks, “—It doesn’t even really have to be a staff member! I’m sure if you pulled someone else in from outside, they could read data to be.”

That’s not a half-bad idea, and I feel bad for him, so. “Yeah, no problem,” I say cheerily, “Hang on.” I mute my com link. “Hey Octavia? Could you go snag a civilian volunteer? Anyone who can read and is willing to sit and do it out loud for a while will work.”

“You got it,” calls Octavia, hopping up.

“We’ll have someone on it in just a minute,” I promise, unmuting, “They’ll call you back.”

“Thanks,” comes Romani’s voice. He sounds relieved but also sad, “Sorry I can’t be of more help myself right now.”

“Well, in a way you actually are,” I say, glancing over at the other ‘him,’ “He’s doing a bang-up job of running the Orleans scenario. –You want me to have him give you a call when he’s done, update you on that too?”

“That would be great, actually,” says Romani, “—Da Vinci? Uhm. Thank you.”

“Of course!” I say, practically sparkling, “It’s my job as resident genius.”

“…Not just that,” says Romani.

Oh?

“Is uhm. Is this a private channel?” asks Romani.

I glance over at Duston and Meuniere who are both suddenly trying to look as if they are totally absolutely positively not listening in, which they are clearly doing.

“Hang on!” I say angelically, and I end Romani’s call and blast the volume up on my own line and clap in front of the mic, making those two jump and wince and snatch their headphones off. I swap my active channel to my personal line instead of the open mission channel for Romani, and call him back. “Okay! Now we’re alone. What’s up? Keeping in mind that I can’t help people from overhearing my verbal half of this conversation.”

“Yeah. Uhm,” comes Romani’s awkward voice, “…I know we can’t really get into it, and we shouldn’t—whatever happened in your—whatever is going to happen, to me. With all of us. But, uhm…Just. The way you greeted me, I have the sneaking suspicion that I die first.”

Shit… I don’t say anything.

“That’s not really a surprise. I’ve always known I was going to,” he adds, somehow almost fondly, “But…you stayed. That means I left Mash and Ritsuka with you. So, thank you. I don’t know what happens, after I’m gone. But I can guess, and, I know enough to know I left you with a hell of a mess to handle all alone. I’ve leaned on you so much in seventy-two hours. I uh…I have to imagine I did it even more, for a whole year of command. And then, when I was gone, you didn’t have you to lean on. So, thank you, for taking care of the kids, and the world, and…my whole awful, hopeless, pile of a mess. …And, I’m also sorry. I’m sorry I left you to do it alone. And…I’m sorry it got you killed.”

“…Why are you telling me this now?” I ask him.

“I don’t know,” he replies, and I don’t like it, “…I’ve just got kind of an odd feeling. It…occurred to me that I don’t actually know what’s going to happen, and, you know. You never know when it’s your last chance to say something like that-“

I rip off my headphones and drop them on the desk. “I’m going in!”

“-What?!” says Roman, startling from his chair beside me and looking frantic, “Oh, please don’t! I need you here!”

“Your ‘self,’” I say with angry air quotes, “is giving me his death speech! I’m not sitting around to find out why!”

“Da Vinci-!” tries Roman, swiping at my shoulder and missing.

I storm out towards the coffins in a fury. You are not doing this to me again!! Hell no! Not a day into an operation!

I hear pounding footsteps behind me, and Doctor Roman dashes past me and skids to a stop, pinwheeling to face me. “Wait wait wait! Please!”

“I know, Roman! I know you need me here!” I say, pausing and gesturing angrily, “But I’m not staying!”

“It isn’t like that!” tries Roman, “He—We didn’t mean it that way! This whole thing is just really weird, for all of us!” I push past him, and he gets in my way again. “—We don’t know how to talk to you!”

“This isn’t about how you talk to me; it’s about keeping you alive!” I snap.

I forge on, and this time he clamps his hand around my wrist and jerks me to a stop. I turn in surprise to see his face is dead serious, like it almost never is.

“You let me die last time,” argues Roman calmly, “—You knew, right? …Yeah. You must have always known. You were fine with it. You understood it had to happen. Nothing’s changed. We ran the math already—you were there. Even if he dies, our existences only snap together when we’re in the same moment of time. They’re a year in the future in Peru. I’ve got less than a year to stop this, and you know what happens at the end, right?”

I’m quiet. I stop trying to pull away, but I don’t look at him.

“You knew that, right?” says Roman more softly. His grip loosens. “I’m never going to be in two-thousand and seventeen. Even if a ‘me’ dies in Peru, the me here will never catch up to that death. There won’t be a ‘me’ still alive for it to kill. And even if he comes back alive and well, I’m still going to die at the end of twenty-sixteen. –Maybe sooner,” he adds, with a sad little smile, “if we can find the location early. Maybe I won’t even ‘really’ make it to 2016. …So…please. Please, Da Vinci.”

His voice is gentle and kind; sorry, a little sad. He lets go of my wrist, but I stay still.

“Please stay, and help me. I know… …I know I don’t know,” says Roman, “what you’re going through. I can’t imagine having to do this twice. Nobody deserves that. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t know you. I’m sorry I can’t just let you do what you want. Believe me, I do at least know how utterly unfair this is. I know how much I’m asking.”

I turn slowly, pained, and look at him.

He’s Doctor Roman.

The same as always. Awkward, funny, hesitant. Brave, cunning, kind. Alone. Except for me.

He looks exactly like I always remember. I hate it.

It isn’t fair. I can’t do this again. I didn’t realize it until just now, but…I can’t. I’ve missed him every single day, every single moment, since we lost him. I’ve thought about him with every cup of coffee I make, and every voice I hear that isn’t his, and every drop of blood I see.

I’m a genius. I’m an artist, and an inventor. I live in my dreams and my desires and my own choices, with the gusto for life of a true hedonist. I’m utterly selfish.

But I could never even want things again, except for the kids to be alright, after he was gone. There wasn’t anything left out there in a world without him, for me to want.

I was on the base.

I think about that all the time. I was in the last room, doors sealed, crew with me, guns ready for our own deaths. I wasn’t with him, when he died. I feel like, if I could just know which instant of my life it happened during, it would change something significant. But, I never will.

And I know it wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks so painfully, agonizingly sorry. I can’t guess at why. He’s right. He doesn’t know me. He isn’t a Roman who knows me well enough that he could feel so bad for me. “But I need you. All of us need you. I…I made the kind of mistake that people can’t even dream up nightmares about making, Da Vinci. And I’m trying. I am doing everything that I have ever learned, or half learned, how to do. I am playing every card in my hand, and using every drop of sweat and blood in my body, to try and fix this. But I…” He looks down, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are glossy from trying to hold back tears. “I can’t do it alone. I wouldn’t ask you to stay, and suffer through something so awful again, if I thought I could do it any other way, but. …There is so much at stake here. I. …Just, please. Please help me, Da Vinci. Please stay and help.”

I pity him. I admire him too.

I turn and walk to him, and stop. He looks so relieved, I want to laugh with how sad it makes me.

“Roman,” I say softly, and I place a gloved hand against his cheek, “you didn’t make a mistake. You were cursed. Fate has a way of hunting all of us, especially the best of us, and when we least deserve it. This world is cruel. It always has been. Your fate turned on you, but I won’t.”

He looks at the ground. I can tell he wants to argue with me, but I think he’s afraid that if he does, I’ll storm away. Smart man.

“You’ll stay, then?” he asks after a moment, looking up again, cautiously hopeful.

I lower my hand to his shoulder and stay close, studying his eyes. Most people can’t stand this, but he doesn’t flinch and get uncomfortable, or turn away. He just waits, looking back sadly.

“Doctor,” I ask, feeling agonizingly hopeless looking into those eyes, “is there anything that you still want?”

“I want this world not to end,” he says readily, holding my gaze, “I want people to live. I want to fix this.”

I kiss him.

Left hand on his shoulder, I slide my right hand up and cup his jaw and press against him. I hear a faint sound of surprise when I do, but he doesn’t pull away.

He doesn’t pull away, or kiss back. He just stands there.

I kiss him deeper, my tongue in his mouth, trying to ignite something, anything—trying to wake him up. I slide my hand behind his head and wrap my fingers through his hair, and he tilts his head easily for me when I pull him back, but that’s all he does. I kiss his jawline, his chin, I tug down the zipper on his coat and breathe deep and suck on his exposed neck. I go lower and kiss his collar bone. He says nothing. He does nothing.

Despair building, I kiss his mouth again, and I pull him to the floor with me. He lets me.

I lay on top of him and kiss him deeply; I run my hands through his hair; I kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his lips.

He stays still beneath me. He shuts his eyes when I want him to. He does nothing, but watch me. With pity.

“You stupid man!” I sob, pushing myself up above him and looking down at his calm face, his sorry eyes.

I’m crying. I wonder if I have been crying the whole time.

I sit up and climb off him, and bury my head in my knees.

I never cry. This is so stupid. I can’t believe a man has been able to make me weep like his wife.

After a moment, I hear slow movement, and feel a hand on my shoulder.

“…Da Vinci?”

What can I say? What would be the point in saying it.

Roman doesn’t try again. Instead, he sits. I feel him move right next to me, and press his own knees to his chest, and then just sit there, waiting.

I make him wait, and then finally come up out of my knees and slump to the side to lean my head against his shoulder.

“…I’m sorry,” says Roman finally.

“For what this time?” I ask in a tired, bitter voice.

“That I’m not him,” he answers, and it hurts more than anything else he might have said.

For a moment, we sit together in silence.

“…Yet,” whispers Roman.

I turn my head to glance at him. He smiles at me. I know the smile. It’s the only one I’ve ever loved more than my Mona Lisa’s. It’s the one he always had.

“For what it’s worth, I hope I get there,” says Roman hesitantly, “I hope someday I deserve that.”

“Idiot,” I say, and I lean back against his shoulder and sigh.

After a moment, he puts an arm around me.

For what it’s worth, I think with exhaustion, you are him. He was him long before I met him at all.

There is a fairly loud throat clearing from the back of the room. Roman and I both turn to look.

“Hey, uh,” says the Russian kid, Patxi, that I’d asked Octavia to get. He scuffs a boot uncomfortably against the floor, “They need you two at the command room, but the first person they sent saw…uh…maybe misinterpreted things going on on the floor back here, and chickened out, so they sent me because 'I don’t even work here so you can’t fire me’. So yeah. Uhm. There’s an emergency, although I have to think that really means ‘urgent update,’ because no one was screaming, and they didn’t have the guts to actually talk to you, and nobody’s that incompetent in a real emergency. Anyway, come back if you want. Or don’t. See ya.”

He leaves.

I glance at Roman. “I like him.”

I smile, and he smiles back.

“You know,” says Roman, “he does have a directness that comes in handy.”

Roman pulls himself to his feet and then offers me a hand. I take it, and for a moment, we stand there, almost holding hands.

“Would it help at all, if I said I’m really glad to have you back?” asks Roman.

“Maybe,” I say playfully, fixing my metaphorical mask back on, “but not as much as those massive hickeys will. The gossip in the command room is going to lighten my mood for the next five hours!” I turn with an air of light giddiness I don’t truly feel, and float back towards the command room. Behind me, I can hear Roman cursing under his breath and trying to finesse his collar high enough to hide them.

I smile.

Then after a few steps, I pause. Roman doesn’t notice, and rams into my back.

“—Ah! Sorry—I was—” he starts.

I turn and cut him off. “-Will you make it fair, for me?”

“Fair?” he echoes in confusion.

“I have to go through this twice. That’s not your fault, but, there’s something you could do to make it easier on me,” I say, “But you won’t like it.”

“…I’ll do it,” he says slowly, “so long as I can.”

“Want to live again,” I order.

He blinks at me.

“I know you gave up on having a future. Think about it anyway. Live like you might have one, even though you know it would take a miracle. Hope, even if you know it’s pointless. Live like someone who isn’t going to die. –Not like someone who is pretending he isn’t someone who’s going to die,” I add, cutting off something he was about to interject.

For a few seconds, he considers me.

“…I know that’s not fair,” I say, “I’m asking you to suffer. But, it’s worth it. Some kinds of suffering are. And if you can do that for me, I’ll do this for you.”

“…That seems quite fair,” he says quietly, and he gives a gentle smile and offers me his hand, “Partners?”

“Partners,” I agree, shaking his hand, “One more time.”

[lanliingwang]

can’t stop thinking about miya osamu as ritsuka/guda in a fgo au, specifically the progression of his hair color. osamu starting out with his dyed hair (since he joins Chaldea between his first and second years of high school) but after part 1 he stops dyeing it for various reasons half-related to dr roman, so by the time we hit lostbelt arc it’s his natural dark brown hair color

[dailyarturiartfgo]

Please please please heal me with Gudao/Jalter content, Ordeal Call II is tearing me apart

School AU with them would be so sweet

[itsupermanti]

Fate/RWBY: Remnants of Silver Omake 2; Time to Go

Knock-Knock

Jaune(walking up to the door in his new silver and blue armor): I’ll get it!

Nero Arc(smiling broadly as Jaune opens the door): Onii-Chan~!

SLAM!!!

Ren(casually reading a book as a panicking Jaune rushes past him and more knocking can be heard): …

BOOM!!!

Nero(cheering happily as she skips into the Team RNJR dorm with her mother Artoria riding her horse behind her after smashing the door open, with her father Bedivere taking up the rear): Onii-Chan~!

Jeanne Arc(raising a brow as she briefly stops behind the couch Ren was sitting on): Hey, um-

Ren(not even looking up from his book): He’s in the closet.

Jaune(desperately holding onto the couch as his mom carries him over her shoulder): Ren, why…?

Jeanne(smirking at Ren as her and her family carry her twin brother away): Thanks.

Ren(smirking in amusement as he continues to read his book): No prob.

[madmanwonder]

Crossover Crack Ship: Barghest Knight/Jarghest

Barghest (Gawain):

X

Jaune Arc:

[tosart]

A familiar stranger arrives in Chaldea…

[kiwikipedia]

I know we joke about Gudako being a beast of humanity but serious talk.

Could the Gudas possibly qualify as a beast unintentionally?

In fate a Beast must have “love for humanity” which makes them act not out of malice, but rather threaten humanity through an underlying desire to protect it in a manner

What has Guda been doing this entire time? Fighting for humanity, while ending seven worlds full of it for their own version of humanity.

They have actively threatened and destroyed entire worlds for humanity.

[surelysilly]

the red huntress & the greatest game

If you walk down the path that you believe is right, you cannot be wrong. - Archer

[ziracona]

Pt 2 since the weird way tumblr does text in 'blocks' won't let me upload it as one. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 22,23, 24, 25,26, 27, 28_1, 28_2, 29_1, 29_2, ?)]{Some spoilers for og FGO/Temple of Time, vaguer spoilers for early CITLB}

.

.

“Oh, wow. Salieri! Would you look at that view.”

For a normal human, there probably wouldn’t be a view here by the mountains at all, but as a servant, I can catch a glimmer of blue off to my left. Ah! That must be the coast!

“It’s not the coast,” says Salieri as if he can read my mind. Tiredly, he continues to hike up along the ridge we’re on.

“How can you tell?” I pout, hurrying to catch up with him.

“Because it’s a river,” he replies, which isn’t an answer at all.

I sigh at him. “Well, if it’s a river, it’s a lovely, beautiful, sparkling river!” I say instead, redoubling my efforts.

He grimaces and keeps walking forward.

Tch. He’s like this all the time now!

“Salieeriii,” I whine, hurrying over brush and little rocks to try and walk beside him, “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Amadeus, please,” he says, exasperated. We don’t generally sweat from exertion like this, but for some reason he’s drenched, poor guy.

I lean in and blink at him with my big eyes. “Yes? Please what?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then sighs wearily and just keeps walking. I hurry to his other side.

“Come on! This is the perfect opportunity! Nobody else is around!” I prod, “We could talk about old times! We can say anything we want!”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me not to kill you?” he asks desperately, still trying not to look at me, “Even with my Master nearby, it takes most of my focus to hold back. Now, we’re alone. Us being alone is not a good thing Amadeus, it is a bad thing.” He stops walking and finally glances at me, looking thoroughly beaten. “Actually, I think it would be best if we split up.”

“Split up?” I ask in dismay, “What—here? –In the middle of the jungle?? In the middle of hostile territory, with a missing Master?”

“We could cover more ground separately,” he counters.

Well this is terrible! I was trying to annoy him into some kind of a response, but I didn’t want him to leave!

“Noooo,” I say, throwing myself at him and clinging to an arm. I feel him stiffen. “Salieri you can’t leave me alone out here! I’m just a little caster! I’ll be torn to bits!”

He grimaces at me again. His bright red eyes are creepy—I wish they were still brown.

Stiffly, like an automaton, he turns his head away and begins to try and pry me off.

“No, Salieri, no!” I plead dramatically, jumping up and wrapping my legs around him, “Didn’t you say you would be so unhappy if somebody else killed me? If you leave me alone I’ll get killed for sure! Don’t abandon me!”

Frantic now, he struggles to get me off, but I’ve got him like a boa constrictor. Finally, he screams in a fit of enraged desperation, and transforms. His spiky red and black armor appears, covering his usual suit, and a mask sets over his head. Only this time, both grow exponentially in size, and I’m flung off as he gets bigger, mask molding into his flesh.

I fall onto my back and gape up at his form as his arms and legs get longer and bigger, and he begins to hover in the air above me, parts of his armor floating about him like pennants. When he opens his mouth, it’s the mask that speaks, with lines of razor sharp, inhuman teeth, as if it’s his head now. He’s a shape and size that could almost be human, but just a little beyond what’s possible, in size. It’s horrifying, and it’s terribly beautiful at the same time.

I’m scared, I think, but I’m also excited by it! And, I guess, I’m a little ashamed. I probably shouldn’t feel that way about something like this…

“GET. AWAY FROM ME!” the thing bellows, echoing out an inhuman roar.

“Wow!” I say from flat on the ground, “Salieri! I didn’t know you could do that. You look so scary; I love it!”

It screams at me, and the sound is enough to hurt. The sound is not beautiful. The sound sucks.

I wince. “Alright, alright! Calm down,” I say, and I pull myself up and brush off my suit. Standing up is actually more terrifying, because I have an exact scale next to it of how much bigger than me he is this way. “Yikes! You really do look scary.”

“I AM SCARY,” he bellows.

“Mmmmm,” I step closer and consider him, “Not really. It’s a terrifying costume, and if we were strangers, I bet it would scare me off! But I know it’s still Salieri under there.”

“I am not Salieri,” he growls, looming above me, “I am the Man in Grey. I am Death! I am not a person, Amadeus. I am YOUR DEATH, personified!”

Hmmmm. “Well, you sure look like Salieri!” I say cheerfully. “Sound like him, too.” I get right up in his—well, his abdomen really, because he’s floating and also a lot bigger now, and I can’t reach his face—but I get right up in his space, and put a finger to my chin. “Hmmmm. No, I’m just not buying it!”

Enraged, the thing screams again, and it sure is a nasty sound—my poor, musical ears, yeesh. I don’t mind it too bad though, but then the thing jumps on me!

Like a lion, he slams down on top of me, massive clawed fingers digging into the ground and pinning my shoulders. My back hits the rocky, slanted ground beneath us, and I end up almost upside-down from the terrain’s slant, staring up at this massive, fanged face that isn’t his head anymore. It’s the living red, black, and grey armor, and his warped mask, living steel. Sharp lines and lines of too many teeth to be possible open wide enough to bite off most of my head, venomous looking saliva dripping down its chin as it roars. It doesn’t have eyes, just the impression of eyes, where the visor on the mask would be back when it was a mask.

“Antonio-“ I say, and then I yelp in pain as he digs his claws into my shoulders, “Ow! That actually hurts!”

“HURTS YOU?” hisses the massive thing above me, “I’LL KILL YOU!”

He lunges at me, teeth snapping shut around my neck, and then just as the skin breaks and I feel little needles of pain sink in, he jerks and freezes up, then slowly, raggedly drags his head back, opening his mouth and letting go of my throat.

I can feel blood, and it did sting when he bit, but I can tell there was no real damage done.

Breathing heavily, he chokes out, “Get up! Get out of here! Go, or I really will kill you!”

…Poor Salieri, I think, watching this horrible thing struggle with itself above me, You look so confused, now.

He drags his claws out of my shoulders and sits up, giving me room to drag myself out from under him. I don’t though. I just push myself up too, bracing my arms behind me, him still straddling my legs.

“No you won’t,” I say.

He breathes horribly, like he barely can at all, and a low growl begins to form.

“Salieri,” I continue, and I put a hand over his shoulder. Using my grip on him to maintain my balance at this angle, I put my other against what serves as a face, “Don’t be so stupid all the time, Hübscher. I know you aren’t the old you, but you’re still—”

He rakes a claw across my chest and slams me back against the ground. OW! This one hurts a lot more! I can feel the blood bubbling up a lot quicker, too.

With his left hand, he grabs my throat and digs his claws into the ground again, this time pinning my neck between what used to be his thumb and his index finger, but are now claws the size of knives. Around us, I hear music start to play, even though no one is playing it—not even him. It just seems to live in the dark grey mist seeping out of him, my requiem. Our requiem, now, I guess.

I should be scared, I suppose. I know I’m supposed to be. But it’s like seeing a man with a scythe in a haunted house. It’s nothing real. The blood, the pain, the fear—they aren’t real to me at all. All I can do is laugh at them. My Salieri, he is such…such a caricature, of the idea of my death. He’s like a bad drawing of a scene. Even if he did kill me, it would look like some ridiculous nightmare whose obvious falseness is clear the moment you wake, and you can’t remember how you ever thought it was anything but a dream at all.

The mask of this beast form that is meant somehow to be Salieri roars at me, and the sound is so shrieking, so awful, so piercing, it tears my eardrums. I can feel blood dripping from them.

“I WILL DESTROY THE MAN BELOVED BY GOD,” shouts the mask above me. He raises his right hand high, and a massive version of his usual sword appears in it. It’s bright black, like the night sky, and shaped like a conductor’s baton, and a cross. Such a beautiful sword. He twists it in his hand so the blade is aimed between my eyes.

“You won’t kill me, Salieri,” I say, watching the bright reds segments amidst the blacks and greys of his mask.

His grip on my throat tightens, and I can feel his massive arm shake.

Around me, the fog seeps in and whispers. I remember this from before—back in the vault—and for the first time, I do feel a pang of fear. Fear, and regret.

Words spill out among the whispers, and I can see the speakers in my mind. I hear my beloved Constanze cry and ask why I left her in crippling debt, to raise our children alone. I hear my father berate me for failing to be appointed once again in Vienna. I hear whispers the Sunday after my mother’s death, saying a doctor would have been called in time had I not spent the family fortune tripping after failed dreams. I see Nannerl, pausing mid-phrase and staring blankly at the piano at her fingertips; I hear voices without sources telling her she can never play past 15, because as a woman, it’s not her place. I see her husband, so old compared to her, snap at her—her step-children disobey, and demand—her own son far away, with father. And I see her holding a letter from me, and smiling at some joke I made about shit. But the smile is the saddest I have ever seen on her face. I am in Paris, at an opera the week of the letter. I am writing. She is alone, by candlelight. I see the four children I had who didn’t live through their second year. A little wood box, a little wood box, a little wood box, a little wood box. I see my mother’s face, and she’s not in it anymore—she’s cold and still. I see Maria kneeling in shackles at a guillotine. I see her head fall. It’s not even a clean bucket that catches her. I see a blossom of matching red open horribly slowly, like the lid to a can, as Salieri slides a blade along his throat.

“Enough!” I shout, squeezing my eyes shut. The whispers continue, but their volume fades back into the smoke around me. “There is no point in showing me this, Salieri! It isn’t scary! It just makes me sad!”

His grip tightens again, and I start struggling to breathe. I have to fight back the urge not to say something extremely flippant to him, and I can almost hear Maria in my head thanking me for pretending to be a decent human this once. It isn’t easy—this is the perfect time! If he only knew what I’m giving up for him…

“I’m still not scared of you! I’m not ever going to be scared of you!” I choke out, “Give it a rest already!”

He crushes my windpipe and I can’t breathe at all, as he lets out another horrible wail.

It’s the most awful sound I’ve ever heard. It’s like the whispers I heard in the fever of my death, if agony replaced terror. I feel pressure build and then stabs of immense pain in my ears, and then all I can hear for a few seconds is a fainting ringing pulse.

Salieri brings up his shaking right hand with the sword, still aimed at my head, and I’m not afraid of him. I am sure he won’t kill me.

But I realize, he isn’t.

“Antonio, how was Franz Xavier?” I ask.

Salieri stops, arm still raised.

I smile at him, and I let my tone slide from its usual mocking lightness, to a more sincere tone. “Was he a good boy? He was only four months old, when I died. Did he look like me?”

“…No,” says Salieri. He sounds muffled and distorted to my damaged ears, but I ignore the aching pain in them and use the entirety of my focus to hear. “I am afraid he looked like Constanza.”

“Why afraid?” I say cheerfully, “We both had good looks, so it’s alright for him either way. Besides, Karl Thomas was my spitting image—if I got both of them, it would have been unfair.”

“…He…was a good student,” says the thing that is Salieri now. His voice is low and strained, but even with my damaged ears, I recognize it as undeniably him. “…You would have been very proud. He grew into a fine young man. And he loved you. They all did.”

“Good,” I say with a smile, shutting my eyes. He eased the pressure on my throat as soon as he began to talk, although I don’t know if he noticed it, and I can breathe just fine now. “I am glad you taught him. I looked up to you, you know?”

Salieri doesn’t say anything.

“Isn’t it so funny?” I continue, opening my eyes again to look up at him with a sad little smile, “When I was alive, and we competed, you won—every single time! You won the job as Princess Elisabeth's teacher at the piano over me, twice. You won the Emperor's opera composition contest. I lost Da Ponte to you. Again and again. You were simply better than me, Antonio-“

“—Stop,” says Salieri, voice rough.

“—But it’s true!” I say, “Yet, when I lost, you chose to premiere my music. Again and again. You became the Kapellmeister, and used your position to revive my opera. I would never have done the same for you.”

“I know,” says Salieri quietly.

“You were the better teacher. Better husband, better father. You were well respected, while I was an insolent scoundrel, hopelessly in debt,” I continue, “Of course I admired you. I copied you, for Papageno’s whistle, and Papageno and Papagena’s duet.”

“I noticed,” says Salieri, almost with the sound of a smile in his voice.

“That was the idea!” I say happily. I try to sit up, forgetting I am trapped beneath his hand, and I ram my windpipe into it.

Noticing, he hesitantly raises his hand, digging his claws out of the earth. I push myself up onto my elbows, and he moves the sword back as I bring myself towards it.

“You remember when I took you to see The Magic Flute?” I ask him.

He nods.

“You were so excited!” I say, “You cheered every piece! Every performance, every song! I’d never seen you watch an opera so engrossed as to not for a second remember there were people in the seats beside you. You cheered so loud, Salieri. One of the masters of the art, the Emperor’s chosen. You were good enough to know the difference between music that is great, and music that is perfect, and you loved my work. I only ever felt so happy when Constanza was in love with a piece.”

“…It cannot have mattered that much,” he says quietly.

“Of course it did,” I argue, “Antonio, you lived for too long without me, Liebling. The way people spoke about you changed how you think about you, but it has also changed how you remember me. I wanted you to love me, because you were great enough for that to be special.”

He stays quiet, but somehow, he looks sad to me now.

“I annoyed you,” I say proudly, “Like I annoyed everyone. And you disapproved of me, and I tired you. I always did. You know, so many people tried to like me, Salieri. So many of the men who wanted my business or my favor—they hated me, but they could convince themselves they liked having me around. You, though? You never did. But you were still a patron to me. You worked with me, you pushed my work, you praised things you liked. You were with me, when I was dying. You were one of the only people at my grave. You taught my son. You’re Salieri. Don’t you get it?”

I grab the tip of his sword and press it at my throat, offering him the death Maria had, the death he tried to give himself, the one I hate so much.

“You won’t do it. It doesn’t matter if you’re the Man in Grey, or my death, or Death itself. It doesn’t matter if you’re not Salieri, because part of you is Salieri. And Salieri loved me,” I continue, and I reach up and touch the thing’s face, “He didn’t like me much, but he didn’t need to. He was one of the only people who ever really loved me. And even when people lied about him, and hounded him, and drove him to death, he still clung to that. The Man in Grey isn’t real. My death is over—it’s no stronger than any other death. Even death itself is just a passionless reality. But Salieri? Salieri was amazing. Salieri was real. I actually cared what Salieri did. So, it doesn’t matter if he’s only a fragment of a fragment of you. Salieri could be 1% of what makes up you, and he’d still be stronger than all the rest. Nothing any part Salieri could ever kill me. And I’m sorry, because it makes you sad, and you’re stuck with a task you can never complete. But you’re not scary, Antonio, and I’m not going to run away.”

The sword crackles and fades into smoke, and he’s left with his arm still raised, unmoving.

“I’m lonely and weak and bored all the time, and I don’t know anybody else around, but I right now I’ve got a summon with one of the special people I actually like, who will baby me and do all the hard work, so of course I’m not going to let you abandon me!” I add, grinning up at him, “Besides, I ruined your afterlife. The least I could do is keep you company in it. Some part of you must want me around. I love you too, don’t you know?”

His arm slowly droops down to his side, and he crouches there limply above me, on his knees. The little bits of cloak around him flutter in a breeze that isn’t real, like so much about how the throne has warped him.

“You foolish man,” he says quietly, his voice almost sounding dead to me, “I will hunt you. I will hurt you. That will never change.”

“So what?” I ask brightly, and I wrap my arms around his neck and smile up at him, “You won’t kill me, and you will protect me from everybody else! I don’t mind getting hurt if it’s only you.”

“Wolfgang,” he pleads, and I shiver with excitement to hear him use my first name. “I don’t want to kill you. I… …I do want to kill you—I MUST—I need-! –I don’t-!” His voice is fragmented, jarring, changing from word to word. “—Please! Please stop; leave me. Even if I don’t want to kill you, I only need to lose focus once to make a mistake.”

Instead of leaving, I lean my head against his chest and shut my eyes with a smile. “So what? You’ll just never make a mistake then! It’s not like me trying to never make a mistake. You’re Salieri! You’re patient and careful! You have focus, and discipline, and all those boring things you need to be respectable and successful in life, that I don’t have at all.”

He makes a pained sound. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” I urge, snuggling against him, “I know it will be agony, but we are heroic spirits! Every summoning, we suffer. That’s all that ghosts are meant to do: suffer, and regret. If we’re cursed to suffer anyway, wouldn’t you rather do it with me?”

Salieri makes no reply.

“It’s better to suffer every day, than to be alone,” I add, and I open my eyes again and tilt my head up to look at him. He’s still this thing of metal and hate, with no face, no eyes. Somehow, it doesn’t really seem like a big deal. It is him, after all. Was there ever really another part I cared about?

After another few moments of silence, I say, “Don’t you want to be with me?”

“…How can you say things like that so carelessly,” he whispers, sounding heartbroken. The massive thing above me lowers its head. It has no face I can see, but I get the feeling he’s shut his eyes.

“I don’t have any mode except for careless,” I answer, surprised, “…That doesn’t mean I’m not sincere.”

It tilts its head up a little. “LOOK AT ME! I am not your Salieri!”

“Then whose are you?” I demand, “I thought I was like the sun to you!”

He opens his mouth and stops. “… …I am not a person.”

“That’s okay,” I reply happily, “I’m a devil.”

“No you’re not,” replies my Antonio’s voice tiredly, “You’re just a man. Who doesn’t know when a word should stay in his head instead of stepping outside of it.”

I grin. “You are a person. Only Salieri scolds me like this.” He starts to answer, and I don’t want to give him a chance to argue, so I cut him off. “—Do you still love me?”

He doesn’t answer. He just hangs his head and slumps there above me.

“You are so easy to tease,” I sigh, “I like that.”

“Please don’t mock me,” he says quietly.

Hm. He said that to me before, in the bar. Come to think of it, we never finished that talk after.

“I am not mocking,” I argue, “Just because I’m funny and irreverent, doesn’t mean I’m mocking. Did you cry when I died?”

“…”

“Did you think about me much? Did you miss me?” I prod.

“Stop asking questions you know the answer to,” he says, pained.

“Well, I missed you,” I say, leaning my chin against his chest and my head back as far as it can go, so I am looking right up at him, “You know, I was so happy to see you again. You’re somebody nice, so I bet you would have felt bad for me if our positions were reversed, but I’m just me, so I thought, ‘Oh wow—I get Salieri all to myself now!’”

“Stop!” he urges, like I will hurt him.

“Then talk to me!” I insist, “Tell me the truth!”

“…It doesn’t matter anymore,” says Salieri, pained, “It never really did.”

“…Now you’re the one being cruel,” I reply quietly.

This seems to surprise him.

“You get to decide how you feel, but I get to decide if I care about it…” I say, sulking.

It’s quiet for a minute. I’m tempted to keep picking at him, but I can tell he’s thinking. I think maybe for once, I should let him. Besides, I’m bleeding all over him and I’m tired and my ears hurt, but even as this cold, hard, metallic avatar of death, he’s warm, and comforting to be around. I’m too comfortable hanging off his neck and watching him, to want to make it stop. I think I could almost fall asleep like this.

“…You never stop loving someone,” he answers finally, his voice very tired and quiet and sad. Very human. Very Salieri.

I laugh, and I feel him stiffen. “Really? Never? …What an answer.”

I fell out of love all the time. My Constanza wasn’t my first love, or my first attempt for a wife. I had fleeting affections with the intensity of the sun. Love is a feeling, after all. Who can feel the same way about anything their entire life?

Salieri lowers his head. “You mock me again.”

“No,” I sigh, “I don’t. I’m laughing at myself, Antonio. That’s what’s different between us.”

I let go of his neck and lower myself back to the ground, then slide my hands behind my head and look up past him, at the sky.

“You are so steady, and kind,” I say, smiling as I watch the faint blue behind clouds above us, “The only thing I ever really loved enough was my music. I just didn’t know how. I don’t think I was born with it in me. I loved my family, but not like you. Not like Constanze loved me. I loved music. You loved the reasons that people love music. She loved that music can sound the way it does. Those all sound the same, but none of it is.”

“…No one is perfect,” says Salieri. His form flickers in the smoke, and the armor shrinks and melts away, leaving the man in the grey suit that I know so well, on his knees above me. “You are too unkind to yourself.”

It’s so funny. I’m not criticizing myself at all; I love myself. I’m a genius—I can’t help if I’m different, and if I wasn’t, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to write the way I did. If I traded my soul to music, then it was a good deal. Yet, he’s so convinced. He looks so sad for me. Him.

“…Why did you love me?” I ask him, looking away from the sky to study his face.

“Amadeus,” says Salieri with a sigh, “Nobody can answer that question.”

“Hm?” I ask, surprised. I push myself up onto an elbow. “Why not?”

“Because, any reason we could give is simply something about you,” says Salieri with great exhaustion, “I could say it is your music, which I did love. Your creativity, your excitement, your range. I could say it is because I watched you grow and change so much. I could say it is because you were a companion. But none of those things are you, not even your music. Your humor, your personality, your interests. And it was not any one, or any combination of those things. I’m sure your wife would have told you the same. It’s just you. But there is no other way to say that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up all the way.

Salieri tries to move back to give me space, and realizes for the first time that my legs are between his. He makes a sound of discomfort and hastily shifts to the side to get off me. I snag his shoulder before he can become distracted by this, and ask again, “That doesn’t make sense.”

This works, and he refocuses on being exhausted by my questions instead. “…Well, why did you love Constanza?”

“Because she was beautiful, and intelligent, and she understood music, and sang well,” I reply, making a list in my head, “She was from a family I had interest in, and she was fun, and best of all, she liked me.”

“Is that still your answer? After the end?” he asks. “Why do you love her now?”

I consider. “…Yes. All those things—just more. She put up with my lifestyle, she loved my music, she encouraged me. She had patience, instead of hate, when I frustrated her, or hurt her. She was brave.” It’s…strange. I haven’t thought about her in this kind of…list before. No one has ever asked me to recount my reasons. It’s making me feel…badly. Oh. I think I miss her… “…She was my wife, and she loved me,” I add more quietly, after a moment.

Am I sad?

“—Yes, that,” says Antonio. He gives me a worn smile like he’s proud of me. “’She was your wife, and she loved you.’ What more can you say? You don’t think of her as the pieces of her that were useful enough to care for, and the rest. You think of her as your wife, whom you loved. You aren’t broken, Wolfgang. You’re just thoughtless. Just because you don’t think about how you do things, doesn’t mean you weren’t doing them. You’ve always been this way.”

Ah. Funny. I would argue with anybody else. He scolded me a lot, when we were alive. He also praised me a lot. It never seemed like either one truly changed how he felt about me. He just felt how he felt, and said what he decided to.

“That’s so silly,” I say with a sigh. I glance over at him and grimace. “So, you had no reason. You just did?”

“No, stupido,” replies Salieri, “Is that what you just said about your wife? I loved you because I loved you. I met you, and I got to know you, and I saw who you were. All of it. Whatever our differences, that person mattered to me. Deeply. All of him. I could give you reasons, but none of them would be complete. You were Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, my friend and fellow artist, and I loved you. There is nothing else I can say that would be completely true.”

This is so complicated. But, for the first time, I feel a bit caught off guard. Nobody has ever claimed to love even the parts of me they hate before. …but, I already knew this about Salieri, didn’t I…? I always have. I knew he accepted me. That’s why I like him. So, why have I never thought about what ‘accepting me’ means until now?

Maybe I really am stupid. Maybe it’s just a little beyond my understanding.

Or, maybe for all my selfish love, I want him, even if he’s a warped and distorted version of himself now. Maybe even though I accept it all because I want him for me, it’s still just a little, tiny bit like what he describes.

“I can’t feel about you like you feel about me,” I say slowly, actually thinking through my words for the first time all conversation, “But, I still want you.”

He smiles sadly, as if he knew I would say this, and looks at the ground.

“…To me…” I continue, still thinking it through, “…You are still ‘Salieri.’ Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

He looks back up and meets my gaze, but he lets me talk.

“…But…you aren’t ‘Antonio, my friend and fellow composer, whom I love,’” I tell him, “You are… ‘Antonio Salieri, who loves me.’ I think…that is the thing I liked. I knew you loved my work, and me, and I appreciated that. Even if I was never able to really feel the same way.”

“I know,” says Salieri softly, “I always knew that.”

“Yes,” I agree, “and you never minded.”

“I told you,” says Salieri evenly, and he smiles at me this time the way he used to. Like…he’s just glad to see me today. “I didn’t love something I could get from you-“

“—But I did!” I interject, “That’s exactly why I loved you.”

“Maybe you liked me, then,” says Salieri gently, “like you said.”

I do not like that. Why don’t I like that? I’m the one who said I don’t know how to really love.

“Why can’t it count that I love that you loved me?!” I ask, a little worried now.

He smiles, and sighs again, and stands up. He brushes off his knees, and then offers me a hand. “It’s alright, Amadeus. You do care for me, or you wouldn’t have tried to help me just now. That’s all I—that’s more than I really wanted. Come on. We need to keep moving.”

I take his hand, and he pulls me up, then takes in my bloodied and disheveled appearance, and looks very sorry.

“Amadeus, I-“

“—It’s fine,” I say, shaking dirt and grass off myself, “See? Nothing serious. Just some scratches.”

Salieri doesn’t look satisfied, but he stops arguing, and turns to keep moving up the rise. At least he’s not trying to get away from me now.

I stay where I am for a few steps, watching his back get further from me.

“Wait,” I call.

He stops, and turns around.

“That’s not all,” I say, working it through, “Salieri…who makes me happy to see, and I love.”

Taken aback, he stays there.

“Salieri…who tries so hard to prop up everyone he teaches, and I admire,” I continue, and I take a step forward, “Salieri whose operas were forgotten because they pointed out corruptions, and I remember.”

I take another step, then another.

“Salieri who…” I stop, and I laugh.

He tilts his head at me.

“I’m sorry—I’ve run out of good words,” I apologize, walking closer anyway, “You know, once I heard Scherzo and Caro Bell'idol Mio played back to back?”

“You hear Scherzo?” he asks, smiling and looking amused rather than mortified like I sort of expected.

“Yes. You should hear them back to back, and then you’d understand what I can’t say. –Oh! Do you want to hear them?” I ask excitedly.

“—Those are both canons,” he says with the disapproval of a teacher, “You can’t sing them by yourself.”

“Then sing with me!” I beg. He raises an eyebrow, looking exasperated and amused. At least he’s calmed down. This is the most he’s looked like Salieri since I saw him again.

Not waiting for an answer, I begin with mine. “Beautiful, beloved idol of mine-“ I sing, summoning music around me with a wave of my hand.

“Beautiful, beloved idol of mine,” he echoes, overlapping with me a step after, humoring me out of habit.

“-Do not forget about me. I always hold the desire, to be close to you,” I sing, and he finishes after me, still looking bemused.

“It’s a lovely canon, Mozart, but it’s meant to be sung by three people,” says Salieri.

“Yes, but we don’t have a third, and I just need to make a point—Again?” I plead.

He sighs and smiles and sings it through once more, actually performing this time. I forgot how nice his voice is. Antonio never sang much—he was a composer, and not a singer of course—I am the same way—but we both can sing; it would be difficult to write the lyrics otherwise, I think. Even his singing voice sounds safe and welcome. It’s like hearing a family member sing.

“Now Scherzo?” I say.

He exhales a laugh, but he obliges again.

“These canons,” I sing.

“These canons,” he echoes, overlapping my words, and continuing just a step behind.

“-are for joking and laughing,” I continue happily, “and the words are intended just for that.”

I grin and sing it through a second time. He’s still smiling too, and he looks more relaxed. I guess he remembers his one fondly. I’m not surprised; Salieri always liked children. I wrote my canons like poems, because it was art. He wrote his canons like rhymes, because they were for students to learn with, and families at home. He remembered stuff like that. I didn’t.

“Ah,” I sigh happily as the music ends, “Listening to them and knowing us, how can it be that you didn’t write Caro Bell'idol Mio, and me Scherzo?”

“It does suit you,” he agrees.

“It suits me to sing,” I agree, “But you wrote it. In the end, no matter how I act, I am Caro Bell’idol Mio, and you are Scherzo. That’s why I love you.”

I am proud of this answer. It makes sense to me. It’s a bit of a relief, too. I think it lets a lot of things make sense, in ways that are not so daunting.

I do not think, from his expression, that it makes sense to Salieri though.

“I like your kind of different. I can see it. I don’t think about it,” I add carelessly, waving a hand, “But I like it.”

He’s like an umbrella; he makes space for other people to be well in. I don’t think he would be at all impressed by this metaphor though, so I don’t stay it out loud. I just hook my arm around his, and tug him after me.

Salieri lets me, still looking confused, but after a moment of thought, he smiles.

“What?” I ask him.

“It’s just nice,” he replies, “I don’t think you’ve ever said something good about one of my works before.”

Oh God, have I not?!? …Hmm. Damn. I might not have, to his face. –This is ridiculous! We knew each other for most of my life! Surely there were times we just don’t remember…

“I don’t really understand what you mean, but, I suppose I don’t need to,” he adds, giving me a hesitant smile.

That’s so much more mature than I would be about this. He never stops amusing me. He’s so easy.

“Anyway, thank you. I’m glad you like Scherzo,” he says.

“You know that wasn’t the point, right?” I ask, eyeing him, “I don’t ‘like Scherzo,’ I like how you wrote it.”

“Yes,” he says with a gentle laugh, “I know.”

Hmmm.

“Well, good,” I say cheerily, and I wrap my arm around his more tightly and lean my head on his shoulder, “Because that’s the only way I can say it.”

Antonio is quiet for a moment, then pats the back of my hand as we walk.

He looks happy.

Salieri is Salieri, I think, He looks happy when he holds my hand, and he loves me.

--------------------------------

This new human is fun.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we sit and wait, watching the ugly man-made structure below us. Why did humans in the future have to stop caring if buildings were the ugliest things you’d ever seen? What happened to making architecture have some small, remote tinge of appeal? Gross.

It’s also boring. But, whatever. I can be patient. At least my bodyguard is amusing.

He’s doing what I told him to, watching the base with the singular focus of a guard dog. Alter isn’t like a dog at all in any other way though—he’s like a cat. A stray cat. Stray dogs are different—they hold back and act hostile when threatened, but once they lower their guard, they shift modes from vicious to friendly. Cats are different. When they lower their guard, they aren’t friendly—they’re just a little less ready to bite you and run. This man is on edge and prickly, never relaxing completely, never even turning his back to me without being aware of it.

It's very interesting to watch. I have to wonder.

When I first met him, I told him he looked like he’d been trying to beat back armies of utukku alone for ages—like the husk of a great warrior, still somehow up. That’s still true, but, there’s more to it.

His body has been deeply tanned, like he walked the desert for years, and there are cracks along him that glow gold. Why?

“…Did the Counter-Force summon you?” he asks out of nowhere without even looking at me.

“Huh?” I ask, taken aback, “No.”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and he glances away from his watch duty for a millisecond to look at me.

“No, I summoned myself,” I add.

We’re in a little cave, the size of a bedroom. I carved it out of stone with a few well-placed bolts, and set up a blind here; it’s really close to one of the big facilities these humans are running in the jungle, and it’s close enough to see them well, without chancing being seen. Their bounded field cloaking the facility is powerful, but I’ve got my own spells of true sight carved into the opening to the cave. So long as you’re inside, the circular opening functions like one big magnifying glass—and best of all, since mine is not a bounded field, it’s hard to sense unless you get up close.

“…How?” he asks, like he’s indulging me by believing enough to ask.

I huff. “’How’? Really? I’m a Goddess.”

He looks me up and down. “Not from here you aren’t.”

I roll my eyes. “No, but I still have a vested interest in this. Besides, it doesn’t matter if I’m from here. Any Goddess can who’s strong enough can find a way to manifest.”

“Oh, that’s a vessel,” he says as if it’s just clicked. I guess he hasn’t had a lot of experience with gods, because of course it is.

“If you were in front of my true form, you’d be speechless from my beauty, and paralyzed by my power,” I grin. I sit up and fluff the thick hair of the body I’m using. “She’s not so bad herself, of course—obviously I wouldn’t use a body that was, but trust me when I say an avatar scales back every aspect of a god.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I guess that answered his question.

“Why?” he asks. Huh, guess it didn’t after all. He already knows what they’re doing to spirits the Counter-Force sends in, like himself, and the other projects we had time to talk about on the way here, so I guess he must mean ‘why do you, Ishtar, specificialy care’ and not ‘why would someone be fighting them’.

“I told you, I have a vested interest,” I say with a smirk. I float over from the back of the cave, and settle next to him on the floor. “If it’ll satisfy you, think of it this way; I’m a Goddess of Life. If everyone dies, that’s pretty bad for me.”

“…I didn’t think they were trying to kill everyone,” he says, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the far guard towers.

“I’m sure they aren’t,” I agree, “But humans don’t have to aim for being jackasses and ruining the world, in order to do it.”

Bored again, I lay down on my back in a pillow of my massive hair, and look up at him. He glances at me this time, full head turn, and I feel very smug. He’s way too focused on his job.

I mean, yes, it’s his job I gave him, but he should still be more focused on me.

“Anyway, how are you healing?” I ask, “You look better.”

“I am better,” he agrees, turning back to his task.

“Good.” I wave my hand, and a pitcher of water appears, a bowl of fruit and a plate of meat beside it. “Here,” I say, snagging an apple from the bowl and carelessly tossing it up and down to have something to do, “Eat up.”

He glances at the food out of the corner of his eye, then back at the compound. “I’m good.”

That’s so annoying. “Do it anyway,” I say with a tone, “You need the energy boost.”

Alter sighs, and picks up some meat and bites into it. Even though he does what I say, it’s no fun to boss him around. He’s so exhausted and burned out, it’s like he doesn’t even think about it.

“Well?” I ask, rolling onto my stomach and propping my chin in my hands, “How is it? Good?”

“…I can’t taste anything,” he says with a shrug.

You can’t taste anything??

“Uhm. Why?” I say.

He gestures to himself at large, never breaking focus on scanning the station. “Most of me is gone by now. That includes my sense of taste.”

…that’s terrible.

This is less fun now. It’s starting to be kind of upsetting.

“So, no taste at all?” I ask, pulling my self up to a sitting position and crossing my legs, “What about wine? Can you get drunk?”

“I don’t know,” he says like the question is almost interesting, but only almost, “I can’t remember trying.”

“What, did you lose your sense of memory too?” I ask. He gives me a look that clearly says ‘Yes, actually’. I gape at him, aghast. “Are you serious? –W—Okay then, what do you have left?!”

“Sense of direction, sense of danger,” says coolly after thinking about it for a moment, “sense of pain-“

“—So you can still feel touch then!” I say excitedly.

“…I can feel pain,” he says tiredly, “Not all touch. As a general rule, if it was supposed to be a positive thing, I probably can’t feel it anymore.”

I stare, and then ponder this in focused horror for a few seconds.

“Alter, I think that’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, looking over at him again, “Who cursed you?”

“No one. This is just what happened to me eventually,” he replies without emotion.

Man. I wish he would tell me more, now. He’s not very open.

“—I see him,” says Alter.

I perk up, and follow his direction. It only takes a moment to pick out the figure we’ve been looking for.

“That’s the Archer I was telling you about alright,” I agree, “But who the hell is he holding? Is that a little girl?”

Hm, it is. She’s covered in blood, and it looks like he’s taking her to the medbay, but she’s not wearing a uniform, and I’ve never seen her before. It’s not like they get new recruits here, either.

“…Prisoner form another faction?” suggests Alter, following the same path of logic.

“Probably,” I agree, “…Great!”

I sigh happily and float back against the stone floor again.

“This is perfect for us! If they’ve got a prisoner, they’ll probably be distracted tomorrow, questioning her. Even if they don’t, they’ll divert people to guard her, and it’ll be the thing on everyone’s mind,” I continue.

I was a little concerned about their Archer—he’s really the only thing that could cause a problem for me. But, if he’s caught up with a prisoner, then we might not even have to find a way to kill him! Ah, if we can get away with just sneaking around, that makes this so much better!

“Okay, enough for the night,” I say, waving a hand at him lazily, “Take a break. Do whatever you want until dawn; just don’t leave the cave.”

“…Shouldn’t we move when it’s dark. Now is our best opening,” says Alter.

“You’d think so,” I agree. I open my eyes and frown at the top of my little cave hideaway. “They’ve got an edge at night, though.” I flop onto my side and watch him. “I’m a goddess of stars. And Venus, which is hidden by the sun during the day, but I have many sources of power, so I’ll be fine. Their edge at night is so ridiculous, I’ll take my chances with the day.”

“Their edge being?” asks Alter.

I grin at him and wave a finger. “No-no. Not so fast. You won’t tell me anything about you, while I’ve told you my name and my domain. I’ll explain, but only if you tell me about yourself.”

He sighs. “Fine. I don’t need to know anyway.”

I can’t believe that didn’t work. I mean-?! What kind of man doesn’t want to know the tricks his enemy will be using! Is he a warrior or not??!?

Huffing, I get up and walk to the back of the cave. I wave my hand and create a pile of cushions and blankets to rest on, and go angrily go curl up there.

That bastard. He’s watching me, and he looks amused!!

Wait—he smiled. That’s the first time, he-

Hmmm.

“Fine, suit yourself!” I snap, playing it up to see how he reacts. I wave my hand, and another set of cushions and blankets appear by him. “Sleep or die of boredom—do whatever you want.”

“Shouldn’t someone keep watch?” he asks dryly, “I thought you wanted a bodyguard.”

“I have all kinds of trippable alarms around this place,” I say, offended, “If anyone gets close, I’ll know. It’s shielded too, so it’ll block a few attacks on its own. I know how to set up a proper blind, okay?”

Who does he think he is? I’m not an idiot; I’m a Goddess. I don’t need to be questioned every six minutes.

Despite my generous offer, Alter stays at the mouth to the cave, watching the compound.I roll my eyes. Fine! Guess I’m not sleeping either.

It’s annoying, and so is he, but I have to say, as far as job-specific performance, I don’t have complaints. He really knows how to lock in and focus, and I’m not worried about him turning on me. Heroic Spirits are all some kind of professional, but I get the idea this is the specific type of professional he was. Hmmm.

“How come you lasted so much longer than the others?” I ask, curling around a pillow casually as I watch him, “I mean, I know you’re an Archer. But, so were some of the other presences I sensed.”

He shrugs without looking at me. “Unlucky, I guess.”

UN-lucky?! Rude. Everyone else died before I could save them.

“…What did the Counter- Force summon all of you specifically for?” I ask.

Alter makes a noncommittal gesture with an arm.  “Don’t know.”

“Come on, it didn’t summon you without instructions,” I say, “It’s not that inept.”

“Maybe others got instructions. I just assumed I’d be fixing a problem like always,” he replies.

I wonder if that’s the truth. He’s so evasive, and so closed off, it’s hard to tell when he’s lying, and when he’s just curt. Wait. ‘Always’?

“Always?” I echo, “What do you mean, ‘always’?”

“I’m not a hero,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at me and speaking with a ‘didn’t you know?’ kind of tone, “I’m a Counter-Force Agent.”

A what now?

“A what now?” I prompt, sitting up, “Is that like…” I think a second. I mean, I know what the Counter Force is. So…? “…Like an attendant to Alaya?”

He starts to say no, then reconsiders, and shrugs. “In a way.”

“Wow. She treats her attendants like shit,” I comment. Since he’s not using them, I hop off my little nest and move over to his pile of blankets and pillows, and flop down luxuriously next to him. “So…You stay at Alaya’s instead of the Throne of Heroes, and she sends you out to fight whenever she’s threatened?”

“Sort of,” he says, watching something in one of the buildings in the middle of the compound now. I follow his gaze, and my vision is every bit as Archer-Good as his—way better, I’d warrant, but I don’t see anything interesting. “Counter Guardians are sent to deal with any threat that would destroy mankind. Mostly, that means we kill people whose actions would kill too many other people.”

“Like a guard,” I say.

He grimaces.

Okay, no. I try to picture this for a moment. I guess if they’re sent out to stop people before the damage is done, then they’re more like assassins?

“You don’t like this job?” I observe, watching his expression carefully.

Alter shrugs. “It’s fine. I don’t really think about it. I do what I do. Besides, I don’t have a lot of capacity to feel left. I guess so long as the job gets done, that’s what matters.”

I guess humans need their ways to protect themselves, especially now that the Age of Gods has ended, and beings like me aren’t around as much anymore, to watch over them. Still.

“That doesn’t sound very efficient,” I decide, and I roll onto my back again and stretch, “I mean. Your system for keeping humans alive is to just smite every time a situation gets tense? Don’t get me wrong—I love a good fight. But…Every time? I’m a goddess of War, and I’d get tired of that. It’s Enlil behavior. Foolish. When you break things, you don’t have them anymore. Isn’t your Alaya supposed to be a God of Mankind? Gods of Life are supposed to preserve it.”

Mmm, thinking about Enlil makes me mad. Look, I love to smite, when somebody has it coming, but if I didn’t do other stuff too, I’d just be a God of Vengeance.

“Why do you care?” he asks.

!

“How DARE you?” I spit, getting right in his face, “I am a Goddess of Life! Fertility, birth, creating! Why do I care!? Do you know who I am?!”

He leans back a little as I keep pressing into his personal space in a rage.

“I am the Goddess of LOVE! Love, and WAR, and Justice!” I snap.

“Alright-“ he starts.

“Wisdom, heroism, power!” I continue. He keeps leaning away, and I keep moving forward because I want to shout in his stupid face! “Wickedness, righteousness, plundering cities, lamentation, rejoicing, deceit, truthfulness, rebel lands, kindness, activity, being sedentary!”

With nowhere left to lean, he tries to move away, but I’m faster, and he ends up flat on his back with me on my hands and knees on top of him, shouting into his miserable face lividly!

“Carpentry, coppersmithing, scribes, smiths, leather-working, fullers, builders, reed-working, attractiveness, purification, shepherds, RESPECT!” I spit at him, “Awe, reverent silence, kindling fires, extinguishing fires, the family group, descendants, triumph, strife, counselling, constancy, going to the underworld, returning from the underworld, swords and clubs, cults, black garments, colorful garments, power, treachery, straightforwardness, lovemaking, kissing, speech, lions, travel-!”

“-good lord,” whispers Alter, gaping at me.

“Prostitution, musical instruments, the art of song, the venerability of old age!” I shout, “Kingship, comforting, judging, decision making, planning, safe places, perceptiveness, attention, heart-soothing, consternation! Truth, victory, law, and the HEAVENS!”

He flinches, closing an eye to keep spit out of it, then looks up at me and says, “…isn’t that kind of a lot?”

I smack him so hard he goes flying and becomes an imprint in the cave wall.

Or, I’m going to, but something in me decides I’d rather brag over him instead.

“Hmph,” I say, turning up my nose, “For a weak God, maybe. I earned mine, and I take care of all of them.”

“…but some of them contradict each other,” he says in the voice of a man saying things he knows might get him smacked so hard he becomes an indentation in the wall, who just can’t help saying it anyway.

“So?” I snap, “So do humans. I’ve seen the same people forgive the unforgivable, and hold grudges their whole lives. Gods can do the same. We contain multitudes. I can embody as many ideas as I want.”

“…well it sure explains some of it,” he mutters from beneath me.

Oh, he is getting on my last nerve.

“Some of what?” I hiss.

“You’re very volatile,” he replies.

“And you’re very stupid,” I snap, “You know I could disintegrate you, right? I’m your master, and I’m twice as strong as you are!”

“Only twice?” he asks.

I do smack him this time, though not into the wall. I know that’s what he was trying to get me to do, but I’m still not going to let him get away with it.

Okay you want to play games? I think.

“You know,” I say, and I change my demeanor. My anger and pride become a cold, controlled malice in my voice, a danger hiding just under the water, and I lean very close to his face, my dark brown hair falling around us and blocking out the little remaining light outside. “You’re Alaya’s bitch. A ‘Counter Guardian’. That makes us natural enemies. Have you realized that yet?”

Alter doesn’t respond.

“Gaia and Alaya split eons ago. The will of the planet, and the will of men. Gods are tied to the will of the planet. We are on Gaia’s side, in conflicts, and you are on Alaya’s. That potentially makes you a threat,” I whisper.

I wonder what he’ll do. Argue, reason? Probably, he’ll either try to piss me off more, or just stay quiet. Those are both really stupid, but he seems to not have the best head on his shoulders. Or maybe he just wants to die?

I realize after a second, that could actually be true.

In the darkness, his golden cracks faintly glow to my eyes, and there’s nothing in his grey irises but exhaustion and very old despair. Like he doesn’t even have the energy for pain.

“Are you going to kill me, then?” he asks simply.

I wonder, if I said yes, would he summon a blade and try to stab me? Or would he just hold still, like it’s an execution?

“Why don’t you react,” I say in the same calm, unattached tone he’s using, “To anything? Is there anything you care about? Or want? That you fear, or dread? Is there even anything you think, or believe?”

Alter doesn’t reply. He just looks at me, passionless.

“Archer,” I say, “You promised.”

Huh?

He does react this time. His brow furrows, and his eyes have life in them for a second. He looks about as surprised as I feel.

What the hell was that?

I look internally, and I’m suddenly feeling all these…emotions, out of nowhere. Attachment, affection, pity, --love? –irritation, pain, sadness? –Confusion, but that one’s mine.

Oh, wait.

It’s got to be my vessel. Oooohkay..? Weird, she’s never done this before. She must feel really strongly about this guy. Why?

Curious, I reach out internally, trying to find some part of her consciousness I can focus on. We don’t have any real communication—she accepted being my host, and I took the body. I mean, I didn’t kill her, so of course she was in there somewhere, but I thought she was perfectly in sync with me.

I can’t hear her, but, I have feelings now that aren’t mine—well, it’s our body, so I guess what’s hers is mine, and they are, so more like, ‘I have feelings that don’t originate with me.’ She feels really sad—I feel really sad, I guess—we feel really sad, about him. Because…? I mean, his work is sad, but…

I try harder.

“Why did you say that?” asks Alter, who I forgot about until just now.

“Shush,” I say, turning my head to the side and shutting my eyes to listen, “I’m doing something important.”

He starts to say something anyway, so I cover his mouth with my hand.

We’re sad… …Okay. We’re ‘mourning’ sad—so-? We knew him? Knew him or someone like him? What else. …We feel…nostalgia, okay. Regret. Pain, affection, happiness, sadness, distress. Whoa, we feel a lot about this. I think…we’re mad at him. We’re also mad at us. Oh, whoa, we are way more mad at Alaya than either of us—good for us. We are concerned. We want…to play with him? No, okay. …to shake him and yell at him, alright. Reasonable. …To take him home and—oh. Hah! No wonder this body was so compatible with me. Mmmm… What else do we want? To ‘fix’ him? Hm. Yeah, that would be fun, but it’s pretty hard to rip someone out of Alaya’s cold, dead hands… I guess that still counts as going against her, though. Besides, she really doesn’t take care of her humans. She doesn’t even give them a good time before she kills them. She just uses them up like she’s sucking the blood out of a sacrifice, and drops the carcass.

“Okay,” I say, releasing his mouth and turning my attention back to him.

He grimaces at me, but he actually looks on edge for the first time now: confused, on edge, and irritated, but also curious.

“Do you recognize my vessel?” I ask.

“…? No,” he says.

I smack him.

“Ow!” He actually looks peeved this time.

“THAT’S for forgetting her,” I huff. We feel very satisfied by this. “You do know, and memory loss is no excuse.”

Maybe it should be. …Nah, I don’t care if it should be. Too insulting.

“We met before?” he asks.

“No, you and my body met before,” I reply, “Remember, Goddess—vessel—divine power makes manifesting a whole thing?”

He looks like he’s sort of sweating now.

Good.

“You promised her something. When you remember what it was, tell me, and apologize,” I order.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with some genuine stress in his voice.

“Well, good luck,” I say carelessly, “Because you better figure it out.”

Off balance now, he just sort of lays there looking cornered. I study him for a moment.

“…Being a Counter Guardian really did a number on you, huh?” I ask more softly.

“What?” he says, I guess confused by the shift in tone or something. He seems to have some trouble keeping up with me.

“Okay, let’s see,” I say, ignoring him. He can’t taste food. Can’t feel pleasure. Can’t remember.

I get an idea that I like, and focus on him again.

“Your God treats you poorly. I’m going to make you so envious of my sukkals that you wish you never had to work for her again,” I boast proudly. Leaning down, I prop myself up with a forearm, and put my other hand against his cheek. He stiffens and tries to pull away, I guess forgetting that he’s already on the floor. “Calm down,” I purr, lowering my body onto his and pressing against him, “This won’t hurt.”

I kiss him. Lips pressed to his, mouth open, I speak into his throat and order, “Ṣāḫam. Edram. Hussam.” I hear him try to say something, and move his head, but he stops as the magic takes effect.

Kissing him with more passion, I continue the spell. My magic seeps from my lips into his, and from my words, along his throat, and deep inside him.

I hear him whimper.

It’s very satisfying. I haven’t gotten him to lose anything since I picked him up, but finally, he’s down.

It also makes me want to take care of him though. I stroke his short white hair, and the edge of his jaw and brow, and I press harder against him. He chokes out a gasp, and tries to move again, in a panic. This time I let him.

Frantic, he drags himself out from under me, and summons his little sword-guns. Eyes wide and wild, he slams his back against the edge of the cave, and raises them at me, breaths heaving.

“What did you do to me?!” he shouts.

He actually…sounds scared? What in the world is going on?

“Easy,” I say, waving off the concern, “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. All I did was use a little magic to enhance your senses of taste, touch, and memory. I fixed you.”

“Undo it!” he shouts, aiming the second gun at me. Is he shaking?

“Well, it’ll wear off on its own,” I say, confused, “I basically cast a blessing. It’s not like I altered your saint graph. But, no,” I add, glancing at the plate of food I made for him earlier, “I won’t take it back. You can enjoy some food now. Have a little fun with it.”

He shoots! The little bastard shoots right past my head!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I explode. I think he got some of my hair! What the hell!? And after I was so nice all on my own for no reason?!

He flinches, but keeps the guns up. “Take it back!”

“—Are you out of your mind?!” I shout, moving towards him and waving my arms, “I’m the one keeping you alive! Did you really just--?!”

He shoots me.

I can’t believe it.

I hear the gun go off, and feel pain, and then I’m looking down at a bright red blossom of blood seeping out of my beautiful new avatar’s body. He shot me in the CHEST, the little bastard! A little to the center, and he’d have shot me in the spirit core! OH MY SELF. I didn’t even have a weapon out!

Enraged, I summon my massive bow, determined to vaporize him with the power of a star, and feel something tugging on my heart. ‘Fear’?

When I look, Alter’s pupils are the size of pinpricks. Shouldn’t they be big, if he’s focusing on me, to fight?

Wait, yeah—what the hell is wrong with him? He wasn’t even scared when I showed up and found him dying. Now he’s acting like I’m his worst nightmare. Did they put some weird spell in him before I picked him up, and I somehow set it off?

Instead of blowing him to bits, I lower my arms and let my bow vanish, although, I remain alert enough to dodge if the little fucker shoots at me again…

“It was only a little spell,” I say, totally lost at this response, “What is going on with you? I can’t believe you just shot me.”

The pinpricks become a slightly larger pupil size. I think he at least heard that, and he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t shoot again. His hands are still up, and his grip on his guns so hard I can see the bones of his knuckles press against his skin.

“Seriously,” I say, “What the hell, Alter?”

“Why did you do that?” he demands, voice raspy and tense.

“? Why?” I echo, “Uhm, because your senses don’t work-“

“—Like that!” he interjects angrily.

??? Like what?

“Wait, you mean the kiss?” I ask, thoroughly taken aback. I make a big, shrugging gesture. “Uhm, I’m a sex goddess? I told you that. This is just how that kind of magic works.”

He looks so horrified and hostile about this.

“What?” I say with a laugh, “Did you get cursed by a different sex god the last time you were kissed?”

The guy blanches.

No way. Seriously?!

I sigh and roll my eyes, relaxing a little. “Yeesh. Okay, honey—chill. I won’t kiss you again. I honestly just thought it would be fun—I mean, you don’t have a sense of touch that works, usually, and I’m really good at it. Just trying to be nice.”

I float up and way back over to the corner of the room I set up for myself. He watches me, pivoting with the guns still up to track my movements.

“Seriously? Put those down,” I say, gesturing to my bleeding chest, “I’m being really nice right now, and letting it go, because you’re kind of cute, but if you shoot me again, I’m not gonna be so nice.”

He blinks at my chest like he’s only just noticed he did that. His pupils expand to a more normal size and he blinks again, and then looks at his hands and the guns in them, and slowly lowers them, looking…guilty? No…

I decide to just let him be for a moment, and summon a gem, place it against my chest, and suck the energy out through my skin to heal myself. When I’m done, and I look back over, my little bodyguard is watching me, looking grim and calm again, but also a little beaten, and ashamed of himself.

“Hey. You back?” I ask him.

“…I’m sorry,” he says.

“Good. Accepted,” I reply, “But seriously, what gives?”

“…You enhanced my memory,” he says, his gaze dead and far away again, “I remembered things I had only half remembered before, very vividly. They happened to be similar. Only…”

“Whoever she was killed you?” I ask, kind of curious now.

“…I wish,” he says quietly, “But no. She changed me.”

Ah. …You know, I get that. My body is feeling a lot of things, and it’s actually kind of hard this time to tell which started with me this time, because I agree with most of it. I mean…even as myself…

I consider, then I start to hop up to go back over to him, reconsider, and try waving him over to me instead.

It’s super clear he doesn’t want to come, but he moves closer anyway, stopping at the edge of my little makeshift nest of a bed.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I say honestly, “I understand. That’s why I wanted you to go to sleep.”

He looks at me, finally, to give me a quizzical expression.

“Because if you don’t first, I can’t,” I reply, and I lay on my stomach and prop my chin in my hand, “Just because I’m a God, just because you’re a Guardian, doesn’t stop things from happening to us. I travelled, once. Far and wide, and when I got exhausted, I laid down for a nap under a tree. I woke to find a mortal had found me in that one moment of vulnerability, and had his way with me.”

Even millenniums later, I don’t like to remember this story.

The Alter looks genuinely shocked, disgusted, and hateful to hear that. I guess he’s one of the good ones.

“I’ll never sleep anywhere near a stranger again,” I say simply, shifting the topic as quick as I can, “So, what else would make you shoot me, if I did it—so we can get this out of the way?”

“…It wasn’t your- …” He reconsiders, and then sighs. “Don’t try to control me or change me, especially that way.”

But that way’s so fuuuuun, I think piteously in my head, And you’re pretty and that’s the only way I’ve been able to mess with you…

But, I guess. Fair is fair.

I sigh. “Okay. Fine. On the condition you do try some food and wine now, before that blessing wears off.”

He looks a little surprised by this, but he gives a nod. I think he’s mostly relaxed by now. I guess admitting to being fellow victim made me less intimidating. Great, now I have to think of a completely new way to intimidate him, but one not quite as effective as that…

For the moment, I settle for living in it, and I wave my hand. A variety of breads and butter cakes with honey, meats, fruits, and nuts appear in bowls around us, with them, goblets and pitchers of water and wine.

“I’ve never seen a heroic spirit waste their mana on something like this,” he comments, taking the decadence in.

“Well, what do you expect?” I say, and I snap my fingers and summon a brazier for warmth, and more cushions, plus a stone seat, if he’d prefer it, “I’m a goddess. I’m used to a certain lifestyle. Just think of it as a bonus: stick with me, and you get the best.”

He smiles a little.

Hey, I did it, I think proudly, Finally got him to smile on purpose.

Alter picks up a piece of dried meat, considers it, and then takes a bite. He looks startled, then intent, and he takes another, smaller bite. His smile becomes more genuine, less guarded.

“That…actually worked,” he says.

I huff. “Of course it did. I’m a Goddess of Pleasure. You think I can’t cast a blessing to let people experience some? Your attitude needs some real work.”

He doesn’t reply. He just takes another slow bite, savoring it and thinking. “…I didn’t remember what taste was like,” he says, almost to himself. After a second he turns to me. “Thank you.”

I feel my face heat up, and turn my head away. “F-Finally, some manners.”

Alter smiles again.

It makes me feel good. I think…I think it makes us feel good, actually. I feel like my body is thanking me too. I didn’t even realize she was individually aware enough to care in a separate way. It’s nice though—it’s like having two voices going ‘great job Ishtar, you're the best!' instead of just my one, whenever I pull something off.

I pour myself some water, and eat a butter cake while I watch him.

It’s like watching a kid try things for the first time, except super depressing. He keeps taking tiny bites out of different things, and then thinking hard for a long time—I guess trying to commit it to memory. After about an hour, he starts to actually eat the food, and he even tries a little bit of the wine.

I am extremely proud of myself. Suck it, Alaya. I’m waaaaay better to work for than you, bitch. Look at him: you burned out a perfectly good human. And here I am, giving him a nice reward for a day of work. I bet I could get triple the energy output you do. What do you think will happen to your humans if you never give them enrichment? Don’t you know they wither and die?

“Honestly,” I mutter under my breath, “Does she even like humans at all?”

“Hm?” says Alter, glancing my way. Instead of using the cushions or the chair, he propped one cushion against the base of the chair, and has been leaning against that while he eats.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, waving it away, “Anyway, can I ask something? Who was she, the other sex god? I like to keep a tab of the gods I have beefs with, for when I run into them.”

He exhales something like a snort, amused. “It’s not your grudge, is it?”

“I’m a God of Justice,” I say carelessly, “All grudges are my business. And anyway, you’re my employee now, so your beefs are my beefs. When I have the time, I mean.”

He takes another slow drink and nods, a faint smile still on his lips. “…Well, she wasn’t a god. Her name was Kiara. Sessyoin Kiara.”

‘Sessyoin Kiara,’ I think, and I summon my God Beef Tablet, remember what he just said, summon my Spirit Beef Tablet instead, then add her name to it.

“Shit, you were serious?”

I glance over at Alter and see him gaping at the list.

“Yes. I get a lot of satisfaction when I get to cross one off,” I reply, “Go on. Who was she?” I have to make sure this is actually the right list…I have one for normal humans too.

“Uh—she was a priestess. Sort of. She masqueraded as a holy woman, and on the outside of her organization, you’d never know how rotten she was. It was a cult, that dragged a lot of good people down and into the center of it. Nobody really understood what she was doing until they were in so deep, it was too late to get out. Or to survive at all,” he replies.

“Is that what happened to you?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “I was sent to kill her.”

“Did you?” I ask.

He nods. “…But I had to go through a lot of innocent people to get there.”

“…Was it worth it?” I ask, letting my list disappear.

“No,” he says, without needing to think about it, “If I’d finished the job sooner, it would have been. But it was all so late by the time I got it done…”

“…Yeah,” I say tiredly. I reach over and pat his arm, and he doesn’t flinch or startle, just sort of ignores it. At least that means he’s back to normal.

“What about yours?” he asks after a moment, glancing over at me.

“Was it worth it?!” I ask, taken aback.

“No,” he says like I’m stupid, “What was his name.”

“Why. He’s dead,” I say, hackles raised.

“Because I figure if you’re my employer, your beefs are my beefs too. If I ever end up in the underworld, I can take the opportunity to see what happens if you kill someone already there,” he replies.

Oh.

I brighten. “Well, in that case, his name was Shukaletuda. –You know that once I caught him, he tried to make excuses for doing it?”

“I hope you didn’t let him go quick,” says Alter, with a twisted smile that I really like.

“Oh, please, I’m a goddess of Justice, not Mercy,” I say proudly.

“What, that wasn’t one of your 800 domains?” he asks in mock surprise.

I shove him, and he spills his wine on his plate of food. “You’re just jealous you don’t have any.”

He flings bits of wine off his fingers and all over the place, including onto my clothes, but since he doesn’t seem to have noticed or done it on purpose, I don’t break his fingers over it. I just watch him sadly move his soggy plate of bread and meat, and get a new one.

“Seriously though,” he asks, relaxing against his backrest again, “How did you get so many?”

“It’s a good story, but it’s kind of long, and if you interrupt more than four times, I’m going to put you through a wall,” I warn.

“How long is it that you’re giving me four free interruptions out the gate?” he asks in aghast wonder.

I stick my tongue out at him. He smiles and takes a swig.

“Okay, shut up and listen,” I say.

He nods, and takes another bite.

“So, originally, when the gods were handed out Mes, I only had a few domains—fertility, love, war--oh!" I say, “I almost forgot!”

“M?” he asks through the bread.

“—I’m tired of calling you Alter,” I inform him, “I’m gonna call you Sukkalmutu.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically through a mouthful of bread, “Should I ask?”

“It means like, ‘Vizier-warrior’. My Ninshubur, my bodyguard at home, she’s called ‘Sukkalanna’ sometimes,” I explain, “Which is ‘Vizier of the house of heaven,’ or ‘Heavenly Vizier.’ I like to keep my attendants’ naming traditions the same.”

This is a huge honor for him. The little twerp better get it. Even being mentioned in the same breath as Ninshubur is a gift.

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. While I’m not sure he gets just how beneficent I’m being, he is at least smart enough to know it’s a compliment, “…Alright.”

“Good,” I say, satisfied with that, “So, the domains-“

He relaxes and contemplatively begins to skin an apple as I launch back into my story.

“Now, when the heavens were new, the Gods who existed were gifted domains,” I begin, “But once we all had our domains assigned, there were a whole bunch left as yet unused, and my father Enki, he hung onto all those mes that nobody had been assigned yet, because he was the king of Heaven. And there were a lot left over. Like, a lot. And it was just this huge waste. Plus, I’m extremely talented and smart, and I was mostly just like a fertility-harvest Goddess back then, and that was a huge waste of potential, and my time. So, I got to thinking; there had to be a way to get him to give me more…”

[akilice]

[Crypter Rin AU] Put that knife down, Rin.

[vennyriz22]

Blunt Honesty

Little something for finally getting Eresh after 2 years

[cestacruz]

"Im dumb. And im dumber" the pendragon siblings

Was doodling protoverse and these are just gold so im gotta post them

Bonus Orkney siblings (minus Gaheris plus Mordred)

[surelysilly]

bright-eyed idealist (hard-eyed realist)

*whips out a bazooka*

i think it'd be fun to have him summoned as a Rider class servant (Fenton assualt vehicle is just a tank to roll down the the streets at high speed with, lol)

he's kinda mad-scientist like for techonology, and tinkers with a lot of stuff and making 'traps' character who can make a bomb out of anything trope. his weapons can only hurt other servants, and he pretends to be bad at hand-to-hand combat but is still a brawler at heart. it confuses people when he starts wailing on another servant or throwing what looks like magic (ecto blasts) around.

when he activates his 'noble phantasm' the Ecto-skeleton appears, and his lichtenburg scars become visible.

his catch phrase is "beware!!" and goes by Bill until he decides to say otherwise (who knows if 'ghosts' ever existed here or the GiW y'kno)

he keeps his wish a secret i dont even know what it is