The return to Chaldea is never silent. There is always a murmur of machines, a hum of life support systems, the echo of hurried footsteps in metallic hallways. But this time, beneath all that mechanical noise, there was something more. A persistent tension. An anxiety that floated in the air like the smell of ozone after a storm. The Sixth Singularity was over, yes. We had survived. But the way we had survived — Bedivere's sacrifice, Camelot's collapse, the Lion King's conversion — had left a deep mark on all of us. It wasn't the euphoria of Orleans, where we had defeated dragons and demons with the joy of someone discovering a new world. It wasn't the renewed determination of America, where the defeat in London had transformed into a crucible for our fighting spirit. It was a bitter victory. A victory that tasted of ash and farewell.
I remember walking through the halls of Chaldea that night, after the Rayshift, feeling every muscle in my body as if I had been put through a mill. My Magic Circuits ached, a dull, deep pain, as if someone had squeezed my guts and then put them back without much care. Tamamo no Mae, always attentive to my well-being, had given me a worried look and promised to prepare a revitalizing soup the next day. "Goshujin-sama, you've spent too much mana. Your circuits need rest. And hot food. And cuddles. Lots of cuddles." I remember smiling weakly. Tamamo and her home remedies. They always worked.
Mash walked beside me, her shield faded into her spiritual form, but her hand gripped mine with a firmness that comforted me. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Her presence was a balm. She had seen Bedivere fade away just as I had. She had felt the helplessness of not being able to do anything. And yet, there she was, upright, protecting me even when there were no enemies in sight.
"Senpai," she finally said, when we reached my room's door. "Are you okay?"
"I'm tired, Mash. Very tired."
"Me too." She paused. "But I'm also grateful. Because we came back. All of us."
"Everyone except Bedivere."
Mash lowered her gaze. "Bedivere... chose his destiny. And we have to honor him by living."
I nodded. Her words were wise, wiser than befitted a girl her age. But Mash had always been like that. A rock in the midst of the storm. My rock.
"Good night, Senpai."
"Good night, Mash."
She kissed me on the lips. It wasn't a passionate kiss; it was a tender, almost maternal kiss, as if she wanted to convey through that contact all the calm she couldn't put into words. Her lips tasted slightly of salt, perhaps from the tears she had held back during the impromptu funeral we had held in the throne room. When she pulled away, she smiled. That shy but luminous smile of hers, which always reminded me why I fought. "See you tomorrow."
I watched her walk away down the hall, her small figure disappearing into the twilight. I sighed. Before I could open my door, another figure emerged from the shadows. Jeanne Alter. Her arms were crossed, her posture defiant, but her eyes... her eyes had a softness she rarely showed.
"You almost bought it, idiot," she said, without preamble.
"Hello, Jeanne. Nice greeting."
"Shut up." She approached me with quick steps and, before I could react, her lips were pressed against mine. It was a rough, clumsy kiss, full of a fury that wasn't anger, but fear. Fear of having lost me. Fear of not having been able to tell me. When she pulled away, her cheeks were slightly flushed. "Don't do that to me again. If you die, I'll kill you."
"That's a contradiction."
"Shut up!"
I smiled. Jeanne Alter was an emotional disaster, but she was my emotional disaster. "Good night, Jeanne."
"Good night." She turned and left, but not before giving me one last look. "Dream of me."
"I can't promise to control my dreams."
"Then do it."
And she left. I shook my head, amused despite the exhaustion. But the night wasn't over yet. One by one, my other girlfriends paraded by to say goodnight.
Tamamo no Mae wrapped me in her tails and gave me a long, possessive kiss, her fox eyes gleaming with a fire that wasn't entirely chaste. "Goshujin-sama, tomorrow I'll give you a massage that will make you forget all your tiredness. And then, if you want, we can... pick up where we left off."
"Tamamo, I'm exhausted."
"I know. That's why I'm giving you permission to sleep. Just for tonight." She gave me one last kiss on the cheek and withdrew, not without throwing a warning glance at the other girls waiting in line.
Kiyohime materialized beside me like a jealous ghost. "Anchin-sama, I've prepared your futon. And I put out lavender incense. And I chased away the spiders. And I..."
"Kiyohime, thank you. You're a sweetheart."
Her eyes shone with an adoration bordering on unhealthy. "I am your wife. It's my duty." She kissed me. It was a soft, almost reverent kiss, but it lasted longer than necessary, and I felt the warmth of her uneven breath. "Good night, Anchin-sama. Dream of me. Only me."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do it."
When Kiyohime left, Artoria Lancer Alter appeared. She didn't say anything. She simply grabbed me by the nape, pulled me toward her, and kissed me with the intensity of someone claiming territory. Her lips were cold but soft, and when she pulled away, her golden eyes looked at me with a spark of amusement. "You fought well, Master. Rest."
"You're very sparing with words, you know?"
"Words are superfluous when actions speak." She gave me one last kiss on the forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture for her, and left.
Nero appeared next, wrapped in a red silk nightgown that barely covered the essentials. "My Caesar of my heart! You have returned triumphant! Let me seal your victory with a kiss worthy of an emperor!" And she kissed me. Thunderously. Theatrically. As if the entire hallway of Chaldea were a stage and I her co-star. "Tomorrow I shall compose an ode for you! It will be magnificent!"
"Nero, I appreciate the gesture, but I need to sleep."
"Sleep is for mortals! You are a hero!"
"I am a mortal, Nero. A very tired mortal."
She laughed, a crystalline laugh that echoed in the hallway. "Very well, my Caesar. Rest. But tomorrow, we shall celebrate your glory with music and wine!"
When I finally reached my bed, I collapsed onto the mattress like a dead weight. The ceiling of my room was a blur. My eyelids felt like lead. And before I could even take off my clothes, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Or at least, that's what I thought.
The Velvet Room was always the same. The deep blue carpet, the velvet-upholstered walls, the curtains that swayed in a wind that didn't exist. The music, soft and distant, like the tinkling of crystal glasses at a distant party. And in the center of the room, the round table where Igor and Selene waited for me.
Igor, with his impossibly long nose and bulging eyes, greeted me with an enigmatic smile. His long, bony fingers were interlaced on the table, and beside him, Selene, my personal attendant in the Velvet Room, greeted me with a nod. She was a woman of ethereal beauty, with silver hair that fell like water over her shoulders and eyes the color of the full moon. She wore a blue business suit that contrasted with the surrealism of the surroundings.
"Welcome, esteemed guest," said Igor, his voice a deep, resonant melody. "We are pleased to see you return from your journey. The Sixth Singularity has been successfully overcome. Our sincerest congratulations."
"Thank you, Igor," I replied, sitting in the chair across from them. "Though I don't know if 'success' is the right word. Bedivere..."
"The silver knight's sacrifice was a regrettable loss," Igor conceded. "But it was also a victory. Thanks to his devotion, the Lion King regained her humanity. Thanks to his courage, the Singularity was repaired. You must not carry the weight of his death, Leonel. He chose his path. You only gave him the strength to walk it."
"That doesn't make it less sad."
"No, it does not. But sadness is part of the human condition. And you, my dear guest, are profoundly human. That is your greatest strength."
Selene spoke, her voice soft as silk. "Leonel, you have shown remarkable growth since your arrival in this world. You have gone from being a frightened youth who doubted his place in destiny to becoming a strategist who inspires loyalty in heroes and gods. We are proud of you."
"But..." I said, sensing what was coming.
"But," Igor continued, "the hardest battle is yet to come."
The air in the room grew heavier. The music of the Velvet Room dimmed, as if the very environment were holding its breath.
"The Seventh Singularity," I said. "Babylonia."
"Exactly." Igor nodded. "The Babylonia Singularity, in the year 2600 BC, will be the true test of whether you are prepared to face Goetia. There, you will encounter enemies of a power surpassing everything you have seen so far. There, your strategic abilities will be pushed to their limit. And there, Leonel... you will forge the final destiny of humanity."
"I know," I replied. "I've read the history. I know what awaits me."
"You know the history that occurred in the game," Igor corrected. "But this is not a playthrough. This is reality. And in reality, things can be... different. You must be prepared for the unexpected."
"Is there something specific I should know?"
Igor and Selene exchanged a glance. It was Selene who answered. "Enuma Elish. Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasm. In the game, it was a powerful attack, but here... here it is the power of creation and destruction. If used against you, not even Lord Camelot can stop it completely."
"There is also Tiamat," added Igor. "The primordial goddess. The mother of all monsters. Facing her will require more than strategy. It will require sacrifice."
"Whose sacrifice?" I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.
"That depends on you. On the decisions you make. On the allies you have cultivated. On the strength of your bonds."
The Bonds. The Wild Card. My ability to connect with my Servants and with the people around me. Igor had always insisted that it was my greatest power, beyond Tezcatlipoca, beyond my strategies.
"Your Bonds are strong," said Selene, as if reading my thoughts. "Mash. Tamamo. Jeanne. Artoria. Nero. Kiyohime. All of them have given you their hearts. But there are also other bonds. Bonds you haven't yet fully explored."
"What do you mean?"
"Your Persona, Tezcatlipoca, is a manifestation of your soul," Igor explained. "But a Wild Card is not limited to a single Persona. You are capable of summoning multiple masks, multiple facets of your being. So far, Tezcatlipoca has been sufficient. But in Babylonia... you may need more."
"Are you saying I can obtain another Persona?"
"I am saying that you can. That you must. That the potential is within you." Igor leaned forward, his eyes shining with an intensity he rarely showed. "When you face Tiamat. When fear paralyzes you. When all seems lost... remember who you are. Remember why you fight. And then, your soul will show you the way."
"That's very vague, Igor."
"Vagueness is necessary. The future is not written in stone. It is a river of possibilities. I can only show you the current. You must navigate it."
Selene stood up and walked around the table to stand beside me. Her hand, cold as marble, rested on my shoulder. "Leonel, we trust you. Philemon trusts you. You are the last Master of humanity. But you are also a young man with dreams, with fears, with hopes. Don't forget that. Humanity does not deserve to be saved if you lose your own humanity in the process."
"Thank you, Selene."
"You're welcome. Now, you must wake up. The day awaits you. And with it... new challenges."
The vision of the Velvet Room began to fade. The colors bled away, the music faded, and the last thing I saw before waking was Igor's enigmatic smile, watching me like a proud and slightly unsettling grandfather.
"Good luck, esteemed guest. We'll see you soon."
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling of my room was still the same. Metallic gray, with a small crack in the corner that had already become part of the landscape. But something was different. A weight on my body. Two weights, to be exact.
I turned my head to the right. Jeanne Alter slept curled against my shoulder, her breathing soft and rhythmic. Her expression, usually scowling and defiant, was now relaxed, almost childlike. She was wearing her usual clothes, which meant she had probably snuck into my bed without changing. Her arm was linked with mine, and her warm breath brushed my neck.
I turned my head to the left. Kiyohime slept in a similar posture, but with a difference: her dragon tails had materialized and wrapped around my legs like a living blanket. Her face, angelic and pale, was resting on my chest, and her fingers clung to my shirt with a possessiveness that showed even in sleep.
And on top of me, sprawled like a starfish, Jeanne d'Arc Ruler slept peacefully. Yes, on top of me. Her head rested just below my chin, and her blonde hair tickled my nose. Her breathing was the calmest of the three, as if sleeping on an exhausted Master was the most normal thing in the world.
I stayed still. Processing. This was new. Very new.
Kiyohime had already made a habit of waking up beside me. Her nightly incursions were predictable; she always found a way to sneak into my bed, often with the excuse that "wives must sleep together." But the two Jeannes... that was a drastic change. Jeanne Alter was tsundere to the bone; she would never admit in public that she enjoyed my company, much less sneak into my bed voluntarily. And Jeanne Ruler, with her eternal conflict over whether loving me was a sin or not... what was she doing on top of me?
«Tezcatlipoca,» I called mentally. «Do you have any record of how this happened?»
My Persona took a second to respond. His voice sounded amused, which was annoying. «Last night, after you fell asleep, Jeanne Ruler came to your room to 'pray for your recovery.' She knelt by your bed and, at some point during her prayers, fell asleep. You must have moved in your sleep, because she ended up lying on top of you.»
«And the other two?»
«Jeanne Alter arrived approximately an hour later. Upon seeing her counterpart on top of you, she apparently decided she wasn't going to be outdone. She lay down on your right. Kiyohime arrived at dawn. Seeing the two Jeannes, she got furious, but didn't want to make a scene for fear of waking you. She simply occupied the left side. The right side was already taken by Jeanne Alter, and the left by Kiyohime. The center... was already occupied by Jeanne Ruler. You are literally covered in Saints and dragons.»
«Wonderful.»
«That's not all. The Artorias are about to enter.»
«What?»
Just then, the door to my room opened. It didn't open softly, or with a polite knock. It opened with the force of someone accustomed to doors moving out of their way. Two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Artoria Pendragon Saber. The "normal" Artoria. The king of Camelot, the bearer of Excalibur, the one who had been summoned in Fuyuki and who was now one of my most loyal allies. She wore her usual blue tunic, and her invisible sword hung from her belt. Her expression was serious, but not severe. Her green eyes looked at me with a mixture of surprise and... disapproval?
Beside her, Artoria Pendragon Saber Alter. The dark version. The ice tyrant. Her black armor contrasted with her counterpart's blue tunic, and her golden gaze drilled into me with an intensity that could freeze glaciers. Unlike normal Artoria, she showed no surprise. Only a cold assessment, as if she were calculating how much time I had left to live.
"Leonel," said Artoria Saber, her voice grave and controlled. "We came to wake you for breakfast. But I see that... you already have company."
"Good morning, Artoria. Good morning, Artoria Alter," I greeted, trying to maintain my dignity while three women slept on me. "This isn't what it looks like."
"Oh, isn't it?" asked Artoria Alter, with a sarcastic half-smile. "Isn't it a harem of three women in your bed? What is it then, a strategy meeting?"
"Technically, it's not a harem if they're asleep."
"Technically, you're still in bed with three women."
Touché.
The exchange of words woke the sleepers. Jeanne Ruler was the first to open her eyes. Seeing my face just inches from hers, she blinked in confusion. Then she looked down, noticing she was literally on top of me. Then she looked to her left, seeing Kiyohime. Then to her right, seeing Jeanne Alter. And then, her face went through five shades of red in three seconds.
"L-Leonel!" she exclaimed, trying to sit up and almost falling off the bed. "I... this is not... I was only praying! I didn't intend to...! Oh my God, it's a sin, it's totally a sin!"
"Good morning to you too, Jeanne."
Jeanne Alter was the second to wake. She did so with a grunt, like a cat that's been disturbed. "Who's making so much noise...?" She opened her eyes, saw me, saw her blushing counterpart, saw Kiyohime, saw the two Artorias at the door. Her face went from sleep to fury in record time. "What is going on here?!"
"That's what I'd like to know," said Kiyohime, waking with a terrifying calm. Her dragon eyes settled on Jeanne Ruler, then on Jeanne Alter, then on me. "Anchin-sama. Why are there two more women in our conjugal bed?"
"Our conjugal bed," repeated Jeanne Alter, her tone icy. "Since when is it your conjugal bed?"
"Since I married Anchin-sama."
"You aren't married to him! None of us are! Yet!"
"That's a technicality."
"It's not a technicality, it's a fact!"
Jeanne Ruler, meanwhile, was still in panic mode. "I slept on top of a man! On top! Holy Mary, Virgin and Martyr, what have I done...!"
Artoria Saber cleared her throat. Her voice, though calm, had the effect of a cannon shot in the room. "Ladies. If you're finished arguing, the Master needs breakfast. He's pale. And exhausted. And probably needs a bath."
"And clean clothes," added Artoria Alter, her smile turning more sadistic. "That shirt is wrinkled. What have you done to him?"
"We haven't done anything to him!" shouted Jeanne Alter, red as a tomato.
"What a disappointment."
"WHAT KIND OF COMMENT IS THAT?!"
Chaos erupted. Kiyohime clung to my arm, declaring she would defend my honor. Jeanne Alter yelled at her to let go. Jeanne Ruler crossed herself, begging heaven for forgiveness. The two Artorias watched the scene with impassive expressions, though I could swear Artoria Alter was enjoying every second. And I, in the midst of it all, tried to remember if I had any teleportation runes at my disposal.
An hour later, after the chaos had subsided, I found myself sitting in Chaldea's cafeteria, with a plate of scrambled eggs and a steaming cup of coffee. Beside me, Artoria Pendragon Lancer Alter ate in silence, her spear leaning against the table. She had the morning shift to have breakfast with me, one of the many concessions of the girlfriend calendar that had become unwritten law in Chaldea.
"You've had a busy morning," she commented, not looking at me.
"You were there too?"
"I know everything."
"Of course you do."
We ate in silence for a while. The food at Chaldea wasn't especially gourmet, but after weeks of eating desert rations and Egyptian barley bread, some scrambled eggs tasted like glory. Artoria Lancer Alter, for her part, devoured her portion with military efficiency, as if each bite were a battle to win.
"The Lion King," she said suddenly.
"What about her?"
"She's adapted well. To Chaldea, I mean." She paused, spearing a piece of bacon. "She's strangely calm. As if a weight has been lifted from her."
"I suppose being a god is exhausting."
"It is." Her golden eyes stared at me. "I would know. I chose not to be one."
"And I thank you for that."
She didn't respond, but her hand brushed mine on the table. It was a minimal gesture, almost imperceptible, but loaded with meaning. Artoria Lancer Alter wasn't given to public displays of affection. Her gestures were like that: subtle, silent, but forceful.
"Babylonia," she said, changing the subject. "It will be difficult."
"I know."
"Are you ready?"
"I don't know."
"Hm." She took another bite of her bacon. "At least you're honest. That's good."
We finished breakfast in relative peace. As we said goodbye, Artoria Lancer Alter grabbed me by the nape and gave me a brief but intense kiss. "Train today. I'll expect you at the gym tonight."
"I can't tonight. I have... a date with Scáthach."
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Train with her, then. And survive. That's an order."
"I'm not your subject."
"You're my Master. It's the same."
The afternoon passed between books of magic and concentration exercises.
Tamamo no Mae had claimed me for my magic lessons. Lessons with Tamamo were... an experience. On one hand, she was an excellent teacher. She knew the fundamentals of Eastern sorcery like no one else, and her explanations about the flow of mana through Magic Circuits were clear and precise. On the other hand, she was Tamamo. Which meant that every five minutes she found an excuse to brush against me, hug me, or whisper in my ear.
"Goshujin-sama, your circuits are tense," she said, running her fingers down my forearm. "You need to relax."
"Tamamo, we're in the middle of a lesson."
"And this is the lesson: a tense magus is a dead magus." She slipped behind me and began massaging my shoulders. Her fingers were expert, finding knots of tension I didn't even know existed. "See? Like that. Relax."
"You're using this as an excuse to touch me."
"Obviously. But it's also a legitimate lesson."
I laughed despite myself. Tamamo was like that. A mix of seduction and devotion, of mischief and tenderness. Sometimes I wondered how I had been so lucky that someone like her had chosen me.
"Tamamo."
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For everything. For taking care of me. For teaching me. For... being there."
Her fingers stopped. For a moment, her breathing became uneven. Then, softly, she rested her chin on my shoulder and hugged me from behind. "Goshujin-sama... you don't have to thank me for anything. Being by your side is all I need. It's all I've ever needed."
We stayed like that for a while, in silence. The afternoon sun came through the window, tinting the room with golden hues. For an instant, I could almost forget that we were in the middle of the end of the world.
"We should continue the lesson," Tamamo murmured finally.
"Yes. We should."
We didn't move. Five more minutes passed. Then ten. The magic lesson ended up being, for the most part, a lesson in hugging.
Night fell over Chaldea with the same artificiality as always. There were no real sunsets in the underground facility, only a light simulation that imitated the day-night cycle to maintain the circadian rhythm of the human inhabitants. But at least the dim lights and relative silence of the nighttime hallways allowed me to pretend that the world was still turning out there.
I was in the gym. It wasn't a common gym: Chaldea had been designed to house Heroic Spirits from all eras, which meant its training facilities were reinforced with magic to withstand low-rank Noble Phantasms. The walls were of enchanted steel, the floor of an impact-absorbing material, and the practice swords were magical replicas that mimicked the weight and edge of the originals without the risk of killing anyone.
Artoria Pendragon Saber, Artoria Pendragon Saber Alter, and Nero Claudius waited for me in formation. The first, with her invisible sword. The second, with Excalibur Morgan, the dark version of the sacred sword. The third, with her gladius Aestus Estus, the flaming sword she had wielded in life.
"Master," said Artoria Saber, her tone formal and martial. "You have been summoned for an intensive training session in the way of the sword."
"So it seems," I replied, adjusting the practice sword in my hand. It was a familiar weight. After months of training with Scáthach, with Mordred, with Artoria herself, my muscles had memorized the basic movements. But "basic" wasn't enough for them.
"The goal of this session," Artoria Saber continued, "is to assess your progress in single combat. You will face each of us in turn. You are not expected to win. You are expected to survive."
"And to learn," added Artoria Alter, her voice a sinister purr. "Learning sometimes hurts."
"The art of combat is suffering and glory," declaimed Nero, with her usual theatricality. "And you, my Caesar of my heart, will shine like the sun in the arena!"
"That was very poetic, Nero."
"I am always poetic!"
Behind them, leaning against the wall, Scáthach watched in silence. Her crimson eyes followed me with predatory intensity. She held her spear Gae Bolg in her hand, but didn't seem intent on using it. Her role was to supervise, evaluate, and probably enjoy the show.
"Begin," ordered Scáthach.
Artoria Saber was the first to attack. Her combat style was impeccable, a dance of precise strikes and perfect blocks. Her invisible sword whistled through the air, and every slash was aimed at a vital point. But I already knew her style. I had trained with her enough to anticipate her movements. I couldn't match her speed — she was a Servant, I was human — but I could read her intentions.
I dodged a horizontal slash by ducking. I responded with a thrust to her side. She blocked it effortlessly and countered with an upward strike that forced me to jump back. The exchange lasted several minutes. In the end, I ended up on the floor, with the tip of her sword at my throat.
"Good," said Artoria Saber, withdrawing her sword. "You've improved. Your reading of movements is faster. But you're still too rigid. The sword must be an extension of your arm, not a tool."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Artoria Alter was next. Her style was completely different from her counterpart's. Where Artoria Saber was a surgeon of the sword, precise and economical, Artoria Alter was a bulldozer. Her blows were brutal, without subtlety, but no less effective for it. Excalibur Morgan left trails of dark energy that forced me to keep moving constantly.
"Too slow," Artoria Alter growled, and a horizontal slash almost cut me in two. I threw myself to the floor, rolling over my shoulder, and responded with a slash at her legs. She jumped over my sword as if it were a negligible obstacle and landed behind me. I felt the tip of her sword at the back of my neck.
"Dead," she said, simply.
"Any advice?"
"Survive faster."
"That's not advice."
"It's the only one you need."
Nero was the third. Her style was... unpredictable. She didn't follow patterns. She didn't respect the rules of conventional fencing. She attacked with flourishes, with theatrical movements, with thrusts that seemed more choreography than combat. But behind that facade, there was genuine skill. Her flaming gladius traced arcs of fire that lit up the gym, and her laughter echoed with each strike.
"Magnificent, my Caesar! Your posture is that of a gladiator! But a gladiator who is about to lose!" And she knocked me down with a sweep. I fell on my back, winded. Nero leaned over me, her sword sheathed and a radiant smile on her face. "Though losing to me is not shameful. It is an honor!"
"Thank you... Nero."
"You're welcome! Now, get up. We're not finished yet!"
The training continued for another hour. In the end, I was covered in bruises, could barely lift the sword, and my pride was in tatters. But I had learned. Every defeat was a lesson. Every blow received, a correction. The three Artorias and Nero said goodbye with nods and words of encouragement. "You're improving, Master." "Don't die in Babylonia." "Shine like the star you are!"
When they left, only Scáthach and I remained in the gym.
I let myself fall to the floor, exhausted. My muscles trembled, my breathing was ragged, and my practice sword lay beside me, useless. Scáthach approached slowly, her footsteps echoing in the silence. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a spark I knew all too well.
"You left me here alone," she said, without preamble.
"Scáthach, I was in a Singularity. It wasn't by choice."
"I know. But that doesn't change the fact." She knelt beside me, her face just inches from mine. Her breath smelled of herbs, of wine, of something wild. "I missed you, my husband."
The term hit me like a sledgehammer. "Husband" was a word Scáthach used with the same naturalness with which she wielded her spear. It wasn't a romantic declaration; it was a fait accompli in her mind. She had marked me in America. She had kissed me, bitten me, declared that I was her disciple and her consort. And since then, for her, it was an immutable truth.
"Scáthach..."
"I have not forgotten you," she continued, her voice a dangerous whisper. "I have waited. I have watched. I have seen how your other women claimed you tonight. And I thought: my turn will come." Her gloved hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look directly at her. "Now it has arrived. And this is just a taste of what awaits you if you make me wait longer for you in the future."
And then, she kissed me.
It wasn't a tender kiss. It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a wild, predatory kiss, like the attack of a wolf claiming its prey. Her lips were warm and demanding, and her tongue forced its way in without asking permission. Her teeth nibbled my lower lip, and I tasted the metallic flavor of my own blood mixed with her breath. It was a kiss that left me breathless, thoughtless, will-less.
When she pulled away, a strand of saliva connected our mouths. Her crimson eyes burned. "That," she said, "is what you get for abandoning me. Next time, it will be worse."
"Worse... or better?"
She smiled. That smile that chilled my blood and at the same time ignited something I preferred not to analyze. "That depends on you. If you want to find out, you'll have to survive. And then... come back to me."
I stood up with difficulty, my legs barely responding. Scáthach watched me with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. "Good night, husband. Rest. Tomorrow, more training awaits you. Much more."
"More?"
"Babylonia is near. I don't intend to send you there unprepared. I will train you until you can dodge death itself. It is my duty as your teacher." She paused, her smile widening. "And as your wife."
She left. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway until they faded. I was left alone in the gym, with swollen lips, sore muscles, and a tiredness so deep it seemed to seep into my bones.
That night, I went to bed aching.
Life in Chaldea was chaotic. It was exhausting. It was a roller coaster of emotions, training, magic lessons, strategy meetings, sword sessions, and a harem of women who loved me, were jealous of me, kissed me, and fought over me as if I were the last man on the face of the earth. In a sense, I was. The last Master of humanity. The only one who could sustain the contracts with all of them. The only one who could lead them into battle against Goetia.
But I was also Leonel Herrera. A young transmigrant who had never asked to be a hero, who had found himself with a destiny too big for his shoulders, and who yet, day by day, carried it. Not for glory. Not for power. But for them. For Mash. For Tamamo. For Jeanne. For Artoria. For Kiyohime. For Nero. For Scáthach. For all those who had placed their trust in me.
And as sleep slowly claimed me, in the stillness of my room, I smiled. Because despite the chaos, despite the pain, despite the uncertainty of the future... I wouldn't trade this life for anything.