Work Text:
The end of the world would descend from the sky, and spread in every direction.
That was the future foreseen by Sion Eltnam Sokaris.
That vision of pure emptiness had driven her away from the only life she’d ever known, all the way to the North Sea and then beyond the bounds of proper reality.
The agreement from there had been simple to make - a single year, in exchange for potential future aid. With Mages as disconnected and seemingly fickle as those of the Wandering Sea, it was not even a true concern. It would not be like an English village or an Arctic observatory. What help would they possibly need?
No, far more worrying was the very direct challenge facing Sion as she sat below the many towering closed doors of the workshops.
She could not save the world alone.
And yet, all of Atlas had rejected her, preoccupied. And yet, the Wandering Sea was uninvolved. And yet, the Clock Tower was an utter mess. And yet, Chaldea was still to come. Despite all her genius, a single alchemist could not build a functioning base of operations of this scale alone.
And truly, alone was not something she wished to be.
But! The world had been saved once before, she knew so, so the answer was one of the simplest to ever be puzzled out.
Sion Eltnam Sokaris was in need of a Servant.
But Sion was also not a mage. No matter how strong her intellect or body, being lacking in circuits was an unpleasant inevitability. How convenient, of course, that Chaldea had already solved that problem for her as well. Their little Master was not particularly better, so a replication of the system would work perfectly fine. Her temporary power systems were hooked into TRISMEGISTUS II, and a circle was faintly marked on the floor in blood.
Now, she just had to read off an incantation, right? Maybe switch it around a bit, since this wasn’t a typical Grail War but… Hm. Nothing to do but get to it! She’d change her setup if she didn’t get results, as always. As of now, the chances of success were maximized.
So the girl with purple pigtails steps to the edge of the circle, holding her hand out.
“Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let faith and defense be the foundation.
Let Eltnam and Atlasia be my ancestors.
Rise against the end, in this world beyond saving.
Emerge from Humanity, one with my mind.
Let it be declared - your spirit shall serve under me, but our fate shall be with you, bound thicker than blood and stronger than steel.
I shall attain that which provokes madness, and so come to have dominion over madness itself.
From the Seventh Heaven, clad in the Three Great Words of Power, come forth, oh protector of Humanity!”
And from there, a great surge erupts, lights sparking around that circle in myriad colors, rotating faster and faster into rings all around her, the mana carrying more momentum than a speeding train until--
It’s all sucked back into the center, into a point of singularity, and for a moment everything is still, until Sion opens her eyes to see a woman before her.
A woman, with silver hair and eyes and a great string-bass-like shield, standing there with a greatly confused look on her face.
“Sion?”
She hasn’t said her name yet.
“Yes?” Whatever she had predicted, it most certainly was not this. Perhaps the Servant was a telepath of some sort, or there were peculiarities in the summoning that had revealed her name. But the way it was asked doesn’t sound like that, it sounds like--
“What happened to your eyelashes?”
“...They’ve always been like this.” It is a flat answer to a seemingly irrelevant question. This is getting them nowhere, she can see. She’ll merely have to interrogate it later, after finding out more. “And you are?”
“You know me, Sion~!” The Servant is smiling now, relaxing in her posture and leaning on the shield as though it isn’t a possibly incredibly powerful historical artifact. Is this how all Servants are? Surely not, if records and stories are much to go by.
“I’m afraid whatever information the contract gave you doesn’t go both ways. Would you mind--”
“Contract?”
Servants are always given knowledge of the nature of their summoning.
Except this one, apparently.
“You are a Heroic Spirit. I summoned you. You obviously know my name. I’m providing magical energy to ensure you can exist in this world. So. Who are you?”
“Riesbyfe Stridberg, Captain of the Vestel Shield Knights! …Shield… Er?”
Oh, this is nothing like your calculations.