₊ 𖦹﹕𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗦𝗬𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗦！(🩸)

⩩ ┊❝ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 ❞

序幕一 . . . 000
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Myrddin Emrys © 2025

﹒ ◠ METEMPSYCHOSIS ⊹ ﹒
— " reincarnation " !
There is no fire like passion, there is no shark like hatred, there is no snare like folly, there is no torrent like greed.
★ . Siddharta Gautama » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 ⠀ᰋ

Antarctica
1st of September 2004, 20:00 PM

           The sterile hum of the Antarctic facility echoed through the stark, clinical hallways. The air was sharp and cold, chilled not just by the frozen wasteland outside, but by the precision and isolation that permeated every corner of the building. The floors gleamed under the harsh white lights, reflecting the lifeless atmosphere with an almost eerie perfection. Endless corridors stretched out, marked only by occasional sets of security doors, each one locked with heavy, arcane mechanisms. Walls were lined with blank white panels, unmarked save for the occasional faint outline of runic wards, placed strategically to reinforce the secrecy of the facility's purpose. Walking down one such corridor were two figures, their footsteps the only sound breaking the silence.

           At the front strode the mage of the Clocktower, his white tailored garb cutting a sharp figure against the sterile background. His silver-gray hair, slicked back meticulously, added an air of calculated authority to his demeanor. The sharp creases of his suit, the way his polished shoes clicked against the floor with each step---everything about him was deliberate, planned, as though he were a machine himself, operating with a singular goal in mind. His expression was cold, calculating, his eyes betraying the depths of a mind constantly in motion, weaving plots and plans with a quiet intensity. He moved with purpose, unbothered by the facility's cold as if he belonged in such an unfeeling, mechanical place.

          Behind him, his companion moved in stark contrast. The Caster-class Servant glided with an almost ethereal grace, his presence quieter, more detached. His tall, cloaked figure was shrouded in mystery, the hood of his heavy garment casting deep shadows over his face, hiding all but his amber eyes, which glowed faintly in the artificial light. Unlike the mage of the Clocktower, whose focus was honed on their shared mission, the Caster seemed almost aloof, his gaze wandering from the walls to the floors, as if the facility itself held no particular interest to him. He carried an air of timelessness---an ancient being merely passing through the present.

          For several minutes, they walked in silence, the tension between them subtle but palpable. The mage's stride was brisk, his thoughts consumed by the task ahead. He had been summoned here, to the farthest reaches of the earth, for one reason---whispers of an artifact of immense power: the Greater Grail. Hidden somewhere deep beneath Fuyuki City, far more potent than the Lesser Grail currently in use for the ongoing Holy Grail War. The thought of securing such power had driven him across continents, and now, with his companion at his side, they were on the verge of discovery.

          Finally, the mage of the Clocktower spoke, breaking the silence. His voice was low, measured, as though each word had been calculated beforehand. "The Greater Grail," he began, his tone betraying the gravity of their mission. "It is hidden somewhere beneath Fuyuki City. The rumors say it was buried long before the Lesser Grail was created, forgotten by the world until now."

          The Caster said nothing at first, but his amber eyes flickered beneath his hood. He had already known this---his vision, his Clairvoyance, had revealed the existence of the Greater Grail long before they had embarked on this mission. He had seen the paths that would converge in Fuyuki, the web of fates pulling toward the relic buried beneath the city's soil. But he did not speak of these things unless necessary. His was a knowledge that transcended the immediate, a wisdom that often left him silent when others might be compelled to act.