Kazuya Shirou didn't believe in miracles. Or fate. Or second chances.

To him, life was just a slow, meaningless countdown to death. A collection of wasted days, a cycle of waking up past noon, surviving off instant noodles, and avoiding the outside world as much as possible. That was his existence, and he had long since made peace with it.

So when he opened his eyes to the suffocating scent of burning incense, the cold stone beneath his back, and the circle of hooded figures chanting in a language he didn't understand, his first thought wasn't shock or confusion.

It was an annoyance.

"What the hell…" His voice came out hoarse, throat dry. His limbs felt like lead, his head pounding as if he'd been hit by a truck. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his chest.

"Do not move." A deep voice echoed through the chamber. "The ritual is complete."

Kazuya's sluggish mind processed the words slowly. Ritual? What ritual? His gaze darted around the dimly lit room, eyes adjusting to the glow of flickering torches along the stone walls. The hooded figures loomed over him, their faces obscured by shadows. Their robes were dark red, soaked red as if dipped in blood.

A chill ran down his spine.

"Where am I?" His voice was stronger now, a thread of panic creeping in. "What the hell is this?"

The tallest figure stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal a sharp, angular face. His eyes burned with something Kazuya could only describe as reverence. "You are the summoned hero," the man declared, " the savior of our world."

Kazuya blinked.

Then he laughed.

It was a short, bitter sound, echoing in the vast chamber. "Yeah, right. You've got the wrong guy."

The man did not react. "You have been chosen by the gods to rid this world of the great calamity. You must—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kazuya cut him off, struggling to push himself up despite the pain. "Listen, I don't know what kind of freaky cosplay cult this is, but I'm not interested. Just send me back home."

Silence.

The man's lips curled into something that might have been a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm afraid that is not possible."

Kazuya's irritation was quickly turning to unease. "What do you mean 'not possible'? You dragged me here, didn't you?"

The man exhaled slowly as if speaking to a particularly dense child. "You were summoned through a sacred ritual. There is no return."

His stomach twisted. No return?

Before he could process the words, the other hooded figures moved. They parted like waves, revealing something—or rather, someone—behind them. A girl, bound in chains, her once white dress stained crimson. Her eyes, dull and lifeless, met his for a single second before a blade was driven through her chest.

Kazuya froze.

A sickening squelch. A gasp of pain. The girl collapsed, her body hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking into the stone.

His breath hitched.

"What the—what the hell are you doing?!" He tried to move, but hands clamped down on his shoulders, holding him in place.

The man turned back to him, unfazed. "She was the previous hero. Her time has ended."

Kazuya's blood turned to ice.

The man knelt, dipping his fingers into the girl's still-warm blood before pressing them against Kazuya's forehead. A burning sensation erupted across his skin, and his vision blurred.

"The ritual is complete," the man whispered. "Welcome to your new life, Hero."

Pain exploded in his skull.

And then—

Darkness.