There are moments—silent, intangible—when fate itself shifts. For Shirou Emiya, that moment had come and gone like the hush between heartbeats. It had occurred not with a sword raised or spell cast, but with a quiet, stubborn decision made in the corners of his heart: he would never become like him.
Not like Archer.
In choosing compassion over cynicism, in opening his heart to people rather than cutting it apart to serve ideals, Shirou had unknowingly broken the loop. The future that once awaited him—bitter, cold, and laced with regret—began to dissolve like ink in water.
Somewhere, perhaps across the stars or deep within the Throne of Heroes, a red-cloaked Servant smirked with a mixture of pain and peace. This was his final act of rebellion—not a blade drawn, but a future rewritten. He had once become a Servant in the hopes of erasing himself by killing his past, hoping a paradox would wash away his sins. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to kill Shirou. So instead, he had whispered secrets through actions, guided subtly, and handed down what he had once suffered to learn alone.
The result?
A Shirou Emiya who walked into battle during the Fifth Holy Grail War with the mind of a blacksmith and the heart of a hero—and the seeds of Unlimited Blade Works already blooming beneath his ribs.
It was never meant to awaken so early. The Reality Marble—his strongest skill—was supposed to be the final crystallization of a decade's worth of disillusionment. And yet, in this war, driven not by vengeance but by hope, it unfurled.
Unlimited Blade Works.
A realm not born of rage, but of purpose. A steel-sung sanctuary where swords rained like shooting stars, and legends were etched into the horizon. A treasury not unlike that of Gilgamesh himself, only this one forged by mortal hands and stubborn will.
Unlike the King of Heroes, Shirou learnt his weapons. Every noble phantasm within his world was born of blood, sweat, and study. With Saber's recounting of heroic tales, Medusa's bitter knowledge of divinity, Rin's relentless tutelage, Sakura's care, and Illya's haunting insight into magic and tragedy—Shirou was surrounded by more than affection. He was surrounded by legends.
And he was making them his own.
But magic—like music—required not only soul, but instrument.
And Shirou's instrument had long been flawed.
Born with 27 magical circuits, he should have stood proudly among the gifted. But he had been alone. And without guidance, his circuits had remained silent—used like crude tools, his magic forced through the wrong channels. Like trying to conduct a symphony through copper wires.
It was only with the girls' intervention—whether out of love, loyalty, or lunacy—that his circuits were coaxed back to life. Not only that, but through the combined wealth and magical know-how of Rin and Sakura, Shirou had been implanted with three additional circuits. A controversial procedure, one that most mages would scoff at, or outright outlaw. But for Shirou, it was a gift. A second chance.
Though the summoning of his servant had disrupted them, leaving his mana low and his core shaken, it was nothing time wouldn't mend. The mana-rich air of this new world was practically syrupy with potential. Unlike his own dying realm, where magecraft was an art reserved for the desperate and the dying, this world was still alive with belief.
It teemed with magic and myth—Immortals whose very existence thickened the leylines, and lands that pulsed with untouched arcana. There were no alien devastations here, no Age of Diminishment. Only possibility.
And possibility suited Shirou.
If he could adapt, if he could breathe in the mana of this place and mold it into something new, there would be no ceiling to his growth.
No end to the blades he could summon.
No limit to the path he could carve.
And no fate that could bind him again.
The thought wouldn't let him rest. After just half an hour of sleep, Shirou's eyes fluttered open.
He had been training his body to need less sleep—short, deep naps instead of long rests. With enough discipline, even four hours could be enough, even after a day that wrung every last drop of energy from his soul. He had learned to rest anywhere: on stone floors, in muddy camps, under starlight. A bed was a luxury, not a necessity.
Pushing off the blanket, Shirou sat up and glanced across the room. Kurono was shifting again in his sleep, caught in another nightmare. Understandable. Trauma didn't vanish with time; it lingered, festering in the dark corners of the mind.
Silently, Shirou rose and walked to the window, then climbed up to the rooftop of the three-story inn. He needed air. Perspective.
The city was aglow, lit with the kind of light that wouldn't be out of place in the modern world. Magic lamps lined the streets like lazy fireflies, soaking up energy from the world during the day and releasing it at night. It was a brilliant marriage of magic and utility—one that made Shirou pause.
Convenience, he mused, wasn't neglected here. Not like in his world. Here, the White Sacrament had ensured that knowledge was no longer hoarded in the hands of the few. Dangerous secrets were contained, yes—but innovation, even among common people, was allowed to bloom. Talents weren't so easily buried under the weight of politics or fear.
Of course, Shirou had seen similar things before. The scenery didn't awe him, but the atmosphere—now that was something special.
The stars stretched wide across the heavens, bold and countless. The night sky was not just beautiful, but alive. The world itself pulsed with mana, with promise. It was a balm for a soul like his, worn thin by battles both physical and philosophical.
With a quiet breath, Shirou closed his eyes and focused inward. His circuits, strained and unbalanced since the summoning had been disrupted, were settling. The mana of this world, rich and abundant, was healing him in ways sleep could not. The nap had helped, and under these stars, he could feel himself aligning.
"Training here should accelerate my growth… and with far less risk."
He no longer had to rely on others' mana so recklessly. The ambient energy alone was potent.
His thoughts wandered.
What were they doing now?
Saber. Rin. Sakura. Illya. Medusa.
They must have felt the severing of the bond.
"Did they realize what happened? Did they think I died? Is there really a way to cross worlds...?"
It was supposed to be impossible. Yet here he was.
This was the first time since the war that his mind felt so overwhelmed. The threads of fate were tangled in his head, tugging in a dozen directions. He needed a safe place. Somewhere to think. Somewhere to breathe.
Then—
A presence.
Not masked. Not hidden.
Someone was approaching.
Shirou didn't move, didn't glance back. His eyes remained on the horizon, his mind steady even as tension gathered in his shoulders.
"How? We were careful. Too careful. I don't remember slipping."
Still, mistakes could happen. He wasn't infallible.
He kept his expression calm. Stoic. Prepared.
Because whoever it was... they didn't come by accident.
-----------------
"Greetings, stranger. I am Achilles—commander of the army under the Duchess and her Knight," the man said with practiced courtesy, his voice steady, clear, and filled with quiet authority.
He was striking: light golden hair that shimmered under the moonlight, piercing blue eyes, and a physique honed to perfection—strong, but not overly muscular. His silver armor gleamed, engraved with beautiful patterns that Shirou recognized as magical runes. A crimson cape draped across his shoulders, fluttering softly in the night breeze.
Achilles looked every bit the heroic figure from the tales—because he was one.
Born of noble stock and possessing natural talent, he never allowed his gifts to make him complacent. He had fought, trained, explored, and endured. A knight who lived by principle. A man beloved by the people. An icon that inspired children to dream and warriors to follow.
Achilles stood for justice. And even if it meant disobeying a command, he would never compromise his ideals. He had come here as an envoy, but if the duo refused the invitation, he had full authority to apprehend them.
Still, Achilles wasn't a blind follower. He loved his Duchess—not in romance, but in deep respect. She had done more for the realm than he could ever hope to. But if she strayed toward darkness... he would be the first to stand in her way.
He knew Jacky would carry out any order, and William cared only for chaos and excitement. But Achilles? He wanted to keep the Duchess on the right path. A true knight's path.
He also knew, without a doubt, that if this encounter turned into a battle, Jacky would have been sent to kill. But he wouldn't let that happen—not unless there was clear proof of malicious intent. A simple theft shouldn't lead to execution.
Shirou watched him silently, eyes narrowing just a little.
"So this world does have reflections of the people I know… Arthur, Mordred, Semiramis, and now Achilles..."
The name had weight. And the aura this man gave off confirmed it. Shirou's instincts flared—his Mind's Eye, awakened after all his battles with Archer and the others, whispered of danger.
Achilles was no ordinary knight. If they fought, Shirou might survive. Might. But if others joined in—other legends like Arthur or William—he'd be overwhelmed. This wasn't a one-on-one kind of world.
The knight took another step forward, his posture relaxed but poised.
"Relax," he said gently. "Think before you act. I'm not here to threaten. I've come with an offer."
His voice was calm, measured, noble.
"You're invited to serve under the Duchess. Your crimes—trespassing, theft—will be waived. In return, you'll be treated with respect. Paid for your service. You'll be granted the best training, access to the Magic Tower, and tutelage from high-ranked mages. We know you're not locals, and clearly you're no ordinary wanderers."
Shirou's brows knit slightly. The knight wasn't trying to manipulate—they were genuinely trying to recruit them. This meant their existence hadn't been revealed to the wider noble society yet. Only Judas and his immediate circle were likely aware.
"This could be a trap. But if I fight now, I'll lose more than I gain. Best to go along… and look for a chance to escape later."
He nodded subtly to himself.
"Yes… accept for now. Survive. Learn."
The knight waited patiently, observing him.
"What is your choice?" Achilles asked, his expression unreadable. "I hope you are not like the hot-blooded youths I once was."
A brief flicker crossed his face. Was he considering adding more to sweeten the deal?
"Should I praise our camp more? Give him more reasons to join willingly?"
But Shirou had already made his decision.
"I would be honored to serve under the most wonderful and beautiful Duchess of Assyria," Shirou said with a polite smile, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect. "I must also apologize for the theft. I had lost my money during an escape from a dangerous situation—I was forced to flee downriver. I didn't realize there was a gate registration rule."
He kept his tone warm, friendly. Non-threatening. It was important to buy time—and trust.
The translation magic flared softly in his mind, subtle and unnoticeable. Fortunately, Achilles hadn't sensed a thing.
The knight studied him closely again, gaze sharpening for just a moment… then relaxing as a smile tugged at his lips.
"I'm glad you've chosen a wiser path," Achilles said, nodding approvingly. "Now, tell me your name."
"Gilgamesh," Shirou answered without hesitation, slipping easily into the lie. "And my friend's name is Enkidu. We're adventurers from Pandora. We got lost at sea and, well... ran into the wrong people here."
He delivered the story smoothly, the persona already taking root. It was one of the first things he and Kurono had prepared—just in case.
Achilles raised a brow, intrigued but not suspicious. "You've come from afar, then. I suppose it makes sense why you'd run into trouble."
There was a pause.
"But why come here, of all places?" Achilles asked, voice a little lower, more serious. "You should know—Assyria and Pandora are on unstable terms. The Sacrament is already making moves there. If you're from Pandora, this journey could've easily ended badly."
Shirou met his gaze and answered with genuine enthusiasm.
"I wanted to meet the heroes I heard about in my childhood. The Duchess… the Magic King… and especially King Arthur. My father was an adventurer from Logres. He used to tell me stories about the Round Table, the Holy Kingdoms, and the noble warriors who protected them."
He let some real warmth seep into his words. Memories of hearing about heroism. Of wanting to become one.
"A hero of justice…"
It wasn't a perfect lie—it was truth wrapped in fiction. The best kind.
Archer's voice echoed in the back of his mind—stern but familiar:
"Lose the honesty. Adapt. If you want to protect people, you must learn how to survive first."
Achilles stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. It turned into a laugh as he stepped forward and clapped a gauntleted hand on Shirou's back.
"Now that's the kind of passion I respect," he said with a wide grin. "Coming all this way to meet your heroes? Hah. You've got spirit, kid. You're in luck too. You'll likely meet the Duchess tonight—or by morning at the latest."
Shirou's eyes widened with carefully measured excitement.
"Really?"
"Yes. And she'll want to hear your story herself."
Shirou bowed gratefully. "Thank you, sir. Let me go bring my friend. He'll be thrilled to hear this."
Achilles nodded. "Go ahead. I'll be right here."
As Shirou turned and walked away, he discreetly activated a silent signal rune—an old trick Archer had taught him—then slipped inside the inn's room.
Achilles, meanwhile, tapped a small magical device hidden beneath his gauntlet and sent a coded message.
Target secured. Mission successful. Jacky to stand down.
The knight looked up at the moonlit sky and exhaled slowly.
"Let's hope they're as harmless as they seem…"
------------------------
Perched silently on a rooftop not far from the inn, Jacky's crimson eyes shimmered in the moonlight like twin rubies dipped in blood. The shadows clung to her like a second skin, her small frame practically melting into the darkness. She'd been watching everything—everything—from the moment Achilles made his entrance.
Now, with the mission marked as successful, Jacky didn't move.
She tilted her head, the same way a curious child might when watching a bug squirm before the final stomp.
"So… they're pretending to be nice."
He lied. But it was a pretty lie. A practiced lie. That made it interesting.
Her bare feet rested on the cold stone, silent as death, the mist that constantly clung to her form whispering softly like breathing.
"Gilgamesh and Enkidu…?" she whispered aloud, lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're bad liars. But you're fun."
She giggled.
It wasn't malicious. It wasn't even angry. It was innocent. Purely, disturbingly innocent.
But beneath it? There was sharpness. Like a scalpel wrapped in silk.
Jacky swung her legs over the edge of the rooftop, kicking her feet lazily. Her spectral blades flickered at her sides—ethereal, humming faintly, itching for something to cut.
"I wonder if I should've played with you a little before Achilles showed up. Just a little taste. Nothing fatal."
A pout formed on her lips. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees.
"But... orders are orders," she sighed. "Achilles doesn't like messy things."
She looked toward the inn's window, her eyes narrowing slightly. Shirou—no, Gilgamesh—was returning to fetch his friend.
He looked calm. Too calm.
"You're definitely hiding something…"
"And that makes you…"
A smile returned, this time wide, and dripping with a sort of giddy madness.
"So much more fun."
She stood up in a single smooth motion, not making a sound. Her body blurred for a moment, swallowed by the mist. A breath later, she was standing behind a chimney, unseen by any watchful eye.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Gilgamesh," she whispered. "If you try anything stupid… I get to play."
And with that, Jacky vanished—leaving behind only a faint scent of blood and the echo of a child's giggle on the wind.