#class|saber

Saber Alter looked directly at the solar eclipse to prove her strength and also because she literally doesn’t give a fuck.

“... It was they who sought to challenge me, knight princess. The bargain struck was thus. If these loathsome individuals won, they would be free to do with me as they will. If I won... they would oh so chivalrously pay for lunch.”

The sneer that crested the blackened Saber’s lips was an unnerving one.

@oncexfutureking

Altria should have known, really.

In a facility that defied the conventions of time and space as a matter of course, it was only to be expected that this would happen.

An individual was reflected infinite times through the Kaleidoscope. Countless parallel worlds and timelines, some seemingly no different from each other at all... and some quite different from each other.

For the world she lived in, the true identity of the ever famous King Arthur was but a piteously weak little girl.

That little girl, with shoulders far too small to bear the burden that she had been given, had hid her sex from the wider world and had sought to cast aside her feelings as a human, had sought to become an ideal king.

In the end, she lacked the strength to save what she wanted to save most.

All of her sacrifice was for naught... on the contrary, that she had sought to become something inhuman had led to her downfall, and that of her kingdom. Ironic, but a fitting end for someone so blind to reality.

In the end, the mistake of being born as she was only furthered Camelot’s end, only hastened to seal the fate of her and her people.

That was the end of that foolish little girl’s dream.

Yet, even she could not have helped but ask a certain question to herself.

It was a question that could never be answered, of course.

Even so, the blackened Servant knew more than most the irrationality of humans, the way in which regret and despair consumed their thoughts and turned them towards maddening dead ends.

Even as she was now, committed to a single purpose, suppressing errant thoughts as she did other meaningless feelings, the question would perhaps always linger in some small corner of her maddened mind.

What would have happened if reality had matched legend?

What would have happened if she had born male?

Altria should have known, really.

The answer stood before her.

He still held what she had lost.

Those vivid eyes like emeralds, burning with determination.

The golden hair that those around her so often praised.

The smile that she knew she could never have again.

He was no tainted as she was; he had not fallen as she had, and he surely had not succumbed to the despair, been twisted and distorted and broken, been made to see the reality of this wretched world.

Hatred bubbled up within her at the sight of him; he reminded her of that which she had cast away and killed herself, reminded her of that weak child who had deluded herself into believing in ever distant ideals, that which she hated most.

How unsightly unsightly unsightlyunsightlyunsightlyunsightlyunsightly-

Her slender form trembled ever so slightly, her pale fingers curling into fists as she clamped down even tighter on the madness that ever ravaged her mind. Her tyranny, her ironclad dominance, held no exceptions... not even herself.

Weakness would not be tolerated.

Those things were of no concern.

The man before her was tall, with broad shoulders, and shining silver armor not dissimilar... not dissimilar to what hers had looked like, once upon a dream.

She closed her eyes, once again seeking to dismiss her stray thoughts.

Those things were of no concern either.

What was, then?

That she was approaching him in the first place was madness, something that she should not be doing, something that she should not be allowing herself... a mere Servant, a mere [weapon], did not need curiosity satisfied.

She was a [hero]; she was a mechanism that existed to cut down her foes with everything she was, to bear the hatred and scorn of those around her, to kill and kill and kill for the sake of all those she had failed.

Yet, even with that in mind, her feet had carried her towards him.

She rationalized it to herself; she would assuage her curiosity and move on without its hindrance plaguing her mind.

That was all this was.

That was all this was.

That was all this was.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head to meet his gaze, sickly yellow eyes noxious with hatred piercing through him, meeting his own hauntingly familiar eyes no how much it hurt, no matter how much it caused her chest to ache.

Weakness was not permitted.

In all things, even in facing this man, she would be dominant.

When she spoke, it was quiet, but there was a forcefulness and intensity to her words that seemed to chill the very air.

”... I would speak with you, knight king. I would know the measure of your strength... I would know the fate of your kingdom. The reason is simple.”

Glowing particles dyed umber black and crimson red winked into existence about her hand, darting to and fro like fairies before coming together and coalescing, merging into a single solid shape.

A sword appeared in her hand, a weapon as dark as night, symbols that shone with an unearthly red light carved upon its blade. With a single smooth motion, she brought both hands about its hilt and held it aloft before him.

Even across worlds, the fairy letters etched into it were undeniable.

As much as it might have differed from his, it could be nothing but familiar.

Even inverted, it was yet Excalibur.

.”... My name is Altria Pendragon. In life, I assumed the mantle of king... and would be known as King Arthur. My people rose in rebellion, and I was struck down... my kingdom fell. Thus, I ask of you to answer me.”

Altria should have known, really.

She should have known that to finally find the answer to her question would make her feel such an emotion.

How piteously weak.

Instructions unclear; she is too dead inside and in despair to ambition.

She’ll take the greasy foodstuff though.

At least Merlin isn’t foolish enough to tempt her wrath by stealing Excalibur Morgan away from her possession.

This is the price you pay, knight king.

Had you remained emo (like her), you would have been socially dead (like her) and no one would have taken your sword.