(Keishi Yonao - Paradise Lost)
Everywhere the flames were raging...
— Die... die... die! Who gave you the right to breathe?!
The unfolding landscape resembled Hell on Earth. Hell had spread its fiery branches in a place that had recently been a thriving city. The only inhabitants were the dead who had lost their last vestiges of humanity. Like a violent torrent, they filled the streets, heading towards the only living person.
Covered in fresh blood and the creeping symbols of curses across his body, he was the sole foreign element in this insane system. Yet, there was something that connected him to the streams of the dead trying to kill him. Rage. A rage that, amidst the overall chaos and disarray, was the only thing keeping his thoughts clear.
— Come on! — he roared, slicing through another spawn of darkness. — Try to kill me, you scraps! I won't let any of you live!
The blades of his weapons, like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, collected a new harvest of tainted souls with every swing. However, for every creature that fell to his strikes, a dozen more took its place, and this madness seemed never-ending...
The buildings around him were engulfed in flames, which began to spread to the mountains of corpses, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. It felt as though the very air was ready to ignite at any moment; every breath was scorching. The heat was so unbearable that the only salvation became... the fresh blood of these creatures. Blood that coated him in such a thick layer that he no longer hoped to wash it off even in the next life.
"You are no different from me…"
A painfully familiar voice echoed in his head, causing the blades in his hands to freeze…
...and in that instant, the scenery around him changed. At first glance, it seemed almost identical to the previous one. The same burning buildings, ash, dying people — everything remained in its place, but... Emiya needed only a brief moment to recognize this place. A place he had sworn never to return to.
— Fuyuki... — he croaked, realizing where he had ended up.
As if hearing his voice through the blazing flames, a guttural rumble and a prolonged wail rose around him, belonging to no creature known to man. Grotesque figures crawled out from under the rubble and mountains of ash. Their bodies were charred or covered in countless burns to the extent that they were more easily mistaken for demons than humans. Where eyes should have been, he found only empty sockets, yet within them burned the same fire that had consumed the city.
— You abandoned us!
— Murderer!
— Monster!
— And you think this is a victory? The death of an entire city?!
Hundreds of accusing cries deafened him, growing louder and clearer as the corpses surrounded him. As soon as the first one came close enough, Shiro swung his arm, intending to finish off this monster with one blade strike, but to his horror, he felt that his hands were empty... hands that had once again become childlike, like they were on that very day...
— Murderer!
— Do you think you're some kind of hero, Emiya Shirou?!
— Do you really think you can so easily escape the guilt?!
— You're just a fraud!
— You just enjoy killing!
— Shut up... — he whispered, backing away from the reaching dead.
- Trying to escape from your past... — the mocking voice of the demon whispered into his mind, causing him to freeze. — You flee from answering the question you've been asking since childhood. However... I can already see it in your eyes... you doubt!...
In the next moment, Emiya felt a grotesque hand from one of the dead seize his leg, burning with its touch. Then, the dead grip tightened around his wrist, his other leg, his shoulder... in a few moments, he could no longer move due to the charred corpses that had enveloped him. Shiro tried to break free, but the grip only got stronger until a bony hand closed around his neck, pulling him forward sharply...
So he could gaze in horror at the disfigured face of Kiritsugu Emiya.
— Welcome to Hell, Shiro... we've been waiting for you...
***
— ...And you still blame yourself for surviving that day?
The gust of prickly, cold air made him shiver slightly, sweeping away the ghostly images of nightmares and returning him to a slightly less harsh reality.
— Not exactly, — Shirou shook his head negatively, watching the last glimmers of the sun disappearing behind the horizon. — Perhaps I blamed myself once, but now my anger outweighs my guilt.
— Anger? Don't deceive yourself. What I saw in your eyes the day you first came to Alamut was anything but anger.
— Does it really matter what drives a person if the destination is ultimately the same?
— Is there a difference between a boar caught in a snare and a pig raised for slaughter, if their end is identical?
— I'm afraid I'm not sure what this allegory is about...
— Honoring and fulfilling the last wishes of loved ones is not only necessary but also should be done... as long as it does not bring harm to yourself. For as long as you follow the will of another, without seeking your own path, only they will find happiness at the end.
— Are you saying I'm not following my own path? — Shirou asked irritably.
— Can you prove yourself otherwise? — Hassan replied, disregarding Emiya's tone. — Can you prove that you chose who your blades would be directed against? How strong was your father and how strong are you? Was it your will that brought you to my doorstep and forced you to take the lives of your brothers? Or did you shift that burden onto others, allowing them to lead you onto this path?
Shirou felt that rage awaken in him, the same rage with which he had faced the demon in Tikrit. He wanted to retort, to make Hassan understand that he was wrong, but... Shiro bitterly realized he couldn't do that.
He could not even prove to himself that everything he had gone through was entirely his own choice. And if the demon had used this as an opportunity to knock Emiya off balance, to make him doubt, then the Old Man from the Mountain had only lightly touched the strings of his soul. He had brought to the surface thoughts he had been diligently hiding deep down.
No. He had never wanted to become a hero or anything like that. Kiritsugu and his ideal were the clearest examples of how false and hypocritical the image of a hero was. How unattainable that naive dream was. Just the thought that he could follow the same path filled him with disgust...
Instead, Shirou chose a different path. All he wanted was to protect those dear to him, regardless of the cost, no matter how deep into Hell he had to descend, but...
Was this path truly his own? If it hadn't been for that night conversation with Kiritsugu, could he have come to the same conclusion? Or would he have just taken an appropriate ideal and accepted it as his own? And the hardest part was accepting that all those questions from Hassan were not baseless.
Until that moment, Shirou had thought there should be no doubt, that he just needed to grit his teeth and do what needed to be done, but now his confidence in that was shaking. Was this truly what he wanted? He felt the answer was somewhere nearby, right under his nose, but because of his perception and thinking, he simply could not see or comprehend it.
You understand, don't you? You are just as fragile as I am... one misstep off this path... if your faith in this path sways even a little, and you will lose everything...
Extremely fragile and exceedingly unstable. Such was his path. Such was his faith in this path. The slightest unexpected circumstance or any seed of doubt could bring it all crashing down, burying him under the rubble of false hopes.
It was to such a thought he came due to Sabbah's words, unable to find answers to his questions...
***
— You are trying to hide your guilt and doubts behind anger, and I will teach you to confront it and face the truth...
The blade of the sword glided dangerously close to his throat, leaving a long crimson trail before Shirou managed to dodge Hassan's punishing weapon. This attack was simple and fluid, but executed so perfectly that he simply had nothing to counter it.
— You can fight dozens of enemies, and I'll teach you to slay hundreds...
Having uttered this, Hassan sliced through the air horizontally with his sword. This movement was just as simple and pure as the previous one, but the swing and strike were impossible to track with the human eye. Emiya barely managed to evade the blade that seemed drawn to his neck like a magnet. Falling into the freshly fallen snow, Shirou quickly rolled to the side, presenting a stark contrast to Hassan, who, despite his lethality and swiftness, maintained grace and majesty in his movements.
The Magus Killer attempted to increase the distance, rolling even further away, but the leader of the assailants was instantly beside him, bringing down his sword like a guillotine blade, which Shirou barely managed to block by crossing his blades. The pressure was so intense that Emiya instinctively gritted his teeth, feeling they could crumble under the strain at any moment.
The young man realized that defeating Sabbah using only brute force was impossible, so he sent a flow of prana throughout his body, strengthening his muscles and bones, which allowed him to tip the scales in his favor. Hassan's unyielding figure began to sway back. Just a little more and the blade of the Old Man would touch his own chest, cutting him in two.
However, as soon as the threat became real, Hassan's blade smoothly glided to the side. Furthermore, successfully employing the inertia generated by Shirou's efforts, the assailant leader elegantly described a semicircle and instantly found himself behind his opponent.
— No pointless tricks, — he intoned hoarsely, his blue flames of eyes gleaming.
Not allowing him a moment to seize the initiative, Emiya sprang to his feet and launched an assault, unleashing a torrent of strikes from both sides in hopes of splitting Hassan's attention and forcing him to reveal an opening. Yet, to the boy's outright shock, the assailant leader continued to effortlessly and carelessly deflect all of his attacks, sending sparks flying through the air.
The endless flurry of strikes was interrupted by a powerful blunt hit to the solar plexus, which literally knocked the air out of Emiya's lungs, forcing him to cease his barrage. Following that, a sword blow came, so powerful that even with a block, Shirou was sent sprawling several meters to the side.
He barely had time to lift his head when the sharp tip of Sabbah's sword appeared before him, hovering mere millimeters from his face.
— You know how to vanish, but I will teach you to be invisible to everyone...
Shirou barely managed to refrain from cursing, his anger manifesting through clenched fists that were practically bleeding. What he was currently experiencing could hardly be called a fight or training... he was being kicked around like a puppy from one corner to another, and Emiya could do nothing about it.
— Just as sloppy as on the day of your arrival. I see you haven't changed a bit, — Hassan let out a sound that was half a chuckle, half a snort. — Get up; we've only just begun. Or can you only cut down those who aren't even warriors?..
***
The sound of steel once again echoed throughout the mountain valley, which was gradually descending into darkness. The familiar landscape was swallowed by dusk, as a dense shroud of clouds enveloped the sky.
Yet, Shirou lying in the snow seemed oblivious to it all. He was beaten to the point where even the slightest movement or any breath became excruciating. If he hadn't at least broken a couple of bones at this moment, it could only be described as a miracle. Emiya desperately wished to rise, but even the thought of it sent a sharp pain through his head. The world before his eyes became blurred, casting the valley into unclear silhouettes, one of which loomed over him like a mountain.
— Get up. I know you can still hold a sword, — Hassan's blue glowing eyes clearly emerged from the darkness, stirring him back to reality.
— I… cough, cough… can't anymore… — Emiya rasped desperately, struggling to lift his head. — I have… no strength left...
— You waste your time and energy falling, getting up, only to fall and get back up again. Because of this, your breathing gets erratic, and you tire quickly. If you cannot stand on your own two feet, perhaps you should try crawling instead? Then it's unlikely you could fall even lower.
Hassan's calm, monotonous voice resonated once more so unemotionally that his words could not, in any way, be seen as provocation. However, they carried a strange weight that echoed in Shirou's mind, making him hang on every word.
— Get up, — Hassan reiterated demandingly, his eyes glowing brighter. — Stand up and pick up your blades, or stay in the snow and become one with the earth beneath you!
Understanding that this was not an empty threat, Emiya clenched his teeth painfully and began to rise to his feet, which threatened to buckle, refusing to obey. His body was trembling with fever, and the falling temperature had long begun to take its toll, but all of this was the least of his problems...
Watching him, Hassan could not help but acknowledge Shirou's determination: not everyone could stand up in such a state, yet that was far from the only point of interest. What intrigued him most was how Shirou stood. He was trembling, ready to lose consciousness at any moment from fatigue and exhaustion. Yet he stood. He stood and, with trembling hands, attempted to wield his twin blades directed at Hassan. At that moment, Emiya's entire being seemed to convey a single thought:
I do not acknowledge you; you are mistaken…
— You don't change… — Sabbah quietly remarked, before adding more loudly. — You undoubtedly possess talent, potential and, importantly, you are much younger than me. So why, after all this time, have you failed to even scratch me?
— I would say… it's about experience, but… — Shirou coughed, barely maintaining his balance, and rasped out. — It isn't really about that, is it?..
— Why do you fight, Rashid?
— To… bring happiness… to one person… because I gave my word.
— There it is… — Sabbah said with satisfaction before suddenly appearing before Shirou, delivering a slicing strike. — Why do you let others determine why you fight?
With some inhuman effort, Shirou managed to block the strike without collapsing immediately. But now the balance of power was undoubtedly in Hassan's favor, who pressed Emiya down into the snow.
— You are weak because you try to deny your own essence. You allow others to grip your heart in their hands. Your very foundation does not belong to you, and a person weakened in spirit has no chance of achieving their desires.
— I… am not weak! — Shirou snapped, feeling a burning sting of rage as he attempted to kick his opponent.
But his ineffectual strike found only emptiness, and in the next moment, a powerful blow struck him from behind, knocking what little spirit he had left, causing him to crash to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
He was not destined to rise again.
— Only the brave or the mad can deny the obvious… — Hassan said, bending over Emiya's lifeless body.
Ensuring that Shirou wouldn't be getting up anytime soon on his own, Sabbah sheathed his sword and then grabbed Shirou by the collar, hoisting him over his shoulder. The blue lights in the eyes of the assassin leader did not miss that the blades remained firmly in the young man's hands, still tightly clenched even as he lost consciousness. Hassan's gaze lingered on them for just a moment before gliding over Emiya's almost lifeless face.
— Well… I suppose this is rather symbolic… — he said enigmatically, slowly making his way towards the fortress.
***
The sound of steel once again resounded through the valley, heralding the start of yet another day of training. The blades of the two killers clashed, generating showers of sparks, etching deep grooves into the snow and staining it with crimson splashes.
— You've chosen a rather interesting weapon for yourself, yet you haven't the slightest idea how to wield it, — Hassan stated, carelessly deflecting yet another of Shirou's strikes. — Are you aware of its history?
— Is that really important? — Emiya gasped between breaths, seizing the brief pause to catch his breath.
— A swordsman should be as honest as his weapon... are such half-truths and secrecy acceptable?
— As far as I know, they were forged by some blacksmith in the East… — the young man mused. — The emperor ordered him to create a weapon worthy of his majestic persona, and considering that the monarch is a sacred figure in those lands, it was no easy task. None of his creations came close to what he could deem worthy of the emperor's hand. Then the blacksmith's wife, witnessing his suffering, threw herself into the flames, sacrificing her life for her beloved's success. Inspired, the blacksmith forged these twin blades as a symbol that they would always be together and find one another… given that the blacksmith was executed afterward, I suppose he truly achieved what he wanted.
— A beautiful story... but what do you think the essence of this legend is? What allowed the master and his wife to create something so enchanting?
- Love? - Shirou suggested with evident distrust, genuinely not understanding the meaning of their discussion.
- In a way... love and sacrifice certainly hold a significant place in this story, but there exists something even more sublime and important in this legend... - Hassan's eyes ignited once more with a mystical fire. - Faith...
- Faith? - Shirou felt a laugh bubbling up within him.
To suppress this impulse, he lunged forward, raising his blades to strike at the completely open Sabbah. However, his hope crumbled as the Assassin leader effortlessly seized one of his hands, twisting it with a single motion.
- Do you find this amusing?
- Faith?.. Faith is only needed by those who lack the strength to take hold of their own fate and move towards their goals, - Shirou snorted irritably, breaking free from the grip and delivering a stabbing blow to the Elder's stomach. - Faith only robs people of their sanity, fills them with...
- And therein lies the reason for your defeats, brat! - The blade of Emiya clashed against Hassan's wrought-iron gauntlet, which the next moment smashed into the youth's chest with a powerful hook, knocking him back.
Gasping for breath, Shirou quickly sprang to his feet and slid to the side. This was quite timely because, the very next moment, the spot where he had just lain was literally sliced apart by Hassan's sword strike. The Elder's eyes, already mystical, flared with an otherworldly fire, and the air around them turned so cold that even the frost-hardened Emiya involuntarily shivered.
- Even a worm must believe in something... even the most wretched leper is driven forward by the faith that tomorrow will be better than today. A person without faith in their heart will never achieve anything truly worthy, for spiritual deformity is a hundred times worse than physical...
Shirou gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure and searching for an opportunity to strike. This was not at all a situation where he was ready to engage in philosophical debates, but evidently, Hassan considered it an important part of his training.
- Tell that to those who have suffered at the hands of psychopaths and fanatics, who also firmly believed they were doing nothing wrong, - the youth spat blood contemptuously, tightening his grip on his blades. - Faith is nothing but an appendage that allows a person to feel comfortable and confident. All of this... is no more than props for the soul and crutches for those lacking the strength of reason!
Metal clashed with metal once more. The blade of Kanshou met Hassan's sword, and Shirou pressed with all his might, continuing the assault... only to suddenly ease the pressure, sharply turning and repeating his thrust towards the Elder's chest, aiming for the joint of his armor.
It was a good attempt, but the experience of a Magus Killer could not compare to Hassan's skill. He casually deflected the thrust, after which he swung his sword, intent on cleaving the youth in two.
In a panic, Emiya barely suppressed the impulse that would have sent him right under the blade, jumping back just in time to feel the tip of Sabbah's sword barely miss decapitating him. However, he couldn't firmly establish himself to continue the fight because a swift sweep from Hassan sent him crashing to the ground, and a sword pressed against his throat marked the end of this round.
- Faith is not so much a guiding hand as it is a shield for the mind and soul. A mind devoid of faith is unguarded, like a fortress with its gates wide open and its guards steeped in debauchery... - he pronounced didactically, withdrawing his sword and signaling Shirou to rise. - Surely you... must understand this, right?
- You speak of Tikrit... recalling how many times you've brought this up, I am beginning to think you're just mocking me...
- I did not live this life to scoff at the actions of others or to hate them for it, but to understand them... - Hassan said, his eyes blazing with intensity.
- But doesn't this example prove my point? - Shirou asked, checking his wounds. - The people of Tikrit spawned a monster and surrendered their humanity to it because they believed they were doing the right thing...
- On the contrary... the inhabitants of that city lost all faith: in the Almighty, in tomorrow, even in themselves. And it was this breach that opened the way for the abomination that ultimately destroyed them.
- I'm afraid I don't quite understand the difference, - Shirou shook his head.
- In some ways, you are definitely right... unfortunately, faith often does serve merely as a crutch for those who lack the fortitude to move forward on their own. And there are many times when the most heinous acts are committed by those who believe they are doing so for the greater good...
- The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
- Yet faith is what drives a person onward through the most difficult and darkest of times... - Hassan continued his tirade, ignoring Emiya's remark. - Faith is an immutable aspect of humanity, be it primitive religion or enlightened truth. It renders even the weakest warrior powerful, grants worthiness to the coward, and it is through its balm that any hardship can be endured. Faith ennobles every act that a person undertakes, no matter how lowly or inconse uential they may seem initially. It infuses them with a golden spark of transcendent purpose..."
- So you mean to say that I'm poorly wielding this weapon simply because I lack faith? - Shirou asked incredulously, looking at the weapon in his hands. - You think I don't believe in what I'm doing, and thus the weapon doesn't respond to my intent, which is why I don't realize how to use it best? And that's solely why you so effortlessly deflect my attacks?
- That is a rather free interpretation of my words, but there is a grain of truth in it, - Hassan nodded approvingly, casting a glance at the setting sun. - Think about our conversation today, ponder the legend that birthed your weapon... It is up to you whether you draw the right conclusion... or die never approaching the truth...
***
The inhuman training continued as before, though over time it ceased to consist solely of endlessly beating Shirou. Hassan began to dedicate time to new disciplines: stealthy movement, setting up ambushes, and the art of "disappearing." Sabbah taught Emiya to traverse mountain passes and the streets of Alamut silently, like a gentle breeze. Together they explored the most secluded spots around the fortress, examining nearly every stone. Occasionally, Hassan would make him don his armor and train until he could move silently, even in such a suit.
Thus the days passed. Days filled with the clash of steel, fresh blood, and endless pain. Emiya could find no patterns in the conduct of the training, other than the fact that Hassan adhered to some strange schedule. He did not know what criteria he was being judged against or to what level he should aspire. So he was left to follow instructions and, casting aside all doubts, hone his skills. Sabbah was not the type to praise his charges for their successes, but Shiro felt that his abilities were steadily improving.
He had known from the start that it would not be easy. It was foolish to expect leniency from the leader of the Assassins. Yet, Emiya was nowhere near ready for the brutal approach he had to endure. No matter how exhausted he was, no matter what injuries he woke up with in the morning—the essence remained unchanged...
A broken rib? A gash on the chest? A concussion? Hands raw and bleeding? All of it was mere background noise. Hassan made no allowances, granting not even a brief respite, apart from interrupted philosophical discussions that could occur even during combat. No mercy or sympathy. He only halted their fights when it became clear that Emiya was barely able to breathe and his mind hovered on the brink of oblivion. In such moments, the greatest mercy Hassan showed was to spare the beaten half-corpse, although lately, he hadn't even deemed that worthy, simply leaving him in the snow.
Cruel, many would say. But such ruthless training was not without meaning and bore fruit. After all, it is within hardships that a person reveals themselves. And when difficulties dismantle accustomed perspectives, one's attitude towards them changes.
Being knocked back by yet another strike — entirely normal. Getting hit in the gut and losing the ability to breathe for a moment — completely natural. The pain in the muscles that made one howl — commonplace. And pondering the absurdity of it all — a pointless expenditure of energy.
The only clear conclusion was simply to avoid such situations. The thought process was being sharpened. Each mistake that resulted in pain or injury forced the brain to work even harder, while the body adjusted to the changing conditions. Analyze, seek opportunities, avoid mistakes… if you don't want one fine day for one of them to become your last.
***
— I see you're still using your tricks, — Hassan remarked with slight disdain, watching as Shirou healed one of the wounds he had sustained in a recent battle.
— Perhaps it is indeed tricks, but I see nothing wrong with that, — Emiya replied calmly as he rolled up his sleeve. — To me, it's just a tool, like a knife or poison, nothing more.
— Yes... that's very typical of people like you. You take such power for granted, and in the end, you become victims of your own passions, — the Elder lectured, tossing a fresh pile of wood into the fire beside them. — Magic is something unnatural for this world, considering it also rejects it.
— Do you consider it evil? Do you truly believe in all that nonsense that magic does not come from God but is the work of the Devil? — Shirou allowed himself a wry smile.
— I consider it an unnecessary appendage, nothing more, — Hassan retorted, seemingly unfazed by Emiya's ironic tone. — I could never understand why mages take pride in being able to conjure flames in their hands or turn water into ice. What's so special about that? And more importantly, what good does that skill bring? Medicine saves lives, architecture builds structures that outlive their creators… but what is the use of magic? Most people live their lives without even a shadow of such abilities, yet suffer not at all from it.
— Frankly, the fact that I'm discussing this with you right now... is nothing short of irony, — Shirou smirked, running his finger along the edge of Kanshou. — I used to hate mages, despising their views and magic itself. In their hands, it became a tool that brought pain and suffering in pursuit of some abstract ideas. I killed dozens like them, and at one point, I simply came to loathe magic. After all, if something is used solely for evil, why should it even exist?
— And what has changed?
— How should I put this… one person made me look at it from a different perspective…
***
— So, you don't see any value in magical mastery? — Zeltretch asked matter-of-factly, gazing out at the pouring rain.
— I've always found it pointless… Akasha… how many dozens of generations of mages have sacrificed their lives for these foolish pursuits? … And in the end, none of them achieved what they sought, — Shirou replied indifferently, spinning a throwing knife in his hands.
— Apparently, years spent with the Magus Killer have left their mark, — the vampire remarked with a smirk, stroking the handle of his cane.
— It's not about Kiritsugu or his views. It's just common sense. I mean, what's the point in all this? Especially in the current age. Now, ordinary people can create things that in the past were a challenge even with magic. Damn it, we've even gone to space and visited the Moon! Have you ever been to the Moon?
— I have, actually. A rather dull place, I must say, — Zeltretch laughed. — No wonder Brunestud traded that for the beautiful meadows of Albia and the jungles of Mesoamerica. Though I see your point… that's generally how things are, whether mages like it or not. In the end, science will overcome magic. Humanity is a kind of monster that will, sooner or later, reach a point where the boundary between these two concepts will blur…
— The Age of Will, right?
— The Age of Will, the Aeon of Horus, the Era of Aquarius… Call it what you will, the essence is the same… however, we digress, — the vampire turned to Shirou and, with unusual seriousness, added. — So you consider magic useless?
— Rather unnecessary, unnatural… we live in an age where the laws of physics reign supreme. Isn't that proof that magic is merely a relic of the past? That mysticism should fade into oblivion?
— Interesting conclusions, yet they don't stop you from using your gifts, — Kaleid remarked with a sly grin. — But perhaps I'm just missing something, and you're a different case, right?
— Do you immensely enjoy answering a question with a question?
— Since you seek answers, let's set aside the debate and talk about the matter at hand, — Zeltretch agreed, returning to seriousness. — Magic is as much a part of humanity as science. It has been one of the pillars of its history and progress for many years. You would be surprised to learn how significant a role mysticism has played in shaping history and the world as we see it today. Calling it unnatural is akin to denying your own nature. Moreover, the fact that a mage can do more than an average person does not make him special, regardless of what he thinks of himself.
— Your logic is rather strange… especially considering you wield magic that allows you to move through time and space.
— Well, let me rephrase. A person cannot fly on their own, but a bird can. Does that fact make it a supernatural being? — Zeltretch asked, grinning broadly as he observed Shirou's contemplative expression. — Think about that, just as you would about my suggestion. Try to see something more in your talent than just a tool or an appendage, as Emiya Kiritsugu did…
***
— An intriguing point of view, — Hassan mused, stirring the embers in the fire. — And what do you think yourself?
— Hard to say, — Shirou replied vaguely, looking up at the starry sky. — I feel I barely have enough experience to reflect on something like this, but…
— But?
— I feel… — Emiya paused, carefully choosing his words as if sensing they would play an important role in his future. — As long as you are firmly convinced that you are on the right path… everything you do will never be devoid of meaning.
After these words, a tense yet solemn silence fell. Only the crackling of the firewood broke the stillness. Shirou hesitated to utter a word, fearing Hassan's reaction, who, in turn, immersed himself in his thoughts, detached from the surrounding reality.
— Hmm… — finally broke the silence Hassan, uttering a single indecipherable sound in which Emiya clearly felt… approval.
It was evident the Elder had caught the questioning look of the young man but wasn't in a hurry to respond, keeping him in suspense. However, Shiro had begun to adapt to this person's habit of playing mind games, so he patiently waited, not averting his gaze from the blue flames of Sabbah's eyes.
— You are learning, — Hassan remarked, answering the unasked question. He then tossed another log into the fire and turned his gaze to the twin blades resting in Shiro's lap. — Do you understand what I meant now?
— Who knows… — Emiya replied evasively, involuntarily touching one of the blades. — I think I've come closer to the truth you were trying to point out, but… I assume it would be better if I demonstrate it in action, right?
— A good argument… let's see if you can back it up with facts…
***
The fortress temple was a dark place, strikingly different from ornate Christian monasteries or Buddhist temples. It was always shrouded in eternal twilight, reflecting the image of the one it was built in honor of. There was no light, no sound… only darkness and silence, the only companions of death.
However, on that day, the darkness briefly gave way to light, allowing another soul ready to enter the embrace of eternal darkness to pass through.
Shirou stood in the center of the hall, bare to the waist, feeling the draught enveloping a body that the flames of the braziers could not warm. A slight shiver ran through him now and then, but it was far from cold; rather… anticipation.
For the first time since fate had brought him to Alamut, Shiro felt that he had achieved something. Due to endless training, he could only vaguely sense how successfully the sessions were going. But now he could look back on the path he had taken with fresh eyes and finally feel that he had made a small but crucial step forward.
— The world is disrupted, harmony gives way to discord; all that remains is war…
From the impenetrable darkness emerged Hassan's powerful figure, whose eyes now burned so brightly they resembled two stars. The azure flame within them shone far brighter than usual.
— To bring truth where lies prevail and evil shakes the earth… we don the shroud of the All-Devourer.
Following this, several assassins stepped out of the shadows toward Shiro, holding garments for him.
Obeying Hassan's silent command, Emiya took a black linen shirt from one of them.
— We cloak ourselves in the armor of silence and darkness for battle, while a fire burns inside.
Next came the leather armor, tightly hugging his body and adorned with metal studs. Wrapping it around his waist and lower back, he skillfully fastened the fastenings. The rigid shell around his midsection instilled confidence, supporting his back while firmly embracing his sides.
— The will of Azrael, from which we draw our determination, strengthens within our souls. War approaches us, and we must bear its heavy burden on our shoulders.
The upper part of the armor smoothly settled on his shoulders. Shiro tightened the fastenings, securing the armor around his body. To his pleasant surprise, it did not restrict his movements or create any sense of bulk. The training in stealth while wearing regular armor had eliminated that issue.
— We stand before the face of Death, confident in our calling, free from doubt and fear…
The lower part of the legs was protected by boots combined with greaves, which had special compartments for throwing knives. The lining allowed for free movement and kicking, while the boots themselves were made of soft leather. Together, all of this ensured ease of movement.
— We strike from the darkness, quickly and inexorably, with one deadly touch.
The outfit was completed with leather bracers, one of which was integrated with a metal cestus that could easily crush a skull or help defend against a lethal attack.
As soon as he finished this process, a familiar tattered cloak, resembling a burial shroud, was draped over him. Shirou couldn't help but feel a touch of symbolism in this gesture. In a sense, this truly was his funeral: the person he used to be had now faded away, making room for someone new.
Dressed up, he slowly approached Hassan, who had been watching him intently the whole time, standing by the fire. Measuring him with a glance and giving a subtle nod, Shirou pulled a white skull-like mask from the folds of his cloak and silently offered it to Shirou.
When the young man reached out to take it from the Elder, azure flames ignited in Sabbah's palm, engulfing the mask entirely, which caused excited whispers behind them. Shiro had to put great effort into suppressing the reflex to withdraw his hand. His intuition hinted that this, in some way, was also part of the ritual. The tongues of flame burned his palm, but to his surprise, Emiya found that the fire was not hot. Despite its otherworldly appearance, the flames were colder than ice…
Shirou didn't know how long they stood like that, but at some point, he noticed that the mask not only hadn't burned but had completely lost its white color. Instead, it had turned obsidian black.
In the next instant, the flames extinguished, and Emiya cautiously took the mask from Hassan's hands. It was neither hot nor cold. If he hadn't witnessed it himself, he would never have believed that just a second ago the mask had been blazing in the center of bright azure fire.
— We shall not fear nor turn away from death; we step into its shadows, proud and fearless…
With these words, Shirou put the mask on his face, feeling a sense of completeness, a slight hint of perfection.
- Is this what it means to be part of something greater?
He had finally taken the first step toward his goal, accomplished something truly remarkable, but…
A slight feeling of dissatisfaction still gnawed at him from within. As if some truth he was missing remained hidden from him. Shirou cast a fleeting glance at Hassan, but his inscrutable face only intensified his doubts. However, a barely noticeable hint that flickered in the Elder's gaze indicated…
…that the answer to this question he would have to find on his own….