Fate/Apocrypha Volume 1 Chapter 3.5

It hurts… Save us… from the pain…

Their cries were all, more or less, repeating these three things – but what they lacked in variety, they made up for in sheer volume. Their wordless calls for salvation, their screams telling of agony and hardship – they were the voices of the powerless, sobbing in fear of death, crushed and overwhelmed by their own fate.

No… they are not calling for me, he thought. They are simply crying out – and he can hear it all.

That was the true tragedy. If they were imploring someone to be their saviour, then they at least still had hope in their own deliverance. But they simply cried out, with no one to answer them… their voices melting away into silence.

Then, what does that make of me…?

And so, he awoke from his dream. He opened his eyes and looked at his own body. Yes… it was nothing more than a dream; his small hands cannot hold a sword, and his first-class Magic Circuits threatened to rip apart own his body if he attempted to use thaumaturgy.

He has no power to save anyone. No power to take another's hand. Because he is only a homunculus, born a few months ago. He was born to be a battery providing prana to Servants, after which he was meant to die.

Who were the ones calling out to him, though? Was it the girl on his right? The man on his left? Or those on the other side who cannot take human form?

But whoever it was from, there is nothing he can do. The knowledge that the Holy Grail granted him allows him to understand just what an important role he – and they – will play.

There is essentially only one thing required by Servants to actualize in this world: prana. So in practice, the strongest Servant is the one with the greatest quantity of prana.

No matter how powerful a Servant's Noble Phantasm may be, without enough prana, they risk their own annihiliation by calling its true name and awakening it.

On the other hand, while a Noble Phantasm with a lower cost may logically be weaker, it can be used repeatedly without prana concerns. Compared with a gun that only chambers and fires one shot, a bow that can always replenish its supply of arrows is clearly more advantageous.

Thus, the more prana the Master possesses, the greater an advantage they hold. That is where the Yggdmillennia managed to turn the tables on their enemies.

Their idea was simple, and brutal: use the prana of a third party, wringing out every drop until they are reduced to a corpse. They did not use normal humans for this purpose – not for any ethical reasons, of course – but simply because that would make it harder to conceal… just as it would be difficult to gather the sufficient number of magi to sacrifice. But who would grieve for a humunculus? They cost money and effort, but little besides.

By stealing from the Einzberns and other great alchemical houses, they have learned techniques that, to an expert, would be considered child's play – but that is more than enough to create living batteries meant only to act as a prana supply.

The Yggdmillennia have staked everything on this one Holy Grail War and they, the homunculus, were the key.

However costly the Noble Phantasm, they are there to replenish the prana instantly. This also leaves the Masters free to use their own thaumaturgies to the fullest without consideration for supplying their Servants.

For both Masters and Servants, this is the best possible situation… putting aside those behind the black putting down their very lives.

"That's right… I can't help any of them."

Saving them is a pipe dream. He can only shrug off their cries. After all, he does not even know what will become of himself.

* * *

It was the calm before the storm. The Masters and Servants at the Fortress of Millennia were spending what little free time they had left.

Ever since his summoning, it became Archer's task to push Fiore's wheelchair. Even compared to the others, the two had a great affinity for one another. Fiore has complete trust in Archer and spends nearly every waking hour with him.

"Are these what you wanted?"

"Yes, thank you."

Fiore took one more look at the medicinal solution Archer handed her, before swallowing it in one gulp. It was a painkiller that helped reduce the ache in her lifeless legs. As a side effect, the drug overwhelms her with drowsiness. It should be all right to rest for a while, she decided.

As she waited for the medicine to take effect, it suddenly occurred to her that there was one important question she never asked her own Servant.

"Archer… now that I think about it, I've never asked you what exactly your wish is."

Fiore has yet to ask him what is likely the most important matter to the Servant – what they wish from the Grail. She tried asking him at the very beginning, but according to Archer: 'it is something small, and will cause none any trouble. Let us speak of it at a later time.'

At the time, Fiore put the matter on hold, as Archer is possibly the only Servant for whom integrity is a matter of pride, but as the skirmishes will soon begin, she feels it is time to know the answer.

"You mean that which I would ask of the Holy Grail? It… would be a lie to say that I have none."

Archer looked somewhat troubled, reluctant to speak. Among the 'Black' camp, it is Lancer's wish which is given the highest priority. While every Servant has their own intentions and will be watching for a chance to make their wish upon the Grail, that ultimately requires the victory of this Great War. They must first focus their attention on the battle with the 'Red' camp.

Perhaps Archer was concerned that openly speaking of his own wish might lead to friction in the 'Black' camp. Fiore shook her head and assured him otherwise.

"You don't need to worry. I won't tell anyone. I am your Master… of course I will place your wish above all else."

"Thank you, Master… and I hope that you will not find my answer laughable."

"Of course not."

Archer lowered his face in faint embarrassment.

"It is naught but my own selfishness… but I wish for the Gods to return that which they had granted me."

"The Gods…? Do you mean…?"

"Yes… I wish to have returned the immortality I passed to Prometheus."

Naturally, Fiore had done some reading on Chiron's legend after summoning him. From his uncommon birth to his tutelage of many a hero, Chiron left behind many legends – but most famous of all is the episode which led to him becoming the constellation of Sagittarius.

Caught in a conflict between the hero Heracles and his fellow Centaurs, Chiron was mistakenly shot by Heracles with an arrow tipped in the Hydra's poison.

Being immortal, Chiron could not die and so continued to suffer the agony of the poison. In the end, he passed on his immortality to Zeus to give to Prometheus, and finally died in peace. Lamenting his passing, Zeus gave him a place in the sky as the Archer.

"I do not miss my immortality – but it is a gift to me from my father and mother. Relinquishing it is a denial of everything I am."

The man quietly spoke of his own yearning.

"But, Archer, your parents…"

Fiore quickly shut up; speaking any more would bring him shame. According to legends, Chiron was born between the patron of harvest and earth, Cronus, in the form of a horse, and the nymph Philyra. Ashamed of her offspring's appearance – half man and half horse – Philyra was transformed into a linden tree.

Chiron's father and mother never loved him; he himself must know this better than anyone else.

Archer calmly looked straight into Fiore's eyes, his gaze unwavering.

"It is true… they never loved me. But it is proof that their blood flows through my veins, and I wish to have it returned."

He murmured, looking rather apologetic.

"I cannot deny that it is a selfish wish. It changes nothing for me to become immortal once more. But…"

It was the leanest of bonds which connected him to them.

"Archer… my own wish is much the same. I only want to use the Grail to heal my legs."

Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia's disability deeply affects her thaumaturgy. Her Magic Circuits exist in her two legs – but a malformation in the Circuits since birth has led to the two limbs completely ceasing to function, sometimes causing her unbearable pain.

Of course, it is possible to heal them. However, it would involve removing the Circuits in her legs. In other words, it would mean giving up the life of a magus.

Studying the arts of human engineering and spiritual evocation, Fiore has learned ways to replace the functions of her legs. Her evocations can take up the tasks of her limbs, and she would be able to fly with a broom. But those are not the same as walking on her own two feet. Yet, as the successor of the Forvedge house, she cannot – and will not – abandon her thaumaturgy.

That is why she can only depend upon the Grail to keep her Magic Circuits as they are, and take back the full function of her legs. Yes… her wish is simply one of luxury.

"I see. You wish for a miracle so that you need not sacrifice either."

"That's right… my own desires are a trifle compared to your earnest wish. It's shameful, isn't it? How low of me."

"Do you think so? I can understand both the weight of abandoning one's craft, and the joy of standing on your own two feet upon Gaia. You need not feel ashamed."

But this is exactly why, thought Fiore.

She knew in her heart that voicing her wish would lead to Archer comforting her like this. She did not lie, of course. That truly was her wish – and she truly did think of it as nothing more than a luxury. However, she had decided as a magus to acquire that omnipotent wish-granter. There was no reason to phrase it in such a feeble way, as though to invite pity.

But that was how she spoke of her own desires: timidly, without confidence, and with shame. Why would she feel like that about the condition she was born with? She acted modest and graceful to avoid expressing how she truly felt. She never thought she would feel shame in such an act… until now.

"Thank you, Archer."

Said Fiore, blushing. She wanted Archer to praise her, more than anyone else. She wanted him to place a hand on her head, and whisper kind words into her ear. But she hated herself for unconsciously attempting to elicit sympathy.

Yes… how low of me.

Still, she smiled at Archer's words. Carrying this feeling in her heart – something that is not affection or love, something seemingly pure and yet slightly twisted – Fiore closed her eyes softly.

"I can feel the medicine working, Archer. You can take your leave."

"Yes, Master."

Without a sound, Archer left Fiore's room.