The flames painted the night sky a lurid orange, licking hungrily at the edges of the collapsing city. Smoke choked the air, smothering the stars that usually hung above Fuyuki like eternal sentinels. Somewhere in the chaos, a young boy stumbled forward, his legs weak and his lungs burning with every shallow breath.
Shirou Emiya was too young to understand what had happened. All he knew was that the world had turned into fire.
His cries for help were swallowed by the roar of collapsing buildings, the sharp crackle of burning timber, and the occasional thunderous explosion that sent fresh waves of ash into the sky. His tiny hands were raw from gripping debris as he crawled through the ruins, his tears carving streaks through the soot on his face.
He didn't know where his parents were. He couldn't even remember their faces anymore.
A piece of flaming rubble crashed a few feet from him, sending sparks dancing into the night like angry fireflies. Shirou flinched and scrambled backward, his small form trembling as exhaustion began to claim him.
I don't want to die.
The thought was a faint whisper in the back of his mind, a plea that felt fragile against the overwhelming might of the inferno. His body slumped to the ground, his cheek pressing against the warm, ash-coated pavement. The firelight blurred into a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges as his vision began to fade.
That was when he heard the footsteps. Shirou's eyes fluttered weakly, his consciousness teetering on the edge of oblivion. The footsteps grew closer, deliberate yet heavy, as if the person walking bore the weight of the world on their shoulders.
Through the haze of heat and smoke, a figure emerged. A man dressed in a scorched coat, his face shadowed by the firelight. His gaze swept across the destruction, pausing when he saw Shirou's small, trembling form crumpled on the ground.
The man knelt, his movements precise, as if he had done this a thousand times before. His hand reached out, brushing debris from Shirou's hair. The boy blinked up at him, too weak to speak.
"You're alive," the man murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying a faint note of disbelief. He placed two fingers against Shirou's neck, checking for a pulse. When he found it, something like relief flickered across his face, but it was quickly swallowed by an expression of grim determination.
He looked at the boy with eyes that seemed impossibly tired, as if they had seen too much of the world's cruelty.
"You're the only one left," he said quietly, more to himself than Shirou.
The man hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the roaring flames that surrounded them. Then, as if coming to a decision, he slipped an arm under Shirou and lifted him into his arms.
The sudden motion jolted Shirou out of his daze. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. "W-who…?"
"My name doesn't matter right now," the man said quickly, adjusting his hold on the boy. "I'm getting you out of here. Hold on."
Shirou's head lolled against the man's chest, his body too weak to resist. The man's coat smelled of smoke and metal, but there was something else, too—something that felt safe.
The man moved quickly but carefully, weaving through the crumbling ruins with practiced ease. Every so often, he would glance down at Shirou to ensure the boy was still breathing.
As they approached the outskirts of the fire, Shirou's voice rose again, faint but insistent. "Why…? Why save me?"
The man didn't answer immediately. His grip on Shirou tightened, and his gaze turned upward. Above the flames, beyond the suffocating smoke, the faint outline of stars shimmered in the night sky.
"Because," the man said finally, his voice almost a whisper, "even when everything burns, the sky remains. It reminds us how small we are… and how much we must strive to protect."
Shirou didn't understand the words then. All he felt was the warmth of the man's voice and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The man carried Shirou through the destruction, his silhouette framed by the inferno behind them. As they emerged into the cool night air beyond the flames, Shirou's vision faded entirely. The last thing he heard was the man's quiet vow, spoken more to himself than to anyone else:
"You're my last chance to set things right."