I had always believed I understood what Servants were.
Beings made of pure mana, temporary manifestations shaped by a magus's will and sustained by fragile contracts. They were nothing more than elevated familiars, refined weapons for a war that most people didn't even know existed: the Holy Grail War. At least, that was how the books described them… and I accepted that definition for a long time.
But that was superficial.
Servants were not merely summons. They were symbols. No… more than that — they were the very persistence of humanity given form. The crystallization of desires, regrets, achievements, and failures that refused to fade, even after death. Each Servant carried a story so heavy that the world itself could not simply let it go.
Heroic Spirits.
That was their true name.
Existences recorded in the Throne of Heroes — a "place" that, ironically, was not a place. Something beyond time, beyond space, beyond any human comprehension. A domain where past, present, and future coexist as a single distorted layer of reality. There, heroes do not age, do not change… and yet, somehow, they continue to evolve.
Because the Servants we see… are not them.
They are copies.
Fragments.
Shadows projected into the material world, summoned during the Holy Grail War. Each summoning does not bring forth the true hero, but only a version of them, shaped by specific circumstances, limitations, and interpretations. And yet… these copies live, fight, suffer… and leave marks.
And those marks return.
They return to the Throne.
That is how even the dead continue to change.
For a long time, all of this was nothing more than fiction to me.
An absurd theory, a fantasy built upon magic and myth. Something interesting to study, perhaps… but never real. Never something that could touch me.
I was wrong.
Completely wrong.
Because now… I understand.
Not as an observer.
But as a part of it.
I don't know exactly when it happened. There was no clear moment, no grand ritual I could recall with precision. Only a sensation… as if something had pulled me out of the world, as if my existence had been uprooted and replanted on another plane.
And then came the silence.
A strange, heavy void… but not a lonely one.
It was as if I were being observed by something infinite.
The Throne.
I never truly saw it — not with my eyes. But I felt it. An overwhelming presence, vast beyond comprehension, containing countless stories, countless lives. Heroes. Monsters. Kings. Traitors. Saviors. All gathered in a single "place" that could not be called a place.
And somehow…
I was among them.
At first, I thought it was a mistake.
A cosmic error.
But then, the memories came.
Not mine.
Or rather… not only mine.
Blades.
Countless blades.
The sound of metal being forged, broken, rebuilt. The smell of iron and ash. Battlefields covered in weapons stabbed into the ground like silent gravestones. An entire world made of swords.
And a feeling.
Familiar… and yet completely alien.
Sacrifice.
Persistence.
A distorted desire to save… even if it meant destroying oneself in the process.
It was then that I understood.
Or perhaps… accepted.
I had not become just any Servant.
No.
Among all the absurd possibilities, among all the existences recorded in that impossible domain…
I had become EMIYA.
A hero who never wanted to be a hero.
A living — or dead — contradiction.
A man who pursued an ideal to the very end… only to be consumed by it.
And the most disturbing part wasn't the fact that I carried that name.
It was the fact that… somewhere, deep within my consciousness…
It made sense.
As if, out of all possible stories, this was the only one that could have ended with me here.
On the Throne.
Waiting.
To be summoned.
Then, the sensation came.
A pull.
Not physical — there was no body to react — but something even deeper, as if the very essence of my existence was being seized and dragged through invisible layers of reality. There was no possible resistance. It was absolute.
And yet… I kept thinking.
The flow did not stop.
On the contrary — it intensified.
The memories came like a flood.
They were not disordered fragments. Not disconnected glimpses. They were complete. Vivid. Brutal. Every detail, every sensation, every thought… all poured directly into my soul, without filter, without mercy.
I saw his past.
Not as a spectator… but as if it were my own.
The distant sound of explosions. The suffocating smell of smoke and burnt flesh. A boy alone, surrounded by death, staring at a sky that no longer offered answers. The moment when everything began.
The decision.
To save people.
Not for glory. Not out of duty.
But out of necessity.
A simple ideal… and yet, impossible.
I felt the growth. The years passing like sharpened blades, shaping, cutting, refining. Every choice, every sacrifice, every small triumph followed by an even greater cost.
The battles.
Countless.
Endless.
Faceless enemies. Forgotten allies. Broken promises. The constant weight of moving forward, even when everything inside him begged to stop.
And then…
The betrayal.
Not by others.
But by the ideal itself.
The cruel realization that saving everyone… meant condemning someone. That the hero he wanted to be was nothing more than an illusion built upon endless suffering.
The despair.
The hatred.
Not for the world.
But for himself.
I felt all of it.
The pain, as if it were mine.
The emptiness, as if it had always been there.
But also… the small things.
Moments of almost insignificant peace. A clear sky after the storm. A smile that shouldn't matter, but did. Fragile dreams that, no matter how many times they were destroyed, insisted on being reborn.
And in the midst of all that…
An unbreakable determination.
To persist.
To continue.
Even knowing the ending.
Even hating the path.
Even wishing, somewhere deep down, that everything had been different.
And then—
Silence.
Abrupt.
Total.
As if everything had been torn away from me all at once.
No transition. No warning.
The torrent ceased, leaving behind a strange emptiness… but not an incomplete one. Because what had been shown did not disappear. It was there, etched, fused into my existence.
I was not merely carrying those memories.
I had become a part of them.
Or perhaps… they had become a part of me.
Before I could fully process it—
More information came.
Unlike the memories, this was… clean. Direct. Functional.
Knowledge of the current world.
Geography.
Recent history.
Languages.
Everything was being fitted into my mind with almost mechanical precision, as if someone were filling in the necessary gaps for my "operation." There was no emotion in it. Just data.
Location confirmed.
Context established.
System understood.
And then, finally—
That which defined everything.
My class.
There was no voice.
No grand announcement.
Only an absolute certainty, emerging within me like an undeniable truth.
Archer.
The word wasn't just a title.
It was a concept.
A framework.
A limitation… and, at the same time, a perfect definition.
A Servant specialized in long-range attacks.
Independent.
Adaptable.
And, above all—
A user of projectiles.
Blades.
Always blades.
I could feel it now.
Like a natural extension of my existence.
As if every sword had already been wielded, analyzed, understood.
As if the act of creating… were as simple as breathing.
And, for the first time since everything began—
I fully understood what I was.
Not human.
Not anymore.
Not completely.
I was a Servant.
A fragment of a Heroic Spirit.
An imperfect copy… of something that had been broken countless times.
And yet—
I existed.
As Archer.
When I opened my eyes, the world was already in ruins.
The first thing I noticed was the silence… heavy, suffocating. There were no voices, no movement — only the distant echo of something that had already happened. Something violent.
The room… or what was left of it.
Cracked walls, some completely destroyed, exposing the outside like open wounds. The floor was covered in debris: chunks of concrete, splintered wood, fragments that had once been part of something whole. There were impact marks everywhere, as if invisible forces had collided there repeatedly.
It was the classic scene of a summoning.
Unsuccessful… or too successful.
I let out a sigh.
Or at least… I tried to.
The sensation came — the natural impulse to draw air into my lungs, to fill the emptiness in my chest. But no air came in. There was no need. Even so, the sensation persisted, like a phantom reflex from something my body no longer needed to do.
Uncomfortable.
Artificial.
Wrong.
It took me a few seconds to realize.
I didn't need to breathe.
And yet… my body insisted on remembering that it once did.
I looked at my hands.
Slowly.
As if I were afraid of what I would find.
And there it was.
The red.
A deep, vibrant cloak, almost alive, covering my hands and extending up to my wrists — and a little beyond. The fabric didn't seem ordinary. There were no visible seams, no imperfections. It was as if it had been molded directly from something more fundamental.
Mana.
Pure and dense.
As the fabric extended, it transformed… or rather, integrated into two circular structures — spheres attached to the outer part of my hands, like natural components of the outfit. They weren't ornaments. They weren't accessories.
They were part of me.
Part of the shroud.
Part of my existence as a Servant.
I slowly opened and closed my hand.
The movement was smooth. Precise. Far too familiar.
And it was in that moment that something inside me… almost broke.
A laugh.
It rose.
Sudden. Uncontrollable.
I held it back.
But barely.
The air — or the illusion of it — escaped in a dry sound, almost like a distorted sigh.
Because this…
This was too absurd.
I had really… become a Servant.
Not in theory.
Not in imagination.
But there.
In that moment.
In that body.
Me.
An ordinary human — someone who, until recently, lived in a world where all of this was nothing more than fiction — was now here, wearing a red cloak I would recognize anywhere.
There were no more doubts.
None.
I raised my hand again, observing the fabric, the shapes, the details that perfectly matched the memories that had been forced into me.
And then I thought—
How?
The question echoed, heavy.
Unsettling.
Wrong on every possible level.
How did this happen?
This didn't make sense.
I didn't belong to this world.
I wasn't part of this system.
I was… someone from the real world.
No magic.
No circuits.
No connection to the supernatural.
So how…?
How did I end up here?
How did I become this?
My mind spun, trying to find logic, some rational explanation, anything that could support it.
But there was no answer.
Only the fact.
Raw.
Inescapable.
I was there.
Existing.
As a Servant.
As EMIYA.
And, for the first time since I opened my eyes…
Reality truly began to weigh on me.
So I did what any rational person would do when faced with something completely irrational.
I lied to myself.
"This is a dream."
The conclusion came quickly, almost automatically, like a desperate defense mechanism trying to preserve some semblance of sanity. No… there was no other plausible explanation. All of it — the Throne, the memories, the body, the mana — was too absurd to be real.
It had to be.
A lucid dream.
Extremely lucid.
Ridiculously detailed… but still a dream.
Because it wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible for fictional things to exist. For everything I knew as a story, as a work, as entertainment… to suddenly become reality.
No.
My brain just had to be… tired.
Exhausted.
College, exams, sleepless nights… it made sense, didn't it? The human mind was capable of incredible things when pushed to its limits. Creating entire scenarios, simulating sensations, building full narratives without conscious effort.
So that was it.
It had to be that.
I was just having a dream.
An absurdly realistic dream.
I breathed — or mimicked the act — once more, trying to calm myself. Forcing my thoughts to slow down, to organize. If this was a dream, then there was no reason to panic.
On the contrary.
I should just… enjoy it.
The idea felt strangely comforting.
If it wasn't real, then there were no consequences.
If there were no consequences, then there was no danger.
I could simply… accept it.
Explore.
Observe.
Maybe even have fun with it.
My eyes wandered across the ruined room again, but now with a different perspective. Not as someone trapped in an impossible situation… but as someone aware within a dream.
Interesting.
Too detailed.
Too coherent.
And yet…
A dream.
I flexed my fingers again, feeling the red fabric adjust perfectly to my movements. The sensation was so precise it was almost uncomfortable.
"Damn…"
The thought slipped out, nearly involuntary.
"My brain really outdid itself this time."
There was a faint tone of disbelief mixed with… admiration.
Because, honestly?
If this really was a dream…
Then it was the most realistic one I'd ever had.
Strangely lucid, huh?
I stood up.
The movement was natural… too easy.
No hesitation, no imbalance — as if that body had already been mine for years. Even so, there was something strange about the way my steps echoed across the ruined floor. They were light, controlled, almost silent… but every contact with the ground felt too calculated, too precise.
It wasn't how I usually walked.
It was how he walked.
I paused for a moment.
If… if this really was the universe everything pointed to…
If it followed the rules I knew…
Then—
I should act like him.
After all, it was just a dream, right?
An absurdly detailed, coherent dream, full of internal logic… but still a dream. And if it was a dream, then there was no reason to hold back. No reason to try to be "me."
I could simply…
Go with the flow.
Be careless.
Assume the role.
A faint smile almost formed on my face, carrying a dry humor I immediately recognized — not as mine, but as something inherited.
That was when I heard it.
A sound coming from the door.
Attempts to open it.
The handle being forced, the wood creaking under pressure. Someone on the other side was trying to get in… but the door wouldn't give. Probably jammed by debris or damaged by the summoning.
I remained silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Because, somehow… I already knew what would come next.
And, as expected—
CRASH.
The door gave way.
Not gently, not with gradual effort — but with brute force. The wood split, hinges burst, and fragments were thrown into the room as the entrance was forced open.
And then…
She stepped in.
The moment my eyes landed on that figure, something inside me reacted.
Immediate recognition.
Instinctive.
And at the same time—
Discomfort.
A strange unease, almost physical, ran through my consciousness as I grasped the implication.
My Master.
The word echoed… and I immediately rejected it.
No.
That was way too weird.
I was free. I always had been. I never had… peculiar tastes like that. The idea of having a "Master," of being bound to someone like that… was uncomfortable on levels I didn't want to explore right now.
Even so—
She was there.
A young woman with a firm posture, a striking presence.
Her teal-blue eyes swept across the room quickly, assessing every detail with almost surgical precision. Long black hair, slightly wavy, fell over her shoulders and back, partially arranged into two side braids that met behind her head, while the rest remained loose, swaying gently with her movement.
Her outfit was… casual.
But it didn't diminish her presence in the slightest.
A red high-collared top, fitted to her body, contrasted with a black skirt that moved lightly as she stepped forward. Long black stockings covered her legs, and brown leather flats completed the look — simple, practical… and yet, strangely elegant.
But it wasn't just her appearance.
It was her aura.
Confidence.
Authority.
Control.
She didn't look surprised.
She didn't look confused.
She looked… in command.
My eyes remained on her for a few seconds.
Silent.
Observing.
Confirming.
And honestly?
I didn't need to ask.
Not her name.
Not who she was.
Nothing.
Because I knew.
Of course I knew.
I had seen this before.
I had read it.
I had followed every detail of this story.
This setting.
This entrance.
This person.
There was no room for error.
Standing before me was Rin Tohsaka.
The prodigy magus.
The heir of the Tohsaka family.
And—
The classic tsundere.
An almost ironic thought crossed my mind, accompanied by that same dry humor that wasn't entirely mine.
So…
Even this, my "dream" decided to recreate perfectly, huh?
Interesting.
Very interesting.
She was the first to break the silence.
— You… — her voice came out slightly breathless, as if she had run there or pushed more mana than she should have — are you my Servant?
The question hung in the air, carrying expectation… and a tension she was clearly trying to hide.
I didn't answer.
My eyes drifted away from her, slowly wandering across the ruined room once more. The broken walls, the debris-covered floor, the remnants of what had clearly been a ritual… poorly executed.
Or perhaps executed exactly as it had to be.
I let out another sigh — that same useless reflex my body insisted on repeating.
Then I spoke.
— Are you new to this?
My voice came out calm. Controlled. With a slight tone of disinterest… almost teasing.
Even though I already knew the answer.
Of course I did.
After all… this was her first time.
The first summoning.
The attempt to bring forth a Saber-class Servant.
And instead…
She got me.
Me.
An Archer.
And not just any Archer.
I almost let out a laugh at the thought.
But I held it back.
On the other side, she reacted.
Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment, surprise mixed with irritation. Not because of the question itself… but because of how it was asked. The lack of a direct answer.
The tone.
She took a step forward… and then, unexpectedly, crouched down.
The movement was quick, decisive.
And something clicked in my mind.
Ah.
Right.
She was evaluating.
Observing up close.
Probably analyzing parameters, physical condition, anything that would confirm that the summoning… had worked.
Or maybe trying to confirm whether I was really who she wanted.
Saber.
A thought crossed my mind, carrying an almost automatic sarcasm.
Poor girl.
She wanted to summon a Saber.
One of the most balanced, most reliable classes… a safe choice for someone participating in the Holy Grail War for the first time.
And instead—
She got an "Archer."
One who… well.
"Incompetent," depending on the point of view.
The irony was almost beautiful.
But honestly?
It didn't matter.
None of it really mattered.
Because, in the end…
This was still just a dream.
An absurd construct of my exhausted mind.
No consequences.
No real weight.
No need to care.
So why should I?
Why should I worry about expectations, about classes, about performance… about anything?
I shouldn't.
I didn't have to.
I let my shoulders relax slightly, adopting a looser posture, almost careless — something that contrasted with the subtle tension in the air.
My eyes returned to her, now carrying a more evident trace of indifference.
If this really was just imagination…
Then I might as well follow the script… or break it.
Either way.
After all—
None of this was real.
She started muttering.
Quiet at first, almost inaudible, as if organizing her thoughts — or perhaps trying to contain her irritation. But it didn't take long for it to take shape.
— Of course it's my first time! — she said, with a somewhat defensive tone, crossing her arms for a moment before uncrossing them, restless. — I just… need to confirm.
Her eyes locked onto mine again, intense.
— You were summoned by me. So… I'm your Master, right?
There was firmness in her voice.
But also… uncertainty.
It was subtle.
Almost imperceptible to anyone else.
But not to me.
A small smile appeared on my face.
Unassuming.
Light.
Natural.
And yet… completely wrong for that moment.
I saw it.
I saw exactly when she didn't like it.
The slight furrow of her brows. The narrowing gaze, analyzing, suspicious. That immediate reaction of someone used to being in control — and who hated when something slipped out of it.
Well.
That made things a bit more interesting.
I tilted my head slightly, as if considering the question… even though I had already decided on the answer from the start.
— Yes — I replied, directly. — I am the Servant you summoned.
I paused briefly.
Just enough.
— But…
The tone shifted.
Subtly.
Still calm… but sharper.
— Unfortunately for you, that doesn't mean I'll obey.
Silence fell between us, heavy and immediate.
I continued, unhurried.
— I can protect you. I can fight for you. Fulfill my role where necessary.
My eyes met hers, steady.
— But don't expect me to act like a leashed dog.
The words came out clean.
No hesitation.
No regret.
And for a moment…
Everything stood completely still.
As if the world had paused just to see how she would react.
That was when I noticed.
My voice.
The sound still echoed faintly through the ruined room, blending with the heavy silence… and there was something off. Or rather — something far too perfectly right.
It was identical.
No difference.
No flaws.
The same intonation, the same weight, the same tone laced with restrained cynicism that I recognized from memories that weren't originally mine.
EMIYA's voice.
I must not have noticed before.
Not with everything happening all at once. The memories, the summoning, the shock of existing in that state… my focus simply hadn't been there.
But now…
Now it was impossible to ignore.
"Hah…"
A dry thought crossed my mind.
Even that, this "dream" got right.
— You should show more respect!
Her voice cut through my thoughts without ceremony.
Loud.
Direct.
Filled with genuine irritation.
I looked back at her.
And there it was.
The firm expression, her eyes shining with a mix of wounded authority and inflated pride. She clearly wasn't used to being treated like that — much less by someone who, in theory, should be under her command.
I watched her for a moment.
In silence.
Assessing.
And then…
I decided to speak.
— You're an impressive magus for your age.
The sentence came out clean, almost neutral.
And it was true.
There was no sarcasm there.
No provocation.
Just a statement.
— Your mana control, your summoning ability… all above average.
A pause.
Short.
Enough for her to take it in.
And then—
— But that doesn't mean you're mature.
The air seemed to grow heavier.
— Much less efficient in battle.
This time, there was no softness.
No attempt to ease it.
I continued, as if simply explaining something obvious.
— This war isn't a field for raw talent. It's strategy. Experience. Decision-making under pressure.
My eyes remained locked onto hers.
— Things you don't have yet.
Silence returned.
But unlike before, it wasn't empty.
It was tense.
Heavy.
I looked away for a moment, as if it were no longer worth my attention.
— So do the sensible thing.
My voice lost any trace of confrontation.
Now it was cold.
Practical.
— Stay hidden in the basement.
The words dropped like stones.
— I'll handle the rest.
A brief pause.
— I'll enter this war alone… and bring the Grail to you.
Simple.
Direct.
Resolved.
In my mind, it was logical.
If this was a dream, it didn't matter.
If it wasn't… it was still the most efficient option.
Less risk for her.
Fewer variables for me.
But from the way the air shifted—
From the way her gaze hardened—
It became immediately clear.
She saw no logic in it.
Only insult.
Her body tensed slightly, her eyes narrowing far more intensely than before. That initial irritation… was now being fed, growing fast, taking shape.
Pride.
Wounded.
Deeply.
Ah.
Of course.
I exhaled slowly — or mimicked the act once more.
That only made her more irritated.
I saw the movement.
Subtle at first.
But unmistakable.
Her right hand rose.
Instinctively, my gaze dropped to it — to the back of her hand, where the mark glowed with an almost tangible presence. Those symbols weren't just markings… they were absolute authority.
Command.
Bond.
Dominion.
And then—
Everything clicked.
The gesture.
The irritated expression.
The tension in the air.
She was really going to do it.
My reaction came before I even thought.
— Hey!
My voice came out louder than anything I had said so far.
For the first time since I opened my eyes… there was urgency in it.
— Are you seriously going to do that?!
I took a step forward, my gaze locked onto hers, sharp.
— Use a Command Seal… over this?!
Disbelief.
Irritation.
And something deeper, something I hadn't even stopped to fully analyze.
Because that wasn't just impulsive—
It was an absurd waste.
Command Seals weren't something trivial. They weren't tools to satisfy wounded pride or win arguments. They were limited, decisive resources… things that could turn the tide of the entire Holy Grail War.
And she—
She was about to use one.
Out of anger.
Out of impulse.
Because she didn't like what she heard.
My eyes narrowed slightly.
— Do you even understand what you're about to throw away?
The question came out weighted.
Heavier than I intended.
But it was too late.
The moment was there.
Frozen.
Her hand raised.
The seal about to be activated.
And, for the first time—
The situation stopped feeling like a simple "dream."
I didn't think.
The action came before reason.
In one instant, I was standing still.
In the next—
My hand had already closed around her wrist.
Firm.
Precise.
Without apparent effort.
The impact was immediate.
Her body reacted with pure surprise, her feet leaving the ground for a brief moment as I lifted her slightly, just enough to break her balance. There was no brutality… but there was no gentleness either.
It was control.
Pure and absolute.
Her eyes widened.
Not just because of the action—
But because of the speed.
Too fast.
Far beyond what any normal human could react to.
The kind of movement that only reinforced, beyond any doubt, what I was now.
A Servant.
Even so, I kept my grip steady, without tightening more than necessary. It wasn't to hurt.
It was to interrupt.
To make her stop.
I tilted my head slightly, my firm gaze meeting hers, now much closer.
And this time—
There was no carelessness in my expression.
Only seriousness.
— Do you really intend to spend a Command Seal… because I used logic?
My voice came out lower.
Controlled.
But heavy.
Each word measured, weighed by what was implied behind it.
She remained silent, still surprised, still processing what had just happened.
I continued.
— I don't know if you're prepared for this war.
No beating around the bush.
No softening it.
— That's why I considered that option.
A short pause.
Enough to let it settle.
— It wasn't to insult you.
My gaze didn't waver for a moment.
Firm.
Direct.
— It was because, the way you are right now… you would die.
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was dense.
Heavy.
And this time…
There was no more room to pretend this was just a dream.
Slowly, I set her back down on the ground.
Without roughness.
Without haste.
Just control.
I released her wrist as soon as her feet touched the floor again, as if nothing had happened — but the silence between us said otherwise. The tension was still there, dense, almost tangible.
I took half a step back.
Enough to give space.
— You'd be wasting a Command Seal.
My voice returned to its earlier calm tone, but now there was something more in it — not disdain… but firmness.
— Without a truly useful reason.
I looked away for a moment, as if organizing my thoughts… or perhaps just choosing my words more carefully.
— If you gave me an order like "absolute obedience"…
A slight pause.
— Over time, it would weaken.
I looked back at her.
— It's not perfect control. It's not eternal.
I tilted my head slightly.
— And when that authority started to fail… you'd be creating an enemy who knows you better than anyone else.
The weight of that implication lingered in the air.
— A forced Servant isn't reliable.
My expression remained neutral.
— It's a risk.
Silence.
Then I continued.
— Master and Servant don't work like that.
I loosely crossed my arms, relaxed posture… but still attentive.
— This isn't a relationship between owner and tool.
My eyes narrowed slightly.
— It's a partnership.
The words came out more directly this time.
— Even the class considered the "weakest" can win a Grail War.
A short pause.
— Assassin.
The name carried a slight weight.
— It's not about brute strength.
— It's about strategy.
— Cooperation.
— Trust.
Each word fell separately, firmly.
— If Master and Servant are aligned… any class has a chance.
I let the silence fill the space again, watching her reaction.
Then I finished, without raising my voice, but with enough clarity to leave no room for doubt:
— Now do you understand?
It wasn't a challenge.
Not exactly.
But it wasn't a request either.
It was… a full stop.
Or perhaps—
The beginning of something different.
Silence once again took over the room.
This time, more stable.
Less explosive… but still heavy.
Outside, the early hours of the morning advanced, cold and quiet, while the remnants of the ritual still marked the ground between us. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. We simply watched each other, as if trying to understand exactly who we were dealing with.
Then she broke the silence.
— After all of this… — her voice came out lower now, less aggressive, but still firm — who are you?
The question wasn't superficial.
It wasn't about a name.
It was about identity.
About what, exactly, stood before her.
I looked at her.
And then… I smiled.
Not a wide smile.
But something faint, almost ironic.
— I'm not what you wanted.
The answer came without hesitation.
Calm.
Direct.
— But I'm exactly what you needed to win this war.
The smile lingered for a brief moment… before fading.
She frowned slightly, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of a concrete answer.
— Your class — she continued, without beating around the bush. — What is it?
This time, I didn't stall.
— Archer.
Simple.
A single word.
But the effect was immediate.
I saw it.
The slight drop of her shoulders.
The dimming of the light in her eyes, even if only a little.
Disappointment.
She tried to hide it.
Of course she did.
But not enough.
For a moment, she looked away, as if reorganizing her thoughts… or perhaps dealing with the frustration.
Then, almost like a sigh—
— I should've expected that…
Her voice came out low.
But not low enough.
Not anymore, for me.
— I always mess up… in the most important situations.
The words carried something beyond irritation.
Something deeper.
A bitter self-criticism.
Almost a belief.
I stayed silent for a moment.
Watching.
Processing.
And then, without any haste—
— If you truly believe that…
My voice cut through the air again.
Calm.
But firm.
— Then this war is already lost.
No softening.
No sugarcoating.
My eyes met hers again.
— Not because of your "curse."
A brief pause.
— But because of you.
The silence that followed was different.
It wasn't tension.
It was something heavier.
More personal.
I didn't look away.
— Luck doesn't win wars.
The statement came like a fact.
— Decisions do.
Another moment.
— And if you keep seeing yourself as someone who "always fails"…
My expression didn't change.
— Then you'll act exactly like someone who always fails.
No raised voice.
No aggression.
Just… raw truth.
And then I finished, more quietly:
— So decide.
A short pause.
— Are you going to be that kind of Master?
Or not?
The question lingered in the air.
Without an immediate answer.
But impossible to ignore.
— What's your name?
The question came simple.
Direct.
But the moment it was asked—
I froze.
For a few seconds, the world seemed to distort around me. Not physically… but within me. Something shifted. Something deep. As if a door had been forced open.
Memories.
Fragments.
Voices.
Overlapping images, colliding, blending — not just mine… but his.
A name.
More than one.
Identities crossing, denying, contradicting each other.
A past that wasn't mine.
And yet… it was there.
Pressing.
Trying to surface.
My mind went blank for a moment.
Not because I lacked an answer.
But because I had too many.
Then—
I smiled.
Slowly.
Controlled.
Because, in the end…
None of that really mattered, right?
My old name…
My previous life…
All of that belonged to another world.
Another "me."
And if this really was a dream—
Then there was no reason to cling to it.
No reason to carry a name that no longer fit.
I could choose.
Just like that.
— Call me…
My voice came out steady.
But I hesitated.
For a brief moment.
A name crossed my mind.
Familiar.
Almost automatic.
But I discarded it.
No.
Not that one.
If I was going to choose…
Then it would be something different.
Something that didn't carry the direct weight of memories that weren't mine.
Something more… neutral.
Or perhaps… more honest.
The smile remained.
A bit more subtle now.
— Nameless.
The word fell into the air with an almost strange naturalness.
Without weight.
Without a declared history.
And yet…
Full of meaning.
Because, in that moment—
That was exactly what I was.
Without a name.
Without a past of my own.
Just a fragment…
Taking form.
And waiting to see how far that "dream" would go.