Rin was in her room, lying face-down in her pillow, rethinking her entire life up to this point. From downstairs, she could still hear the sound of laughter—his laughter—as her Servant casually cleaned the mess he'd made like some golden-haired tyrant playing house.
She had prepared herself for many possibilities. Perhaps she would summon a Saber, maybe even a knightly hero who embodied valor and loyalty. Or a Caster, wise and mysterious, cloaked in magecraft. She had not prepared herself to summon that—the literal King of Heroes, lounging on her couch like he owned the place, sipping her father's wine without a shred of shame.
When she had first studied the legends of Gilgamesh, she had thought of a warrior-king, one who commanded respect and protected his people. But the man in her living room? Arrogant, smug, larger-than-life—like the world itself bent around his existence.
And far, far too real.
At that same moment, in a distant thread of existence—the Prototype universe—another Gilgamesh paused mid-step, frowning faintly. "…Was someone speaking of me?" Then, as if realizing he was being stared at, he simply scoffed and carried on.
Back in Fuyuki, Rin buried her face in her pillow again and screamed until her throat was sore. Finally, she forced herself to stop, took a deep breath, and did the only thing she knew calmed her down: she pressed her hands together and began to pray, muttering the words a serten priest once taught her.
After several moments, her heartbeat slowed, her thoughts began to untangle, and she managed to speak aloud to herself.
"Okay, Tohsaka. Calm down. Rationalize. You just summoned Gilgamesh—the King of Heroes, the man who fought gods. That means you probably just secured one of the strongest Servants in the entire war. Outside of Saber…" Her mind briefly flicked to the legendary class. "…and whoever got stuck with Berserker. Poor soul."
She sat up, smoothing her twin tails and trying to steady her voice.
"Alright. This isn't the end of the world. I can handle this. I'm Rin Tohsaka, heir to the Tohsaka line. I've trained my whole life for this. I just… happen to have a Servant who thinks my living room is his throne room."
From downstairs, Gilgamesh's rich, amused voice echoed up the stairs:
"Bring me more wine, girl! And next time, fetch something worthy of my palate. I'll not lower myself to drinking mongrel grape-water again."
Rin clutched her pillow again, muffled a scream, and then let it drop with a resigned groan.
"…This war is going to kill me."
Meanwhile, in another corner of Fuyuki, the night was quiet. The wind carried the faint scent of the river, the cicadas had gone silent, and the moonlight painted the Emiya household in silver.
Ritsuka Fujimaru sat on the engawa, gazing up at the same sky his father used to watch. It had become a habit for him, almost a ritual—when the house was too empty, when the silence pressed too heavily, he looked to the stars and imagined what Kiritsugu might have been thinking.
He raised a hand toward the moon, as if trying to grasp it. Then he froze.
The back of his hand was faintly glowing red, like a burn half-hidden beneath the skin. The lines weren't random scratches—they curved, precise, forming the beginnings of a pattern.
Ritsuka narrowed his eyes, flexing his fingers. The faint heat radiating from it pulsed with his heartbeat.
"…Did I… scratch myself too hard?" he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
The marks shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
The air around him grew just a little heavier, a little denser, though he didn't notice. Somewhere, in the distance, church bells tolled midnight.
Ritsuka pulled his sleeve down, shook his head, and sighed. "Whatever. It'll go away by morning."
But the mark didn't fade. Instead, it pulsed once, almost in response.
And in that moment, the Holy Grail had quietly chosen its next Master.
The next day, Ritsuka went to school. The walk was ordinary enough—same streets, same breeze—but the moment he stepped past the gates, his body tensed. For just an instant, it was like he'd crossed into another world: the air thicker, sounds muted, something pressing against his skin. Then it was gone, like a dream half-forgotten upon waking.
He shook his head, pushing the unease aside. By the time he spotted Mash waiting near the courtyard, her usual shy smile on her face, it felt like nothing more than nerves.
Lunch came quickly. He sat with Mash and Ayako under their usual spot by the window.
Ritsuka chewed quietly, but his eyes kept flicking toward Mash. She looked… off. Pale, a little unsteady, the faintest dark rings under her eyes. What unsettled him more was the way she ate: more than usual, almost like she was forcing herself to refuel.
Ritsuka frowned, lowering his chopsticks. "Mash, you okay? You've been kinda… out of it."
Mash gave a small start, then quickly shook her head with a practiced smile. "Ah, no—it's nothing, really. I've just been… studying late, that's all."
Ayako leaned over, scrutinizing her. "Studying? You look like you're training for a marathon and losing. Don't push yourself too much, okay?"
Mash's fingers tightened slightly on her chopsticks. She nodded, but didn't answer.
Later that afternoon, Ritsuka found himself in the student council room with Kadoc. The two shared a quiet meal, the sound of canned drinks hissing open cutting through the silence.
Kadoc's sharp yellow eyes lifted to meet Ritsuka's blue. "Did you notice anything different today, Emiya?"
Ritsuka blinked mid-bite. "Different? Not really… other than Mash looking like she hasn't slept in a week." He shrugged, then added with a dry chuckle, "Oh, and, you know, the usual case of a new murder spree in town."
Kadoc stopped halfway to taking another bite, his expression unreadable. He set down his chopsticks, popped open his can, and took a long drink. Only then did he mutter, "Right. That thing."
He leaned back in his chair, voice low. "The news is saying serial killer. Bodies turning up in alleyways. But the cops are keeping details quiet—because the corpses aren't just stabbed or burned. They're drained. No blood left."
The air between them seemed to thicken, and this time, Ritsuka couldn't shake it off so easily.
Ritsuka gave a half-smile. "Yeah, I heard. That's why Miss Taiga keeps nagging me to come home early."
Kadoc's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not only Mash who seems to be tired."
Ritsuka tilted his head, opening his soda. "Yeah… Ayako too. She looks like she hasn't slept, but Mash—Mash looks pale."
Kadoc's gaze lingered on him, something unreadable flashing in his yellow eyes. Then he muttered under his breath, "…You'll find out soon enough."
Ritsuka blinked. "Did you say something?"
"Nothing really." Kadoc brushed it off with a lazy shrug, but his tone was too casual to be honest.
After they parted ways, Ritsuka ended up running into Shinji. As usual, the Matou heir was surrounded by girls. They exchanged a few biting words, the conversation shifting toward Mash.
Shinji scoffed. "I don't know what's going on with her. I barely know anything."
Ritsuka's voice was sharper than usual. "You're a bad big brother."
Shinji froze mid-step, turning his head just enough to spit back, "And what would you know?"
The words hit harder than Ritsuka expected. In an instant, he wasn't in the school hallway anymore—he was back in the fire. He saw his old home swallowed in flames, heard the screams, and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw her again. A girl with orange hair. Reaching out.
He shook his head violently, snapping back to the present. Shinji was gone.
Later, Ritsuka stayed behind to help clean the school. By the time he finished, the sky had already darkened. He packed up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started home.
That was when he heard it.
A low rumble shook the ground, followed by the crack of an explosion. Then, clear as day, an arrogant laugh carried on the night wind—mocking, imperious, like it belonged to someone who thought the world itself was beneath him.
Ritsuka froze. Slowly, he moved toward the window.
Out there, across the empty schoolyard and beyond the rooftops, two figures clashed.
One was golden. Literally golden—his hair glimmered under the moonlight, and behind him, circles of radiant light opened, spitting out weapons like divine artillery. Swords, spears, axes—an endless armory spilling from portals.
His opponent was quicker, darker-skinned, his movements sharp and precise. Each time a blade rained down, he fired glowing blue arrows from a bow that thrummed with otherworldly power. Sparks burst across the night sky as projectiles met midair.
The city around them trembled, like reality itself was straining to contain their fight.
Ritsuka's heart pounded. He didn't understand what he was seeing, but he knew one thing for certain: this was no ordinary battle.
And somehow, deep down, he knew—this was only the beginning.
Few Hours Earlier
Rin had almost panicked when she thought she was going to be late for school—her alarm clock flashing mockingly at her—but her Servant had other ideas.
Gilgamesh stood over her, smirking. "As if I'd allow my Master to squander her day."
Before Rin could argue, he'd already tossed her uniform at her, prepared a lunch from the golden ripples of his treasury, and unceremoniously shoved her through one of his portals. She stumbled out near the school gates, fuming.
"Never do that again, Caster!" she snapped, stomping toward the building.
The day passed with its usual rhythm—accidentally bumping into Mash in the hall and helping her pick up a stack of papers, a bland lunch break, and then the dull stillness of class. But as the afternoon wore on, Rin's sharp eyes caught something wrong.
A shimmer of magecraft hung over the school: a bounded field.
Hidden in spirit form nearby, Gilgamesh's voice slid into her mind like a blade of honeyed arrogance.
"So, my 'Master,' do you know what this field is?"
Rin's jaw tightened. "Yeah. A soul-draining type. Designed to leech people's spirits until their bodies rot away. I hate it. …This isn't one of yours, is it?"
Gilgamesh scoffed. "Please. I'd never sully myself with such filth. But yes, it reeks of another Servant's hand. We feast on mana, girl—your offerings suffice, but some mongrels let their Servants gorge on souls for power. A crude method, but effective."
Rin shivered. "Disgusting. Can you handle it?"
"Child's play," Gilgamesh said as he shimmered into full view, his golden eyes gleaming. "I could tear down all twelve seals in a single night."
"Really? And deny someone a proper duel?"
The new voice carried across the rooftop. Rin's head whipped around.
Leaning casually against the water tower was a young man—dark skin, sharp features, black hair, and calm brown eyes. A light purple shirt over white trousers fluttered in the breeze. At his side hung a quiver of arrows; in his hands, a gleaming bow.
Rin froze. "You—are you the one who set this field?"
The man's lips curved into a small smile, his tone low and steady. "Hardly. Neither I nor my Master have any need for such vulgarity. But another… might."
Her eyes flicked to the bow. "Then—you're…"
He straightened, his gaze shifting from Rin to Gilgamesh.
"Yes. A Servant. Archer of this war—Arjuna."
Gilgamesh raised a brow, lips curling into an amused smile. "You, Archer, declaring your true name so soon?"
Arjuna met his gaze steadily, bow in hand, posture unshaken. "It is only honorable to do so. A warrior's dignity is not found in concealment."
A low chuckle rumbled from Gilgamesh as golden motes shimmered faintly around him. "Very well. Since you've chosen to be forthcoming, I shall indulge you. I am Gilgamesh—Caster of this war, King of Uruk, King of Heroes. Remember it well, Archer."
Arjuna's expression shifted just slightly, the faintest crease of his brow betraying thought. "Gilgamesh… so the tales were true. A Servant tied to divinity itself. Yet, Caster, if you understand my legend, you must realize this is hardly the best matchup for you."
Gilgamesh tilted his head, almost lazily, though his golden eyes burned with interest. "You speak boldly, as if divinity bends entirely to your favor. Do you intend to test such hubris against me?"
Arjuna's grip on his bow tightened as he raised it with calm precision. "Hubris? No. Merely truth. The bow I wield was given by the gods themselves. Against one steeped in their essence, it does not falter."
Gilgamesh's laugh rang out, sharp and scornful, reverberating through the rooftop. "Hah! To think you would stand before me and prattle about divine gifts. Foolish archer. You rely on borrowed strength, while I am the one those same gods envied."
Golden ripples began to shimmer in the air behind him, faint outlines of treasures ready to be unleashed.
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy