第四章 . . . 000
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Myrddin Emrys © 2025

﹒ ◠ METEMPSYCHOSIS ⊹ ﹒
— " reincarnation " !
In the garden of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet.
★ . Lewis Carroll » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐕 ⠀ᰋ
── ★ ˙ a solitary, crimson rose, its petals torn and scattered, lay at the foot of the ancient oak, a reflection of the chalice's shattered heart  ̟ !!

Fuyuki City
9th of September 2004, 8:30 AM

           The dense forest surrounding the Einzbern's villa was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the cool mountain breeze. The sun barely pierced through the thick canopy, casting dappled shadows on the winding path the group had been following for what felt like hours. The terrain had grown steeper the closer they got, the trees standing like sentinels, towering over them with ancient wisdom. Finally, the looming structure of Illyasviel’s villa came into view---a massive, fortress-like mansion nestled against the backdrop of the mountains, with wide, imposing walls that seemed to rise endlessly toward the sky.

           The atmosphere was heavy as they stopped a few meters from the villa’s front gate. Romani, standing slightly apart from the others, cradled Galateya close to his chest. His golden eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, scanned the surroundings with a cautious intensity. The air was thick with something more than just mountain chill. It was as though the villa itself breathed with an ancient presence, and the traveler could feel it pressing down on him---a warning, perhaps, or a subtle hostility that made his instincts scream to be on guard.

          “Feels like we have stepped into someone’s trap,” Shirou muttered, his eyes narrowing as he took in the massive gates in front of them. The iron bars were intricately designed, adorned with arcane symbols and runes that pulsed faintly. Behind them, the grand villa stood, silent and watchful.

          Rin, standing beside him, crossed her arms, her eyes sharp. “Illya's not one to play games---at least, not without an agenda. We are here because we want to make sure she is alright. That much is clear.”

          Romani adjusted his hold on the frail three-year-old in his arms, feeling the weight of her small body against him. Galateya’s silver hair shimmered faintly in the muted light, her blue eyes wide and alert despite her earlier silence. She clung to him tightly, her small hands fisting the fabric of his cloak as though sensing the tension in the air.

           Something was definitely off, Romani thought. The closer they got to the villa, the heavier the atmosphere seemed to become. His instincts, honed by years of traveling and his own enigmatic experiences, screamed at him to remain vigilant. The traveler had learned long ago to trust those instincts, and now, they were telling him that something was very wrong.

          “We should be careful,” Romani said quietly, his voice low but clear. “The air feels unnatural. Like it is watching us.”

          Shirou and Rin exchanged glances, both sensing the unease in his tone, but neither said anything in response. They had their own concerns about stepping into Illyasviel’s territory, but they also knew that retreat was not an option. Whatever was waiting for them behind those walls, they had to face it. As they approached the front gates, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the stillness. From the shadowed path leading deeper into the estate, two figures appeared---both women, dressed in the formal uniforms of maids, their movements graceful yet unnaturally precise. Their faces were cold and emotionless, like porcelain dolls brought to life. One had a stern expression, while the other remained passive, her features blank.

           The taller of the two stepped forward, her voice crisp and controlled. “Welcome. Our lady has been expecting your arrival.”

           The other woman, standing just behind her, nodded in silence. There was something strange about them, Romani noticed. Their movements, their voices, the way they seemed to carry themselves with mechanical precision. These were not ordinary humans. Homunculi, the cloak-cladded traveler thought. He had encountered enough of them in his travels to recognize their presence immediately.

          “I am Sella,” the taller one continued, her sharp gaze sweeping over the group before settling on Romani. “This is Leysritt.” She gestured to the silent maid beside her, whose eyes, though blank, seemed to linger on them with the same mechanical attention.

          Rin, ever sharp, stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded the two maids. “So, Illya is expecting us,” she said, her tone holding a faint edge. “That makes things easier, I suppose.”

            Sella did not respond immediately, merely tilting her head slightly, as though assessing the situation. Leysritt remained silent, her gaze wandering between the group, her expression unchanged. The coldness in the air seemed to thicken as they stood there, the tension building with each passing second.

           Suddenly, a soft sound broke the silence---a faint rustling in the trees above. Romani’s entire body tensed, his arms instinctively tightening around Galateya as he sensed something familiar. His golden eyes flickered upward, scanning the treetops, and there, perched on a high branch, was the familiar form of the white owl. The bird’s blue eyes gleamed unnervingly in the dim light as it watched them, unmoving. Its feathers, stark against the dark backdrop of the trees, gave it an almost ghostly appearance, as though it did not quite belong in this world.

           Romani’s grip on Galateya tightened further, his mind racing. He had seen this owl before---many times, in fact. It always seemed to appear before something happened, always watching from a distance. He had no proof, but there was no doubt in his mind that this creature was connected to whatever strange events had been unfolding around them. Its presence was no coincidence. The owl’s gaze remained locked on them for what felt like an eternity, its blue eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. Then, without a sound, it spread its wings and took off into the sky, disappearing into the thick canopy above. The air around them seemed to shift, growing colder, more oppressive. The traveler's heart quickened, though his expression remained calm. He had learned long ago to mask his emotions, to stay composed even in the face of uncertainty. But the appearance of the owl---that specific owl---set his instincts on high alert.

           “Let’s move,” he said quietly, his voice steady. He shifted Galateya’s weight slightly in his arms, keeping her close as he turned back toward the group. The little girl had buried her face in his cloak, sensing the unease in the air, but she remained quiet, trusting him completely.

           Shirou and Rin, though wary, nodded in agreement. They could not turn back now. Whatever awaited them inside Illyasviel’s villa, they had no choice but to face it. With one final glance at the now-empty trees, Romani tightened his hold on Galateya and followed the others through the gates. As the group moved toward the gate with increasing urgency. The looming iron gates of Illyasviel’s villa cast long shadows across the stone path, and as they approached, the white owl swooped down from the trees once more, hovering directly above the gate. Its ghostly blue eyes pierced through them, cold and watchful, as if it were silently mocking their efforts. The cloak-wearing man's heart skipped a beat as he met the bird’s gaze, sensing the same sinister aura from earlier. Without warning, the owl let out a soft, eerie hoot before soaring over the gate and disappearing into the courtyard beyond.

           Just as the owl vanished, a loud commotion erupted from within the villa’s walls. The muffled sounds of crashing and distant yelling reached their ears, the echoes bouncing off the stone walls like the first distant rumblings of a storm. The two maids, Sella and Leysritt, tensed instantly, their stiff, formal expressions contorting into masks of concern. One of the maids' hand clenched at her side, and her sharp eyes darted toward the source of the noise. Without hesitation, she turned to the group, her voice tight with worry. “We must hurry---our lady may be in danger.”

          The other nodded silently, her usual stoic demeanor cracked ever so slightly as they both turned and led the group through the villa’s massive iron gates. The mood shifted from cautious tension to a growing sense of dread as they quickened their pace, moving through the winding stone corridors of the manor. Romani, cradling Galateya tightly against his chest, felt his mind racing with fragmented images from the strange dream the little girl had described a day ago---Illyasviel, her heart being ripped from her chest, Berserker’s roaring fury as he tried in vain to protect her, and the golden-haired man who stood triumphant over their fallen bodies. Could that man be the same one they were about to face?

         Rin, walking beside him, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her eyes narrowed as she whispered to Shirou. “Do not tell me that her vision is indeed true, do you? Illya's death, that man---Gilgamesh. The fool is back.”

           Shirou’s jaw tightened. “We came here to stop that from happening. We cannot let her die.”

          Romani said nothing, but his mind was a whirlwind of possibilities. The vision, the white owl, the sickly sweet scent that always accompanied the child's nightmares---it all seemed connected. He could feel the weight of something ancient and powerful pressing down on him, and his grip on Galateya instinctively tightened as if to protect her from whatever they were walking into.

          As they rounded a corner, the grand hall of the villa opened up before them. The room was vast, its twin staircases curving downward toward the center of the hall like the arms of an embrace, leading to a marble floor that shone in the dim light filtering through the high windows. And there, standing at the foot of the stairs, was the source of the commotion. A golden-haired man dressed in black leather, his face sharp and regal, with an aura of terrifying authority, stood across from Berserker and Illyasviel. His casual stance, hands shoved in his pockets, betrayed no concern for the giant who loomed before him. Even from the balcony above, the group could feel the oppressive weight of his presence---a presence that commanded reverence and fear in equal measure. His eyes glowed with a cold, malevolent light, and there was a smirk playing on his lips, as though he found the whole situation amusing.

           Galateya, her voice barely above a whisper, tugged at Romani’s cloak. “It is him, Romani. He is the man from my dream.”

           Romani’s heart sank. It was exactly as she had described. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, had somehow returned to the Holy Grail War. Below, Berserker stood protectively in front of Illyasviel, his enormous frame bristling with barely-contained rage. His red eyes burned with primal fury, his muscles coiled, ready to spring into action. His Master, looking as fragile as ever, stood just behind him, her pale face twisted in a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. She clutched the back of her Servant's garment, her knuckles white from the strain.

          Before anyone could move, Sella and Leysritt, their duty to protect their mistress overriding any sense of self-preservation, rushed forward. Their movements were swift and graceful, honed by years of serving the Einzberns. One of them drew a rapier from her side, while the other hefted a massive halberd, its blade gleaming menacingly in the dim light. Romani’s breath hitched as he watched them leap from the top of the stairs, their weapons aimed directly at Gilgamesh. But something in the air shifted the moment they moved---an invisible force, cold and suffocating, wrapped itself around the hall.

           With a lazy flick of his wrist, Gilgamesh opened the Gate of Babylon. The air rippled and distorted behind him as golden portals materialized, each one humming with a deadly energy. From those portals, swords---dozens of them---emerged, their gleaming blades suspended in the air, each one a relic of the past, powerful and ancient. Sella barely had time to register the attack before a barrage of weapons rained down on her. The first sword pierced through her chest, her eyes widening in shock as blood blossomed from the wound. She crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Leysritt, charging from the opposite side, swung her halberd in a wide arc, but before the blade could connect, another sword impaled her from behind, driving her to the floor in a single, brutal motion.

          Romani’s breath caught in his throat as both maids fell, their bodies lifeless at Gilgamesh’s feet. Illyasviel let out a choked scream, her hands trembling as she stared in horror at the bodies of her loyal maids. Berserker let out a bellowing roar that shook the very walls of the villa. His monstrous fury erupted, and with a thunderous crash, he lunged at the King of Heroes, his massive axe raised high above his head.

           But Gilgamesh barely moved. His eyes flicked to Berserker, and with another lazy gesture, more portals appeared, releasing another volley of weapons that shot toward the enraged giant. The massive Berserker-class Servant swung his axe wildly, smashing several of the incoming swords out of the air, but the sheer volume of attacks overwhelmed him. One blade found its mark, piercing through his shoulder, followed by another through his abdomen. The unstoppable giant faltered for a brief moment, but even as he staggered, his roar of defiance filled the hall.

           “Know your place, mongrel,” Gilgamesh said, his voice dripping with disdain.

           With a final, devastating strike, a larger weapon---a massive golden halberd---burst from one of the portals and struck Berserker square in the chest, driving him back. The force of the blow sent him crashing through the marble floor, leaving a crater where he had stood. Illyasviel screamed again, running toward her fallen Servant. “No! Berserker!”

           Romani, Rin, and Shirou could only watch in stunned silence from their vantage point above, the brutal efficiency of Gilgamesh’s attacks freezing them in place. The group stood motionless, barely breathing, as the horrific scene played out below them. Shirou’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, trembling with barely suppressed rage. His eyes were locked on the golden-haired man standing with the calm arrogance of a king, completely unbothered by the chaos he had caused. The traveler, sensing the growing anger in the redheaded teen, glanced at him, knowing full well what might happen if he lost control.

           Galateya, trembling in Romani’s arms, buried her face into his cloak. The traveler, ever protective, gently placed his hand over her eyes, shielding her from the carnage below. “It is okay, little one,” he whispered softly, his voice soothing like a warm breeze. “You do not need to see this.”

           But Galateya’s body continued to shake, and Romani could feel the cold sweat forming on her skin. The memory of her earlier nightmare, the vision of Illyasviel’s death, was too much for her fragile heart to bear. The traveler's amber eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of his hood as he watched Gilgamesh, his mind whirling with thoughts. The white owl, the dream, the vision---all the pieces were coming together, but the traveler still could not figure out the exact reason for this grim sequence of events. He could only observe for now, waiting for the right moment to intervene.

          Down below, Illyasviel stood defiantly in front of Gilgamesh, her petite frame trembling with fear but filled with a determined fire. Berserker, bleeding from multiple wounds, stood beside her, his monstrous form barely able to contain his anger. The Einzbern's heiress voice, usually soft and sweet, was laced with fury as she shouted at the golden king.

          "Why are you here? What do you want with us?!" she demanded, her voice echoing off the villa’s grand hall. “We have done nothing to you!”

            Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes glimmered with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, as if regarding her with the faintest curiosity. "Done nothing?" he repeated, his voice smooth and dripping with condescension. "Child, you are the Lesser Grail. Your very existence is a threat to the integrity of this world. Did you truly think you could avoid my gaze forever?"

         Illyasviel’s eyes widened in shock. “Lesser Grail?” she whispered, barely able to comprehend the weight of his words.

           Gilgamesh took a step forward, his presence suffocating, towering over her even from a distance. “Yes, Illyasviel von Einzbern. You carry the very vessel that will summon the Holy Grail into this world. And it is my right, as king, to claim it.”

          Illyasviel’s shock quickly turned to rage. “Berserker!” she screamed, her voice piercing the air like a dagger. “Kill him! Protect me!”

           Berserker roared, the sound so deafening that the very walls seemed to shake. His massive form surged forward with terrifying speed, his bloodlust palpable in the air. But Gilgamesh did not flinch. Instead, he extended his hand, and the familiar golden portals of the Gate of Babylon shimmered into existence behind him.

          “God Hand, is it?” Gilgamesh mused, his tone casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Twelve lives, one for each of Heracles’ labors. How quaint.”

           From the Gate of Babylon, countless weapons shot forth like a hail of death. Each blade, each spear, each axe honed in on Berserker with unerring precision. The giant swung his axe wildly, trying to fend off the onslaught, but there were too many. The weapons struck him again and again, tearing into his flesh, reducing his twelve lives one by one.

           “Stay down!” Shirou growled, his body tensing. He had to fight the urge to leap down into the fray. But Rin’s hand on his arm held him back.

          “We cannot rush in,” Rin whispered harshly. “We have no Servant to counter him, Shirou. We are a sitting duck here.”

          Romani, still watching with cold calculation, whispered to Galateya once more. “Be still, little one. This battle is not ours yet.”

          Below, the battle had reached the main entrance of the villa. Berserker, despite the endless barrage of weapons, refused to fall. His eyes blazed with an unquenchable fury as he charged once more at Gilgamesh, determined to protect Illyasviel at all costs. But the King of Heroes merely smirked, raising his hand once again.

         “Enkidu,” he intoned, his voice reverberating through the hall.

           Golden chains shot out from the portals, shimmering like the light of the sun as they wrapped themselves around Berserker’s massive frame. The chains tightened, pulling the Greek demigod to the ground with a force that even the mighty Heracles could not resist. He struggled, roaring in defiance, but the chains were unbreakable. Gilgamesh’s smirk widened.

           “These chains were meant to bind even the gods,” he said, almost lazily. “What chance does a mere demigod like you have?”

           Berserker thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but the more he struggled, the tighter the chains became. Illyasviel screamed his name, her voice hoarse with desperation. “No! Berserker, get up! Please!”

           But Gilgamesh had already moved in for the kill. A large, ornate spear appeared in his hand, glowing with a terrible, divine energy. With a single, fluid motion, he plunged the spear into Berserker’s chest, the force of the blow driving the giant to his knees. The giant Servant let out one final, agonized roar before his body fell limp, the last of his lives extinguished.

           Illyasviel’s scream of anguish echoed through the hall. She stumbled toward Berserker’s fallen form, tears streaming down her face. But before she could reach him, Gilgamesh moved again. Another sword appeared in his hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, he drew it through her eyes. Her small body convulsed as the blade pierced her skin, her crimson eyes bleeding with carmine ink. In a brief moment of distraction, the King of Heroes did not waste time to rip off her beating heart right through her chest, incapacitating her with his bare hand. She gasped, blood spilling from her lips as she collapsed beside Berserker’s lifeless form. But even in her final moments, her tiny hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cold, unmoving hand of her Servant.

         “Berserker,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You are still with me.”

           Her vision darkened as she lay there, believing her loyal Servant was still by her side, protecting her until the very end. Above, Shirou could not take it anymore. With a furious shout, he broke free of Rin’s grip and leaped over the balcony, landing on the floor below with a loud crash. The brunette mage remained still for a moment, deep in thought, her expression one of grim determination. Romani remained where he was, still holding Galateya, but his amber eyes watched closely, calculating the next move as the final pieces of the vision played out before him.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈 metempsychosis