Chapter Text
The Snowfield city did not disappear.
To be precise, it did disappear once—in that instant when the Holy Grail War should have ended, the city's outline once faded like a mirage, as if it had never been recorded on any map. But when the black mud surged from the depths of the leylines, swallowing the foundations built upon all magical circuits, it re-emerged.
Carrying the smoldering embers of the Third Magic as it continued to perpetuate itself, it resurfaced like a drowned corpse floating to the water's surface.
That once prosperous city is now shrouded in an eternal twilight that refuses to dissipate. The sky is leaden gray, clouds hanging low as if ready to crush the tallest buildings at any moment. The streets are empty; shop windows still hold traces of the residents' hasty evacuation—overturned chairs, half-finished cups of cold coffee, loose change scattered before cash registers. Wind whistles through the narrow gaps between buildings, producing sounds like sobbing.
But deep in the marshlands, one mansion stands apart.
This was once a mage's workshop occupied by Dead Apostles, a manor that had become a monster's nest, later used as a stronghold during the Holy Grail War. Now, most of those who were here are gone—the fake-Assassin who briefly allied with them has long since returned to the Throne of Heroes. And the young man who called himself a mercenary, Sigma, has left Snowfield city with Tsubaki Kuruoka.
The crimson, flamboyant King permitted it.
No, now he should be called the "The Corrupted King".
In a second-floor bedroom of the mansion, Saber sat by the window, combing the hair of the girl in his arms in the dim twilight.
His fingers were long and steady, the knuckles clearly defined. Those hands had once gripped swords, slain enemies, raised the Crusaders' banner at the walls of Acre—now they held an ordinary wooden comb, moving with extreme gentleness from the crown of the girl's golden head, slowly down to the tips of her hair.
"...Would you like to wear that sky-blue one today?" he asked softly.
No one answered.
The girl in his arms rested quietly against his chest, her golden hair spread out as he carefully combed through it strand by strand. Her eyes were once as clear as lake water, now hollow like crystal that does not reflect light. She wore a white dress—the one he had changed her into yesterday, its hem adorned with delicate lace trim, which he had casually taken from the display window of some department store in this city.
She wouldn't speak, wouldn't laugh, wouldn't respond to any of his questions.
But she would move—when Saber held her hand and walked through the manor, she would follow his steps; when she sat by the window too long and the light outside grew harsh, she would turn her head slightly away. That was probably the remaining instinct of the individual known as "Ayaka Sajyou." Or perhaps it was simply her nature as a "Fragment of the Star" unconsciously responding to his wishes—he wanted an "Ayaka," so she simply "existed."
"Blue suits you," he continued, his voice so low it was almost inaudible to himself. "I remember the uniform you wore during the Holy Grail War... What a pity, I never paid proper attention during those seven days to which design matched that one exactly."
The comb passed through smoothly once more, and then he picked up the plain glasses and placed them on the girl's face.
Just two months ago, he had watched her sleep in this very manor. Back then, Saber didn't even have the awareness that "wearing glasses to sleep would be tiring"—he simply sat solemnly nearby, tracing in his heart the image of the girl beneath those lenses, yet never daring to actually reach out and be the one to remove them.
Everything about her still held a faint warmth. Her skin, her hair—all remained as vivid and achingly nostalgic as the living. It occasionally gave Saber the illusion that she was merely lost in thought. That any moment now, she would lift her eyes and say in that gentle, slightly exasperated tone: "Saber, staring at someone like that is quite frightening."
But she wouldn't. Her eyes remained open, remained hollow, remained fixed on some distant place that didn't exist within this room.
Saber set down the comb and used his fingers to gently smooth the last few strands. His movements were so focused he didn't notice that the black mud aura surrounding him automatically receded when approaching her—those shadows that writhed like living things would quiet in her presence. His power would occasionally become uncontrollable, but Saber would never allow himself to disturb her.
The cawing of crows came from outside the window, and he heard his shadow attendants whisper a few words in his ear.
Saber looked up, gazing toward the edge of the marshlands.
Someone was coming.
——
The moment Sigma stepped into the marshlands, he knew he had been discovered.
This wasn't some Mage Killer's intuition or premonition—when every step he took landed on black mud that seemed almost conscious, when the mist around him parted at his passage and closed behind him, when the "things" lurking in the shadows were encircling him—he knew he was being permitted entry, not making a stealthy approach.
These shadowy subordinates were manifested by that King's second Noble Phantasm. Or at least, they were part of that Noble Phantasm. The surrounding darkness confirmed what Lord El-Melloi II had said days ago: that Noble Phantasm which once belonged to the "Lionheart" had now been completely corrupted by the polluted leylines.
He knew that within that very mist, the Crusaders once commanded by Richard the Lionheart were watching him sidelong, organized in battle formations. Nearly a hundred pairs of hollow eyes were seeing him off on his journey—even if these men had not yet been granted their King's permission to truly attack, this was far more than he alone could handle.
The mansion's door was unlocked. Sigma pushed it open, crossed the foyer, and ascended the stairs. His footsteps echoed through the empty building—perhaps they might be mistaken for some inappropriate provocation. But he neither slowed his pace nor deliberately concealed himself—because he hadn't come today to fight.
The second-floor bedroom door stood open. Sigma stopped at the threshold.
He saw Saber.
—But was this still the Saber he knew?
Half-crouched by the window, the man wore armor stained completely black, its edges marked by dark red patterns spreading like blood vessels, faintly pulsing with each breath. His golden hair had been straightened, no longer in its iconic braid but tied in a side ponytail hanging over his shoulder. The red highlights remained, but his eyes had completely changed—from their former bright red to the gold of a beast, or a predator.
But that wasn't what made Sigma stop. What made him stop was the girl in Saber's arms.
There was no doubt—it was Ayaka Sajyou.
Her body had been pieced together—as someone who had fought alongside Saber as an ally in the final moments, Sigma naturally knew about this. In the last moments before the Holy Grail War's conclusion, she had been dismembered into six pieces as a spare vessel for the Lesser Grail, embedded in a pale room carved with magical circuits. Now she had returned; silver threads of meticulous stitching could still be seen at the juncture of her head and neck, but undeniably, she was whole, quiet, leaning against Saber's chest like an exquisite doll.
Saber was putting socks on her.
White socks with delicate lace trim at the edges. He knelt on one knee before her, gently cradling her foot in his palm, his movements meticulous to the point of reverence. That King was carefully adjusting the sock's cuff, ensuring every inch of fabric lay smooth and even.
The youth noticed they were illuminated by the eternal twilight outside the window. This scene should have been gentle. But Sigma only felt a chill run down his spine.
"You're here."
Saber had clearly anticipated this meeting long ago. After putting Ayaka's shoes on, the Servant who had once seemed so approachable in Sigma's memory rose to his feet, helping her up as well, and seated the girl in the chair by the window.
"Sit down," Saber said, finally turning to look at Sigma. There was no hostility in his expression—one could even call it peaceful. "The tea here... probably can't be drunk. But you can sit and talk."
Sigma didn't sit.
He stood at the doorway, hand resting on the holster at his waist, but didn't draw. His gaze shifted from Saber to Ayaka, then from Ayaka back to Saber.
"...Is this what you wanted?" he asked.
Saber didn't answer immediately. He walked to Ayaka's side, bent down, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then he naturally began braiding her hair.
"She likes things neat," he said. "Back then, Ayaka would let me comb her hair. She said then, 'Saber, your hands are surprisingly dexterous.' I said, of course—even a king must maintain his own appearance."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, as if in a smile. But that smile never reached the girl's eyes.
"We made a childish wish together. I said I would take the world's praises to the Ancestral King's Avalon. I once thought I could bring her along, leave this place, take her to a land filled with sunlight and flowers where she could be free."
Saber paused.
"...Now I can't go."
Sigma was silent for a moment, then said, "So what? You think this place can become your Avalon now?"
"Here?" Saber looked around, his gaze sweeping over the dim bedroom, the dust-covered furniture, the desolate marshlands beyond the window. "This place is nothing. Just a temporary stopping point."
"And her?" Sigma's hand moved toward his side. "Is this Snowfield city what you want her to see? Do you want her to know what you've become, just to 'save' her?"
Saber's movements stopped.
He looked up, his golden eyes meeting Sigma's. There was no anger in that gaze, no killing intent—only a calm that was impossible to face directly. A calm more unsettling than any fury.
"It's enough," he said softly. "That she's alive—that's enough."
"Alive?" Sigma stepped forward. "Saber, she was dismembered. She was carved open as a vessel. And now, because of your selfishness, she's been polluted by the black mud—this isn't living anymore. Ayaka Sajyou can't even speak, can't laugh, she—"
"She can."
Saber cut him off.
Sigma hesitated. Even at this point, Saber hadn't attacked him.
"She can speak," Saber repeated, his voice dropping low. "Just one line. But... she can say it."
He didn't explain what that one line was.
He simply walked over to Ayaka, crouched down, and gently took her hand in his palms. Her hand was still warm—not like that of the truly dead, which would have driven him to despair. Saber lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the back of her hand, and then closed his eyes.
Sigma saw his shoulders tremble slightly. But the next moment, Saber had already risen, once again wearing that expression of calm so chilling it was almost inhuman. He looked at Sigma, and when he spoke, his tone carried not a single ripple.
"I have no reason to fight a former ally now. And Ayaka wouldn't want me to hurt you. If there's nothing else you must say, then please, leave this place."
"Nor do I wish for anyone to disturb me," Saber continued. "Just as you and Assassin wished for, the essence of the Holy Grail War has been dismantled. That ritual will never exist again. This city is now my territory—and no mage is welcome here."
The young man frowned. He knew Saber was warning him—or perhaps, offering him one final gesture of goodwill.
"You should know," Sigma said, "that if you try to expand your 'territory,' the survivors will find ways to stop you. That's precisely why I came today—to tell you this."
"The El-Melloi classroom has already finished compiling their reports. Chief Orlando and the other officers won't stand idly by. The Clock Tower will send someone eventually. And those who survived the Holy Grail War—they won't allow an Alter King to keep occupying these polluted leylines. Especially not when that King is now trying to spread the contamination outward."
Sigma paused, his gaze flickering to the golden-haired girl sitting quietly by the window. Her hollow blue eyes stared outward, as if none of this concerned her. The twilight cast shadows across her pale profile, making her look like a Madonna forgotten in the corner of a church.
Then the young man's gaze met the golden eyes of the Corrupted King directly.
"And as for me personally—whether out of my promise to Assassin, or out of respect for Ayaka Sajyou and the Lionheart you once were—Saber, one day, I will snipe you down."
The words fell.
The room grew so quiet that the sound of mist churning outside the window could be heard. Those low, unending sounds, like the breath of some immense creature, came from every corner of the marshlands, filling the brief silence between them.
In Saber's golden pupils, there was not a trace of the battle intent that should have followed such a provocation. He simply looked at Sigma, as if gazing upon an old friend forced to speak such words.
Then he smiled. The curve of his lips could be called gentle. But Sigma saw that there was no warmth in that smile—like the eternal twilight outside the window, seemingly soft, but in truth, lifeless.
"I'll be waiting," Saber said.
Sigma spoke no more. He cast one last look at the two by the window, then turned and left. Footsteps gradually faded. The mansion's door was pushed open and closed again, letting out a faint creak. Then everything returned to silence.
The sound of flowing mist grew clearer.
Saber remained half-crouched, knees pressed against the cold floor, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the window—darkness from which he had deliberately withheld any aggressive intent—until the young man's presence had completely vanished at the edge of the marshlands.
He lowered his head, burying his face in Ayaka's lap. The hands of the king who had once fancied himself a knight hung limply at his sides. He didn't raise them to embrace her, nor did he try to grasp at anything—he simply buried himself there.
The black mud that swirled around him seemed to sense its master's emotions, lying still against the floor.
Then, Saber heard footsteps.
That light sound overlapped with countless flashbacks in his mind, identical to those etched deep in his memory. It came walking through the mist, from the direction of the corridor—yet it also seemed to come from no specific direction at all, appearing directly behind him, in this silence, on his nerves stretched to the breaking point.
"Saber didn't kill Sigma after all," that voice said.
Saber didn't look up.
"That's really impressive, Saber."
The voice continued—carrying the gentleness he knew so well, and that nostalgic tone. It was a tone only Ayaka possessed: one that would support him from behind, and when he was truly lost and helpless, would encourage him again and again.
But Saber knew it wasn't her. It was another girl who had emerged from the mist.
She stood behind him, wearing a form-fitting black dress, its hem trailing across the dusty floor without gathering any dust. Her golden hair was as bright and soft as the girl in his arms, but her eyes weren't hollow—those azure eyes, almost transparent, held all the warmth from his memories, all the concern, everything he now longed to see in that "doll's" gaze.
—The Black Grail. Should he call "her" that?
Or "the manifestation of All the World's Evils"? "The incarnation of the black mud flowing through this city"? "The projection of his own inner darkness"? Any name would do. Saber could no longer be bothered to distinguish.
The girl didn't wait for his response. She simply bent down and gently embraced him from behind. Saber could feel her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her body pressing against his back, her chin resting on the crown of his head. That embrace was tender and tight—as if trying to pull him out of this darkness, or perhaps to sink into deeper darkness together with him.
"No one will understand Saber," she whispered. "No one will understand why Saber let Sigma leave. No one will understand why Saber is so cruel to himself. But both two of us understand you."
"Saber hasn't done anything wrong."
Such a gentle voice, yet it allowed no room for doubt.
"Because we promised—we'll fall with you."
Saber's back stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed.
"...You don't have to speak to me in her voice," he finally said, his voice hoarse, unlike himself.
The girl behind him laughed softly. That laugh was Ayaka's too. He couldn't remember when he had last heard this laugh—but he knew that at this moment, "the other Ayaka" was pressing her cheek against the side of his head.
"I can't do that," she said in a tone one might use to coax a child. "Saber himself divided 'the dead Ayaka' into two—one you're willing to hold in your arms, and one you don't want to face but can't deny. Saber was greedy enough to want both 'the princess who can be protected' and 'the accomplice who can understand you.' Even if you turn your back to me now, you can't deny that she and I are fundamentally the same person, inseparable."
Her arms tightened a little more.
"We'll both listen to you. No matter how outrageous the wish Saber makes—" the voice by his ear dropped lower, "—'that me,' with the pure essence of the Fragment of the Star, will listen. And 'this me,' as All the World's Evils, will listen too."
Outside the window, darkness as thick as ink churned silently on.
Saber's face remained buried in Ayaka's lap, feeling beneath her skirt the warmth that belonged only to living flesh. Her fingers hung quietly at her sides, offering no response to the other "her" behind him. And that voice continued—using Ayaka's tone, Ayaka's inflection, saying things he knew he shouldn't listen to, yet couldn't refuse.
"Saber could do even more terrible things to us, you know. In fact, the current Saber has already done many such things to us, hasn't he?"
That voice was now a whisper against his ear. He could feel her breath brushing his earlobe—that warmth so close, that intimacy he had indulged in countless times.
"Taking mana as you please, venting your desires without restraint. Saber has done many selfish things." She laughed lightly, her voice filled with understanding and indulgence. "But that's good, isn't it? Whether it's 'that me' or 'this me,' as long as we see Saber's wishes fulfilled, as long as we see Saber's kingdom expand through the continuation of the Third Magic—of course we'll be happy."
The girl in his arms remained utterly unresponsive.
Those words wrapped his throat in pain, step by step—he couldn't detect their cruelty, because they were too gentle. Gentle enough that he almost believed this was what Ayaka would say. Gentle enough that he almost forgot that the real Ayaka would blush and push him away, would say in that helpless, gentle tone, "Saber, what nonsense are you talking?" would turn her face away awkwardly when caught by his gaze late at night.
The real Ayaka would be shy, would get angry, would scold him when he went too far, and would genuinely laugh when she heard his jokes.
Not this one.
Not either of them.
"Shut up," he repeated in a low voice, letting the pain tear through his throat. "—Shut up!"
Behind him, silence followed as he wished. That phantom speaking with Ayaka's voice, that thing born from the black mud, finally stopped grinding against his nerves. It had finally, for now, released him.
Yet, in that silence, something fell upon his hair. Light. Warm. Like rain that shouldn't fall here.
Saber looked up sharply.
Ayaka was looking down at him.
Her blue eyes were still hollow, still utterly devoid of light. But she was looking at him—more precisely, her gaze was fixed on his face, on that single trail of moisture at the corner of his eye that had not yet dried.
She raised her hand. It paused in midair for a moment, then came to rest on his cheek, gently brushing away that tear track.
"...Saber," she said, "why are you crying?"
That was the only line she could speak.
From the day she had been pieced back together—the one line Saber could never answer.