I stepped through the front door, shutting it behind me with a quiet click. The house was eerily silent, the only sound being the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension.
Ren: Tonight's the last night. No more waiting.
I ran a hand over my pocket, feeling the faint warmth of the Command Seals etched into my skin. The Holy Grail War had begun, and if I didn't summon a Servant now, I'd be easy prey for the other Masters.
Walking through the house, I entered the room I had prepared days ago. A perfectly drawn summoning circle rested in the center, inked onto the floor, surrounded by flickering candlelight. The air here felt different—charged.
Ren: Alright. No turning back now.
I stepped forward, raising my hand. The moment I began the chant, the air shifted.
Ren: Let silver and steel be the essence...
A dull thrum pulsed through the floor. The sigils in the circle began to glow, faint at first, then brighter.
Ren: Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation...
The temperature dropped. The candles flickered wildly.
Ren: Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall...
A pressure built up in my chest. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Something was answering.
Ren: Let the four cardinal gates close...
The glow of the circle intensified, the sigils burning a deep crimson.
Ren: From the crown, let the three-forked road to the kingdom rotate—
Then, everything exploded.
A pillar of black fire erupted from the circle, a shockwave ripping through the room. Papers flew, books crashed to the floor, and the sheer force threatened to throw me back. I planted my feet, shielding my face from the heat.
And then, she stepped forward.
A woman, clad in darkened armor, her silver hair flowing like molten steel. A tattered flagpole rested in her grasp, its fabric scorched and frayed. Her golden eyes, sharp and unwavering, locked onto mine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
???: Tell me... are you my Master?
Her voice was low, edged with something dangerous.
I stared at her. This... this wasn't the noble saint I had read about. This was someone else. A fallen legend, twisted by something I couldn't yet understand.
And yet, looking at her, I already knew my answer.
Ren: Yeah.
A smirk ghosted across her lips.
Jeanne Alter: Interesting
I leaned back on the couch, my mind still reeling from the revelation. Jeanne d'Arc. The legendary saint, the Maiden of Orleans, was sitting right across from me, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.
Ren: No way... Are you really Jeanne D'arc?
Jeanne: Hmph. Do you doubt me?
Ren: I mean... yeah, a little. No offense, but I expected, I dunno, more armor? Maybe less of the whole 'glaring at me like I kicked your dog' thing?
Jeanne: Tch. Would you prefer I test my strength on you?
I quickly raised my hands in surrender. No need to get killed by my own Servant within the first five minutes.
Still, this felt surreal. I needed a second to process everything. Pushing myself up, I wandered into the hallway, stepping into the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I finally caught my reflection in the mirror.
There I was.
Messy black hair, the kind that always looked like I just rolled out of bed, even when I actually tried to fix it. Sharp, dark gray eyes, a bit tired but still alert. Lean but not scrawny, built just enough to handle myself in a fight, though I was nowhere near a trained warrior. A simple black hoodie over a gray T-shirt, sleeves pushed up just past my elbows.
I exhaled. Well, that's just how it is.
I splashed some cold water on my face, gripping the sink. The reality of what I'd just done was sinking in. I had summoned a Servant. The Holy Grail War had begun. And there was no turning back.
Steeling myself, I turned away from the mirror and headed back into the living room. Jeanne was still sitting there, arms crossed, watching me carefully.
Jeanne: Have you finished admiring yourself?
Ren: Nah, I think I need a few more minutes. Maybe get a portrait done.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Jeanne: It seems I truly have been summoned by a fool...
Ren: You better get used to it.
The soft ticking of the clock on the wall filled the silence between us. An hour had passed since Jeanne's summoning, and in that time, I had explained everything to her—the Holy Grail War, the seven Masters and Servants, and my goal.
She listened carefully, arms crossed, her golden eyes unreadable. Despite her composed demeanor, I could tell she was analyzing everything I said.
Jeanne: So your wish is to bring back your parents?
Ren: Yeah. The Grail can grant any wish, right?
Jeanne: That is what is believed...
There was a hesitation in her voice, but she didn't challenge me on it. I chose not to dwell on it. I had to believe in the Grail—for now.
Ren: Well, what about you? Any thoughts on this whole situation?
Jeanne: It is not my place to have personal desires. As a Servant, my duty is to fight.
Ren: Not much of an answer.
She exhaled softly, clearly unimpressed.
Jeanne: And what of you? You claim to be a Master, but you are no seasoned magus. How do you plan to survive?
Ren: I get by.
Jeanne: That is not reassuring.
Ren: Didn't say it was.
She frowned, but before she could lecture me, I stretched and stood up.
Ren: Look, I know I'm not some high-class magus. But I summoned you, didn't I? That means I'm already in this war, and I'm going to see it through.
Jeanne: Hmph. Just do not get yourself killed immediately.
Ren: I'll try my best.
A silence settled between us again. Despite her initial coldness, I could tell she was starting to understand my resolve—even if she didn't fully approve of it yet.
Jeanne: You should rest. The battles will begin soon.
Ren: Yeah, yeah...
I didn't argue. The war was officially underway, and sooner or later, I'd have to fight.
For now, I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything sink in.
1 HOUR LATER
Sitting on the couch across from me, Jeanne Alter had a bag of chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. The news was playing, but she kept flipping through the channels with an irritated expression.
Jeanne Alter: "Tch. Nothing but garbage. Is this what modern entertainment is like?"
She finally stopped on some historical drama, watching as knights clashed swords on a battlefield. She scoffed, popping another chip into her mouth.
Jeanne Alter: "Ridiculous. Armor like that wouldn't hold up in a real fight. And don't get me started on their formations."
I leaned back in my seat, watching her rant to herself. It was weird seeing a legendary figure like Jeanne d'Arc—well, technically not that Jeanne d'Arc—just lounging around like a regular person. The contrast between her fiery personality and how casually she was stuffing her face with snacks was kind of amusing.
Ren: "You sure do like complaining."
Jeanne Alter shot me a glare but didn't deny it.
Jeanne Alter: "I call it 'having standards.' You wouldn't understand."
I just shrugged. Well, that's just how it is.
Ren: "So, are you just going to sit around watching TV all night, or do Servants actually do Servant things?"
Jeanne Alter: "Tch. As if there's anything worth doing right now. The war hasn't even started properly." She lazily popped another chip into her mouth. "Besides, you don't seem in a hurry to start fighting either, Master."
Ren: "I just summoned you. Excuse me for not sprinting into battle immediately."
She scoffed but didn't argue. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her legs up and getting more comfortable.
Jeanne Alter: "Hmph. You should be grateful you summoned me. If you had gotten some weakling, you'd already be dead."
Ren: "Yeah, yeah. I don't see how though, I haven't even left the house."
I pushed myself up from my chair and headed toward the kitchen. If she was going to make herself at home, I might as well grab a drink. As I reached for a glass, her voice called out from the living room.
Jeanne Alter: "Hey. Got anything other than these cheap snacks? If I'm going to be here, I'd rather not suffer."
Ren: "Do Servants even need to eat?"
Jeanne Alter: "No. But I want to."
I sighed, filling my glass with water. Something told me this war was going to be a headache.
Homurahara Academy – Night
The school should've been empty.
Shirou Emiya knew that.
And yet, as he carried the last of the cleaning supplies back to the storage room, a strange sound echoed through the halls—the clash of metal.
He followed the noise, his heart pounding.
Stepping onto the schoolyard, he looked up at the rooftop.
Two figures clashed beneath the moonlight.
One, a man in a red cloak, wielding twin swords.
The other, a spearman dressed in blue, his crimson lance cutting through the air.
Their battle was inhuman. Each strike sent shockwaves through the night, cracking the rooftop tiles.
Shirou felt his breath catch.
Shirou: (What the hell...?)
He should've run.
He should've turned around and left.
But he didn't.
And then—
The spearman's gaze snapped to him.
A chill ran down Shirou's spine.
Lancer: "Tch. A witness?"
In an instant, the blue Servant vanished from his spot—
And reappeared right in front of Shirou.
Shirou had no time to react.
Lancer: "Too bad, kid."
A flash of red.
Pain.
Shirou looked down.
Lancer's spear was buried deep in his chest.
His body shuddered. His vision blurred.
As his consciousness faded, the last thing he saw was the cold, distant moon.
Then—darkness.
—
Homurahara Academy – Infirmary
Shirou gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He was... alive?
He clutched his chest. No wound. No blood.
His breathing was ragged, his body trembling. He didn't understand.
Had it been a dream?
No. It felt real. Too real.
Something had happened.
Still dazed, he got to his feet and stumbled toward the exit.
The school was silent. Empty.
He had to get home.
Emiya Residence – Backyard
By the time Shirou reached home, his body felt heavy, his mind still reeling from what had happened.
But there was no time to process it.
A presence.
Cold. Overwhelming.
He turned—
Lancer was standing there.
Lancer: "Hah. Should've finished the job properly."
Shirou's breath caught in his throat.
He barely had time to react before Lancer lunged.
Shirou: (I can't outrun him! If I don't fight, I'm dead!)
He reached for the nearest thing—a rusted metal pipe.
His circuits flared to life.
Reinforcement magic.
Shirou: "Trace... on!"
Mana surged through the pipe, strengthening it.
Just as Lancer's spear thrust forward, Shirou raised his weapon to block.
A deafening clang!
The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, nearly breaking his grip.
Lancer's eyes narrowed.
Lancer: "Oh? So you've got some fight in you."
Shirou had no time to answer—Lancer struck again.
Shirou barely dodged, the spear slicing through the air, missing his ribs by inches.
His breathing was ragged. He wouldn't last.
Shirou: (I need... something! Anything!)
He staggered back into the storage shed.
Lancer followed, his spear gleaming under the dim light.
Lancer: "End of the line, kid."
Then—
A pulse of energy.
A magic circle lit up beneath his feet.
Power surged through the air.
The atmosphere changed—thick with something ancient.
Lancer took a step back, his brows furrowing.
And then—
She appeared.
A woman clad in silver armor, her golden hair flowing behind her.
She stood before him, her blue eyes sharp, unwavering.
A sword rested in her hands, its brilliance concealed by wind.
Her presence was overwhelming.
And then, she spoke.
Saber: "Tell me—are you my Master?"
Ren's Home – Living Room
I slumped into the couch, exhaling as Jeanne flicked through TV channels with the most unimpressed look I'd ever seen.
Ren: "Find anything interesting?"
She scoffed, stopping on a historical drama.
Jeanne: "Tch. So inaccurate."
She changed the channel again, this time landing on a cooking show where a chef was flambéing a steak.
Her eyes lingered on the screen.
I raised an eyebrow. Was she interested?
Ren: "...You hungry?"
She turned to me, glaring as if I'd just insulted her entire existence.
Jeanne: "A Servant does not require food."
A second passed.
Then her eyes subtly drifted back to the screen.
Ren: "...But you want to eat, don't you?"
She huffed and crossed her arms.
Jeanne: "It's merely curiosity. Nothing more."
Right. Sure. "Curiosity."
Suppressing a smirk, I got up and walked to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I came back with a plate of leftover stir-fry and set it on the table.
She glanced at it.
Then at me.
Then back at it.
A long, stubborn pause.
Then, without a word, she grabbed the chopsticks and started eating.
I leaned back, arms crossed.
Ren: "So? How's it taste?"
She paused mid-bite, her expression carefully neutral.
Jeanne: "...Acceptable."
I chuckled.
She scowled.
Jeanne: "What?"
Ren: "Nothing, nothing."
I watched as she ate, her pace slowly increasing. She was totally enjoying it.
Guess even the vengeful spirit of Jeanne d'Arc had simple pleasures.
Jeanne finished eating, setting her chopsticks down with a satisfied sigh. Despite her earlier resistance to the food, she looked oddly at peace.
Ren: "Guess it wasn't just 'acceptable' after all."
She shot me a glare but didn't argue, crossing her arms.
Jeanne: "Don't get cocky. It was passable, at best."
I smirked. She was obviously trying to save face, but I didn't press further. The atmosphere was strangely comfortable now, almost like I had known her forever.
That moment of peace shattered instantly.
A sudden, suffocating chill ran down my spine. The air in the room thickened, heavy with an unnatural pressure.
Jeanne: "...!"
Her entire demeanor shifted. The bored expression vanished, replaced by cold, battle-hardened focus.
She turned her head sharply toward the window, eyes narrowed.
I followed her gaze, my heartbeat hammering in my chest. At first, I saw nothing but the dim glow of streetlights outside. But then—
A figure stood in the distance.
Silent. Motionless. Watching.
Jeanne slowly stood from her seat, her grip tightening around her flagpole.
Jeanne: "Master. Stay behind me."
That presence... it was overwhelming.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Who is that...?"
The figure remained still, shrouded in darkness. It was hard to make out any details, but I could feel something— something unnatural.
A strong gust of wind blew through the window, even though it was shut. The lights in the room flickered.
Jeanne's fingers twitched.
Then—