Chapter Text
A black sun, something that shouldn't exist.
No, he realized. Whatever cursed Magecraft this was, the result was far from a sun--far from a star.
When summer cast her scorching gaze upon the world, on the day the sun reigned without rest the longest, only then would her mother take her hand. Then, mother and daughter would climb the tallest mountains, peaks kissed smidges of snow. There, they would stare at the sun's majesty, free of worries of the mortal realm.
When winter coated the world in his blanket, white as ivory, downy as cotton, only then could he feel his mother's frigid embrace. On the day the moon and stars danced the longest, the mother would take her son's hand and lead him to the great forests of old, blessed with snow pure as ivory. There, they would dance in tandem with the moon and stars, uncaring of time till the sun claimed the skies again.
Fond memories, they were, but they were all in the distant past, pictures written in the golden sands of memories, soon to be washed away by the sea of time.
She was dead. His mother turned to dust, silver as the moon.
He coughed.
The ash filling his lungs was truly painful.
..........
In usual timelines, the only one to survive this Great Fire would be a boy named "Shirou," later adopted by Kiritsugu Emiya. But--as we all know--this is far from a standard timeline.
..........
'Mother.' A silent prayer for those departed.
"Why?!" And a curse screamed towards the heavens.
An inaudible cry left the boy's mouth, taught to him by those who passed.
The six-year-old was still shrouded in something that looked like a cloak. Yet it was too natural, too perfect, radiating warmth as if it were a part of the boy's body. Bloodshot eyes glaring in hatred at the hole in the sky, he took a single shaky step forward. His moth wings fluttered as light pulsed on their surface, cold phosphorescence spreading to their edges. Distant screams of those hurt and bloodied threatened to overtake his fragile mind.
He didn't mind them. He couldn't mind them.
Treasured memories forged in both body and soul roared to life in a brilliant display of flame. And with those flames came the feeling of tears running down his face.
He choked a sob down his throat and kept walking.
Rage mixed with grief, mourning with vengeance.
How dare someone defile the lands they claimed as their own?
Lines glowed on his forehead, forming the shape of a crown forged with thirteen prongs. The center prong was of the most resplendent of gold. The remaining twelve were blue, akin to the shades of a crystalline lake, tinged with a hue not dissimilar to that of frozen glaciers. A magic crest--the crystallized efforts and achievements of a family.
A hand held up, eyes that glowed, and the world bent as mystics clawed at the laws humans conceptualized. The air above the boy's hand rippled, turning a shade of deep indigo reminiscent of the skies above.
A glowing portal to realms unknown burst forth, causing the air to pulse with blessings: a song sung by a child of the Earth, and the Earth responded in kind.
The rips in time glowed an eerie blue.
"Cyfod. Fae o fflamau."
The air stilled. Even the bubbling of the cursed mud seemed to stop, even if for a split second. Moths the size of a falcon covered in fire swarmed toward the hole in the sky. Larger and larger, until it took the shape of a famished wyrm burning with anger.
Yet flames were ethereal, so easy to snuff out. The moths turned to ash, grey as storm clouds.
Portals of blue rippled. Akin to a stone dropping into a serene lake. Tiny blue butterflies emerged, flying toward the hole as the distant sea rose and chilled. When they returned, each one was covered in water. They fluttered toward the black ball, their wings hardening into blades of ice.
It was fruitless, as before.
The child bit his lip. Waves raged in the distant sea as a storm brewed above.
Dragonflies with wings of wind buzzed faster than sound. The only thing that was accomplished was splattering the black mud.
Curses flew everywhere, but that was not the only result.
A stream of black shot toward the young boy.
He screamed.
T̵͔͈̾͆ͅo̷̙͓̬̽ṟ̵̙͓͗͘͝t̷̺̰͌̉̈u̵̟̳͐̏̓r̸̫̠̯̀̍e̴̡̤̭͒.̴̡̤͎̈́̚ ̵̨̲̒̑̃M̷̞̎͘͘a̶̡̛͔̱̋l̵̥̙͕̅i̵̖͆̈̚ç̷̉i̶͉̯̍̽̈o̵͈̤̫̍ṵ̷́͗͠s̷̬͈͒̃.̸̭̳̣̈́ ̴͙͂̒ͅḘ̵͙͊̋̉ẍ̵̤̱̥́͌̌i̵̢̕͠l̷̥͌́͌é̷̱̄̇.̶̥̕͜ ̵̥̋E̶̙̜͛͝x̴̞̬̆ĕ̵̪̳c̴̬̼̓͆̿u̸̩̭̪̅͌͝t̵̟̓͝i̷͎̜̾̂͗ͅõ̴͇n̵̖̩̔̊.̵̢̣̋͘̚ ̷͈͌̈͆C̸̡̺͍̅̈́̕a̸̬͑̋s̵̘̋͑̚t̸͓̲̕r̴̡͖̺͌́̎ä̴͍́t̸̩̠̔͋͘ḯ̸̠̦͘͜͠o̷̫̱̅n̶̗̋.̸̮̞̇͂̚ ̷̞͌̋S̴̥͂a̴̺̳̔̍̽ḏ̴͗̐ï̵̙s̸̜̤̕͜m̶̛̮͍̏̒.̷̢̚͝ ̶̳̈́̌͝T̵̘͖̎́ḧ̵̠͇̱́̅e̸̱̊̑f̸͙̈ť̶̳̪̲͝.̸̳̎͠ ̶̧̖̩͋͒͑K̸̢̟͖͒͐ị̸̫̓̓̍d̷̤͉̿͝͠ͅn̷̜͙̤̓à̴̠̰̠̂͠p̷̲̉̂p̴͔̱͊͌ỉ̵̥̫̔̆n̴͔͐ğ̴̩͈͗̃.̸̤͓̊ ̸͉̟͇͐A̵̻̖͆̾̈́ͅr̴̭͔̋̈́̂s̵̹̎o̴̮̱̎ņ̴̜̈́͝.̴̡͖͊̓̐͜ ̷̘̙̺͒̏R̶̙̗̦͋ȁ̵͔̠̖p̶͈̔e̶͔͚̾̽̔.̷̧͛͋̔ ̷͖̺̽ͅB̶͓̓o̸̼̒̾ṃ̶̺̯̋̄b̷̤̀̉i̵̘̍̚n̷̢̿͐g̵̻͐͑̇.̶̻̑̀ ̸̣͛͗͜͜Ș̴̂̌u̷̱͊͒͘ḯ̷̢̅̏ĉ̶̞̼͛͘͜i̷̱͊͝ͅd̶͍͖͚̿ḛ̶͍͕̄͊.̸̨͓̟̃̚ ̵̡͖͂̅̽Ḩ̵̪͇̆̄͒o̴̰͕̊͛m̸̺̹̟͐ì̸̧̘͇c̷̗͖̦͂i̷̗͊́̉d̵̜̦̏͋͜e̶͚̊.̶̢͚̫̆ ̷̡̤͕̾Ǵ̸̕ͅe̴͚̺̿n̵̪̘̲̍͂o̵̰͚͊c̴̝͑̽̔i̷͎̮͌d̸̹͛́̈́e̵͍̥̙͗͊̈.̵̗̈́ ̷͓̍M̸͉͛̇͊a̷͎̜͠n̸̜͋̾s̷̙͖̅ḻ̸͔̈͗̊ã̷̦͚͇̍͝u̸͈̪̼̿͑g̷̛̩̮h̷͇͔͆͛t̶̹̫͚͠e̸͈̊r̸͕͙̄̉́.̵̛͙ ̶̹͉̭͋́L̵͔͎̎͋͜į̸͚͔͌̄͝é̴̦̘̳͛s̴͇͔͂͋̐ͅ.̸͎̀͑͌ ̴̱̝̺̈́́̕C̴̨͚̟̒̌̄o̴̧̭͖͌͛n̶̛͖̟̒̓c̴͉̤͌̆ê̷̼͖̔̑ạ̷̖̒͝͠l̵̢͂m̴̝̙̌̐̽e̸̗̞͂̈́n̶̼̖͠t̵̼̭͌̈́͜.̷̟̩͗̃ ̵̞͌̓F̵̪̐̽͠r̵̢͓̱̈â̴̧͉u̶̡̱͛͐͜d̴͒̍̕ͅ.̴̘̩͂ ̸̛̘͈̤̎̈Ǵ̷̯̥̘̎͒r̵̳͇̉̇̚ȩ̶̱̭͝͝ȅ̷̛̫̮d̴̼̊̕.̷̡̙̖̆͝ ̶̜̓̐̎Ḙ̷̰̂n̵̰͒̓̓v̷̨̻̈́́y̸̰̝̮̌͝.̵̳͚͓͝ ̷̝̐̃M̵̢̩͒u̷͓̽r̵̂̔͜͝ḍ̸͖̗͋e̸͖̤̺̒r̷̲̤͓̔̃͌.̸̧̻̳̽͌̾
More and more curses invaded the young boy's mind. His body burned, his personality shattered, and his mind cracked like broken glass.
..........
"Die" The curses screamed, "Die die die diediediedieD̸̜͈̔Ḯ̴̠̫̬̼̠̑Ë̸̡̛͚͕̳̬́͂͗̋D̴̛̳̭̠͎̗̼̺̠̔̌̾̏̎̍̿͜͝I̶̢̺̳̗̻̱̗̳̤̩̿̈́E̷̗̮̖̼͗͐̋D̷̢̨̞̓̊͊̆͌͋Į̸̞͛͛̆̀͆͑̒̆̐̕E̶̢̲̭̙̠̫͒D̴͍̳̝̰̩̮͉̙̣͒͂̿̈́̓͋͘ͅI̸̭̬̯͎͎̖̲̱̤͌̏̓͛͛̎̿̽͝Ȩ̴̙̦̲̣̞̗̤͌͒̀̂̑̎̽̀̕D̵̻͈̦̪͚̩̳̓͛̽̽̾̎I̸̮̠̟͕̠̼̪̎́̊́͘͠͝͠È̶̝̼͕͈̭̈̑̉͗̀͋͋̇͂̒-̸̛̰̃̊́͐̚͜͝-̸̢̼̹͈̰͍͍̱̬̿͐̿̑͛̂͒̊. "
..........
A blinding light cut through the dark cocoon formed by curses. It burned them away with immortal flames, and the curses recoiled, almost screaming in defiance.
A glimmer of gold, and a shard found its place. With it came the larger whole, a cursed chalice fusing with the boy's soul.