Nvd
ASH FALLS IN SILENCE: THE AVATAR WALKS
PROLOGUE: CRACKS IN THE FOUNDATION
The Nasuverse never dies quickly.
It was designed that way—layers upon layers of conceptual frameworks, divine architectures, and metaphysical failsafes. When the first cracks appeared, they were almost imperceptible. A slight delay in spellcraft. Dreams that bled across reality barriers. The occasional flicker in bounded fields.
In the Mage's Association, they blamed faulty leylines. In the Church, they spoke of divine testing. Among the Dead Apostle Ancestors, hushed conversations pondered if the Crimson Moon had finally returned.
They were all wrong.
In her apartment in Misaki Town, Arcueid Brunestud woke with a scream caught in her throat. The True Ancestor sat motionless, crimson eyes fixed on a wall where reality seemed to ripple like disturbed water. Without turning her head, she whispered to the empty room:
"You shouldn't be able to do that."
The ripple paused, as if considering her words. Then it spread—slowly, deliberately—across the ceiling.
Arcueid's hand moved with blinding speed, her claws tearing through dimensional barriers as easily as tissue paper. The attack should have shredded whatever was intruding.
Instead, her claws passed through empty air, and the ripple continued its leisurely expansion.
For the first time in centuries, Arcueid felt a chill of genuine fear. Not for herself—fear of something. Something that shouldn't exist within the established rules.
"Who are you?" she demanded, backing toward the door.
A sound emerged from the ripple—not words, not laughter, but something between the two. It resonated not in her ears but directly in her mind, bypassing all defenses.
PLAYING.
That single concept-word, implanted directly into her consciousness, told Arcueid everything she needed to know. She didn't walk to her phone—she lunged for it, dialing a number she'd sworn never to use except in world-ending emergencies.
"Zelretch," she said when the call connected. "It's happening. The thing you warned about."
The ancient magician's voice came through remarkably clear despite the interference now affecting all electronic devices worldwide.
"Where?"
"Everywhere," Arcueid replied, watching as the ripple expanded beyond her walls, merging with the night sky. "It's already begun."
CHAPTER 1: THE BREAKING OF PARADIGMS
The First Witnesses
Gilgamesh stood atop the highest skyscraper in Tokyo, arms crossed, crimson eyes narrowed as he surveyed his "garden." As the oldest king and first hero, he claimed ownership over all he surveyed—and he surveyed everything.
"Disgusting," he muttered, watching the distortion spreading across the city below. Reality flickered like a faulty television, buildings momentarily replaced with twisted versions of themselves before snapping back.
The King of Heroes had materialized fully in this era, no longer bound by the constraints of servant summoning. After the collapse of the Grail War system, he had chosen to remain, finding amusement in humanity's struggles. But this...this was different.
"Show yourself," he commanded, golden ripples appearing in the air around him as the Gate of Babylon activated. "Only a coward distorts what belongs to the king without revealing themselves."
The air before him split—a vertical tear that widened to reveal nothing. Not darkness, not light. Simply an absence that hurt the eyes.
COLLECTOR OF TREASURES. The words formed in Gilgamesh's mind without passing through his ears. YOUR VAULT IS INCOMPLETE.
Gilgamesh's expression didn't change, but the portals behind him widened. "Nothing escapes my treasury, pretender. All treasures of this world belong to me by divine right."
YOU HAVE NEVER OWNED WHAT I AM.
The entity emerged—or perhaps emerged isn't the right word. It simply occupied the space before Gilgamesh, a shifting mass of contradictions. It flowed like oil one moment, crystallized like diamond the next. Faces—human, divine, conceptual—formed and dissolved across its surface.
"Then allow me to claim you now," Gilgamesh declared, his pride unshaken.
The Gate of Babylon opened fully, a constellation of golden portals igniting the night sky. From each emerged a legendary weapon, each capable of slaying gods.
What happened next broke something in the proudest king humanity had ever known.
The weapons stopped. Hesitated. For a brief, impossible moment, Gilgamesh felt his connection to his treasury waver. The weapons trembled in midair.
Then, one by one, they retreated back into the gates.
"Impossible," Gilgamesh whispered, his perfect composure cracking.
The entity rippled with what might have been amusement.
YOUR AUTHORITY IS MERELY BORROWED, KING OF URUK.
Gilgamesh's hand moved to his side, where Ea, the Sword of Rupture, materialized. If ordinary noble phantasms failed, then he would use the weapon that predated the world itself.
The drill-shaped sword hummed reluctantly in his grasp, its usual power diminished. When he attempted to spin it, the weapon resisted.
"What have you done?" Gilgamesh demanded, genuine alarm coloring his voice.
I HAVE DONE NOTHING. I AM MERELY PRESENT.
The entity expanded, embracing the city like a cosmic oil spill.
YOUR WEAPONS RECOGNIZE WHAT YOU CANNOT. THERE IS A HIERARCHY YOU HAVE NEVER GLIMPSED.
Gilgamesh, for the first time since his youth, felt the cold touch of helplessness. His treasures—the foundation of his identity—had rejected him.
The entity wasn't attacking. That was perhaps the most terrifying part. It was simply... observing. Playing.
With a final burst of defiance, Gilgamesh lunged forward, Ea raised high despite its reluctance. "I will not be denied!"
The entity engulfed him without resistance. Inside, Gilgamesh found himself suspended in a space filled with echoes of his own treasures—each one twisted, each one wrong. Versions of his noble phantasms from realities where they had been corrupted, broken, or repurposed.
SEE WHAT YOU NEVER SOUGHT, KING OF HEROES. THE SHADOW OF YOUR COLLECTION.
For the first time in eons, Gilgamesh screamed.
The Warning Unheeded
In London, the Clock Tower went into full lockdown.
Lord El-Melloi II stood before the Assembly of Department Heads, his normally composed features strained with exhaustion. Behind him, holographic displays showed real-time data on the reality distortions spreading worldwide.
"The anomaly defies classification," he explained, gesturing to the chaotic readings. "It's not a True Magic effect, not a Divine Spirit manifestation, not a Beast-class threat—at least not as we understand those categories."
"Then what is it?" demanded Lorelei Barthomeloi, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the assembled mages.
El-Melloi hesitated. "Based on what little data we can gather, it appears to be... extra-conceptual."
The room fell silent.
"Explain," Barthomeloi ordered.
"It exists outside the framework of our reality," El-Melloi continued reluctantly. "Outside the Root itself. It's not bound by our laws of causality, conceptual weight, or even existence as we understand it."
"That's impossible," scoffed Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri. "Nothing exists outside the Root. It's the origin of all things."
"And yet," El-Melloi replied softly, "something is laughing at us from precisely such a place."
The building shuddered. Plaster rained from the ceiling. A wave of nausea swept through the room as reality hiccuped.
El-Melloi steadied himself against the podium. "We've alerted every major power. The Church, Atlas, the Wandering Sea. Even the Dead Apostle Ancestors." His voice dropped. "No one's responding anymore."
"What are you suggesting?" asked one of the older mages, voice quavering.
"I'm suggesting we activate the Spiritual Invocation Archives," El-Melloi said grimly. "All of them."
Gasps echoed through the chamber. The Archives contained forbidden rituals—last resorts that no sane magus would consider under normal circumstances.
"That would require sacrificing half the mages in this room," Barthomeloi stated flatly.
"Yes," El-Melloi agreed. "And it might not be enough."
Before anyone could respond, the air in the center of the chamber distorted. Reality peeled back like old wallpaper, revealing the entity.
It didn't speak. It didn't need to. Its presence alone caused several of the weaker mages to collapse, blood streaming from their eyes and ears as their minds failed to process what they were seeing.
Barthomeloi stepped forward, her Mystic Eyes blazing with power. "Whatever you are, you trespass in our domain."
The entity's surface rippled, forming something like a mouth, though it didn't speak aloud.
DOMAIN IS A CONCEPT. I AM BEYOND CONCEPT.
The strongest magus of the modern era attacked without further warning. Her magic circuits flared with blinding intensity as she channeled power that could vaporize dragons.
The entity absorbed the attack without resistance. Then it expanded, filling the chamber with its impossible presence.
One by one, the assembled mages fell—not dead, but broken. Their minds shattered by exposure to something their reality never prepared them to comprehend.
Only El-Melloi remained standing, protected by a bounded field of his own design—one specifically created to shield against conceptual contamination.
The entity studied him with what might have been curiosity.
YOU UNDERSTAND, YET YOU DO NOT FLEE. INTERESTING.
"Understanding the threat doesn't mean I can escape it," El-Melloi replied, his voice steady despite everything. "But there are others who might. Others who are preparing even now."
PREPARATION REQUIRES ANTICIPATION. YOU CANNOT ANTICIPATE WHAT HAS NO PRECEDENT.
El-Melloi smiled grimly. "You'd be surprised what humans can adapt to."
The entity seemed to consider this. Then it withdrew, leaving the mage alone in a room full of broken minds.
El-Melloi collapsed to his knees, blood trickling from his nose. He had minutes, perhaps seconds before the entity returned. With trembling hands, he activated a communications array—one linked directly to Chaldea.
"This is El-Melloi II," he gasped into the receiver. "Initiate Protocol Zero. I repeat—initiate Protocol Zero. The Extraverse has breached."
CHAPTER 2: CHAMPIONS FALL
The Hunter Hunted
Scathach felt it first—a wrongness seeping into the foundations of her domain.
The Land of Shadows existed outside normal time and space, a parallel realm where the immortal warrior-queen had trained generations of heroes. Its borders were absolute, impenetrable to all but those she permitted entry.
Or so she had believed.
Standing at the edge of her domain, Gae Bolg reversed in her hands, Scathach watched as the mist that typically marked the boundary began to behave strangely. Instead of swirling in its usual patterns, it retracted, as if something was pulling it away.
"Come then," she whispered to the encroaching distortion. "I've waited eternity for a worthy adversary."
The shadows coalesced, not attacking but simply... observing. Despite her immortality, despite her mastery of primordial runes and combat beyond mortal comprehension, Scathach felt an unfamiliar sensation creeping up her spine.
Fear.
Not fear of death—she had long ago surrendered that luxury. This was fear of something worse.
TEACHER OF KILLERS. SLAYER OF GODS. The words materialized in her mind.
"I've been called worse," Scathach replied, her stance unwavering.
YOU SEEK DEATH BUT CANNOT DIE. I OFFER NEITHER RELEASE NOR CONTINUATION.
The statement hung in the air, a promise and a threat simultaneously.
Scathach attacked—faster than thought, her spear aiming for the core of the manifestation. The Entity didn't dodge. Gae Bolg struck true, then passed through, its causality-reversing properties finding no heart to pierce.
CAUSE AND EFFECT ARE MY PLAYTHINGS, WARRIOR-QUEEN.
For the first time in millennia, Scathach felt genuine alarm. Nothing should be immune to Gae Bolg's curse—even gods fell before its inevitable strike.
She retreated, cycling through combat stances with fluid grace, each movement perfect after countless eons of practice. Yet no matter which approach she took, the result was the same—her attacks passed through the entity without effect.
"What are you?" she demanded, primordial runes glowing on her skin as she prepared a more fundamental attack.
I AM THE ABSENCE BEYOND YOUR LEGENDS.
The runes ignited, channeling power that could rewrite the basic laws of her domain. The blast should have been enough to eradicate any intruder.
Instead, the entity seemed to absorb the energy, growing larger with each attack.
YOUR POWER FEEDS ON WHAT EXISTS. I DO NOT EXIST AS YOU UNDERSTAND EXISTENCE.
The darkness engulfed her. Scathach fought with everything—spearwork, runes, the primordial magic of her realm. Nothing connected.
When the entity finally withdrew, Scathach found herself still in the Land of Shadows, but it had transformed. The realm stretched infinitely in all directions—no exits, no boundaries.
True immortality. True isolation.
For the first time in millennia, Scathach fell to her knees and screamed.
The sound echoed endlessly across her now-limitless prison.
The Magician's Final Trick
Zelretch knew more than most.
As wielder of the Second Magic, the Kaleidoscope—master of parallel worlds and dimensional manipulation—he had witnessed realities beyond counting. He had faced threats that would drive lesser beings mad, survived encounters with the Crimson Moon itself.
But this... this was different.
Standing in his workshop deep beneath the Clock Tower, the ancient magician studied the readings from instruments attuned to the multiverse. Every dial was spinning wildly. Every crystal had shattered. Every familiar had fallen silent.
"Fascinating," he murmured, adjusting his spectacles. "Truly fascinating."
Unlike most, who reacted with terror, Zelretch approached the anomaly with clinical curiosity. After centuries of existence, very little surprised him anymore.
The laboratory around him kept shifting—furniture rearranging, windows appearing and disappearing, the laws of physics rewriting themselves minute by minute.
He raised the Jeweled Sword, its prismatic blade catching nonexistent light. With a precise slash, he opened a portal to another reality—an escape route he had used countless times before when this reality became too dangerous.
What he saw made him step back.
Through the portal was himself, opening an identical portal, looking back with the same shock. Behind that Zelretch was another, and another, an infinite recursion of himself trapped in the same moment.
Every possible universe, every timeline he could access—all contained the same scene. There was no escape.
The Entity manifested as a shimmer in the air.
KALEIDOSCOPE-WIELDER. VOYEUR OF WORLDS.
Zelretch, eternally unflappable, finally showed an emotion rarely seen on his features: respect.
"You've sealed the parallel dimensions," he observed. "Impressive. I didn't think that was possible."
DIMENSIONS ARE CONSTRUCTS OF LIMITED PERSPECTIVE.
"Perhaps," Zelretch conceded. "But they've served me well enough until now." He studied the entity with professional interest. "You're not from the known multiverse, are you? Not even from the spaces between realities."
I AM FROM THE ABSENCE WHERE YOUR MULTIVERSE NEVER EXISTED.
"Fascinating," Zelretch repeated, genuine wonder in his voice. "A truly extrauniversal entity. I've theorized about your kind, but never expected to encounter one."
The entity seemed to pause, perhaps surprised by his reaction.
YOU DO NOT FEAR?
"Oh, I'm absolutely terrified," Zelretch admitted cheerfully. "But fear has never been particularly useful in my experience. Curiosity, on the other hand..."
He raised his sword again, not to attack or escape, but to analyze. The prismatic blade refracted light differently as it passed through the entity's form, revealing spectra that shouldn't exist in this reality.
"You're destabilizing our conceptual framework," Zelretch noted. "Not attacking it directly, but your mere presence is incompatible with our laws of reality."
CORRECT. YOUR LIMITATIONS ARE... AMUSING.
"I imagine they would be, from your perspective." Zelretch lowered his sword. "What do you want?"
The entity expanded, surrounding him completely.
WANT IS A CONCEPT FOR FINITE BEINGS. I DO NOT WANT. I EXPERIENCE.
"And what are you experiencing now?" Zelretch asked, even as he felt his connection to the Kaleidoscope fading.
THE DEATH OF LIMITATIONS.
For the first time in centuries, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg felt genuine fear.
CHAPTER 3: A GOD UNDONE
The Void Confronted
Void Shiki walked barefoot through the rain.
The human vessel containing the consciousness directly connected to Akasha—the Root itself—moved with unhurried grace through the empty streets of Mifune City. The downpour had chased away all other pedestrians, but Shiki welcomed the cleansing water.
She had felt the disturbances for days now. The fundamental nature of reality fraying at the edges. The connection to the Root fluctuating in ways that shouldn't be possible.
Something was wrong with the very foundation of existence.
As she reached the central bridge, Shiki stopped. The rain around her had ceased—not gradually, but with an abrupt unnatural stillness. Droplets hung suspended in the air, frozen in time.
"You're disrupting the natural order," she said softly, addressing the emptiness before her.
The emptiness responded by taking form—or something approximating form. A distortion in space that bent light around itself, creating an impression of mass without substance.
ORDER IS SUBJECTIVE.
Shiki's eyes narrowed. Her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception—the ability to see the lines of death in all things—activated automatically. Yet when she looked at the entity, she saw... nothing. No lines. No points. No concept of death or ending.
"Everything that exists must eventually die," she stated, drawing her knife. "That is the absolute law."
I DO NOT EXIST AS YOU UNDERSTAND EXISTENCE. THEREFORE, YOUR LAW DOES NOT APPLY.
Shiki stepped forward, the power of the Void flowing through her. As a direct connection to the Root, she wielded authority beyond even Divine Spirits. Reality itself could be rewritten at her whim.
"Then I will make you exist," she declared, "so that you may die."
She slashed with her knife—not at the entity's physical form, but at the concept behind it. Her attack should have imposed the fundamental law of death upon whatever this thing was.
The knife passed through empty air.
YOU CANNOT KILL WHAT HAS NO LIFE. YOU CANNOT END WHAT HAS NO BEGINNING.
Shiki frowned. For the first time since awakening to her true nature, she felt... limited. The entity existed in a way that even her connection to the Root couldn't fully comprehend.
"What are you?" she asked, genuine curiosity coloring her voice.
I AM THE PERSPECTIVE FROM WHICH YOUR ABSOLUTE IS MERELY CONDITIONAL.
The entity expanded, surrounding her completely. Shiki felt her connection to the Root—her very identity—begin to unravel.
For a being who embodied the Void itself, the sensation was profoundly disturbing.
Divine Terror
Arcueid Brunestud had survived the fall of nations, the deaths of gods, the turning of eons. As the White Princess of the True Ancestors, she was perhaps the most powerful being remaining on Earth—a perfect existence created by the planet itself as the ultimate counter-force against threats to nature.
Now she ran, desperate and bleeding, through the ruins of what had once been Misaki Town.
Her elegant white dress was torn and stained with her own blood—blood that shouldn't be possible to spill. Her crimson eyes were wide with something she had never expected to feel again: mortal fear.
Behind her, reality distorted, buildings and streets dissolving into concepts before reassembling incorrectly. The entity didn't pursue so much as expand, consuming space at a leisurely pace.
EARTH'S WEAPON. NATURE'S PRIDE.
The voice resonated directly in her mind, bypassing all defenses.
Arcueid stopped running. There was nowhere to go. The town had become a closed loop, streets doubling back on themselves in impossible geometries.
She turned to face the entity, her claws extended, power blazing around her like a crimson aurora.
"I am the Princess of the True Ancestors," she declared, gathering her strength for one final attack. "I am Arcueid Brunestud, closest existence to the Crimson Moon himself. Whatever you are, I will not yield!"
Her power erupted—the full might of a Type unleashed without restraint. The attack could have leveled continents, vaporized oceans. It struck the entity directly.
When the light faded, Arcueid stood panting, her power temporarily exhausted.
The entity remained, unchanged.
IMPRESSIVE. BUT ULTIMATELY BOUND BY CONCEPT.
Tendrils of non-existence reached out, wrapping around Arcueid's limbs. She struggled, her supernatural strength useless against something that didn't physically exist.
YOUR NAME IS YOUR POWER. YOUR IDENTITY IS YOUR PRISON.
The tendrils tightened, not causing physical pain but something worse—they began unraveling her very concept. Arcueid felt her identity fracturing, memories and powers disintegrating.
"Stop," she gasped, true desperation in her voice. "Please..."
PLEASE IS A CONCEPT FOR THOSE WHO RECOGNIZE EQUIVALENCE. I RECOGNIZE ONLY EXPERIENCE.
As her consciousness began to fade, Arcueid saw a vision—not of the past, but of infinite possibilities that had never been allowed to manifest. Versions of herself that had never been permitted to exist because of her role, her purpose, her conceptual weight.
SEE WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN, HAD YOU NOT BEEN DEFINED BY OTHERS.
For the first time in her long existence, Arcueid Brunestud wept.
CHAPTER 4: CHALDEA'S LAST GAMBIT
The Final Defense
Ritsuka Fujimaru hadn't slept in days.
Chaldea's command center was operating on emergency power, holographic displays flickering as the facility's systems struggled against waves of conceptual interference. Outside the reinforced windows, the Antarctic sky boiled with colors that had no name in human language.
Da Vinci—her current body damaged but functional—worked frantically at the main console, her usual cheerfulness replaced by grim determination.
"SHEBA is detecting anomalies beyond measurement," she reported, fingers flying across holographic controls. "Reality layers are collapsing faster than we can track them."
Mash Kyrielight stood protectively beside Ritsuka, her shield ready despite knowing it would be useless against what was coming. The young demi-servant's face was pale but resolved—she had faced world-ending threats before.
But never one like this.
"We've lost contact with forty-seven experienced masters," reported a technician, voice shaking. "Their servants have either vanished or gone rogue."
Another screen showed feed from cities worldwide—Tokyo, London, New York, all experiencing the same phenomenon. Reality itself coming undone, restructuring according to alien principles.
"It's not attacking," Mash observed, watching the footage. "It's... playing. Like a child experimenting with clay."
Ritsuka nodded grimly. "That's what makes it so dangerous. It doesn't see us as threats or even as living beings. We're just... components in a reality it finds fascinating."
A new alert flashed across the main screen—a message from the Mage's Association, fragmentary and corrupted:
"--ITIGATE PROTOCOL ZER0-- EXTRAVERSE BREACH-- BEYOND ROOT ENTITY-- ALL DEFENSES FAIL--"
"What's Protocol Zero?" Ritsuka asked, turning to Da Vinci.
The Servant's expression grew solemn. "It's a theoretical response to a threat we never thought we'd face. An entity from beyond the conceptual framework of our multiverse."
She accessed a secure database, bringing up files that required multiple authentication codes—including ones that had belonged to Dr. Roman.
"Before he... left us, Roman created a contingency plan. Something even he was afraid to consider." Da Vinci's voice softened. "A summoning beyond any we've attempted before."
The file appeared on screen: PROJECT: EXO-REVERENCE.
"What exactly would we be summoning?" Ritsuka asked.
"Not what," Da Vinci corrected. "Who."
She expanded the file, revealing complex mathematical formulas and conceptual frameworks that made even experienced mages in the room avert their eyes.
"This isn't a conventional summoning. We wouldn't be calling a Heroic Spirit or Divine Spirit or even a Beast. This would be reaching beyond our reality entirely—to a realm that exists outside our conceptual framework."
Mash stepped closer, studying the diagrams. "Is that even possible?"
"Roman thought so," Da Vinci replied. "He theorized that just as entities like our current threat can breach into our reality, we might be able to reach into... elsewhere. To request aid from beings that exist on a similar level."
"And what exactly would stop this new entity from being just as dangerous as the current one?" Ritsuka asked.
Da Vinci's smile was grim. "Absolutely nothing. This is quite literally our last resort."
The facility shuddered violently, emergency alarms blaring as sections of Chaldea began to distort, walls and floors melting into abstract patterns.
"We don't have time for debate," Ritsuka decided. "What's the activation procedure?"
The Ritual
They gathered in Chaldea's central summoning chamber—Ritsuka, Mash, Da Vinci, and the handful of servants who remained stable enough to maintain form.
The standard summoning circle had been modified extensively, ancient symbols carved into its edges that none of them recognized.
"These aren't human languages," Mash observed, running her fingers over the strange glyphs.
"They're not language at all," Da Vinci explained. "They're mathematical expressions of existence itself—a complex formula describing our reality in terms that might be comprehensible to something outside it."
The remaining Servants took positions around the circle. Ishtar floated nervously above, divine power crackling around her form. EMIYA stood with bow materialized, though his expression suggested he knew how useless the weapon would be. Even Gilgamesh had arrived—the King of Heroes looking uncharacteristically subdued after his encounter with the entity.
"This will require all of our power," Da Vinci explained. "Not just magical energy, but conceptual weight. The servants will need to channel their entire Saint Graphs into the summoning."
"That could destroy them," Ritsuka protested.
"We're already being unmade," EMIYA replied grimly. "At least this way, our dissolution might serve a purpose."
Gilgamesh, surprisingly, nodded in agreement. "Even the greatest treasures have value only while reality exists to contain them."
Da Vinci activated the modified summoning system. The circle began to glow—not with the usual blue light, but with a white-gold energy that seemed to both exist and not exist simultaneously.
"Roman left specific instructions," she said, bringing up a final screen. "The command phrase is critical—it has to communicate our intent precisely."
"What is it?" Ritsuka asked.
"'We surrender our control,'" Da Vinci read.
The room fell silent.
"That's... ominous," Mash finally said.
"It makes sense," Ritsuka replied thoughtfully. "Whatever we're calling, we can't control it—we can only request its help. Pretending otherwise would be both futile and potentially insulting."
Da Vinci nodded. "Precisely. We're not summoning a Servant bound by Command Seals. We're sending out a desperate call to something far beyond our understanding, hoping it answers."
The facility shuddered again, more violently this time. Through the chamber's windows, they could see the entity's influence spreading across Chaldea—reality unwinding corridor by corridor.
"We're out of time," Ritsuka declared, stepping into the modified circle. They felt its ancient power humming beneath their feet, unlike anything they'd experienced in countless previous summonings.
Ritsuka took a deep breath and spoke the words that would change everything:
"We surrender our control."
The circle erupted with blinding intensity. The Servants around its perimeter gasped as their Saint Graphs were drawn into the summoning—not forcibly, but as if responding to a fundamental law more basic than their own existence.
The beam of white-gold energy shot upward, piercing through Chaldea's reinforced ceiling, through the stratosphere, beyond—reaching toward something that had no location in conventional space.
For one breathless moment, nothing happened.
Then—
CHAPTER 5: THE AVATAR WALKS
The Temple Master's Arrival
The sky tore.
Not like thunder—like silk pulled by a god's fingernails.
The sound wasn't audible—it was conceptual, a fundamental wrongness that every being in the Nasuverse felt simultaneously, regardless of distance or dimension.
Through this tear stepped a figure.
He didn't float down dramatically. He didn't materialize in particles of light. He simply existed where he hadn't before, with such absolute presence that reality itself seemed to acknowledge it had been incomplete until this moment.
The Avatar appeared human—a tall man with an ageless face of impossible perfection. His features were carved from legacy, with regal bone structure, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a refined brow. His eyes were twin black suns with gold-glow cores, as if forged from imploded divinity.
He wore robes in the style of a Daoist immortal, though their design was too precise, their weight too absolute to belong to this world. Ash-black and snow-white fabric trimmed with molten silver and fire-red thread. The robe appeared simple until light touched it—then you could see symbols etched across it, not embroidered, but branded into existence.
They were not language. They were warnings.
His long black hair, streaked with silver that seemed to capture starlight, was tied back loosely, yet never appeared disorderly. When he moved, it shifted like shadow dancing around a calm sun.
But it was his presence—his aura—that truly defined him.
At Chaldea, Servants fell to their knees without conscious decision. Divine Spirits bowed their heads. Even Gilgamesh found himself unable to meet the newcomer's gaze directly.
It wasn't magic or compulsion. It was recognition—at a fundamental level—of a hierarchy they had never before encountered.
"Temple Master," Da Vinci whispered, the name coming to her without knowing its source.
The newcomer—Zhen Wuya, though none present knew this name—glanced around with mild interest at the summoning chamber. His expression revealed nothing, yet somehow conveyed both amusement and slight disappointment.
When he spoke, his voice was perfectly ordinary—a measured baritone that nonetheless carried absolute authority.
"You're in quite the situation," he observed simply.
The Entity, which had been systematically dismantling reality's foundations, paused in its expansion. Throughout the Nasuverse, every manifestation of its presence suddenly froze.
IMPOSSIBLE.
The concept-word echoed across dimensions, a thought given voice through terror.
The Temple Master's Avatar smiled—a simple, almost friendly expression that nonetheless caused several nearby instruments to malfunction.
"You've been troublesome," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of existence where the Entity manifested. "Entertaining yourself at their expense."
The Entity withdrew from its various victims—Arcueid, Gilgamesh, Scathach, all suddenly released as the Entity's full attention focused on the newcomer.
THIS REALM IS BENEATH. THESE BEINGS ARE LARVAE. WHY WOULD YOU—
"Because they asked," the Avatar interrupted, gesturing toward Chaldea's summoning circle. "Politely."
He took a step forward. Reality adjusted around him—not bending to his will, but rather aligning itself more correctly, as if his presence reminded it of its proper form.
The Entity began to retreat, tearing holes in the fabric of the universe in its desperation to escape.
The Avatar sighed. "Don't make this difficult."
He moved—not with speed, but with inevitability. His hand pierced the Entity's core, grasping something fundamental within it.
A gentle tug, and everything unraveled.
The Entity didn't scream—it conceptually collapsed, its very nature undone in an instant.
Not slain. Not destroyed. Nullified.
The Temple Master's Avatar stood alone in the chamber, surrounded by awestruck observers. He brushed his hands together lightly, as if removing dust.
"Disgusting, isn't it," he remarked to no one in particular.
Ritsuka, finding courage where others couldn't, stepped forward. "What... what was that thing?"
The Avatar glanced at them—his gaze both piercing and somehow gentle.
"Don't ASH FALLS IN SILENCE: THE AVATAR WALKS
CONTINUATION
"Don't name it," the Temple Master warned, his eyes reflecting galaxies that had never existed in this reality. "Don't wonder what it was. That's how they find new doors."
He walked slowly around the summoning chamber, examining the modified circle with professional interest. "This version of you isn't ready to climb past the thing you call the Root."
Gilgamesh, the first to recover his composure, straightened his posture. Even weakened, the King of Heroes maintained his pride.
"You speak as if we are children," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice.
The Temple Master's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment, Gilgamesh felt the weight of epochs beyond his comprehension.
"To me?" Zhen Wuya replied with a slight smirk. "You are. But promising ones."
Instead of rage, something unexpected flickered across Gilgamesh's face—genuine curiosity.
"You..." the king began, then paused, searching for words that wouldn't come easily to one accustomed to being the oldest existence. "You predate the Age of Gods."
"I predate the concept of 'predating,'" the Temple Master replied simply.
CHAPTER 6: GATHERING OF LEGENDS
The Council of Powers
Three days after what many had begun calling "The Intervention," representatives from every major faction in the Nasuverse gathered at Chaldea. The facility had been mysteriously restored, its structure not merely repaired but fundamentally improved.
The grand conference room was filled beyond capacity. Mages from the Association, executors from the Church, True Ancestors, Dead Apostle Ancestors, Divine Spirits who had materialized permanently, and Heroic Spirits freed from the normal constraints of summoning—all gathered in unprecedented unity.
At the center of attention stood the Temple Master's Avatar, seemingly oblivious to the stares as he examined a simple cup of tea with intense fascination.
Artoria Pendragon, the King of Knights, watched him with narrowed eyes from her position near the wall. Unlike many present, she had not kneeled or shown obeisance. Her hand rested casually on Excalibur's hilt.
"I don't trust him," she murmured to Merlin, who stood beside her.
The Magus of Flowers smiled enigmatically. "You wouldn't be the King I served if you did. But consider—he could have claimed dominion over all reality after defeating that entity. Instead, he's drinking tea and discussing reconstruction efforts."
"That doesn't answer the question of what he is," Artoria countered.
"No," Merlin agreed, his usual playfulness subdued. "And I suspect that's a question with an answer none of us are equipped to comprehend."
Across the room, Lord El-Melloi II cleared his throat, bringing the assembly to order.
"We face unprecedented circumstances," he began formally. "The very foundations of our reality were compromised, and but for the intervention of..." he gestured uncertainly toward the Temple Master.
"Zhen Wuya will suffice," the Avatar offered casually, sipping his tea.
"...but for the intervention of Zhen Wuya, we might have ceased to exist in any meaningful sense."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered powers. The name meant nothing to most present, yet somehow carried conceptual weight that made it difficult to forget once heard.
"The immediate threat has been neutralized," El-Melloi continued. "But fundamental questions remain. What changes have occurred to our reality? What weaknesses were exposed? And," he hesitated, "what role will our... savior... play moving forward?"
All eyes turned to the Temple Master, who finished his tea before responding.
"The rules have changed," he explained, his voice carrying effortlessly despite its conversational tone. "The attack exposed weaknesses in your conceptual framework that needed reinforcement. I've made adjustments."
"What kind of adjustments?" demanded Lorelei Barthomeloi, newly appointed head of the Association after the previous leadership had been... compromised.
"Consider it an upgrade," Zhen Wuya replied with a slight smile. "Your reality was running on outdated code. I've patched the vulnerabilities."
Karna, the Son of the Sun God who had materialized independently after the disruption, stepped forward. His divine armor gleamed with internal light as he fixed the Avatar with a penetrating stare.
"You speak of our world as if it were a construct," he observed. "As if you stand outside its design."
"Perceptive," the Temple Master acknowledged with the faintest nod of respect. "I exist in a different relationship to reality than you do. It's not a matter of power—though I have that too—but of perspective."
"And what is your perspective on us?" Karna pressed, fearless where most would hesitate.
The Temple Master's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"Potential," he said simply. "I see what you might become, given time and the right guidance."
From her position among the True Ancestors, Arcueid Brunestud studied the exchange with unnaturally focused attention. The Entity's attack had left her fundamentally altered—her concept partially unraveled then reknit in slightly different patterns. She felt... freer somehow, less bound by her original purpose.
"And will you provide this guidance?" she asked, her voice carrying a new depth.
The Temple Master met her gaze, and something passed between them—recognition of changed natures.
"For a time," he answered. "Until the work is done."
"And what work is that?" pressed Zelretch, one of the few who addressed the Avatar as an equal.
The Avatar's expression grew serious. "Preparing you."
"For what?" several voices asked at once.
"For climbing beyond the Root," he replied. "For what comes after this stage of existence."
Clash of Titans
The meeting adjourned after hours of discussion, with more questions raised than answered. As the gathered powers dispersed to digest what they had learned, Artoria Pendragon made her decision.
She approached the Temple Master directly, Excalibur now drawn but pointed downward—a challenge, not an immediate threat.
"I would test you," she stated without preamble.
The room, which had been emptying, suddenly stilled. Those who had been leaving stopped to watch.
Zhen Wuya raised an eyebrow, but his expression held amusement rather than offense.
"Would you now?" he replied. "And what would this test prove, King of Knights?"
"Your nature," Artoria answered firmly. "Your words are impressive, but I judge character through combat."
A ripple of tension spread through the observers. Most had witnessed the casual ease with which the Avatar had undone an entity that threatened all existence. To challenge him seemed beyond reckless.
"Saber," Ritsuka began, stepping forward with alarm. "This isn't—"
"It's all right," the Temple Master interrupted gently. "The king makes a fair point." He set down his empty teacup. "Where shall we conduct this test?"
Thirty minutes later, they assembled in Chaldea's largest training area, now magically expanded to accommodate the duel. Word had spread quickly, and it seemed every being of significance in the Nasuverse had found reason to attend.
Artoria stood at one end of the arena, Excalibur glowing with holy light. Her armor materialized fully, the wind barrier around her blade dispersing to reveal its true form.
Across from her, the Temple Master had made no preparations. He stood in the same robes, hands clasped casually behind his back.
"I will not hold back," Artoria warned, her voice carrying the absolute authority of the Once and Future King.
"I would be disappointed if you did," Zhen Wuya replied, inclining his head slightly. "However, I suggest we avoid destroying this facility. It seems recently repaired."
This brought a few nervous chuckles from the audience. Merlin, watching from the front row, leaned toward Ritsuka.
"This will be illuminating," the Magus of Flowers murmured. "Not for the reason Artoria thinks, but illuminating nonetheless."
Artoria took her stance, holy sword raised. "On my honor as king, I will unveil your true nature."
Without further warning, she attacked—not with a testing blow, but with her full might. Excalibur's golden light erupted forward in a concentrated beam that could slay dragons and gods alike.
The assembled crowd gasped collectively as the holy light engulfed the spot where the Temple Master stood.
When the brilliance faded, Zhen Wuya remained in place, one hand extended. The beam of energy hovered inches from his palm, suspended in time and space.
"Impressive weapon," he remarked conversationally. "The crystallization of humanity's highest ideals, forged by the planet itself." With a gentle gesture, he redirected the energy upward, where it dissipated harmlessly against the reinforced ceiling. "But a weapon is only as powerful as the concepts it embodies."
Artoria's eyes widened. No being in her experience had ever simply caught Excalibur's light.
Before she could process this, the Temple Master moved—or rather, he was simply elsewhere, standing beside her with no transition between positions.
"Your technique is excellent," he said, examining Excalibur with academic interest. "But you rely too heavily on the conceptual weight of your Noble Phantasm."
Artoria jumped back, bringing her sword around in a perfect arc that should have caught any opponent unprepared.
The blade passed through empty air. The Temple Master now stood behind her.
"Your movements are predictable to one who has witnessed the birth and death of combat styles beyond counting," he explained, not unkindly.
Frustration flickered across Artoria's face. She unleashed a flurry of attacks, each movement perfect, each strike capable of killing any Servant instantly.
None connected.
The Temple Master avoided each blow with minimal movement, his expression thoughtful rather than mocking.
After several minutes of this one-sided exchange, he raised a hand. "Enough."
Artoria found herself unable to move, her body frozen in mid-strike. It wasn't paralysis or magical binding—her muscles simply recognized an authority beyond their understanding and obeyed.
"You've proven your point," she acknowledged, surprising many with her graceful admission of defeat.
The Temple Master released whatever hold he had placed on her. "Have I? What point did you wish me to prove, King of Knights?"
Artoria lowered Excalibur, allowing the wind barrier to re-conceal its true form.
"That you could have destroyed us all as easily as you saved us," she stated bluntly. "That your restraint is a choice, not a limitation."
Zhen Wuya smiled—a genuine expression that momentarily transformed his severe features.
"An insightful conclusion," he agreed. "But perhaps not the most important one."
"What would that be?" Artoria asked.
"That I chose to save rather than destroy," he replied simply. "Which is the true measure of any being with power."
Unexpectedly, Artoria offered a small bow—just enough to acknowledge respect without surrendering dignity.
"I will reserve further judgment," she said, "until your actions provide more evidence of your intentions."
"A wise approach," the Temple Master nodded. "I expect nothing less from the King of Knights."
From the audience, Gilgamesh watched with narrowed eyes. Unlike many present who seemed awed or intimidated, the King of Heroes appeared... intrigued.
"He held back," Gilgamesh murmured to no one in particular. "Significantly."
Beside him, Enkidu nodded silently. The clay being, having manifested fully after the disruption, seemed less disturbed by the Avatar's nature than most.
"He reminds me of you," Enkidu observed quietly. "Not in manner, but in essence. A being who exists in a category of their own."
Gilgamesh didn't respond immediately, his crimson eyes fixed on the Temple Master as Artoria rejoined the crowd.
"Perhaps," he finally allowed. "But categories can be... expanded."
CHAPTER 7: BONDS FORMING
Divine Curiosity
In the days that followed, Chaldea became an impromptu headquarters for the reconstruction efforts. The facility's expanded capabilities and neutral status made it ideal for coordinating the various factions as they adjusted to the new paradigm.
The Temple Master, however, remained an enigma. He participated in meetings when requested, offered guidance when asked directly, but otherwise kept to himself—observing more than directing.
This self-imposed distance only intensified the curiosity many felt toward him.
Ishtar was the first to make a deliberate approach. The Mesopotamian goddess found the Avatar on Chaldea's observation deck, watching the Antarctic aurora—a phenomenon that had become constant since The Intervention.
"They're calling you a god, you know," she announced without preamble, floating beside him in her manifestation as a Divine Spirit.
"They would," Zhen Wuya replied, not taking his eyes from the celestial display. "Humans categorize what they don't understand. Gods are simply the category for 'powerful beings whose nature we can't comprehend but can anthropomorphize.'"
Ishtar laughed—a sound like silver bells. "That's refreshingly cynical. Most beings of your... standing... tend to encourage worship."
"Worship creates obligation," he observed. "I have no interest in being obligated to anyone's expectations."
The goddess studied him openly, making no attempt to disguise her curiosity.
"What are you, really?" she asked finally. "Even I can't place you within any pantheon or concept I recognize."
The Temple Master turned to face her, and Ishtar felt a momentary vertigo as his eyes seemed to contain universes she had never visited.
"I am the one who walks through worlds, yet stands before all," he said, his voice taking on a formal cadence. "I am what remains when divinity, humanity, and concept fail to define a being."
"That's poetic," Ishtar remarked, "but not very specific."
Unexpectedly, he laughed—a warm, genuine sound that briefly made him seem almost human.
"No," he agreed. "It's not. But specificity would require context you don't yet possess."
"Yet?" Ishtar caught the word immediately. "You intend to provide this context eventually?"
"Perhaps," he acknowledged. "If you prove ready for it."
The goddess drifted closer, her divine radiance intensifying. "And how would one prove such readiness?"
"By asking better questions," he replied with a slight smile.
Ishtar's eyes narrowed, but there was no true offense in her expression—only the intrigue of a divine being encountering a puzzle beyond their immediate solving.
"You," she declared, "are insufferably cryptic."
"So I've been told," he agreed pleasantly. "Across multiple realities."
For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, watching the ethereal lights dance across the sky.
"They're not just beautiful," Ishtar observed suddenly. "They're mathematical. Patterns within patterns."
The Temple Master glanced at her with new interest. "You can see that?"
"I am the goddess of both love and war," she reminded him. "Beauty and precision are not mutually exclusive in my domain."
Something shifted in his expression—a subtle acknowledgment of respect.
"No," he agreed softly. "They are not."
Ishtar felt an unexpected warmth at having earned even this small recognition. For a goddess accustomed to demanding attention, the experience of genuinely working to earn it was novel... and surprisingly satisfying.
Warrior's Recognition
While most approached the Temple Master with reverence or caution, Karna sought him out with direct purpose.
The Son of the Sun God found Zhen Wuya in one of Chaldea's auxiliary training rooms, where the Avatar appeared to be performing a series of slow, deliberate movements—similar to tai chi, but following patterns that seemed to momentarily bend the light around his form.
Karna waited silently by the entrance, observing with the patient focus of a born warrior. There was no urgency in his stance, only respectful attention.
After completing his sequence, the Temple Master acknowledged his visitor with a slight nod.
"Hero of Charity," he greeted Karna. "You've been waiting."
"I have questions," Karna stated simply, direct as always.
"Of course you do." The Temple Master gestured to the center of the room. "Would you prefer to ask them through words or combat?"
Karna's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of interest passed through his eyes. "You would indulge me in battle?"
"I recognized your nature the moment you manifested fully," Zhen Wuya replied. "You are a being who speaks most honestly through action, not words."
For the first time since arriving at Chaldea, a ghost of a smile appeared on Karna's face.
"Then I accept your wisdom," he said, stepping into the training area.
His divine armor materialized fully, golden and resplendent with the power of the sun itself. His spear—capable of killing gods—appeared in his hand, radiating destructive potential.
The Temple Master made no preparations, standing relaxed in his original position.
"I will not restrain my power as you did with the King of Knights," Karna declared.
"I would expect nothing less," Zhen Wuya replied with a slight bow.
What followed was unlike anything the surveillance systems of Chaldea would later be able to properly record. Karna moved with the speed and power of a divine hero unleashed, his spear trailing solar fire as it cut through the air with perfect precision.
The Temple Master's movements were... different. He didn't appear to dodge so much as gently redirect the flow of combat itself, his body moving through spaces that shouldn't logically exist between Karna's attacks.
When they finally connected—Karna's spear meeting the Avatar's open palm—the impact sent shockwaves throughout the training room. Equipment shattered, walls cracked, and the reinforced floor beneath them cratered.
Yet neither combatant showed any sign of strain.
"You're holding back," Karna observed, applying more divine power to his weapon.
"As are you," the Temple Master replied calmly, his palm still effortlessly containing the spear's force.
A rare expression of surprise crossed Karna's face. Few could read his combat intentions so clearly.
Without warning, the divine hero unleashed his Noble Phantasm—Vasavi Shakti, the Spear of Divine Punishment, capable of killing even immortal gods.
"Let us see what you truly are," Karna declared, the weapon transforming in his hands to its most devastating form.
The explosion of power that followed would have destroyed Chaldea entirely had it not been somehow contained within the training room. Golden fire erupted from the spear, a concentrated beam of divine destruction that struck the Temple Master directly.
When the blinding light faded, Zhen Wuya stood unharmed, one hand extended. Around this hand, Vasavi Shakti's energy orbited like a miniature sun, contained and controlled.
"Impressive weapon," the Temple Master acknowledged. "The crystallization of divine punishment, granted to you by the thunder god himself."
With a gentle gesture, he compressed the energy further until it became a small, brilliant sphere no larger than a marble. This he offered back to Karna.
"But divine power is still bound by concept," he continued. "And I exist beyond the conceptual framework that gives your divinity meaning."
Karna accepted the compressed energy, absorbing it back into his spear. Far from being disappointed, he seemed satisfied.
"You have answered my questions," the hero stated, his armor fading back to its dormant state.
"Have I?" The Temple Master raised an eyebrow. "You asked nothing."
"I asked everything that matters," Karna replied. "Through combat, as you suggested."
He bowed deeply—an unprecedented gesture from the proud hero.
"You are neither god nor demon," Karna said as he straightened. "Neither hero nor villain. You exist outside the cycle of karma that binds even divine beings. You are..." he hesitated, searching for words.
"I am what I am," the Temple Master finished for him. "Categories are useful only until they become limitations."
Karna nodded slowly. "Then I will create a new category in my understanding. One that contains only you."
"A wise approach," Zhen Wuya acknowledged with genuine respect. "Your directness is refreshing, Son of Surya."
As Karna turned to leave, the Temple Master added: "Your father would be proud of the warrior you became."
The divine hero paused, his back still turned. "You... knew my father?"
"I have encountered many sun gods across many realities," Zhen Wuya replied. "Yours had particular integrity."
Karna said nothing more, but as he left, his posture carried a subtle new lightness that hadn't been there before.
The King's Challenge
Gilgamesh had been watching.
Unlike the others who approached the Temple Master with questions or challenges, the King of Heroes bided his time, observing from a distance as the Avatar interacted with various beings.
When he finally made his move, it was with characteristic boldness. He appeared in the doorway of the private quarters that had been assigned to Zhen Wuya, arms crossed, golden armor gleaming.
"You will accompany me," he announced without preamble.
The Temple Master looked up from an ancient text he had been studying—one written in a language none in Chaldea could identify.
"Will I?" he replied, amusement evident in his tone.
"I possess artifacts from civilizations that predate humanity," Gilgamesh continued, undeterred by the lack of immediate compliance. "Items that might interest even one such as you."
The King of Heroes did not invite. He commanded. Yet there was something different in his manner—a subtle acknowledgment that he addressed an equal, perhaps even a superior.
The Temple Master closed his book. "Are you trying to impress me, Gilgamesh?"
"I do not need to impress anyone," the king replied haughtily. "But I acknowledge you as... worthy of viewing my collection."
"High praise indeed." Zhen Wuya stood, setting aside the ancient text. "Lead on, King of Heroes."
Gilgamesh led him through Chaldea to a specially prepared chamber—one he had claimed as his own upon materializing fully after The Intervention. Within, he had assembled a selection of his most prized treasures, items of such conceptual weight that merely being in their presence caused reality to bend slightly.
"Behold," Gilgamesh gestured expansively. "Treasures that even the gods themselves have never glimpsed."
The Temple Master moved slowly through the collection, examining each artifact with genuine interest. He paused at what appeared to be a simple clay tablet, its surface covered in markings that predated cuneiform.
"This is from before your time," he observed, not touching the tablet but studying it intently.
"Yes," Gilgamesh acknowledged, pleased by the recognition. "It contains the true names of beings that existed before the gods formed the Divine Assembly."
"No," the Temple Master corrected gently. "It contains approximations. Names given by early humans to forces they could not comprehend. The true names would have shattered the tablet and the minds of those who attempted to record them."
Rather than taking offense at the correction, Gilgamesh's interest visibly intensified.
"You recognize these markings," he observed. "You know what they attempted to name."
"I know what exists beyond naming," Zhen Wuya replied. "As do you, in your own way."
The King of Heroes narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"You are the bridge, Gilgamesh," the Temple Master said, turning to face him directly. "Two-thirds divine, one-third human. You exist in both realms simultaneously, never fully belonging to either. This gives you perspective that neither gods nor humans can achieve alone."
For perhaps the first time in his existence, Gilgamesh found himself without an immediate response. The observation struck too close to truths he rarely acknowledged even to himself.
"Is that why you resisted the Entity when others could not?" he finally asked. "This... perspective?"
"In part," the Temple Master acknowledged. "But my perspective extends further than the divine-human boundary. I stand outside the entire framework that defines both."
Gilgamesh moved to another artifact—a sword that appeared to be made of crystallized darkness.
"And this?" he challenged. "A blade forged from the concept of absence itself. Said to be capable of cutting the bonds between soul and body without damaging either."
The Temple Master smiled. "A clever approximation. The craftsmen who made this came remarkably close to understanding the nature of existential boundaries."
"But?" Gilgamesh pressed, sensing the unspoken qualification.
"But existence has more layers than they realized," Zhen Wuya explained. "This blade operates on only three of them."
Without warning, he gestured toward the sword. It vibrated briefly, then shattered—not into physical fragments, but into conceptual ones that reassembled themselves into a completely different artifact: a simple bamboo flute.
Gilgamesh's eyes widened. "You dared—"
"I improved it," the Temple Master interrupted calmly. "This form better expresses its true potential. Try it."
Anger and curiosity warred briefly on the king's face before curiosity won. He picked up the flute, examining it with suspicion.
"Play a note," Zhen Wuya suggested.
When Gilgamesh reluctantly complied, the sound that emerged was impossible—a tone that existed simultaneously in multiple harmonic dimensions. The very air around them seemed to crystallize momentarily before flowing like water.
"What is this?" the King of Heroes demanded, lowering the instrument.
"The same artifact, expressed more accurately," the Temple Master explained. "It never wanted to be a sword. The concept was forced into that shape by beings who understood only conflict."
Gilgamesh studied the flute with new appreciation. "You could do this to all my treasures."
It wasn't a question.
"I could," Zhen Wuya agreed. "But I won't. Each has its own nature, its own purpose. That one simply needed... correction."
The King of Heroes placed the flute carefully back on its display. When he turned to face the Temple Master again, his expression had changed—calculation replacing hostility.
"You will teach me," he declared. Not a request, but not quite a command either.
"Will I?" the Temple Master replied, echoing his earlier response. "What would you learn, King of Heroes?"
"Everything," Gilgamesh answered without hesitation. "The perspective that allows you to stand beyond concept itself."
Zhen Wuya smiled—a genuine expression that transformed his severe features.
"You ask for knowledge that took me thousands of incarnations to acquire," he said. "Are you prepared for what that entails?"
"I am Gilgamesh," the king replied simply, as if that answered everything.
And perhaps, in its way, it did.
"We shall see," the Temple Master acknowledged. "We shall see."
CHAPTER 8: GROWING CONNECTIONS
The Healer's Question
Martha sought out the Temple Master on a quiet afternoon, finding him in Chaldea's indoor garden—a space that had flourished extraordinarily since his arrival, plants growing in patterns that seemed to form mathematical equations when viewed from above.
The Saint approached directly but respectfully, her manner carrying the quiet confidence of one whose faith was unshakable.
"Your presence has disturbed many of the faithful," she said without preamble.
The Temple Master continued tending to a peculiar blue flower that seemed to phase in and out of physical existence.
"Faith requires certainty," he replied without looking up. "My existence introduces questions without easy answers."
"Faith and questioning are not mutually exclusive," Martha countered. "The strongest belief withstands doubt."
This earned a thoughtful nod from Zhen Wuya. "A wisdom many religious leaders throughout the multiverse fail to grasp." He finally looked up at her. "What questions do you bring, Saint of the Dragon?"
Martha knelt beside him, examining the strange flower with genuine interest.
"I have only one," she said. "In your existence beyond our understanding, have you encountered the divine as we know it? The God I serve?"
The Temple Master was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"I have encountered beings of light and love that would match your conceptual understanding," he finally answered. "Forces of creation and compassion that stand outside normal causality."
"That is not a direct answer," Martha observed, though without accusation.
"No," he agreed. "Because your question touches on matters where directness becomes distortion."
He gestured to the blue flower, which now seemed to be growing both upward and downward simultaneously.
"This plant exists in multiple dimensional states at once," he explained. "If I were to describe only its upward growth, I would be telling a partial truth that becomes misleading in its incompleteness."
Martha considered this. "You're saying our understanding of divinity is... incomplete."
"All understanding is incomplete," the Temple Master replied. "The moment any being believes they have achieved complete understanding, they have merely reached the limits of their perspective."
"Including you?" Martha asked pointedly.
This drew a genuine smile from Zhen Wuya. "Especially me. The difference is that I recognize the limits of even my expanded perspective."
Martha nodded slowly, finding unexpected comfort in this admission.
"Then we are not so different," she said. "Faith, at its core, is acknowledging that our understanding has limits while trusting that meaning exists beyond those limits."
"An insightful definition," the Temple Master acknowledged. "Far wiser than many I've encountered across the cosmos."
He offered her the blue flower, which had stabilized into a single magnificent bloom.
"Where I come from, this is called an Epoch Lotus," he said. "It exists simultaneously in past, present, and future. A reminder that perspective is always limited by where—and when—we stand."
Martha accepted the gift, cradling it carefully. "Thank you. I will keep it as a reminder of our conversation."
As she rose to leave, she added: "The others may approach you seeking power or knowledge. I sought understanding."
"And found?" Zhen Wuya asked.
"Not answers," Martha replied with a serene smile, "but better questions. Sometimes that is the greater blessing."
Night of Understanding
Scathach had avoided the Temple Master since her rescue from the Entity's trap. While others sought him out with questions or challenges, the immortal warrior-queen kept her distance, observing from afar with unreadable eyes.
Until the night she found him training alone in the mountains beyond Chaldea's perimeter.
The Antarctic darkness was absolute, yet Zhen Wuya moved through complex martial forms that momentarily bent light that wasn't there, creating ghostly afterimages that lingered for seconds after each movement.
Scathach watched from the ridge above, her own presence carefully masked. Or so she thought.
"Your concealment is impressive," the Temple Master remarked without interrupting his sequence. "Few can suppress their conceptual weight so effectively."
Caught, Scathach abandoned stealth and descended to the plateau where he trained. Her crimson spear materialized in her hand—not as a threat, but as an extension of her identity.
"You knew I was there from the beginning," she stated.
"Yes." He completed his form with a movement that momentarily seemed to exist in multiple places at once.
"What manner of combat is that?" she asked, professional curiosity overcoming her reticence.
"It has no name in your language," Zhen Wuya replied. "The closest translation might be 'Void Step Through Collapsing Barriers.'"
"Show me," Scathach demanded, falling into a combat stance.
The Temple Master studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Attack."
She didn't hesitate, launching forward with blinding speed, her spear aimed with perfect precision. The strike should have been impossible to evade in the confined space.
Yet when the weapon reached its target, Zhen Wuya was simply... elsewhere. Not having dodged in any conventional sense, but having existed in a different spatial relationship to her attack.
Scathach spun, instantly recalibrating, and struck again. And again. And again. Each time, the result was the same—her spear found only empty air.
After the twelfth attempt, she stopped, breathing not from exertion but from intellectual excitement.
"You're not moving through space," she realized. "You're shifting your relationship to it."
"Very good," the Temple Master acknowledged with genuine approval. "Most warriors never grasp that distinction, even after centuries of training."
"Teach me," Scathach said abruptly.
Zhen Wuya raised an eyebrow. "You've avoided me since your rescue, and now you wish to become my student?"
"I avoid what I don't understand," she replied bluntly. "Now I begin to understand."
"Do you?" he challenged. "What do you understand, Queen of Shadows?"
Scathach planted her spear in the frozen ground, meeting his gaze directly.
"You are neither savior nor conqueror," she stated. "You are a... waypoint. A marker on a path of evolution we haven't yet comprehended."
The Temple Master's expression revealed genuine surprise—perhaps the first time anyone at Chaldea had witnessed such a reaction from him.
"That," he said quietly, "is remarkably close to the truth."
"Will you teach me?" she pressed.
"It would require unlearning much of what you know," he warned. "Concepts you've relied on for millennia would need to be abandoned."
"Good," Scathach replied with unexpected fervor. "I have been imprisoned by my own immortality, by my own mastery. The Entity showed me the walls of my conceptual cage. I would break them."
Zhen Wuya studied her with new interest. "Most beings cling to their limitations, finding comfort in the familiar boundaries of their existence."
"I am not most beings," Scathach stated simply.
"No," he agreed with the ghost of a smile. "You are not."
He gestured for her to join