The streets of Fuyuki were quiet at this hour, the evening air crisp against Shirō's skin as she walked beside Rin. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain white hoodie, she didn't exactly look like a participant in a deadly war for the Holy Grail. If anything, she looked like a normal girl, out for a casual stroll with a friend.
The illusion didn't last.
Archer trailed behind them, half a step out of sight but ever-present. Even if she couldn't see him, Shirō could feel his gaze, that unwavering stare full of scrutiny and quiet amusement.
"Archer," she said without turning.
A rustle of fabric, a flicker of movement—he was walking beside them now, as if he had always been there. "What is it?"
Shirō hesitated, then asked, "Do you know anything about Avalon?"
A pause.
Archer tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Where did you hear that word?"
Shirō exhaled, watching her breath mist in the cold air. "I've been having dreams. Fragments of memories, visions that don't quite make sense. But in those dreams, I saw Kiritsugu. He was using magecraft—implanting something inside me." She glanced at him. "A sheath. It looked like the scabbard of a sword."
Rin stopped in her tracks, staring at her. "Wait. You're saying that Kiritsugu put something inside you? With magic?"
Shirō nodded.
Archer was quiet, his face unreadable.
"…It was ten years ago," Shirō continued. "He was trying to save me. I think… I think that's why I can heal so fast. My body fixes itself even when it shouldn't. It explains my regenerative abilities."
Archer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Your dumb luck never ceases to amaze me, Shirō-chan."
Shirō scowled. "Don't call me that."
Ignoring her, he continued, "First, you accidentally summon King Arthur. Then, you merge with her. And now you're telling me you've had Avalon inside you this entire time?" He let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "With both Avalon and Excalibur, you should be unstoppable."
He smirked. "Yet, somehow, you still trip over your own shoelaces."
"I do not!" Shirō shot back, scowling as Rin covered her mouth, barely hiding her laughter.
"You do," Archer said, as if it were a universal truth. "I've seen it."
Rin snorted. "He's not wrong."
Shirō groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can we focus?"
Rin sighed, her amusement fading. "Alright, alright. Let's say Avalon really was inside you all this time. That would explain a lot about why you're still standing after everything that's happened. Avalon's healing capabilities are ridiculous." She frowned. "But that also means Kiritsugu had it at some point. Where did he even get it?"
Archer crossed his arms. "He was Saber's Master in the last war. It makes sense that he had it."
Shirō's fingers twitched slightly, a phantom sensation of something warm resting inside her. "Then… does that mean I had Saber's protection even before I summoned her?"
Archer's gaze was piercing. "It means your survival wasn't just a matter of fate. Kiritsugu left you with more than just his ideals—he gave you an artifact of unimaginable power, even if you never knew it."
Shirō's breath hitched.
Kiritsugu.
For years, she had clung to his image, shaping herself in the mold of the man she believed was a hero. But now, everything was different. Everything she thought she knew about him had been shattered, twisted into something unrecognizable.
And yet, even knowing the truth, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.
Because in the end… he had still saved her.
Rin's voice cut through her thoughts. "So, what now?"
Shirō exhaled. "Now? We figure out what to do next."
Archer's smirk returned. "Hopefully without you tripping over anything."
Shirō glared. "I do not—"
But Rin was already laughing again.
The air between them turned razor-sharp the moment they spotted Illya standing in the middle of the street.
Shirō, Rin, and Archer all tensed, bracing for a confrontation. They had fought her before. They knew what she was capable of. The petite girl in the black and violet dress might have looked harmless, but the sheer magical energy rolling off her told another story. She wasn't here for a chat.
Shirō's grip on Excalibur tightened. Rin's hands were already moving toward the jewels in her pocket. Archer's stance shifted, the glint of his blades flickering into existence.
Then Illya moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Not an attack, not a spell—just motion. A blur of white and violet rushing straight toward them.
Shirō barely had time to react before she was hit.
Not by an attack. Not by a curse.
But by Illya's arms wrapping around her, squeezing her so tight it stole her breath away.
The impact sent her stumbling, but Illya held on, burying her face against Shirō's chest, clutching at the fabric of her hoodie as if she was afraid Shirō would disappear.
Shirō froze.
Rin made a strangled noise. "Uh—what—"
Archer, for once, was silent.
Shirō looked down at the girl clinging to her. Illya's small frame trembled. This wasn't the same confident, taunting Illya who had tried to kill them before. This was something else entirely.
"…Illya?" Shirō said hesitantly.
The girl didn't answer at first. Her fingers curled tighter into Shirō's hoodie, her breathing uneven. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost lost in the evening breeze, she whispered:
"You're warm."
Shirō's throat felt tight.
This wasn't right. Illya wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be standing above them, looking down with that smug, knowing smile. She was supposed to be commanding Berserker, throwing deadly spells, acting like an unshakable queen.
Not this. Not… clinging to her.
Shirō raised her hands uncertainly, not sure whether to push her away or hold on. "…Illya, what's going on? Why are you—"
"Shut up." Illya's voice wavered, but she didn't move. "Just… just for a little while. Please."
That single word—please—was what made Shirō stop questioning.
Rin was still staring in shock, hands halfway raised as if expecting an ambush. Even Archer was eyeing Illya warily, as if this was all part of some elaborate ploy.
But Shirō felt it.
The way Illya's fingers trembled. The way her breath hitched, like she was trying to hold something back.
Shirō let out a slow breath. Then, hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around Illya.
The moment she did, Illya's grip tightened even more.
"…I missed you," Illya murmured.
Shirō stiffened.
Her chest ached.
She didn't know why.
"…Illya, I—"
"You don't remember, do you?" Illya's voice was soft, but there was something raw underneath.
Shirō swallowed. "Remember what?"
Illya finally pulled back just enough to look up at her. Her red eyes were shining, but she wasn't crying. Not yet.
"…It doesn't matter," she whispered.
Shirō wanted to argue, to demand answers, but Illya's expression stopped her.
This wasn't the time.
For now, she just held on.