Chapter 17: Impossible Projections and a King at the Door
The basement of the Tohsaka mansion smelled of frustration and freshly forged metal.
— No! No, no, no!— Rin's voice was a strangled cry of pure exasperation. She pointed a trembling finger at the center of the chalk circle, where, instead of the simple, functional aluminum spoon Shirou had tried to project, a small mechanical bird perched its silver silhouette.
The bird wasn't a statue. It turned its head, a precise, articulated movement, and emitted a "click-tick" that sounded suspiciously like a metallic chirp. It flapped its wings, and minuscule thin steel feathers vibrated with a bell-like sound. For five glorious seconds, it traced a perfect circle in the basement air before its form began to fade into a dust of golden light and residual prana particles, just as the laws of Gradation Air dictated.
— See?— Rin shouted, running both hands through her hair, further undoing her twin-tails.— It works! The damned bird works! It sings, it flies, it has joints! It's more complex than any third-year projection at the Clock Tower! BUT IT'S A BIRD, EMIYA! You wanted a SPOON!
Shirou gazed at the spot where the mechanical bird had dissipated, a mix of awe and deep discomfort on his face, his usual smile twisted into a grimace.— I… I thought about the spoon. Really. But when the prana started to flow, the image in my head… changed. It became more… round. With wings.
— Your subconscious is an aesthetic saboteur!— Rin declared, defeated, collapsing onto a stool. She pointed to a row of objects laid out on a worktable, all halfway to fading into the air like the bird, a museum of the morning's failures: a glass of water that had transformed into a transverse crystal flute that emitted a perpetual, ghostly note; a kitchen knife that was now a ceremonial dagger suspiciously resembling a certain Noble Phantasm belonging to a Caster with knife-like ears; a simple brick that had mutated into an intricate model of the Tower of Babel made of refractory clay.
— Explain to me,— Rin said, with a dangerous calm— how "projecting a liquid container" translates in your brain as "creating a Baroque period wind instrument."
Shirou shrugged, genuinely perplexed.— The glass… is for containing. Music also contains things, doesn't it? Emotions. Memories. It seemed… more useful that way.
Rin stared at him as if he'd just declared the sky was green.— Projection isn't about "philosophical utility"! It's about replicating a form, a structure, with the greatest fidelity and the least prana cost possible. You don't replicate! You… reinterpret! And always toward something more complicated, more beautiful, or more absurd!
That was the cruel irony he, Shirou Emiya, was beginning to glimpse. His Origin, that core of "Miracle" that defined him, wasn't a master key opening all doors of magecraft. It was a suspension bridge over an abyss: it could take you to impossible places, but trying to use it to cross a stream was a ridiculous and dangerous undertaking. It could turn a vague thought into a living metal bird, but it was incapable of producing the most mundane spoon if his nature didn't consider it… significant? Interesting? He didn't know. He only knew that every time he tried to follow instructions to the letter, something inside him, a deep and stubborn instinct, twisted the course toward the extraordinary, making the spell useless for any practical purpose Rin could conceive.
'It's like the original Shirou,' he thought, with a pang of strange melancholy. The other self from the visions, the one with red hair and a will of steel, had also been useless at conventional magecraft. He could only do one thing, overspecialize to the point of absurdity. He, on the other hand, could do everything… but never what he was supposed to do. It was a twisted parallel, a joke of fate. His power didn't make him strong; it made him unpredictable. And in Rin's world, the world of magecraft and mystery, unpredictability was synonymous with danger.
— Enough for today,— Rin sighed, exhausted not by prana expenditure, but by the mental effort of fighting her student's distorted logic.— Your control is perfect. Your theoretical understanding, adequate. Your execution… is an act of cosmic rebellion against common sense. Go. I need to rethink my pedagogical strategy. Maybe… maybe start by asking you to project something impossible, to see if by rebound I get something simple.
Shirou left the basement with a mix of relief and a pang of self-disappointment. The walk home was slower than usual, his mind replaying the metallic chirp of the bird. Was that all his miracle could offer? Useless wonders?
Upon arriving at the Emiya Residence, he expected the smell of Taiga's curry— the poor thing had been forced to learn to cook on her own because both Emiyas were complete culinary disasters, one only knew how to make VERY toasted bread, and the other directly burned the kitchen—, or perhaps Kiritsugu's tranquil silhouette in the garden. What he didn't expect to find was the most dazzling and out-of-place woman he had ever seen on his doorstep.
It was her. The golden woman. Gilgamesh. But she wasn't wearing the luxurious clothes he remembered. She was wearing impeccably tight black jeans, a simple white t-shirt that, against all odds, seemed like the most exclusive garment in the world, and sunglasses with gold frames that hid her ruby eyes. Her hair, like a cascade of molten gold, fell freely over her shoulders. And she was smiling. A wide, playful, and slightly threatening smile.
— My adorable Wandering Star!— Her voice was syrupy, like poisoned honey.— Finally returning to your nest. And your king has had to come looking for you, isn't that a lack of consideration?
Shirou froze on the path.— G-Gil? What are you doing here?
— What you should have done,— she replied, sliding the sunglasses down with a finger to look at him over them. Her scarlet eyes sparkled with amusement.— Our agreement was that you would come to me for counsel. Days have passed. Weeks. I have contemplated the passing of clouds from my temple, and not a glimpse of your brilliant white hair coming to ask for wisdom. I was getting bored, little wanderer. And when I, the most magnificent King, get bored, the world trembles.
— I… was preparing my questions,— Shirou managed to stammer, feeling panic knot his stomach.— I didn't want to bother you with trivialities. I wanted them to be… worthy of your time.
Gilgamesh let out a clear, melodious laugh that made the air of the quiet street seem to vibrate.— Oh, what a deliciously servile excuse! It amuses me. So much so that I have decided to forgive your negligence… with a light punishment.
Shirou swallowed.— Punishment?
— Of course,— she said, putting her sunglasses back on and adopting an air of solemn decree.— Given that you clearly need to be reminded of my presence, and that your humble abode completely lacks splendor, I have decided to condescend to reside here. From now on, you will have the unspeakable honor of housing your king. You must be happy, no? Few mortals receive such a privilege.
Shirou felt the world spin.— W-what? Live… here? But… what about Kirei?
— The priest,— Gilgamesh said with a gesture of contempt— has become so unbearably gloomy that even wine tastes like ash in his company. I need a new… playground. And you, my Wandering Star, are the most interesting toy I've found in centuries. It's a perfect solution. I free myself from boredom, and you— she added, her smile turning sharp— have your mentor a stone's throw away, ready to answer all those worthy questions you've been accumulating. A win-win, as they say in this vulgar era.
Before Shirou could process the incredible proposition, the front door opened.
Taiga Fujimura poked her head out, an expression of absolute curiosity on her face.— Shirou! You're late! And who's your…? Waaaah!— Her gaze fell on Gilgamesh, and her eyes widened like saucers. The King's presence, even dressed casually, was simply overwhelming.— What an incredible woman! A friend from school? You didn't tell me anything!
Behind Taiga, in the dim light of the entrance hall, the silhouette of Kiritsugu Emiya appeared. His posture, usually lax, was now tense as a spring. His tired, gray eyes didn't settle on Shirou. They fixed on Gilgamesh with the intensity of a laser, recognizing in an instant not an eccentric woman, but the walking catastrophe he had seen ten years ago, the golden Archer who had sown chaos in the last war. The Magus Killer saw the playful smile, the barely disguised divine arrogance, and the interest she placed in his son. A wave of glacial cold, the same he felt on the darkest nights of his past, ran down his spine.
Gilgamesh, for her part, turned her smile toward Kiritsugu. She recognized him too, of course. The man who had tried, with pathetic audacity, to destroy the Grail. The survivor.
— This must be the patriarch of this home!— Gilgamesh announced with a voice too sweet.— Gil. A pleasure. Your son has had the immense fortune of capturing my interest. I have decided, in an act of royal generosity, to guide his education personally. And to make things easier, I will stay for a while. I trust there will be no… objections.
Every word was a dagger sheathed in silk. Kiritsugu held her gaze. The air between them thickened, charged with memories of fire, spilled blood, and the empty stare of a corrupted artifact. He saw the unspoken threat. She saw the broken, cursed man who was no longer a rival, but a potential obstacle.
— Taiga,— Kiritsugu said, without taking his eyes off Gilgamesh.— Could you bring some tea for our… guest? Shirou, help… help Miss Gil with her things.
His voice was flat, controlled, but Shirou, who knew him well, detected the steel edge beneath the surface. The fear. The highest alert.
— Oh, don't worry about my belongings!— Gilgamesh laughed, making a carefree gesture. A golden flash, almost imperceptible, shimmered behind her, and a small, luxurious wooden chest inlaid with lapis lazuli appeared beside her, as if it had been there all along.— I travel light. Only the essentials.
Taiga, completely dazzled and oblivious to the undercurrents of terror flowing around her, clapped her hands together.— What style! Shirou, I didn't know you had such glamorous friends! Come in, come in, Miss Gil! I'll make you the best tea!
Gilgamesh crossed the threshold, passing Kiritsugu like a golden galleon passing a gray, eroded cliff. Their shoulders brushed for a fraction of a second. A clash of eras, of wills, of immeasurable dangers.
— Thank you for your… hospitality, Emiya,— Gilgamesh said, addressing Kiritsugu with a familiarity that was an insult. Somehow, the absence of her classic insult, "mongrel," sounded more insulting and provocative than any insult.
— This home is always open for… Shirou's friends,— Kiritsugu replied, and the word "friends" sounded like the click of a pistol safety being released.
Shirou, caught in the middle, looked at his father, then at Gilgamesh's golden back as she ventured into his house as if it were her palace, and then at the humming Taiga in the distance. His recent problems with magecraft suddenly seemed trivial. He had gone from having to endure existential dilemmas caused by his own Origin, to having, without warning, a time bomb of divine and capricious nature without equal… A real "bombshell."
'But not everything is bad. At least I have someone besides Rin, and much more experienced, to help me on my path to obtaining the power I need to protect everyone I care about,' Shirou thought to himself, a cheerful, enthusiastic smile spreading across his lips. And, with boundless audacity, he ran to Gil's side and struck up a trivial conversation, which, against all odds, she responded to with similar enthusiasm.