Chapter 1 Fate: False Farce (FSN SI)

It’d be so easy to let him die right now.

Looking at his Master fussing over his past self, Archer was debating on why exactly he wasn’t immediately killing Shiro Emiya and thus freeing himself from Alaya’s grasp.

…Well, maybe there’d be a paradox seeing as killing his past self would prevent this present self from existing thus making it so that he’d never be here to kill his past self so his past self would live, but on the other hand, it’d feel really fucking nice to kill his idiotic past self.

Only half-keeping his guard up against other Servants, he didn’t remember any other attackers coming in tonight, Archer took the time to reminisce over his time in the halls of Homauhara Academy. Life was so much simpler then, softer. Fuji-nee’s rambunctiousness, Sakura’s soft voice, so many quiet and idle moments were here. Memories faded were being dusted off, and Archer sighed.

Damn his Dream. Damn his stupid self for not… appreciating, not cherishing, why had he thrown all… this away?

…This was why he hadn’t killed Shiro Emiya yet. Maybe, just maybe, Archer could convince his past!self the impossibility of the Dream and they’d be able to have this.

Something bothered him. More than just seeing shitty reminder of a past dream. More than seeing his naive idiot of a past self. What was it? It was going to bother him now.

Rin sighed with relief when Shiro Emiya suddenly gasped.

…You know what, that was what was bothering him. Letting Shirou Emiya live instead of just making sure he died. Forget that whole bit about changing the past; it’d be better to make sure this shitty present just never happened. Archer resisted the urge to pinch his nose. It wasn’t too late. A quick Trace, not even a Noble Phantasm, just a quick Trace of a Blade and a nick on the neck, and Archer would be free.

“All right, who’s the girl? I’m the girl!” Rin pumped a fist in the air, “Take that, you are not dying on me, Emiya!”

“Did you really have to do that?” Archer groaned, “He’s just going to die again later.”

“Buh-buh-buh!” Rin held up a finger, “Let me just bask in the genius that is myself.”

Archer rolled his eyes, but allowed her to bask regardless. Looking over the redhead, Archer frowned. Seriously, something was bugging the time-displaced Heroic Spirit about his past self. What was it? Looking at the head triggered a vague disconnect, but how?

Rin then interrupted his thoughts, shouting, “Now, take us away, Actually Satan. We’ve got shit to do.”

God fucking damn it, he was not… You know what? Not worth it.

Was Rin always this bossy? Archer didn’t-- Nope. That was a lie, Archer remembered her being worse. He huffed and most definitely did not feel fondness as he swept Rin into a surprise bridal carry.

Looking over the prone body of Shirou Emiya, Archer decided not to undo his Master’s efforts. There was still time to rectify this timeline. Call him selfish, but Archer wanted to see Saber once more. If that meant letting his past self live long enough to summon her once more?

Then so be it. He could always kill Shiro Emiya later. That or persuade him to a better path. If persuasion didn’t work, it’d be back to killing. Archer really wanted to kill Shirou Emiya.

As Archer dashed away from his past self carrying his Master, that strange thought finally coalesced into coherence.

Was his hair always that long back then? Reaching his shoulders?

=====

“Nice night, isn’t it, Shiho-chan?” Kirisugu asked, one hand tucked inside his jinbei. His other held a cup of steaming green tea that he sipped sparingly.

“Yes. The sky is clear, and the moon is full,” I sipped at my tea, “And the tea’s just right.”

Tonight wasn’t the night for tsukimi, the moon-viewing festival. That would be next month. Fall had started early though, and tonight wasn’t a school night, so Kiritsugu had nudged me awake to go out and watch the moon with him in the garden.

I had indulged him despite being sleepy. I did enjoy spending time with him, and it wasn’t much of a sacrifice on my part to sleep later than usual. Also, I knew that he was stubborn and would have tried to set things up himself and I’d rather he not break the water heater again trying to make tea.

“Mmhmm,” Kiritsugu hummed before dropping into a hacking fit of coughs. It sounded as if his lungs were attempting to escape his chest, but at least there was no blood this time.

I knew tonight was too nice to keep like this.The old man was pushing himself way too hard with his illness, and he was far too stubborn to rest when he needed to. I frowned, “You look tired. You should go inside and rest, dad.”

“No. I’m fine.” Kiritsugu smiled before ignoring my filial concern, “...When I was young, I wanted to be a Hero of Justice.”

My eye twitched. Eeyup. There was the eternal Emiya stubbornness. Well, if he wasn’t going to be the mature one, I would be. I immediately began planning how to get him to go to bed even as I slightly sassed him, “I’m guessing you gave up?”

“Yes.”  he sighed, “There’s a deadline to being a hero, you see. Once you become an adult, it’s hard to be called a hero. If only I had known about that sooner.”

It took me a moment to realize what he just said, but when I did, I could only mutter a simple, “Ah…”

My heart felt heavy as I realized what was happening.

Even with my utter casualness as a NASU-verse fan, even with my crappy memory, even with all the fuzziness, I could recognize the start of that infamous conversation. Of this irreplaceable moment of a father speaking to his son of a beautiful, impossible dream. Of passing on a strange, cursed inheritance.

Kiritsugu smiled sadly, “Mmhmm…”

And the only reason Kiritsugu ever began speaking of his dream  was because… He’s dying, isn’t he?

One hand on his shoulder to comfort him, I sent a pulse of mana to Grasp his body. What returned was confirmation of what I already knew. His heart was clutched in anger, grief, in magical manifestations of every one of his regrets. I believe this is the offshoots of Angra Mainyu, and perhaps it could be purified, but… no longer.

Born of magical malady, the curse had only fed upon his regrets and in a way? Kiritsugu held them close to his heart even as it hurt. Logically, consciously, perhaps he fought it, but deep down? He had resigned himself and his self-hatred would, was literally killing him.

I had tried being the best daughter I could be. Tried to make him… not give up, but… I suppose I knew this was how it was always going to end. He was always destined to die.

…BUt maybe I could change something on my side.

“...Life’s a crazy bag of marbles sometimes,” I started, faintly remembering the start of what once had been a great joke,  “One big crazy bag of marbles. Blue marbles. Red marbles. Half-transparent marbles with a… with a fun swirl in them.”

“Uhuh?” Kiritsugu seemed confused by the sudden aside.

I couldn’t blame him. I chose the worst, stupidest way to reveal my foreknowledge, but I couldn’t help it. I needed some form of distance between myself and this curse, and humor was as good as any.

“Some marbles are even more interesting,” I continued, keeping the tremble out of my voice and sending it to my hands. I put my cup down. I didn’t want to spill my tea, “Some marbles you think are going to be a limited edition with king design, but then they’re the equally limited but much more surprising female king marble. Some may argue that’s debatably rarer. I’d argue that’s anxiety inducing. ...Some marbles like to abduct smaller marbles. Then you gotta shoot that marble. Cause it’s marble buddy brought a really big, black tentacle marble.”

I shifted to face the old man. His face held a fading surprise but mostly? Just resignment. I had promised myself to reveal my foreknowledge long ago, but… you know how procrastination and avoidance goes hand in hand. Always just a promise of later, one more day, there’s still time, until it’s the final night together with your father.

Licking my lips, I pushed past my fear, “...Let’s talk about marbles, old man. Let’s talk about the worst game of marbles that ended in literal flames.”

“...Marbles sure are random,” Kiritsugu sighed as he tilted his head back to gaze at the moon, an action almost mournful, “Sometimes they make it seem like joining a game with others for the grandest of prizes feels like a good idea. Until you realize that you’re not playing with marbles, you’re a marble to be played with. You make friends, you make bonds, but in the end, you’re all just marbles in the middle of a circle, waiting to be taken out and collected. Especially when you force them into wheelchairs, hold other marbles for ransom, forge a magical pact with a marble that forces you to watch as they grovel in pain on the ground begging for the sweet release for marble death, but you can’t because you signed a magical marble pact and you can only watch as its last marble breath escapes its marble lips.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I started off with marbles as a joke, but he delivered the punchline himself. Wasn’t that fucking hilarious?

Wasn’t that just a fucking tragedy?

Wiping my face, I shifted out of seiza and kicked my legs out, allowing them to dangle, “Marbles. The games people play with them are kind of fucked up, aren’t they?”

“Yes, yes, they are, aren’t they?” Kiritsugu sighed. “...Do you …did you know about the marbles?”

“...I like marbles, but I hate the game,” I didn’t quite answer, looking up at the moon in the same way the old man did, “Especially ones with stupid cups and cursed mud and greedy old men who have a weird fetish for bugs.”

“Ah.” he hummed for a bit, “...How long?”

“Enough.” I didn’t feel like explaining, didn’t want to explain. I wanted somebody to know the truth, but not all of it. I didn’t belong here, but I still wanted to be accepted.

“...Mm. Keeping secrets. Good habit to have.”

“...You’re my hero, you know.,” I scooted over, making sure our shoulders were touching, “You did shit, but you also tried your best and… you’re my hero.”

My first memory was of his smile. During the fires, the flames, the ash, I remember walking until I fell down. My Other Memories came in after Kiritsugu adopted me from the hospital, but… I think even if I knew everything I knew now then?

I’d still have asked him to save me. Seeing the old man’s face back then? Holding that simple joy of knowing that you’ve saved someone? Help them? Obtaining that feeling, wanting that hole to be filled, it scratched something deep in my soul.

It scared me because this ache should only be felt by Shirou Emiya.

And I wasn’t him.

“Thank you,” Kiritsugu smiled, patting my head and pulling me back to this present. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he pulled me in, holding my head to his chest, and nuzzled, “Thank you.

Shirou Emiya should’ve been here, but… maybe it’s enough that I’m here. Enough that I’m here to help the old man in his las-- in this moment. I couldn’t save him now. The cursed taint of the Holy Grail had been in him too long, and… I think he wanted to die at this point.

…I couldn’t save him, but I could still help.

Ignoring the wetness dripping on the top of my head, I murmured, “I’m… not going to promise to be a Hero of Justice. I’m not selfless or strong like that, but I do want to meet the small white marble, limited sister edition.”

“...You know a lot about marbles, huh?”

Pulling away, I nodded, “Mmhmm…”

“Why did you never say anything?”

I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want him to see how scared I was. “Because I’m scared that I’m going to be a marble later.”

He was silent.

Pulling away, I shook my head in resignation, “Greedy, old men aren’t satisfied with having a few or even the best. They want it all, and… there’s going to be another game.” Licking my lips, I sighed, “I’ve seen it, in more ways than one.”

Seen it in the memories of another version of me. Seen it in three routes and found more in manga and light novels and fanfiction. So many possibilities, terrifying in its open-endedness. I understood back then that it was simply a story, but living in the setup? The in-between of the prologue and the actual story?

Absolutely horrifying. There would only be one chance for a good ending, and the main protagonist still wasn’t here yet.

…I buried the idea that the hero could be me. It couldn’t, shouldn’t be me. I’m Shiho, not Shiro.

“...Makes a sad amount of sense,” Kiritsugu sighed, drawing me out of that particular spiral.

Taking a sip of my now-cold tea, I nodded, “Yeah.”

He chuckled, “You know this explains a lot. You always were a bit strange about wanting to learn from me. Far more jaded than a child should have been about learning magic, less playing around and more preparing for something.” Kiritsugu then lowered his head, “I guess I know what you were preparing for then.”

I nodded. “I hope I’m ready.”

“...I should have prepared you better.”

“You did what you could, and that’s enough.”

“Did I?” Kiritsugu asked, a single eyebrow raised.

I smiled wryly, “Well, you didn’t try too hard on the magecraft bits, I’m guessing.”

“I suppose I didn’t,” the old man freely admitted. He didn’t seem ashamed admitting it which… vaguely annoying but also understandable. I knew his story, and… Well… I couldn’t bring myself to resent him.

He did, after all, eventually teach me the basics, and that was all I needed.

Guns. Strategy. Skills. I didn’t simply ask for magecraft, I asked for everything, and he… didn’t quite teach me everything, but he gave me the foundation on how to learn what I needed in the future. That was the hope at least. I never asked, and he never told, but I like to think that I inherited some portion of the Magus Killer’s methodology.

A morbid inheritance to be sure, but one adaptable to many things. Use whatever you can, make a plan for everything you could and then plan for everything you can’t. To retreat is to allow future opportunity. This and that and so much more. There were some parts that I would definitely leave out, but all in all… Kiritsugu taught me some pretty useful things.

“...Ask Taiga’s father for a bottle of black sake if you ever need anything stronger than what’s in the pantry.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

We lulled into a companionable silence, but… Call me childish, but I didn’t want there to be silence. If it was silent, it meant that Kiritsugu could just slip away and leave me alone and… I didn’t want to be alone.

“...This night’s the sort that’s going to stick with me.”

“Probably,” the old man acknowledged before going silent once more. Just as I was preparing myself for another random aside, he murmured, “...Illyasviel.”

“Huh?”

“That’s her name,” he hummed, “Illyasviel. Angel who has heard the call of God. That’s your sister’s name.”

“Mmm,” I hummed, “I’ll save her for you, dad.” I took a deep breath. “And… do my best to be kind.”

“...Do you think kindness would’ve been better than justice then?”

“I like to think so.”

“...I think you’ll be a better hero than me then,” Kiritsugu sighed, and even if I wasn’t looking at him, I knew the old man was smiling.

Rolling my eyes, I pouted, “Told you, I’m not going to be one.”

He didn’t answer, merely having one last fading chuckle at my expense.

And then it was silent. A truly lonely silence.

…I knew he was too tired. The old man should’ve gone inside and slept and now his body was going to be stuck outside in the cold.

Leaning my head on his shoulder, I pretended I could still hear him breathing. I was good at pretending like that.

In my heart, I knew Kiritsugu had done horrible things, monstrous deeds. …But those memories of his sins were a literal lifetime ago, and he was the man who saved me, who taught me magecraft and guns and skills, and just… He was my father.

And I was going to miss him.

Wrapping an arm around his body, I squeezed and murmured, “I love you, dad. Rest well.”

Then, forcing myself to let go, I left to call Big Sis Taiga. She’d know what to do next.

=====

I woke up.

Because, of course, I did. Because life couldn’t be easy for an Emiya and since I am, apparent- fucking-ly, a female version of Shirou Emiya, life is thrice a bitch to me.

I want to cry. I hate having that dream. It was the beginning of the end for my fervent and pleasant denial of reality and just… Fuck. I hated having that dream even as I enjoyed that moment of freedom of being known, truly known by my father.

Just confessing everything to one person, having one person know the truth of what a fraud I was and accepting me as who I was. I want… I just… I don’t know what I want, but I know that night with the old man was the closest I was ever going to get to feeling some semblance of acceptance of my own damned existence. Existential ennui gets familiar, but never comfortable.

…Really wish I wasn’t Shirou Emiya. That fucker had the worst luck and the worst philosophies. Heroes. What a selfish thing to want to become. Just help. You don’t need a damn title or creed or something complicated. Just help people when you can, and if you can’t, just give up and let somebody else better suited for the task have at it.

Do what you can. That’s all you can do. That’s all anyone can do.

Wiping my face, I gritted my teeth. I don’t remember much of the main timeline, any of them. It was a literal lifetime ago since I read the story with distorted memories from a different version of me. What I do remember for sure right now  is that Saber comes tonight and I need her in play and on my side if I’m going to survive Lancer’s second coming.

As I stood up, a red glint caught my eye. Rin’s necklace jewelry thing. Right. She’s probably going to want that back. I picked it up and tucked it into my pocket.

Breathe in and out. My body is steel. Infuse and temper with each breath.

“Trace on.”

===

AN: I'm getting into the Nasuverse now. Sorry!