fafnir.

“Woah, the Scientists made two of them?! That’s amazing!” He holds up his own copy of the sword to compare them, then pauses.

“… Actually, it’s not that great. Chaldea has multiple versions of the same Heroic Spirit, which is definitely more impressive!”

As Astolfo fitted himself beside Sieg, wrapping his body around the homunculus until they were completely entwined, he felt a sense of rightness – like this was the way things were supposed to be. Maybe if the world was a more just place, then… … No, there was no point in entertaining thoughts like those. The past couldn’t be changed, and if he wasted time ruminating on what went wrong, he would miss out on the wonderful present. It was a miracle that they were reunited in the first place; he could feel Saber of Black’s heart hammering against his ear, definitive proof that his Master was still living through Siegfried’s sacrifice.

The situation wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep him happy.

“Can we talk a little before we go to sleep?” He asked as he nuzzled against Sieg’s chest.

             Their close proximity didn’t bother him in the slightest, and he felt the sensation of security become stronger as the Servant’s pleasant warmth and softness became more apparent to his dulled senses. He couldn’t measure just how much time had passed between the last time he had experienced this and now, especially considering time was meaningless in that distant location, but this did elicit a feeling that he believed was nostalgia, though it was far less bittersweet as simply reminiscing about a place he shouldn’t have been able to return to, even despite his short life being filled with miracles.

A fond sense of nostalgia washed over Astolfo as Sieg led him along. Normally he would be the one dragging his Master from one place to another, but this was a welcome change of pace; it meant that Sieg wanted to spend time with him, regardless of how hesitant he was about his own desires. The paladin bounced onto the bed once they arrived at their destination, hastily forming a cozy nest of bedding with his blankets.

“Come lay down with me!” He opened his arms, sock-clad toes wriggling in excitement.

             The Servant’s high spirits was not troubling in the slightest; rather, he preferred it to the strange attitudes of strangers he’d met in the city. There was always a kind of dreary overhang—a stern ambience, or dangerous undercurrent, in his more recent interactions, but with Rider, he felt no such negativity or pressure—there was only a feeling of safety. The Servant’s honest and unchanging goodwill was indispensable support for Sieg, even now. (No matter what happens, he could trust Rider. That was his strongest belief.)

Of course Sieg didn’t realize it, but that was a rather complicated question to ask. If he was going to be perfectly honest, a lot had happened recently – but none of that concerned his previous Master, and it would make him feel guilty to place such a burden upon those fragile shoulders.

“… I’m okay!” The long pause was likely suspect, but he moved past the matter without breaking stride. “I want to see you more often, though. I miss being with you all the time.” He peered up at Sieg with an earnest expression. “… Can I stay here tonight? I wanna share a bed with you again…” Preferably without Ruler coming in to scold them.

             The beat did not go unnoticed, and Sieg began worrying if he said something wrong—that Rider was troubled by something that went beyond physical affliction, but the moment had passed before he could prod on the suspicion further. ❝ …? I’m not the most interesting person to be around, though. ❞ Maybe that wasn’t the appropriate response, especially not to that kind of expression. ❝ But… I think I miss it too. I don’t mind. ❞

“Not too far!” At least, not far by a Servant’s standards. He expertly avoided tumbling onto his face by bounding inside as the door opened – but he paused once he was halfway in, rerouting himself in order to envelop Sieg in a blanket-and-pillow hug.

“I missed you,” he confessed, nuzzling his face against the homunculus’s shoulder.

             Although it was a feeling he didn’t quite understand—it was too vague for him to put it into words—he was quite happy that Rider had appeared as an unexpected visitor for the night… that Rider still cared about him despite all that’s changed. Dutiful as he was, despite his lack of feeling, he returned the embrace quietly.

He was the same as ever. The same homunculus; the same Sieg, the same fake Saber of Black. A little smaller then what Mordred remembered, though – she recalled him being taller, a little fuller of figure. Maybe she was projecting. Or maybe he’d lost weight since last time. It was hard to tell, and something she had little interest in – so, naturally, it was forgotten. Pushed down for another day, another time.

Mordred eyed him over her shoulder, squinting slightly. At least he knew to keep his distance, and let her pick where to go. Huh. Maybe he wasn’t completely thick after all. “Think you can get on my good side through food, huh?” She kicked a stone along the path ahead and grinned, sharp-toothed and proud. “… Good choice.”

Turning the corner, the street opened out to a variety of stores: bakeries and restaurants, a few cafes with frills and curled writing on their windows and an errant food cart on the corner. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got…” Pivoting slowly, Mordred surveyed with her eyes and nose – the sweet aroma of baked foods and roast meat, hot bread and sugar. She had complaints about the city, but their choice of food was something she could get behind.

Then, there. She saw it. The one she wanted.

“Churros!” Mordred laid a hand on Sieg’s shoulder and shook, pointing at a tiny cafe on the corner. The word ‘fresh churros with sugar’ was painted in blue acrylic across the window. “Hey, Sieg! Those ones! Let’s go there, c’mon!!” 

Rather then wait for a reply, Mordred dragged him across the street (her hand still gripping his shoulder without realising) and slammed the money across the counter. In return, the server placed six, freshly made churros onto the counter.

“Yes, perfect! Haha! You ever tried these before?” She turned and eyed Sieg, incredulously. No, probably not. “… Well, here’s your first taste.”

             Supposedly, thanks to the limited experiences he had prior to isolation, he’d gotten used to being pushed around by Servants—resistance was futile—not that it was necessary in this situation, but even if it was, even the dimmest lifeforms would be able to conclude that struggling would only bring more pain, given how obvious the difference was in their strength.

             (Even so, Rider was a bit gentler than this.)

             One moment, he was pulled along by her momentum, and in the next, he was presented with today’s sustenance. (So this is the fabled churro…—no, he hadn’t even heard of its existence before this. He still had much to learn about the outside world.) ❝ This is my first time… yes, thank you, Saber of Red. ❞ He had no reasons to bite the hand that fed him, that was a given, but he hoped Saber of Red didn’t care to expect much of a reaction out of him afterward… not because he was hoping to give off the impression of being ungrateful (considering its lack of nutrition and whatnot) but because it was unlikely he would even be able to taste it, being a defect and all.

              Being freshly made, heat emanated clearly from the pastry, so he had to wait for some time to pass before tasting. One bite into the fried dough was enough to confirm the lack of taste to be savored, but he wasn’t disappointed, as he had expected this outcome—no matter how much sugar was used, in the end, the most he would be able to get out of it would be its texture and temperature. He wasn’t disappointed, no… even if he wouldn’t ever be able to grasp at an understanding of why Saber of Red was so pleased with her purchase, or why she ate so much despite being a regular Servant, for that matter.

A war without victor came across to her as paradoxical; without winner, how did it conclude? Or was it still ongoing? As typical of her pursuit for understanding, a hundred questions followed the lead of a single answer. Not helped by the more unusual characteristics of his experience as he articulated them.

Words became increasingly difficult for her to decide upon, what route to take after such an explanation, or how to go about reading his feelings about the matter. Thre more she tried, the cloudier it became in identifying his stance.

All to grasp was the branch of mentioning the Servant’s new charges. “Those must be my senpai. They’ve been capable of summoning a great number of Servants to help us accomplish Chaldea’s goal, so I’ll have met him back then”. Then she hesitated, with uncertainty plaguing her flow once again.

“Certainly the war you survived was as atypical of those I learned of, but for you to have made it through must prove even more your strength. And I’m thankful to have the opportunity to converse with someone such as yourself”.

             So it would be that the Servant that he spoke to would also be contracted to the mysterious two Masters who saved humans from their state of near extinction… certainly, when Rider said there was a ton of Servants, it truly must’ve been a group too large to count for. Chaldea… that is the name of their organization, he concluded.

             He would liked to have ask for more details about Chaldea, particularly—those two Masters—but he found himself the recipient of undeserved praise. As always, he was uncertain of how to respond to this, resulting in him averting his gaze from the Servant momentarily as he fidgeted with vague unease. ❝ Ah… it’s not like that. ❞ Because, he relied on the strength of others the whole time. ❝ No, you are more impressive. I should be thankful. You, and Chaldea, was it? You saved humans from disappearing, I was told. That, I think, is far more deserving of praise. ❞

“No need to apologize,” considering he had not only been able to give information, but give him useful information, Waver could not find himself to be remotely displeased with the boy. However, the delivery of the answer only served to confuse him of the boy’s role here. The first statement was much like a robot or drone - someone who would serve as a sort of ‘NPC’ for this experiment. The second two-thirds seemed to be him feeling guilt for the nature of his previous answer.

Perhaps he was a player who was mistaken for an NPC?

“It is not too concerning, considering I seem to have some currency that is neither pounds nor yen. However it would be a shame to lose the other two in the process of managing my money.” He looked over the young male once more, trying to discern if he was part of the control or test group still. “You seem knowledgeable, yet lost. An interesting combination.”

            Ah, it was an unexpectedly good outcome that he wouldn’t suffer biting remarks featuring his conspicuous uselessness. With a face like that, he was expecting a response… far more hostile, or disgusted—condescending, at least… but still, he couldn’t let his guard down. Magi were (generally speaking) cruel monsters in the shape of humans, and this man’s mien practically oozed of… whatever essence that was that made a magus a magus. He might show mercy once, but the next might be ruthless mental obliteration…

            He might’ve been reaching for extremes there.

       ❝ Weird? Hm…. Well, judging by what this place looks like, I wouldn’t say so. Otherwise, maybe a bit. ❞ There were, after all, several non-human beings in this city. So it made sense if someone asked around if they were human or not… out of curiosity, perhaps? Well, Gudao didn’t blame this boy, and his question hadn’t really troubled him at all. He smiled back, the kind of older-brotherly reassuring smile he was so used to giving to his sister.

       Maybe it was because this boy was so much shorter that Gudao couldn’t help but feel kinda older brotherly.

       ❝ Don’t worry about it! I’m often around non-humans, so I guess it’s hard to tell apart one and the other. ❞ Even if Heroic Spirits were mostly human in the past. Gudao couldn’t help but see them as much above his race, though. Maybe because they were heroic, heroes of the past, legends, some even related to the Gods! For an ordinary boy like him, it wasn’t strange to put them much above him, right? ❝ I’m Gudao, though. 18 hours human, 6 hours ascending to the world of dreams! ❞ The magus joked, a short laugh to lift the mood. Nevermind him feeling troubled, wasn’t this boy the troubled one? ❝ And you are? ❞

            His shoulders sagged in relief, though he wasn’t aware they had been stiff in the slightest. Non-humans, he assumed, referred to the bizarre residents (test subjects) of this city whose very appearances were enough to draw curiosity—that kind of description applied to some Heroic Spirits, but that wasn’t on his mind at the time. That is, until his eyes, by chance, happened to glance at the command seals etched on the back of the other boy’s hand. It was a small glimpse, lasting only very few milliseconds before positioning blocked it from his view.

            He hadn’t felt like a magus at all… well, he lacked the air of aristocracy that the (scarier) Yggdmillennia magi seemed to possess, as well as much indication of remarkable magic circuits. Then, he was likely a mediocre magus like Caules—and Caules was… not so bad as a person. Of course, there was a chance that he really wasn’t a magus at all, but was merely unlucky. In any case, those two probabilities, while speaking poorly of one’s skills, were ideal—because a true magus was quite a scary concept. (He’d tell himself that not every single magus would look to kill him for his magic circuits—most may even overlook him, but the fear was still there.)

No mistake, it was definitely the same homunculus as before. No, not a homunculus – Sieg, he said, so Sieg he’ll be called. Still soft and bright-eyed, and just a little lost without Rider around him; like a newborn deer, still fresh on its feet. She smiled at the thought, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. Some strange familiarity, perhaps. The word ‘friends’ hardly crosses her mind.

“Aah? Looking for him? Nah, just curious. Knowing Rider, he’s probably off causing a traffic jam or something.” Mordred shrugged, uncaring. Rider was the personification of the phrase ‘go play in the street’. Yet, somehow, he came out unscathed. No doubt he’d turn up sooner or later, though. He always managed, somehow.

“Lunch, huh? I haven’t eaten this morning either…” As if on cue, Mordred’s stomach growled in protest. Struck by a single, wondrous thought, a grin spread itself across her face; sharp toothed and predatory. “Ha! Okay! I’ll join ya! Your treat, of course!”

Slapping Sieg on the shoulder, Mordred sauntered on ahead before pausing. Smirking over her shoulder, Mordred waved him on. “Well? You were heading this way, right? Come on! I’m starving!”

             A traffic jam… she wasn’t wrong, but he’d like to think that Rider wasn’t that bad. (But he was.) Even though letting Rider do as he pleases is the ideal, deliberately letting him wander while acknowledging that he had a penchant for attracting—causing trouble was worrying... (Rider can take care of himself just fine, he’ll tell himself over and over again. He was chaotic, but not evil. Anyone could see that… should see that… and excuse him for his messes. Ideally.)

             The slap on his shoulder held remarkable dynamism behind it, as expected of Saber of Red… it left his shoulder feeling a little numb, but that was not something to be concerned about. Rather, he should be concerned about if his allowance would be sufficient to satisfy the lively company he had. (He read about this in a book once… if he couldn’t pay… he would be forced into a life of servitude until the debt was paid off… that alone was horrific…) Well, in any case, he didn’t have the guts to be curt and remind her that he didn’t invite her in the first place. She would probably be offended by his “impudence,” and there was no telling what she would do with that kind of thing fueling her.

             Yeah, Servants were really scary.

Her knowledge of Masters relieved of their position was minimal and vague; typically, she knew of it to be the death of the mage. But not the case with him, which begged the question as to what happened to strip him of command seals and role. More so puzzling was the ambiance around him. As such relief had left him despondent, in spite of the apparent distance from danger.

Although she could understand; the separation between Servant Master was heavy on the heart.

“–No, that wasn’t… my intention.

You seem down about it; did you not win the Grail War you were a combatant in? Of course, if it troubles you to speak about it, we can change the topic immediately. Curiosity got the better of me”.

             Did he seem down? He hadn’t realized it. Was he troubled? He wasn’t sure, either.

             The only problem that would lie in speaking of the war would be if he were discussing it with someone far removed from the conflict—a rule of the war was to keep it out of the public’s knowledge. However, the girl in question was confirmed a Servant… they had already established that much, so in this scenario, there didn’t seem to be any reason for him to need to feel troubled about it. Probably.