Enveloped in a countless fragments of memory, Fujimaru Ritsuka awoke with the sunrise after a night's sleep that was far from peaceful. Rest had eased the fatigue in his body, but not the weight that pressed on his heart.
At breakfast, he tried his best to behave like an ordinary six-year-old, quietly nibbling at his food while listening to his parents chat about the weather or neighborhood rumors. Every word was so ordinary; every scene, heartwarmingly familiar. Yet, for him, this tranquil moment felt heartbreakingly precious, as fleeting as the final act of a stage play.
It was time to leave. Slinging on a backpack that, from an adult's perspective, would seem absurdly small, he crouched at the genkan to slip on his shoes and called out his daily goodbye. Normally, this simple ritual would've been insignificant, but today, it felt impossibly heavy.
He didn't know what the world would look like when he returned. With anxiety gnawing at him, he opened the door—and froze.
The morning sun shone softly outside. The shadow of a cherry tree swayed gently on the ground. A familiar figure leaned against a utility pole, gazing at him with a gentle smile.
It was his Caster—Steve, the enigmatic Servant who had plucked him from mundane life and given him hope to save it all.
"Good morning, Master," Steve greeted him in a calm, upright manner. "It looks like you slept quite well."
"...Caster," Ritsuka blurted, unconsciously clutching his bagstraps as his heart pounded uncontrollably. "You... how did you get here?"
Steve approached and explained with a smile, "Of course, I'm here to fetch you and prepare for our departure. Ah, by the way, I've already solved your school issue. A little suggestive magic, and your teachers and classmates now believe you're absent with a cold today."
"So, we have a whole day to travel to London, England, seek out that young Director and your most trusted junior," he finished succinctly, cutting off Ritsuka's biggest worry at the root.
Gazing into Steve's deep black eyes that seemed to see through everything, Ritsuka felt reassurance and a strong sense of reliance. This was a Servant—his Servant. Powerful, trustworthy, always ahead of the times.
Ritsuka nodded deeply, a heroic resolve manifesting on his still-youthful face. "I see."
"So, shall we be off? To the airport to catch our plane?" he asked, then immediately frowned, slapping his forehead. "Ah, wait—my passport! I've never had a passport in this day and age…and traveling abroad now must be such a hassle."
He was thinking as an adult but forgot that, officially, he was a six-year-old elementary schooler now.
Seeing his earnest face worrying over the passport issue, Steve couldn't help but laugh softly—an entirely gentle, not mocking, sound.
"It shows your careful thinking, Master. That's excellent, but sometimes things need a different perspective." Steve gently extended a hand. "Usually, it takes more than twelve hours to fly one way from Tokyo to London—an entire day round trip. We don't have that kind of time to waste. So today, we'll begin our journey in a more…unusual fashion."
"A special way?" Ritsuka looked up, surprised.
Steve didn't answer directly. Instead, he smiled mysteriously. Beneath the boy's clear, curious gaze, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers toward the empty street.
The crisp snap rang out, charged with magical power, as if it could manifest words into reality.
In the next instant, the air before Ritsuka's eyes began to shimmer and ripple like the surface of a pond struck by a stone. Invisible waves spread from Steve, refracting and bending the surrounding light, forming a bizarre mirage-like field.
Ordinary cars parked by the roadside, the wall of the neighboring house, and the distant cherry tree—all blurred among warped light and shadow.
A powerful, surreal presence descended abruptly in that quiet neighborhood as, from within the distortion, a massive metallic outline slowly surfaced. It was like a steel behemoth rising from lucid water—first revealing rugged tires and an armored chassis, then the strangely angled, heavy body and quintessential cyclopean spotlight.
As all the optical camouflage faded, the morning sunlight exposed the vehicle's colossal figure—imposing and unscathed. Ritsuka gasped.
Shadow Border.
The single mobile stronghold that carried him and the remnants of Chaldea, across separated Lostbelts, through despair upon the wandering sea.
This was not just a vessel—it was witness to innumerable battles, a monument to comrades' blood and sacrifice, and a microcosm of his darkest, most painful journey.
Never had he imagined laying eyes on the Shadow Border—that didn't belong to the year 2004—in front of his own home.
A flood of shock and memories overwhelmed him. He seemed to smell the chilly, damp air of the wandering sea again, hear Sion's complaints in the cockpit, see Captain Nemo's somber profile, and feel the violent shudder of emergency dives…
Pain, longing, peace, terror—countless tangled, wordless emotions churned inside him, silencing even his breath. He simply stood there, gazing up with unshed tears at the "old friend" from his past.
"You recognize it, don't you?" Steve's voice pulled Ritsuka out of his reverie. Seeing the tears, he gently patted the frost-cold armor etched with Chaldea's emblem. "There's a faster way, Master. Planes are too slow… let's take the route you know best."
"Shadow Border, straight to London."
…