In a quiet town nestled between Japan's sleeping hills, where power lines stood like skeletons against the lavender dusk and the streets still carried the scent of early spring, something had gone terribly wrong. It began not with a scream or a crack of thunder, but with a stillness—an eerie, smothering silence that blanketed a house too accustomed to magic.
Inside, Sakura Matou dropped her teacup.
The porcelain shattered against the kitchen tile, spraying fragrant brown liquid and shards in every direction. But she hardly noticed. Her breath hitched, her chest tightened, and the deep, invisible thread that connected her to Shirou Emiya—so familiar, so constant it felt like the thrum of her own heart—had snapped.
In the next room, Ilya stilled mid-laugh, her mouth open in half-formed joy. She was on the couch, tossing candies into Hercules' large, waiting hand, teasing him like a child might an old bear. But now her silver eyes widened, her pupils dilating. She, too, had felt it.
And somewhere across the city, amidst a pile of textbooks in a flat overrun by magical wards and papers inked with runes, Rin Tohsaka clutched at her pendant, nearly keeling over. The mana tether, which Shirou had drawn upon since the end of the Grail War, was gone—ripped from her like a bandage over skin too raw to heal.
They all felt it, the absence. Like a candle snuffed in the middle of a storm.
For months now—ever since the war had ended and the dust settled over the ashes of that terrible grail—Shirou had been something of a magical wanderer. Not a hero anymore, not exactly. But not quite ordinary either. His days were spent sorting out minor troubles: a rogue familiar in Osaka, cursed charms sold under the table in Kyoto, a minor demonic possession at a temple in Hokkaido. The world was quieter now, not safe, but manageable.
And Shirou had managed well—with them.
Sakura, ever devoted, had followed without hesitation. She had always said her happiness lay in his dreams, and she meant it. So she poured herself into support work, strengthening his circuits, replenishing his mana when his stubborn self pushed too far.
Illyasviel von Einzbern, Shirou's little sister in more ways than one, found the whole affair fun. She had lived too long in a world soaked in sorrow; helping Shirou chase small evils and right unseen wrongs was, for her, a kind of play. Hercules remained with her, towering and silent, a sentinel with a heart shaped by her smile.
And Rin—practical, brilliant, sharp-tongued Rin—had tried to pull Shirou into her path. She had graduated, of course, at the top of her class, and received an invitation to join the Clock Tower—the prestigious London-based heart of the Mage Association. She had wanted Shirou to come with her, to continue their growth together, teacher and student, partners in both learning and love.
But Shirou… Shirou had refused. He said the Mage Association would try to put him in a box, to limit him, dissect him even. They would try to suppress his ideals. And Shirou Emiya was a man of ideals, even if they were worn and cracked from war.
They had fought, of course. Tempers flared. Words flew like spells. But in the end, apologies were exchanged and kisses followed. Rin went to London. He stayed in Japan. Their bond endured, stretched but never broken.
She even contracted with Saber.
That had been her way of understanding him—of holding a piece of his soul in her world. Saber, the noble king who had once fought by Shirou's side, now stood beside Rin with quiet strength and silent understanding.
They had all settled into something that wasn't quite peace, but it was theirs.
And now… he was gone.
Disappeared in a blink. No battle. No farewell. Just… vanished.
Medusa was the first to arrive at the place where Shirou had last been seen. She stood barefoot in a clearing that smelled faintly of ozone, her blindfold fluttering in the wind, her hair coiling like restless serpents. Hercules was behind her, massive arms folded, his golden eyes scanning the space with a soldier's wariness. Saber arrived last, her presence cutting through the mist like a blade.
There were no bodies. No signs of a struggle. Just a faint shimmer in the air, a taste of something ancient and delicate.
"Spatial magic," Saber said, kneeling to brush her hand against the grass, which hadn't yet recovered from the strain of being bent between two worlds. "Someone moved him... forcibly."
Medusa said nothing, her lips pressed in a hard line. Hercules growled low under his breath, more beast than man.
-------------------
The old Emiya household was unusually still.
No hum of kettle, no light laughter in the corridor, no quiet clatter of tea cups. Even the wind dared not disturb the paper windows as evening crept in with long golden fingers, painting the floorboards amber.
Inside, in the sitting room where Shirou once mended broken swords and stubborn clocks, three girls sat in tense silence. Saber stood in the corner, her arms folded, eyes scanning the room as if an enemy might leap out of the shadows at any moment.
"I checked the perimeter again," Rin said, finally breaking the quiet. Her voice was sharp, clipped at the edges. "There's no residual energy from a familiar or a bounded field. The only lingering trace is that of high-tier spatial magic—deep and ancient."
She turned to the others, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Her crimson pendant glittered like a warning light at her throat.
Sakura, sitting with her hands folded tightly in her lap, looked down at the low table. "So someone took him."
"Or he went willingly," Ilya suggested, though there was doubt in her voice. "Maybe he saw someone… someone in danger?"
Rin shook her head. "No. I would've felt that. His link to us wasn't just mana—he had emotions tied to it too. It was cleanly severed. Controlled."
"That's not the worst of it," Saber said from the shadows. Her voice, ever calm, carried the weight of grim knowledge. "There have been others."
The girls turned to her, attention sharpened.
"For some time now," she continued, stepping forward. "Civilians, mages, even low-ranking spiritual beings. All vanishing. Without a trace. You've heard the rumors."
"I thought they were exaggerations," Ilya said softly, hugging her knees to her chest. "Sensationalism. Old ghosts."
"They weren't," Rin replied, her jaw tightening. She conjured a small crystal orb from her sleeve—a communicator linked to her sources at the Clock Tower. "I didn't want to panic you both… but yes, the Mage Association has been tracking this."
Sakura's fingers clenched against her skirt. "How long?"
"Two years," Rin answered. "First in remote areas. Then Tokyo outskirts. Quiet vanishing acts. One here. Two there. All across Japan. The Clock Tower classified it as a 'gradual magic-based anomaly'."
"They've been unable to stop it?" Sakura asked, shocked.
Rin shook her head. "Completely stumped. They've sent Sealing Designations, Enforcers, even Second Owners. Nothing."
"That's… that's awful," Ilya whispered. "And now Shirou—?"
"Now it's our problem," Rin said, her tone rising, her anger barely held behind her eyes. "And if the Mage Association can't stop this, then we will. I don't care if it takes digging through every spiritual ruin and forbidden text in the Eastern archives."
"He would do the same for us," Sakura said quietly.
Saber nodded. "And he has, more than once."
The fire crackled low in the hearth. Ilya slid off her chair and knelt near the table, resting her chin on her arms. "I don't want to wait," she said, almost like a child admitting a fear. "I don't want to sit here while he's somewhere… alone."
"We won't," Rin assured her. "We start with everything we know. We check old leyline reports. Sakura—there's a bounded field expert in Fuyuki, the one your grandfather knew. Contact him. Ilya, reach out to the Einzbern archive. Their ancient magic might hold keys to planar shifting."
"And me?" Saber asked.
Rin looked at her. "You come with me to Kyoto. That's where the last cluster of disappearances happened. We'll go under the Clock Tower's radar. Officially, we're looking for an ancient tome."
Saber gave a single nod. "As you wish."
They had no map. No certainty. But the room, once filled with the weight of fear, now shimmered with purpose.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the plum blossoms against the sliding doors.
Shirou was gone. But they would not let him vanish into silence.
Not while they still had breath.
-----------------
The silence in the garden was a heavy thing — thick as velvet and just as suffocating. Moonlight spilled through the slats of the shoji screen, silvering the tatami floor and catching the edges of Sakura's pale hands as they trembled against her knees.
She was kneeling alone.
She had excused herself from the others an hour ago, claiming she needed rest. But in truth, rest had become impossible. Since Shirou's disappearance, something had started to stir inside her — something ancient and hungry and terrifying.
It was happening again.
A quiet sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. Her body was boiling with mana — not in a way that was painful, but overwhelming. It was too much. Mana overflowed through every pore, every breath, too much for her fragile form to contain without him near.
Without Shirou, she had no focus. No warmth. No guiding light.
He had always been her anchor, her hand in the dark. His presence had softened the edges of her magic, soothed the maelstrom inside her. But now… now it surged, unbound, like a tide swallowing the shore.
She clutched her chest, where her magic circuits pulsed like living threads, agitated and wild. Her shadow, cast long and wavering in the moonlight, twitched unnaturally. It rippled.
And for a heartbeat — just one — it smiled.
A second sob escaped, harsher this time. The back of her hand flew to her mouth. No. Not again. She wouldn't let her out.
"Sakura."
The voice came like a whipcrack in the quiet — firm, familiar.
Sakura turned and saw Rin standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her face half-shaded in the moonlight. She didn't look surprised. In fact, her expression was a strange mixture of concern and resignation.
"You've reached your limit, haven't you?" Rin said softly as she walked toward her. "I warned you this could happen if Shirou went too far away. You two are more connected than you realize."
"I—I can't hold it back," Sakura whispered, tears forming in the corners of her violet eyes. "The mana keeps building and building… and I can hear her again. The other me."
Rin knelt beside her and placed a hand on her back. Her touch was warm, grounding.
"You're not her anymore," she said firmly. "You're not that monster who destroyed everything in her path. You made a choice back then—to step out of the darkness. That wasn't an illusion. You're stronger now."
"But if I lose control…"
"You won't," Rin said, gripping her shoulder. "Because I'll help you siphon the mana. We'll stabilize your circuits. And until we find Shirou, I'll be your anchor. Just like he was."
Sakura looked down. "And if that's not enough?"
Rin's gaze hardened. "Then I'll make it enough."
The silence stretched between them, not empty now, but full — of shared memory, pain, love. Of all the things they had lost and fought to keep.
"No one wants to see her again," Rin said quietly. "Not even you. You know what she'd do if she came back."
Sakura nodded. Her hands were still shaking.
"She'd burn the world down."
"Yes. And she'd think she was doing it for love."
Rin reached into her sleeve and drew a crystal—brilliant and cool to the touch. She placed it in Sakura's hand.
"Hold this. It's from my crest. It'll help balance the flow. We'll work together—every day, until we find him."
Sakura stared at the crystal, then at her sister. She had never cried in front of Rin since the end of the war. But now, the tears came freely. Rin didn't flinch. She just held her.
Outside, the wind stirred again — restless, like something hunting in the night.
But within the old house, two sisters sat close, the darkness pressing in around them.
And yet, for the moment, it did not win.
------------------------
The sea stretched wide and endless around them — an expanse of azure and grey, churning with waves and kissed by sun and wind. The gentle creaking of the boat and the rhythmic slap of the water were the only sounds for hours at a time. To Kurono, the sea was a stranger. Unfamiliar. Vast. It made him feel small, adrift in a world without rails or roads. But Shirou, though not a sailor by any means, navigated the voyage with steady hands and the calm of someone who had braved unfamiliar waters before.
Their map, worn but enchanted with helpful markers, was their only guide. Large X-shaped sigils warned of danger zones — territories marked by legends: the Kraken, the Leviathan, and other nameless beasts said to awaken at the scent of blood. Shirou steered wide of them all.
Meals were simple — fish caught fresh from the water, cleaned and roasted with flame spells. Water was purified with a shared effort of wind and cleansing magic. It wasn't luxurious, but it was enough.
In those seven days, something changed between them.
With no distractions but the sea and the sky, the two warriors came to understand each other — not just as allies, but as individuals burdened with their own histories. Kurono, rough and raw, was molded by experimentation and pain. His body was hardened, unnaturally strong, but his magic — dark and wild — lacked refinement.
Shirou, on the other hand, was not physically exceptional. But his technique, especially with reinforcement and projection, was polished like a practiced blade. Kurono watched him carefully during sparring bouts, especially when Shirou invoked his inner world — Unlimited Blade Works — that surreal domain where swords blossomed from the ground like iron flowers beneath a stormy sky.
It mesmerized Kurono.
"I need something like that," Kurono muttered during one evening, gazing out at the sea while shadowy wisps curled around his fingers. "A place where I can fight like I mean it."
By the next morning, he had begun crafting his own domain. It wasn't elegant — just a field of controlled darkness, where his mana thickened the air and followed his intent more easily. But it was his, and it was a start.
More importantly, Kurono adapted. He watched how Shirou replicated the workings of real-world weapons, and something clicked. Rail guns — high-speed projectiles using electromagnetic force. The blueprint alone gave Kurono ideas.
Though his magic was dark-based and lacked the finesse of lightning magic necessary for true railgun speed, he still fashioned a rough imitation. Dark bullets fired with compressed bursts of mana, mimicking the structure and velocity of a rifle. Then a cannon. Then something closer to an anti-tank round. Accuracy was spotty, and power fluctuated, but his damage output had spiked drastically.
He wasn't just punching anymore. He was launching compressed death.
From there, the inventions spiraled: a spiraling spear of shadow — drill through armor, Shirou had explained — and a vicious chainsaw blade, its serrated teeth vibrating with mana.
Defense was no longer an afterthought either. With Shirou's help, Kurono sculpted armor of darkness over his body — not a crude shell, but something modeled after real plate armor. Layered. Articulated. Aesthetic, even. Its jagged black sheen glinted menacingly, covering his limbs, chest, and head like a knight born from nightfall.
But the greatest improvement came not from weapons, nor armor — but from flow.
"Don't waste mana," Shirou had told him. "Let it move where it's needed. When you attack — burst. When you dodge — suppress. Control it."
It had taken a few tries, but Kurono learned to trigger micro-surges of magic at key moments. Mana bursts underfoot allowed sudden acceleration, sharp turns in mid-air, even explosive strikes that turned his own momentum into raw force.
As for Shirou, his growth was subtler.
The ambient mana in this world was far richer than in his own. It filled his body every time he breathed, settled in his circuits like warm smoke. He felt it strengthening him in ways he couldn't quite measure. With Kurono's rudimentary knowledge of the world's systems — absorbed from fragmented memories and rushed lessons — Shirou pieced together the new foundation of magic here.
Magicians formed rings around their hearts — circuits of flowing, refined mana that symbolized their connection to the world's magic. Each ring increased a mage's life span, raw output, and resilience. But the process was dangerous — an internal trial that could kill the weak-hearted.
Shirou had not yet formed a ring.
But he was ready to try.
He watched how Kurono absorbed mana, how his body naturally adapted to it thanks to those strange experiments. Shirou would do the same — not with brute force, but with precision. Observation. Will.
He still had much to learn. But for now, he had a goal.
And a new world to survive in.
They had only spent a week at sea — but by the time their boat scraped against the shore of the Pandora continent, the boys who had departed were gone.
In their place stood warriors — scarred by silence, bonded by battle, and ready for what lay ahead.