It was the land beneath an eternal twilight sky.
Someone once said that to Morgan.
"Let's begin our war."
Then blood stained the earth, arrows pierced blooming flowers. Iron hooves trampled fields of grain, and flesh was churned into mud, returning as nourishment to the land...
...
Morgan opened her eyes from a dream. She was in the Shiomi family's study.
Servants didn't require sleep. As long as their Master was competent enough to provide a steady, sufficient flow of mana, these high-level familiars could continue fighting without rest.
But if the mana supply was lacking, Servants would need to restore it the human way—through rest and food.
Tenkei Shiomi was a Magus so gifted it bordered on excessive.
With his mana alone, Morgan had no need for sleep.
Even so, she had dozed off in the study with a thick book in her arms, slipping into a dream she hadn't had in a long time—one that felt distant and faded.
This was her first morning since descending into the Holy Grail War as a Servant.
According to the war's conventions, combat typically occurred at night. Daytime was usually reserved for ambushes, recon, and subtle skirmishes between Masters and Servants.
What was her Master doing now?
With that thought, she made her way to the living room.
A perfectly ordinary morning. A peaceful, domestic scene.
Shiomi was bustling around in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Sakura stood on a stool nearby, watching and learning how to cook—simple life skills far removed from Magecraft.
Caren sat on the couch, quietly watching a morning program. She held the remote but didn't change the channel.
On screen, the news played—something unsettling for children.
"…Next, an update on the string of bizarre murders in Fuyuki City. At all three known crime scenes, mysterious symbols resembling magic circles were drawn using the victims' blood. What remains unclear is the meaning behind these circles. Today, we've invited a criminal psychologist with expertise in the field to discuss possible explanations…"
Serial murders, connected by shared crime scene traits.
No matter the era or the world, such things were inevitable.
Morgan instinctively folded her arms, eyes cool and distant as she watched the scholar on TV offer vague theories.
"What do you think?" came Shiomi's voice.
"Who knows? It's impossible to say," Morgan replied offhandedly. She found no appeal in this type of senseless, self-indulgent killing.
Shiomi gave a helpless smile. "It's not safe, that much is true. But compared to the 'war' we're fighting at night... which is more dangerous?"
"What are you worried about?" Morgan picked up on the weight behind his words.
"My kids," Shiomi answered without hesitation.
Morgan often forgot—her Master was a father to two children, even if only by adoption.
He looked like he was barely in his twenties, yet he was raising a seven-year-old and a five-year-old girl. To most people, that alone would be cause for suspicion.
But not to Morgan.
As they talked, her gaze drifted to the dining table. She paused in surprise—there were four bowls of miso soup and four full breakfasts set out.
"I know Servants don't need to eat when mana is sufficient—it's terribly inefficient, after all," Shiomi said with a smile. "But since you're here, you're a guest. So I guess I just prepared one extra by habit. If it feels unnecessary, just leave it. I'll clean up after I drop Sakura and Caren off at school."
Morgan didn't refuse. She sat down and joined them for breakfast as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She didn't speak a word throughout the meal, silently watching Shiomi's every move.
During breakfast, he kept chatting with Sakura and Caren. Sakura responded sweetly to everything he said, while Caren—now and then—would blurt out a sarcastic comment far beyond her age, leaving Shiomi red-faced and flustered.
After the meal, just as he said, Shiomi drove Caren to kindergarten and Sakura to elementary school.
Morgan could have stayed behind or wandered on her own, but instead, she got in the car and went along.
When they arrived at the kindergarten, the teacher mistook Morgan for Caren's new mother—and Shiomi had to spend quite a while explaining otherwise.
"There's really no need to explain. Letting a mistake slide can be perfectly convenient, don't you think? Or... does being called my husband make you uneasy?" Morgan leaned against the passenger-side window, teasing Shiomi as he drove.
"Did you wake up just to mess with me, Morgan?" Shiomi's mouth twitched.
Privately, he preferred not to address her by class. It was hard to associate someone as composed and rational as a Magus from the Age of Gods with the title of Berserker.
"The Holy Grail War lasts no more than two weeks. Even if we win, we'll go our separate ways after claiming the Grail," he said with an exasperated smile. "I plan to keep living in Fuyuki until those two kids grow up."
Morgan gave him a sidelong glance. "The Holy Grail... come to think of it, I haven't asked yet—why are you even in this war? Why do you want the Grail?"
"…Does it matter?" Shiomi didn't answer right away.
"It does. The ones who seek the Grail are usually people dissatisfied with the world. You don't look like the kind who'd be chasing it," Morgan said.
Shiomi nodded casually. "Let's say I want to reach the Root. Satisfied now?"
"A lie that transparent isn't even worth saying," Morgan said, somewhere between a warning and a sigh.
"Then what about you?" Shiomi shot back. "What wish do you want granted by the Grail?"
The car was quiet for a moment before Morgan let out a short, dry laugh.
"Nice deflection."
And with that, they dropped the topic of personal wishes.
"But—" Shiomi shifted the conversation.
"What is it?"
"You really stand out dressed like that. I think we should pick up some new clothes, maybe change your look a little. Sure, the war's supposed to happen at night, but things always spiral. People go berserk, day or night, and nobody cares about staying hidden."
"That's a reasonable suggestion. So, what kind of outfit are you thinking of?" Morgan accepted the idea without resistance.
"I know a place—bit upscale, but the owner's a friend. He won't even blink at how you dress."
Shiomi turned the steering wheel and the car veered down a different road.
"Relax. I may not like turning into spirit form, but if it avoids unnecessary complications, I'll do it. That's part of a Servant's duty."
Morgan had already seen through Shiomi's careful maneuvering—how he deliberately avoided saying or doing anything that might cause conflict between Master and Servant—and offered her reassurance.
"Well, that's a relief."