The residual warmth of the hearth was still clinging to her skin.
The linen shift lay tossed aside, leaving her unclad against the rough wool of the cot.
Maeve’s hand was warm against the swell of her ribs, mapping the line of her body with a slow, deliberate pressure that made the herbal alcohol in her blood feel like liquid brass.
Mordred’s head tipped back against the cot, her breath coming in heavy, uneven hitches.
Her muscles were loose for the first time in days, the cumulative ache of breaking the wall finally yielding to the fire’s low glow and the solid, open press of Maeve above her.
‘Finally,’ Mordred thought, a heavy, unrefined pulse of satisfaction stirring in her chest.
‘No more talking.
No more talking about Arthur, or the wall, or—’
Then the sound hit her inside her skull.
It didn’t start as a whisper or a slow build.
It struck directly behind her eyes with the high-pitched ring of an iron anvil struck by a sledgehammer.
‘Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill…’
Mordred winced, her jaw snapping shut so hard her molars clicked.
Her right hand, marked with the fresh, luminous emblem of the standing stones, twitched against the wool blanket.
The skin beneath the mark flared with searing heat, as if her veins had been injected with molten copper.
‘What the hell is this noise?’ Mordred thought, her eyes snapping open in the darkness.
‘Right now?
Are you kidding me?’
Maeve’s mouth was open against the side of her throat, warm and intent, completely unaware of the sound tearing through Mordred’s nervous system.
‘Repeat five times.
But when each is filled, destroy it…’
Mordred gritted her teeth, her tongue thick and uncooperative as she reached up, her fingers clawing at Maeve’s bare shoulder to pull her closer or push her away—she didn’t even know which.
‘Heed my words.
My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny…’
The air in the chamber vanished.
The warm scent of the herbal drink, the low crackle of the hearth coals, and the solid touch of Maeve pressing against her were torn away.
The room didn’t fade—it folded inward and shattered.
The darkness behind her eyelids ignited into a blinding emerald light.
‘I didn’t say yes!’ Mordred snarled into the void, her fingers clawing frantically at empty air where Maeve’s shoulder had been a millisecond before.
‘Maeve’s gonna be furious!
I was literally right there!’
The emerald light turned white and solid, vibrating hard in her ears, and then gravity dropped out from beneath her heels, spinning her down a throat of absolute vacuum.
In the subterranean workshop beneath the Einzbern castle, the air was heavy as wet wool, thick with the bitter metallic stench of silver wire heated to the threshold of melting.
On the central dais, the double-ringed summoning circle burned with an azure radiance that cast harsh shadows against the damp stone walls.
The lines of mercury and pulverized spirit-wood inlaid into the flagstones pulsed in time with the heavy, jagged rhythm of the incantation, spitting blue sparks whenever the pressure spiked.
Kiritsugu Emiya stood five paces back from the edge of the circle, his feet set wide, his left hand jammed deep into the pocket of his dark coat.
The coat was heavy and damp with subterranean chill, but his frame remained dead still.
The skin over his right hand burned beneath his leather glove, where the three red strokes of his Command Seals throbbed with a dull, rhythmic heat, syncing with the leyline draw beneath the floorboards.
His breath came slow and deliberate through his nose, forming tight plumes of fog in the sub-zero air of the cellar.
Beside him, Irisviel held her white fur-trimmed cloak tight against her throat, her pale eyes reflecting the cyan light pouring upward from the altar.
Her hands trembled under the massive volume of magical energy flowing through her artificial circuits to stabilize the ritual’s anchor.
“—Heed my words,” Kiritsugu intoned, his voice flat, monotonous, and precise, cutting cleanly through the roaring wind of the surge like a scalpel through ice.
“My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny.
If you submit to the call of the Holy Grail, and if you will obey this mind and this dictate, then answer me!”
The golden scabbard resting on the velvet cushion at the center of the circle radiated power as the air around it bent and warped.
The blue enamel running down its spine ignited, projecting ancient runic characters into the swirling light above it.
The density of the mystery contained within the relic pushed the ambient temperature down even further, turning the moisture on the vaulted ceiling to frost.
“An oath shall be sworn here!” Kiritsugu shouted, his jaw clenching as the pressure in his circuit pathways peaked, searing along his spine like molten lead, forcing his breath out in a sharp hiss.
“I shall attain all virtues of all the Good in the world!
I shall defeat all evils of all the Evil in the world!”
The wind tore through the chamber, rattling the heavy brass oil lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling until their flames danced wildly, casting frantic, jumping shadows. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“From the Seventh Heaven, attended by the Three Great Words of Power, come forth from the Ring of Restraint, Protector of the Scales!”
The circle detonated in a pillar of white illumination that knocked dust from the rafters.
The shockwave slapped against Kiritsugu’s chest, forcing him back half a step as his boots skidded over the frost-dusted stone.
He raised his left arm to shield his eyes, his dark coat whipping around his knees in the gale.
A sustained, vibrating hum tore through the chamber, rattling the fillings in his teeth.
As the roar of the discharge slowly faded into a low, crackling hum, the white light collapsed inward, drawn into a small silhouette standing at the geometric center of the dais.
The air settled, dust motes and lingering blue sparks drifting lazily through the haze.
A slender figure stood upon the stone in silver-and-blue plate armor that clicked softly as she shifted her weight.
Her golden hair was gathered up behind her head in a tight, disciplined bun, secured with a crisp blue ribbon, while a few soft strands fell around her pale face.
Her hands were clasped before her, resting on the hilt of an invisible blade that distorted the air around her boots like heat rising off summer asphalt.
She opened her eyes—vivid, sharp, and unmistakably green.
She looked directly at Kiritsugu, ignoring the frost on the floor and the swirling mist around her legs, her expression solemn and unyielding.
“I ask of you,” the girl spoke, her voice clear, bell-like, and firm, echoing off the stone arches.
“Are you my Master?”
Kiritsugu remained silent.
His eyes swept over her—from the narrow line of her shoulders to the oversized pauldrons of her armor, down to the soft features of her face.
He did not look at her eyes; he looked at her frame, calculating her mass, her center of gravity, her reach.
The legendary King of Knights.
The conqueror of Badon Hill.
A young girl standing in polished steel.
‘A child,’ Kiritsugu thought, his mouth drawing into a thin, white line beneath the shadow of his collar.
‘This is what I traded everything for.
A little girl playing king.’
Ignoring her question, Kiritsugu turned his back on the dais and took a heavy, deliberate step toward the iron stairs leading back to the upper keep.
Saber’s eyebrows pulled together in a sharp scowl, her jaw tightening as she watched his retreating back.
The subtle shift in her posture made her steel tassets clink together in the quiet room.
“Wait—Kiritsugu!” Irisviel began, taking a quick step forward with her hand outstretched, looking between her husband’s cold back and the bewildered Servant on the altar.
Before Kiritsugu could reach the bottom riser of the iron staircase, a sharp gasp tore from Irisviel’s throat.
She collapsed to her knees, her heavy white skirts spreading over the frost-covered stone like a shattered lily.
She peeled back her white glove with trembling fingers, her nails digging into her flesh as skin gave way to burning heat.
“Iri!” Kiritsugu spun around on his heel near the stairs, his left hand dropping instantly toward the holster beneath his coat, his eyes snapping to his wife.
“It’s…
it’s burning!” Irisviel gasped, her chest heaving as she curled over the cold floor, her pale face slick with sweat.
“Kiritsugu, it’s—it won’t stop!”
On the back of her bare hand, deep red lines carved themselves into her flesh from the inside out.
They snapped into existence like breaking glass—three broad, intersecting blade shapes that glowed with a crimson light.
“Fill, fill, fill…”
The words spilled out of Irisviel’s mouth against her will, her voice forced into a flat, mechanical chant that rattled in her chest.
Her eyes were rolled back, unfocused, reflecting a sudden light that erupted from the secondary, outer channels of the summoning circle.
“An oath shall be sworn here…
I shall attain all virtues…”
“Irisviel, stop!
Break the circuit!” Kiritsugu lunged forward from the stairs, reaching out to physically tear her away from the floor and break her contact with the ambient energy saturating the room.
Before he could reach her, an arc of searing emerald and black lightning shot out from the secondary channels of the dais, striking the stone floor directly between Kiritsugu and Irisviel with a sharp CRACK that rattled the iron lamps overhead.
The air split open.
The scent of ozone returned instantly, sharp and metallic, coating the back of Kiritsugu’s throat.
The blue circle on the floor flared into a harsh, violent green.
The leftover mercury in the stone channels began to boil, spitting hot silver droplets into the air that vaporized into a dense mist before hitting the ground.
Saber retreated a step on the main dais, her hands shifting on the invisible hilt of her sword, her posture dropping into a combat stance.
Her green eyes were wide, darting between the collapsing channels and the kneeling woman on the floor. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“From the Ring of Restraint, Guardian of the Scales!” Irisviel screamed, her voice hitting a high, pained register that cut through the thunder as the final stroke of the Command Seal locked into her flesh.
The branching lightning collapsed inward, forming a dense sphere of crackling emerald electricity hovering two feet above the secondary altar.
Inside the sphere, a pulse of brilliant green energy flared, mapping out an intricate network of Magic Circuits that burned through the light like veins of fire.
The sphere shattered with the sound of breaking crystal.
A pair of bare feet struck the freezing flagstones with a heavy, uneven thud that echoed through the vault.
The draft circulating through the cellar dragged away the thick mist, slowly revealing the figure standing in the center of the ruined, smoking circle.
Standing on the cold stone was a young woman, completely unclad, her pale skin flushed a deep pink from heat and exertion.
Across her chest, stomach, and thighs, vivid emerald Magic Circuits pulsed beneath her skin, fading slowly as her body settled into the physical world.
On the back of her right hand, the distinct mark of standing stones and coiled vines glowed with a bright green light.
Her long golden hair fell in messy waves over her shoulders, with jagged bangs framing her flushed face.
She swayed slightly on her feet, her boots nowhere to be found, her toes curling into the icy stone as she tried to catch her balance on the slippery floor.
‘Freezin’…’ Mordred thought, blinking heavily as the room took a slow, dizzying lap around her vision.
The cellar smelled like scorched stone and damp earth.
‘Why’s it bloody freezin’?
Where’s my clothes at?’
From his position near the stairs, Kiritsugu froze mid-step.
His mind raced through possibilities—an anomaly, an intruder, a secondary Grail error—his hand locked on the grip of the Walther beneath his coat as he stared at the unclad, intoxicated girl in the middle of the ruined circle.
Irisviel gasped, flushing dark red despite the pain in her arm, her hands pressing against her mouth as she stared at the newcomer.
Saber’s face went crimson.
Her jaw dropped, her royal composure shattering in a single instant as her gaze darted wildly away.
She glared at a blank stone pillar, her shoulders stiff enough to snap, her knuckles turning white where she gripped her invisible hilt.
“W-What is the meaning of this?!” Saber demanded, her voice cracking slightly on the first word before she forced it back into a severe tone.
“Who—why are you—”
Mordred’s head snapped toward Saber at the sound of the voice.
She squinted through her alcohol-warm haze, her eyes trying to focus on the shape standing on the primary dais.
She took in the shiny plate armor, the pristine blue ribbon, and that unmistakable, rigid posture that made her stomach turn.
‘Of all the people…’ Mordred thought, her blood boiling hot despite the chill of the cellar floor.
‘Of all the places to get yanked, I gotta look at her stupid face again.’
Mordred threw her head back and let out a loud, sloppy laugh that echoed off the high stone vaults.
She swayed on her bare heels, stepping wider on the frost to keep her balance.
“Hah!
Well, well…
if it isn’t dear old Daddy,” Mordred jeered, her voice raspy and slurred at the edges.
“Look at ya!
Polished up and pristine as ever!”
Saber flinched as if struck, her eyes snapping back toward Mordred in pure shock before she realized what she was looking at and frantically jerked her head away again, the red on her face spreading to the tips of her ears.
“Put…
put something on!” she spat out, her voice tight and high.
Mordred ignored her completely, turning her back on the main dais.
Her hips swayed with a loose, heavy, drunken balance as she stepped off the raised stone, her bare soles slapping against the freezing floor with wet thuds.
From near the stairs, Kiritsugu tracked her with an unreadable expression, his hand never leaving his coat as she stopped right in front of the kneeling Irisviel.
Mordred dropped into a heavy crouch, her balance wavering for a fraction of a second before she braced a hand against her own knee, bringing her flushed face level with Irisviel’s wide crimson eyes.
The emerald mark on the back of Mordred’s right hand pulsed once, casting a soft green light across the icy stone floor between them.
Mordred cocked her head, a wide, crooked grin spreading across her face.
“I am Mordred,” she announced, her words thick with alcohol but ringing loud and clear through the cavernous vault.
“The one ‘n only legitimate heir…
to the King of Knights, Arthur Pendragon.”
She grinned wider, her eyes heavy and bright with a wild, unpredictable energy, and thrust her marked right hand right into Irisviel’s personal space.
“So I ask ya…” Mordred tilted her head.
“Are you my Master?”