FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 95: The Achaeans

10:45, The Skies Above Athens

Athena, Chrysaor, and Lancer were all aboard a ship flying through the sky. It was made of dark brown, almost-mahogany wood with green along the rail, bow and stern, and, though it was fleeting, she could swear that golden light was sometimes glowing from within, highlighting the contours of the wood, even moving down the grooves like circuits. It was a pretty ship, and it glided effortlessly across the sky. It was oddly comfortable, even oddly familiar.

She leaned on the edge, looking out over the city below. The dark lights of the city mirrored the stars overhead, at least until it reached the hard break between land and sea, where the bright diamonds came to a sudden confrontation with the watery abyss. It was hard to believe that she had once disappeared among those towers. Her life until now, with the problems she had tried so desperately to run from, all seemed so small from here. Maybe a different perspective was all she needed. All she had to do was look at her story from a bird's point of view, if she didn't put it in the rearview altogether.

Looking down and back was easier and simpler than looking ahead. Their discussions with Rider, Lancer and the others had given them a plan, sure, but it seemed as if attempting to grapple with the issues ahead only highlighted their collective lack of knowledge and preparedness. In other words, preparing for the battle had only made her more anxious about it, and suddenly her sister's offer didn't seem so bad.

She absentmindedly looked to her companions. Undoubtedly, they were as stressed as she was, maybe more so considering that they would be the ones on the front lines, but they still pressed on, and she admired them for that. Behind her, towards the back of the ship, she watched Lancer bounce his rake on his shoulder before suddenly going into a spin, jab or swing- silently focusing on practicing with his weapon.

At the front, Chrysaor had adopted a wide stance. He was the one flying the ship, and was still familiarizing himself with the sensation. He moved his hands around, as if across an invisible surface, and when one hand pointed out towards the bow it twitched. He paused, then clenched his fist.

She jumped back as, below her, a section of the lower ship off the side leaped out, and a golden... something, perhaps a turret or a cannon, emerged from within.

"Hey!"

Not too far away, on a ship of their own, Rider's Master Aaron yelled out, "What the Hell are you shooting at!?"

She couldn't tell if he was angry, or just shouting over the wind.

"Sorry!"

Chrysaor finagled around with his hands before eventually finding the proper movement to close the turrets and Aaron moved back to the other side of his deck. On his ship, Rider sat nobly on the bow with one knee up and his other leg dangling over the thousand-foot fall, apparently without a care in the world.

Rider had struck her as someone implicitly trustworthy, but she wished she could say the same of his Master. He reminded her vaguely of a chihuahua: yappy, scrappy, and scruffy with an inflated ego and a tendency to bite off more than he could chew. The one thing she could say about him with certainty, however, is that he had a kind streak, and seemed to be genuinely invested in her best interest. She knew as well as anyone that was hard to come by, and, especially for a situation like this one, she found herself grateful to have him- even if she would prefer that he more closely resembled his Servant.

...

Aaron let out a groan. He was already frustrated by the obvious weakness and inexperience of Saber and his Master. He had thought the 'winds' around Lancer were pretty pathetic, but Saber's really took the cake. Sure, maybe comparing them to Berserker and Rider was unfair, but that was what they were dealing with, so was it really so uncalled for? He wanted to know where that angelic figure he'd first encountered was, and why he had to deal with these knuckleheads instead.