Illyasviel von Einzbern believed her life was normal.
That belief mattered.
It was what allowed her to wake each morning without fear, to greet the day without wondering whether something terrible waited just beyond the door.
Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, pale gold against the white stone walls of the castle. Illya stretched beneath the blankets, long white hair spilling messily across the pillow, red eyes blinking sleepily as she rolled onto her side.
Normal.
She brushed her teeth while humming the opening theme of her favorite magical girl anime, swaying slightly as she imagined transformation sequences and sparkles and heroic battles against evil.
Just imagination.
Just a dream.
Nothing more.
When she descended the stairs, her small frame barely visible beneath her oversized hoodie, the dining hall was already immaculate.
Sella stood at the head of the long table, posture flawless. Her silver hair was tied neatly behind her head, not a strand out of place, sharp blue eyes magnified slightly behind rectangular glasses. Her maid uniform looked more like a military dress than servant attire, pressed and pristine.
Opposite her, Leysritt leaned casually against the wall. Taller, broader, with ash-blonde hair cut short and loose, she radiated physical presence even at rest. Her maid uniform was worn comfortably rather than perfectly, sleeves rolled slightly as she chewed on a slice of toast she had clearly stolen before serving.
"You're late, Illya," Sella said coolly.
"I'm not late," Illya protested, sliding into her chair. "I'm exactly on time."
Sella adjusted her glasses. "You are three minutes past optimal schedule."
"That's not a real thing!"
"It is in this household."
Leysritt snorted. "Relax, Sella. She's breathing. That counts."
"That is not the standard we aim for."
Illya groaned and reached for her plate.
Across from her sat him.
Elias.
Dark hair that fell just past his ears, slightly unkempt in a way that suggested neglect rather than style. His face was youthful, but his eyes were not — a muted brown that always seemed a fraction too distant, like he was watching the world from behind glass.
He was lean, almost fragile-looking, dressed simply in a dark shirt and slacks. No scars were visible. No signs of battle.
And yet—
Something about him always felt… misplaced.
He held his teacup in both hands, steam curling upward as his gaze drifted somewhere unfocused, as if listening to something no one else could hear.
Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and nodded politely.
"Morning."
"Morning," Illya replied.
His voice was gentle. Ordinary.
And yet—
Like a shadow cast by something that wasn't there.
He'd been living with them for a while now.
Long enough that Shirou treated his presence as natural. Long enough that Sella and Leysritt accepted him without question—though Sella had once subjected him to a three-hour interrogation before declaring him "non-hostile."
Illya had asked him once where he came from.
He had paused.
Then said, "I don't really remember."
The answer lingered with her longer than it should have.
Elsewhere in the city, magic went very wrong.
Rin Tohsaka skidded backward across the pavement, long twin-tails whipping behind her as a violent surge of mana detonated between her and her opponent. Her red jacket flared as she regained balance, sharp eyes burning with irritation.
"Stop dodging!" she snapped.
Across from her, Luvia Edelfelt adjusted her gloves with aristocratic elegance. Golden curls framed a confident smile, her tall figure immaculate in blue and white as if the battlefield were a ballroom.
"I would, Rin," Luvia replied sweetly, "but your control is—how shall I put it—sloppy."
The air crackled violently.
Floating between them, Ruby spun excitedly — a red jewel set into a heart-shaped wand, ribbons fluttering as if alive.
"You know," Ruby chirped, "this relationship feels a little toxic."
Rin and Luvia froze.
"…What?" Rin said flatly.
Ruby spun once.
Then vanished in a flash of crimson light.
"HEY—!"
Moments later, Sapphire followed.
Two masters abandoned.
Two artifacts escaping.
And fate quietly changed direction.
Illya was rinsing her toothbrush when the window exploded inward.
Glass shattered.
Wind screamed.
She barely had time to turn before something red streaked past her face and stopped midair.
"Found you!"
Illya slipped, hitting the floor hard.
Hovering before her was Ruby — ribbons swaying, jewel gleaming with manic enthusiasm.
"I'm Ruby!" it announced brightly. "And congratulations! You're about to become a magical girl!"
Illya stared.
"…I've finally lost my mind."
"Nope!"
Ruby zipped closer. "Now hold still! This'll only sting a little—"
"WAIT—!"
Pain flared sharp and sudden.
Blood welled at her fingertip.
"Blood contract confirmed!" Ruby chimed happily. "Master recognized!"
The cut sealed instantly.
Illya's breath caught.
Her body burned.
Light engulfed her.
Downstairs, a teacup froze mid-air.
Elias stiffened.
Something bloomed in his chest—not pain, not fear, but pressure. A weight he hadn't felt in a very long time.
His fingers trembled.
"…So it begins again," he whispered.
He didn't know why he said it.
Only that something long buried had shifted.
Magic wrapped Illya in spiraling ribbons of light, weaving fabric and power into form.
When it faded—
She stood trembling, white hair now framed by a magical girl outfit of pinks and reds, heart pounding as power hummed beneath her skin.
The door burst open.
"ILLYA—?!"
Shirou froze.
Sella appeared instantly behind him, eyes narrowed, analyzing, cataloging.
Leysritt leaned in, head tilted. "Huh. Cute."
Illya screamed.
Later came explanations.
Rin arrived, exhausted and irritated, Ruby floating smugly at Illya's side.
Class Cards.
Heroic Spirits.
A threat to the world.
Illya listened, heart pounding.
Across the room, unnoticed, Elias sat quietly.
Class Cards.
Power stolen from beyond the world.
His fingers curled slightly.
Something stirred—
Not memory.
Resonance.
That night, Illya lay awake, excitement and fear tangled together.
In the next room, Elias dreamed for the first time since his death.
Of chains.
Of swords.
Of a golden king who called himself Pride.
And somewhere far away—
A box waited.