Days passed, each one blending into the next as Shirou adjusted to his new reality. Kiritsugu rarely spoke, but his actions were steady and deliberate, tending to Shirou's injuries and ensuring he had everything he needed.
The small house they stayed in felt oddly empty, as though it were a temporary place in a life that had once been full.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Shirou sat on the porch steps, staring at the sky. The colors shifted from fiery orange to deep purple, and the first stars began to appear.
Kiritsugu joined him, settling down with a quiet sigh. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence between them comfortable.
"Do you believe in the sky?" Kiritsugu asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.
Shirou turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Kiritsugu leaned back, his gaze fixed on the heavens. "When I was younger, I thought the sky was just…there. But now, I see it differently. It's always watching, always waiting. It's bigger than us. Bigger than anything we could ever do."
Shirou followed his gaze, his brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means" Kiritsugu said, his tone soft but firm, "that no matter what we do, the sky will remember. If you ever feel lost, look up. Make a promise there. It won't forget."