Tapestry of Time

Just... Emiya

Unknown – Unknown – Somewhere in the past

In the desolate streets of a war-torn city, Kiritsugu Emiya raced like a man possessed. His once-immaculate attire was now tattered and stained with grime. The weight of his mission was bearing down upon him with each frantic step. Dust kicked up in his wake as he darted through narrow alleyways and dodged around debris. Bullets whizzed past him.

Sweat dripped down his face. His senses were heightened, every nerve on edge as he navigated the labyrinthine maze of streets, seeking refuge from his pursuers. The danger was closing in like a tightening noose around his neck.

Kiritsugu was no stranger to adversity; he had faced death countless times before, emerging battered but unbroken. With grim determination, Kiritsugu pressed on. His resolve was unyielding even in the face of insurmountable odds. For he knew that failure was not an option.

A searing pain lanced through his side, the shock of impact sending him staggering to his knees. He clutched at the wound, blood welling between his fingers. Gritting his teeth against the agony, Kiritsugu forced himself to his feet.

Being driven by a singular purpose: to ensure that the precious cargo he carried reached its destination, no matter the cost. As Kiritsugu darted around a corner, his heart thundered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire.

Behind him, the sound of boots pounding against the rubble-filled streets. With every passing moment, the distance between them narrowed.

But as his pursuers rounded the same corner, their expressions twisted. They were met with only empty air. Kiritsugu had vanished, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his fading footsteps.

The landscape around Kiritsugu grew fuzzy and blurry as he stumbled forward, his strength failing with each faltering step. He fell to the ground, his knees giving way beneath him.

The force of the drop startled him, sending a shockwave through his bruised body as he fought to stay conscious. His side was covered in several wounds that oozed blood.

With trembling hands, Kiritsugu pressed a piece of his shirt against the searing pain, as he fought to staunch the flow of blood. The darkness of unconsciousness loomed ever. Kiritsugu's vision blurred and darkened. In his fading awareness, the world seemed to recede into shadow, the distant echoes of his pursuers' voices fading into nothingness.

A solitary figure emerged as a blur of motion against the backdrop of the desolate streets. Through the haze of pain and fatigue, Kiritsugu could make out only the outline of a tanned boy, his features obscured by the shifting shadows.

As his fingers brushed against the rough fabric of the boy's clothing, consciousness slipped from his grasp.

Kiritsugu gradually regained consciousness while the world was slowly swimming back into focus. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he found himself in a dimly lit chamber, the walls bearing the scars of past battles yet emanating a strange sense of security.

Rubbing his eyes, Kiritsugu pushed himself into a sitting position, taking stock of his surroundings. The room was sparse but welcoming, adorned with makeshift furnishings and the telltale signs of habitation amidst the debris.

As his gaze swept over the room, it landed on the figure of a tanned boy with white hair, watching him from across the chamber with a mixture of emotions. The air was heavy with the scent of dust.

Kiritsugu struggled to sit up, his muscles protesting the movement after the ordeal he had endured.

"Easy now," the boy said, his voice warm and yet distant. "You took quite a few hits back there. But don't worry, you're safe now."