The crystal carriage glided across the dirt road like a phantom, shimmering under the light of the moon. The enchanted wheels left no trace behind, as if refusing to acknowledge the ruined land they passed. Inside, the exhausted group sat in silence, their minds weighed down by the battle they had just escaped.
Jeanne d'Arc clutched the fabric of her cloak, her knuckles turning white. The memory of Jeanne Alter's sneering face haunted her, the sight of the burning castle seared into her heart. Next to her, Ritsuka sat quietly, his hands clenched into fists. They had barely managed to survive.
At the reins of the carriage, a woman with golden curls and an elegant blue dress turned back with a bright smile.
"Ah, I haven't properly introduced myself, have I?" she said, her voice full of warmth and charm. "I am Marie Antoinette, the queen of France! Or, well, I suppose I was. And this fine gentleman here is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!"
Mozart, a short man with wild white hair and a lavish coat, gave a dramatic sigh. "I really wish you wouldn't introduce me like that every time, Marie."
"How else would I do it, dear friend? You are a genius composer, after all!" Marie giggled. "And it is only polite to introduce oneself properly, especially to fellow Servants!"
Mash, seated beside Ritsuka, smiled awkwardly. "Thank you for helping us escape. I don't know what we would've done without you."
Marie waved a hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it! France is in turmoil, and we must help each other!"
Mozart, however, leaned forward, his sharp eyes locking onto Ritsuka. "You're a Master, aren't you?"
Ritsuka hesitated before nodding. "Yes… I'm the last Master of Chaldea."
"Chaldea, hmm?" Mozart stroked his chin. "That explains why your group looks so… strange. No offense."
Hong Lu smirked. "None taken. We're a colorful bunch, aren't we?"
Marie's eyes sparkled as she turned to Jeanne. "But what about you, dear? Are you truly Jeanne d'Arc?"
Jeanne nodded slowly. "I am."
Marie gasped, her hands clasped together in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! A true heroine of France! You are our saint, Jeanne! I have always wanted to meet you!"
Jeanne blinked, caught off guard by Marie's enthusiasm. "I… Thank you, Marie. But I do not feel much like a saint right now."
"Nonsense!" Marie beamed. "No matter what has happened, France will always remember you as its guiding light! Oh, this is so exciting! I have so many things I wish to ask you!"
Mozart groaned. "Here we go…"
"Shh, Mozart! Let me enjoy this moment!"
While Marie excitedly questioned Jeanne about her past, Mozart turned his attention back to Ritsuka.
"We were summoned not too long ago," he explained, "randomly, in the countryside. And we aren't the only ones. We've been hearing rumors of rogue Servants scattered across France—some fighting for the Dragon Witch, others lost without Masters."
Ritsuka exchanged glances with Mash. "That's valuable information. If we can gather more allies, we might have a chance against Jeanne Alter."
Romani's voice crackled through their communicators. "That's actually a good plan. If there are rogue Servants out there, recruiting them should be your priority."
Olga's impatient voice cut in. "Obviously! You barely survived that last battle—charging in alone again would be suicide. Find allies. Quickly."
Da Vinci's tone was lighter but firm. "Besides, you're in a Singularity with Servants running amok. You never know who might turn up."
Romani chimed in next. "Right! Strength in numbers, after all! And since Servants with no Masters are unpredictable, it's better if you recruit them before they fall into enemy hands
Ritsuka exhaled. "Alright. We'll start gathering allies."
Angela tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes locked onto Ritsuka. "So, the plan is simply to collect strays?"
Romani chuckled nervously. "Well, when you say it like that…"
As they continued toward Marie and Mozart's camp, a strange presence filled the air. Angela's sharp gaze flickered toward the trees. Something—someone—was waiting for them.
The crystal carriage slowed to a halt, its enchanted wheels barely making a sound as it rolled over the soft earth. A faint mist lingered in the air, curling around the trees and half-crumbled ruins that surrounded the camp. A small fire flickered in the center, casting a warm glow over the figures gathered around it.
Marie Antoinette hopped off the carriage gracefully, her heels barely sinking into the dirt as she twirled with excitement. "And here we are, mes amis! Welcome to our humble little refuge!"
Mozart sighed as he stepped down beside her, adjusting his ruffled shirt with an exaggerated flourish. "Humble, she says. More like a tragic stage before the second act of disaster."
When they arrived, the camp was modest but well-kept, with makeshift tents scattered around a clearing. However, Ritsuka's eyes were immediately drawn to a lone figure standing near the fire.
A girl with ashen hair and pale skin, even paler than Angela, sat with her knees drawn to her chest. A half-burned matchstick dangled idly from her lips. Her clothes were worn, charred in places, and her eyes—lifeless and hollow—glowed faintly in the firelight.
The moment Marie stepped forward, the girl's head snapped up. A spark of recognition flashed in her dull eyes, and before anyone could react, she launched herself at Marie.
"Marie!"
The girl buried herself into Marie's embrace, clutching at her dress as if afraid she'd vanish.
Marie let out a surprised gasp before breaking into soft laughter, wrapping her arms around the girl. "Oh, ma chérie, you missed me, didn't you?"
Marie smiled softly, stroking the girl's hair. "Oh, my dear, I missed you too."
Mozart groaned loudly from the side. "Oh, wonderful. We're back to this again."
The girl shot him a glare, her voice flat but sharp.
"Pervert."
Mozart reeled back dramatically. "Must you always slander me the moment we reunite? Where is the respect for my genius?!"
Marie giggled. "Oh, come now, Scorched Girl, don't tease him too much."
The ashen girl ignored him, nuzzling into Marie's warmth like a child seeking refuge from the cold.
Angela, who had remained silent until now, took a single step forward. Something about this girl unsettled her.
Her pale skin. Her lifeless eyes. The way she clung to warmth like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
Angela's gaze sharpened.
"…It can't be."
The girl froze. Slowly, she turned her head, her dim eyes locking onto Angela's golden ones.
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another.
Then, the girl tilted her head, the faint glow of her matchstick reflecting in her eyes.
"Do I… know you?"
Angela didn't answer.
But in the pit of her artificial heart, a long-forgotten memory stirred.
The name hit her like a wave of déjà vu. She knew this entity. In her world, Scorched Girl was an Abnormality of a girl who burned to death lighting matches for warmth.
But… this wasn't an Abnormality. This was a Servant.
Angela narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. Why was an Abnormality taking human form? And why did it have emotion like human ?
Marie, seemingly unfazed, introduced her with a smile. "Everyone, this is Scorched Girl. I call her Petite Cendre—my little cinder."
Scorched Girl looked at the group with half-lidded eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "New people… More warmth…"
Ritsuka felt a strange chill crawl down his spine. There was something off about her.
Marie patted the girl's head. "She may seem strange, but she's harmless. She just seeks warmth, nothing more."
Mozart scoffed. "Harmless? She burns things."
Scorched Girl smirked slightly. "And you're a pervert."
Mozart threw his hands in the air. "WHY?!"
Despite the moment of levity, Ritsuka couldn't shake the unease settling in his gut.
Scorched Girl—Petite Cendre—was unlike any Servant they had encountered before.
And Angela's expression told him that this mystery ran deeper than they could comprehend.
---
The mist rolled in thicker, wrapping around the ruins like ghostly fingers. The small campfire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the worn stone walls. The tension from earlier had eased slightly, but the weight of their battles still lingered in the air.
Marie gently petted the Scorched Girl's hair, humming softly as the girl remained curled up beside her. Despite her expressionless face, there was an unmistakable sense of comfort in the way she clung to Marie's warmth.
Mozart, still sulking from earlier, leaned back against a broken pillar, absently tuning his harpsichord. "Ah, the joys of being insulted. Perhaps I should compose a tragic symphony about my suffering."
The Scorched Girl glanced at him, unimpressed. "I'd rather set it on fire."
Mozart gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "Betrayed! By flame and fate alike!"
Marie simply giggled. "Come now, don't tease poor Wolfgang too much. He's sensitive."
"Sensitive about being called a pervert?" Hong Lu grinned, arms folded as he sat on a makeshift log bench near the fire. "Sounds like you've got some unresolved trauma there, old man. Want to talk about it?"
Mozart sighed dramatically, tossing a hand over his forehead. "Alas, even in death, my genius remains underappreciated."
"That does sound tragic," Hong Lu muttered dryly, resting his hammer against his leg. "A true tale of woe."
Cu Chulainn snorted. "He's got it better than most. At least people still remember his name."
Mozart opened one eye, smirking. "Ah, but do they remember the man, or merely the notes I left behind?"
Marie, who had been enthusiastically chatting with Jeanne, suddenly turned her attention to Mozart, puffing out her cheeks in mock annoyance. "Wolfgang, stop brooding! We have a new friend to celebrate!"
Mozart sighed, defeated, as Der Freischütz blew a small puff of smoke from her pipe. She had settled near the edge of the camp, her golden eyes half-lidded as she listened to the conversations with idle amusement.
"Musicians and pyromaniacs," she murmured, adjusting the rifle strapped to her back. "What an interesting group we've become."
Angela stood apart from the group, her golden eyes still locked onto the Scorched Girl. Her expression hadn't changed since their earlier exchange.
Mash, noticing this, stepped up beside Angela. "Angela… do you recognize her?"
Angela's lips parted slightly, but she hesitated. She wasn't sure. No—she was sure. But it shouldn't be possible.
"The Scorched Girl," Angela said at last. "That's what you call her?"
Marie nodded, still stroking the ashen-haired girl's hair. "Oui. That's what she called herself when I found her."
Angela's fingers tightened around her book. "But she wasn't supposed to be like this."
Mash tilted her head. "Like… this?"
Angela hesitated again before shaking her head. "It's nothing. Just… a curiosity."
The Scorched Girl watched Angela carefully, as if trying to remember something, but soon turned her attention back to Marie's warmth.
Nearby, Cu Chulainn and Medusa were both tending to their weapons, checking for any damage from the previous fight.
"You two always that quiet?" Hong Lu leaned back on his elbows, looking between the two legendary warriors.
Cu scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Some of us don't feel the need to talk all the time."
Medusa hummed in agreement, adjusting her blindfold. "Silence is comfortable."
"Bah, how boring," Hong Lu smirked. "Would've expected better from legends."
Cu grinned, jabbing his spear into the ground. "Wanna spar then? We can see who's 'boring' after that."
"Tempting," Hong Lu chuckled, but made no move to get up. "Maybe later. I'd rather enjoy a break while I can."
Jeanne, who had been silent near the fire, suddenly sighed, rubbing her temples.
Marie blinked. "Jeanne, are you alright?"
Jeanne gave her a strained smile. "I just… never imagined meeting someone like you here, Queen Marie."
Marie giggled, clapping her hands together. "Oh, no need for such formalities! Just call me Marie! So Jeanne why the long face ?"
Jeanne exhaled sharply, her expression darkening just slightly. "Because you were executed, just like me."
The firelight flickered between them, casting a strange glow over Marie's soft, smiling face.
"Ah, oui," Marie said lightly. "But that was such a long time ago, wasn't it?"
Jeanne stared at her, puzzled by her carefree demeanor. "Doesn't it bother you?"
Marie laughed softly, reaching up to twirl a strand of golden hair between her fingers. "Of course not. What's the point of dwelling on things that have already happened? It's much better to live in the moment, don't you think?"
Jeanne's grip on her banner tightened. "I… I don't know if I can do that."
Marie patted her hand. "That's alright, dear Jeanne. We all carry burdens." She winked playfully. "But don't worry! If you need a little help enjoying life, just leave it to me!"
Jeanne wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Ritsuka, who had been standing back until now, finally sat down beside Mash, letting out a tired sigh.
Mash glanced at him. "Senpai? Are you okay?"
Ritsuka gave her a weary smile. "Just… thinking about what Romani and Da Vinci said."
Mash's expression softened. "About gathering allies?"
"Yeah," Ritsuka nodded. "We barely survived that last fight. If we're going to stop the Dragon Witch, we can't do it alone."
Mash looked down, her hands resting on her lap. "It's strange, isn't it?"
"Hm?" Ritsuka turned to her.
Mash smiled softly. "Seeing so many different people—heroes, myths, even people from other worlds—coming together like this. Chaldea was always so isolated, so structured… but now, everything feels…"
"Chaotic?" Ritsuka finished with a chuckle.
Mash giggled, covering her mouth. "Yes. But it's also… exciting. Like, we're truly living history."
Ritsuka leaned back, looking up at the mist-covered sky. "Yeah. It really does feel like we're walking through something bigger than ourselves."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
But then—
"Wait, where's Der Freischütz?" Ritsuka blinked, looking around.
Mash scanned the camp, only to find the lone sharpshooter seated further away, perched on a broken pillar, her golden eyes fixed on the fire.
Jeanne, noticing this too, excused herself from Marie's chatter and walked over.
"Der Freischütz?" Jeanne called softly.
The sharpshooter didn't respond at first. Then, she took a slow drag from her pipe, exhaling a thin wisp of smoke.
"You're wondering why I'm over here instead of enjoying the warmth, aren't you?" Der Freischütz's voice was quiet, almost unreadable.
Jeanne hesitated before sitting down beside her. "It did cross my mind."
Der Freischütz let out a soft chuckle. "Never been good at company. Fires like that remind me of things I'd rather forget."
Jeanne's gaze softened. "I understand."
Der Freischütz glanced at her, exhaling again. "Do you?"
Jeanne's hands clenched in her lap. "I do. More than you know."
A small silence passed.
Then—
"Still, not bad company," Der Freischütz muttered, tapping the ash from her pipe. "For a saint."
Jeanne chuckled quietly. "And you're not bad company for a lone gunman."
A smirk ghosted across Der Freischütz's lips.
Back at the fire, Angela continued watching the Scorched Girl, golden eyes full of calculations and uncertainty.
But she said nothing.
For now.
The night continued, the group finally allowing themselves a moment of rest—for however long it would last.
---
A/N: Hey hey, surprise to see me! I had a sudden burst of inspiration and quickly made this chapter. Since Valentine's Day is coming up, I'm making a Valentine's omake! I already did one for Angela, and for the next Valentine omake, you get to choose who the next servants.
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Omake Valentine
[Valentine's Event: The Weight of Knowledge]
Scene: Chaldea's Library – Evening
Rows of bookshelves stretch endlessly, the air thick with the scent of old paper and ink. Angela sits at a desk, her fingers gliding over a holographic interface, absorbed in her work. The faint glow of artificial light casts soft shadows over her sharp features.
Master approaches, holding a small, elegantly wrapped box.
(→ "Angela, I have something for you.")
Angela barely glances up, her mechanical eyes scanning the text before her.
Angela: "If this is another attempt at forcing a 'social bonding experience,' I will remind you that I am neither human nor susceptible to sentimentality."
Master holding a neatly wrapped box of chocolates.
(→ "It's a Valentine's Day gift.")
Angela: blinks "Ah. That pointless tradition."
(→ "I thought you might like it.")
Angela: "Your assumption is… odd. I have no need for sentimentality."
She tilts her head slightly, looking at the chocolate as if the concept itself is foreign.
(→ "You don't have to accept it if you don't want to.")
Angela stares at the gift for a long moment. Then, with calculated precision, she reaches out and takes it between her fingers, examining it as though it were an unfamiliar relic.
Angela: "I fail to see the practical use of such a gesture."
(→ "It's not about practicality. It's just… something nice.")
Angela exhales softly through her nose.
Angela: "Humans place unnecessary significance on fleeting exchanges. Even if I consume this, will it alter anything? Will it change the outcome of our mission? Will it rewrite the tragedies of the past?"
Master shakes their head.
(→ "No. But maybe it can make the present a little better.")
Angela's grip on the box tightens ever so slightly.
A beat of silence.
Then, in a quiet motion, she sets the chocolates aside and reaches into the folds of her uniform.
Angela: "Then… as per this strange custom, I am expected to reciprocate."
She pulls out a small, leather-bound book.
Angela: "Here. A return gift."
Master blinks, taking the book carefully.
(→ "A book?")
Angela nods, her expression carefully neutral.
Angela: "It is a journal. Blank. The pages are for you to fill."
Master traces their fingers over the smooth cover.
(→ "This is… really nice. Thank you, Angela.")
Angela's gaze flickers, an unreadable emotion passing through her usually impassive eyes.
Angela: "I do not understand the sentiment behind such traditions. However…"
Her voice lowers, a slight hesitation threading through her words.
Angela: "If this… makes the present more bearable for you, then perhaps it is not entirely meaningless."
Master smiles.
(→ "It does. And so does this.")
Angela huffs softly, averting her gaze as a faint, almost imperceptible blush dusts her cheeks.
Angela: "Hmph. Then see to it that you make use of it properly."
Master chuckles, flipping the journal open to the first page.
(→ "I will. Maybe I'll start by writing about this moment.")
Angela's blush deepens ever so slightly.
Angela: "...Ridiculous."
But she does not tell them to stop.
----
Craft Essence: "The Librarian's Gift"
Stats: ATK +250 / HP +500
Effect: Increase NP gain by 10% and increase Arts effectiveness by 5% when Angela is in the party.
Description:
A meticulously crafted leather-bound journal, its pages untouched yet filled with silent expectation. Given by one who claims to hold no sentimentality, yet the weight of the gift suggests otherwise.
"A record is meaningless unless someone chooses to fill it."
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