The house was dark and silent, save for the faint creaks of the floorboards as Shirou padded down the hall. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, its vastness interrupted only by the pale shimmer of stars. Shirou stopped by the door to the porch, his hand hesitating on the wooden frame.
He had tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't rest. The weight of his failures in training hung over him like a shadow, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the fire. The inferno stretched endlessly in his memory, devouring everything in its path, leaving him small and powerless.
Shirou stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The grass was damp beneath his feet, and the faint chirping of crickets filled the silence. Above him, the stars glittered, their light steady and unchanging.
He sat on the steps of the porch, wrapping his arms around his knees. The ceremonial sword fragment rested on the shelf inside, but its presence lingered in his thoughts. Kiritsugu had given it to him as a keepsake, a symbol of something greater. But Shirou didn't feel worthy of it.
His gaze drifted upward, searching the sky for answers.
"You said the sky remembers" he murmured, his voice barely audible. "But I don't know what to do with that."
The stars, of course, didn't answer.
The night stretched on, quiet and still, and Shirou's thoughts turned inward. He thought of Kiritsugu, of the sadness that seemed to follow him like a shadow. He thought of the words his guardian had spoken—about strength, ideals, and the weight of promises.
Strength isn't just about swinging a sword, Kiritsugu had said. It's about knowing when to use it and when not to.
Shirou didn't fully understand what that meant. All he knew was that he wasn't strong enough not yet. He wanted to protect people, to make sure no one else had to experience the kind of pain he had. But the path to that goal felt impossible, like trying to grasp the stars themselves.
His fingers tightened around his knees as a sudden surge of frustration welled up inside him.
"I want to be stronger" he said aloud, his voice trembling. "I want to protect everyone. No matter how hard it is. No matter what it takes."
The words echoed faintly in the stillness, carried away by the night breeze. Shirou lowered his head, closing his eyes against the sting of tears.
Then, something changed.
The air around him seemed to shift, growing cooler and sharper, as though the night itself had come alive. The faint rustle of leaves grew louder, mingling with a soft hum that Shirou couldn't place. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat.
The stars above seemed to shine brighter, their light pulsing in a steady rhythm. For a moment, it felt as though they were watching him, their silent gaze piercing through the darkness.
A shiver ran down Shirou's spine as a strange feeling settled over him—a sense of being seen, of being heard. It was as though the universe itself had paused to acknowledge his words.
He stood, his movements hesitant, and stepped off the porch. The grass was cold beneath his bare feet, but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the sky, his heart pounding in his chest.
"What is this?" he whispered.
The hum grew louder, resonating in his ears like the distant echo of a drum. Then, without warning, the stars began to blur and shift, their light swirling together in a pattern that defied explanation.
A shape began to form in the sky—vague and indistinct at first, but growing clearer with each passing moment. It was vast and imposing, its outline etched in light and shadow. Shirou couldn't make sense of it, but it felt powerful, ancient, and undeniable.
The hum deepened, and a voice echoed through the stillness. It wasn't loud, but it was clear, each word resonating in Shirou's mind as though spoken directly to his soul.
"Do you truly seek to protect everyone?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Shirou stared upward, his breath caught in his throat.
"Yes," he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "I want to protect everyone."
The shape in the sky shifted slightly, its light flickering like the embers of a dying fire.
"Do you understand the cost?"
Shirou hesitated. The cost? He didn't know what that meant. All he knew was the pain of being powerless, the anguish of loss.
"I'll pay it" he said finally, his voice steady. "Whatever it is, I'll pay it."
The voice was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. Then it spoke again, its tone heavier than before.
"Very well. Prove it."
The light in the sky flared suddenly, blinding and brilliant, and Shirou stumbled back, shielding his eyes. When he lowered his hands, the stars had returned to their usual stillness, and the strange hum was gone.
Shirou stood there for a long time, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The night felt quiet again, as though nothing unusual had occurred.
But something had changed. He could feel it a faint, inexplicable shift in the air, like the lingering echo of a distant song.
Shirou returned to the house, his steps slow and deliberate. He didn't understand what had happened, but the words he had spoken the vow he had made felt like more than just empty promises.
As he climbed into bed, his thoughts were filled with images of the sky and the strange, shifting light. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a faint voice whispered:
"Prove it."
The stars outside continued to shine, their light steady and eternal.