Steve chose the safest, most precise solution—a gentle peeling, so to speak. The process was astonishingly smooth. After all, the enemy before him was in its weakest state. The Grail War had only started late last night; not a single Servant had vanished. This ant the Grail engine was truly empty, dormant, inactive, and incapable of resistance.
Even the legendary dea had managed to interfere with the Grail's rules to a degree; for Steve—practically the "Solomon" of his world—the operation's success rate had always been one hundred percent.
His mind sank into a sea of knowledge, his brain automatically drawing forth the most suitable technique to handle the situation. Silver-blue light gathered in his hand—more than re energy, it was a hurricane of spell fragnts, swirling like a nebula: magic from the universe and stars, abiding by cosmic laws older and deeper than this planet's.
In Type-Moon's world, the hierarchy of laws decides all. Just as "Planetary Law" overrides "Human Law," "Universal Law," born of the cosmos, holds unshakably absolute priority over even planetary principles.
Angra Mainyu, the proto-malicious intelligence born of pan-human history and parasitizing the planet's ritual, was like a two-dinsional drawing before a three-dinsional chisel—the struggle and resistance of evil was aningless before the brilliance of [Universal Law].
Steve pressed his palm of silver-blue starlight against the Grail's dark core. No explosion, no deafening roar. The nebula of light transford into countless tendrils—finer than a human hair by billions of tis—quietly spreading through every corner of the Greater Grail's system.
From midnight to dawn, ti flowed quietly.
That long stretch was spent entirely on peeling away the filth accumulated over sixty years from the Grail's foundation.
At the first sign of dawn, sunlight stread through patches in the clouds over misty Fuyuki: the last black thread was gone. The darkness that had drifted for sixty years in the underground cavity finally vanished.
Freed from corruption, the Grail's core again shone with pure golden light—no longer a cauldron of disaster, but a quiet, vast magic source, back to its wish-granting nature. Calmly it floated, quietly waiting for a victor.
With the task complete, Steve did not linger. He turned back into motes of starlight and returned to the temple above.
Ken slept peacefully, a gentle smile on his face. By dawn's efforts, the war now had a chance for a new ending.
He went to the window and watched the rising sun, his heart calm.
He knew well: cleansing the Grail only reset a flawed program to its starting state, not that its users—magus, driven by longing and obsession—would beco gentle or rational in turn. Rather, the truly wish-granting Grail would only make their struggles more direct and cruel.
Especially for the Fourth Grail War's contenders—deep warring desires filled with irreconcilable inner conflict. Saber wanted to rewrite the past, Kiritsugu sought to save the future, Kayneth longed for honor, Tokiomi Toosaka for the Root—all wishes often realized by denying others' beliefs. To expect them to sit and peacefully negotiate was wishful thinking.
"First, I need to make sure the wish-granting machine is functional…" Steve murmured. It may sound as silly as "People die when they are killed," but in this war, it's a crucial step toward peace and a swift victory.
His gaze pierced the temple walls, overlooking Fuyuki at the mountain's foot. An image surfaced in his mind—a red-haired boy. He turned to see that Ken had just awoken, rubbing his eyes, still in the clean nightclothes provided by Ryuudou.
"Ken," he said gently, "Do you know a boy at school nad Shirou?"
"Shirou?" Ken yawned, trying hard to rember. "Maybe… there's a guy like that in the next class over. He's usually alone, doesn't talk much, does high jump practice after school, and, for so reason, girls tend to notice him…"
"Perfect." Steve nodded. "Ken, please help . Today, you need to go to school."
Following his instruction, Ken found the head monk at Ryuudou—Issei Ryuudou's father—and, giving the plausible excuse of "forgetting sothing important at school," got permission to leave. To the kind monks, he was simply a pitiful, temporarily-staying classmate's family mber.
Thus, on the third morning since the war began, an ordinary elentary schooler set off with his backpack from Ryuudou toward Fuyuki Elentary School. No one realized that a special Servant trailed quietly behind him in spirit form.
Fuyuki Elentary School's morning was lively and full of laughter—a world apart from the bloody intrigue of the Holy Grail War. With Ken's guidance, Steve quickly picked out his target: a boy sitting quietly by the window, reading. Sunlight hit his short red hair, making it glow. His eyes were clear and focused, exuding a seriousness beyond his years, yet with no sign of despair or distortion.
Shirou Takamachi—that was likely his real na. A boy who had not yet suffered hell's inferno, whose family was whole, whose childhood was still happy.
Steve quietly observed the boy until the lunch bell rang.
"Go, Ken." Steve's voice echoed in his Master's mind. "Do as I say."
Ken took a deep breath, clenched his little fist, and approached Shirou, who was eating lunch alone.
"Um, are you Shirou Takamachi?"
Shirou looked up, a hint of doubt in his golden brown eyes. "I am. You're… from Ryuudou's class?"
"My na's Ken!" Ken puffed out his chest, trying to sound dignified. "I have a question… Would you be interested in trying to beco an 'Ally of Justice?'"
Those words struck the very core of Shirou's heart like a bolt of lightning. His face instantly froze, food forgotten. After a mont's silence, a flash of wit and biting sarcasm surfaced—reminiscent of a certain man in red—"...A partner in justice? Read too many comics, haven't you? Why does sothing like that exist..."
Yet the faint light in Shirou's eyes betrayed the wish in his heart—it was real!
Ken quickly opened his palm, focusing as Steve had instructed. In the next second, a clear fruit-candy appeared, exuding a sweet aroma.
"Look! This is magic!"
Shirou's eyes widened—conjuring candy out of thin air was a logic-defying phenonon, fatal to any child's curiosity. He stared, then glanced at Ken's serious face. Inside, yearning and doubt collided violently.
"If you agree," Ken continued, repeating Steve's words, "co to Ryuudou after school—I'll show you a real 'miracle.'"
Shirou spent all afternoon restless. When the final bell rang, his longing for "miracles" and "ally of justice" overwheld all reason and doubt. He slung on his backpack and—almost possessed—trailed after Ken, all the way to the great Ryuudou gate.
Stepping into the temple as transford by Steve, he was stunned. This was no ancient temple, but a fantasy space aglow with starlight, dos like the cosmos, the air filled with cool, holy aura. It was as if he'd stepped into a myth.
"Welco, future hero," Steve manifested in spirit before the two children. Shirou was awestruck, speechless. Without another word, Steve extended his right hand, conjuring a card with golden cosmic dust—a swirling galaxy on the back, blank on the front.
"This is a half-finished, blank [Archer] class card I made just now." He smiled at Shirou. "Well, boy—what do you say? Want to try being a hero, even for a little while?"
"!!" Shirou's breathing sped up. Staring at the enigmatic card, then at Steve's deep eyes, he finally nodded, hard. "Y—yes! I agree!"
"Very good." Steve handed him the card.
The instant Shirou took it, Steve's preset otherworldly spell, "Dream Summon," activated.
"Declare—" His voice echoed through the temple with legal authority.
"Let your flesh act as relic, your soul as anchor! In accordance with the Grail's laws, answer the call of the Throne of Heroes! Guardian of the future—descend upon this land!"
A burst of silver-blue radiance engulfed Shirou's young body. The class card fused to his chest, and a torrent of mana twisted his form: bones cracked, height shot upward, baby-fat muscle tensed, his fra growing fit and strong, school uniform dissolving in the light and reforming as a red-black battlesuit.
When the light faded, a new existence stood there. The boy looked childlike, but his red hair had gone snow-white, his skin darkened, and, most telling of all, his golden brown eyes had turned into battle-hardened gray—eyes that had weathered countless battlefields.
The boyish form of EMIYA had arrived, ten years too soon, in this world. He raised hands that were both familiar and strange, feeling magic circuits inside that seed faint and diminished. Where was he? Who was he? Why was he still in his child body?
In the soul of the Guardian from the future, endless contradictions and chaos stord.
…
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