The days in Chaldea had a strange quality, as if time itself had both stretched and shrunk. Almost two weeks had passed since our return from Camelot, but at times I felt like I had just closed my eyes after the battle against the Lion King, and at other times it felt like months had gone by. My body ached less, that was true. The training sessions with Scáthach, the magic lessons with Tamamo, the practice combats with the Artorias and Nero... everything was slowly healing the wounds the Singularity had left on my Magic Circuits and my spirit. But there were other wounds that didn't close so easily. The memory of Bedivere fading into ashes. The echo of his voice thanking me for trusting him. The expression of peace on his face just before he disappeared.
I told myself I had done the right thing. That Bedivere had chosen his destiny. That without his sacrifice, Camelot would still stand and the Singularity would have dragged us all down. But logic doesn't always silence the heart.
"You're brooding again," observed Tezcatlipoca one morning, as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My reflection showed me a young man in his twenties with dark circles under his eyes and disheveled hair. A young man who had seen heroes and gods fall. A young man who, according to Igor, was destined to face something even worse.
"I'm just thinking," I replied mentally, splashing water on my face.
"Thinking is good. Obsessing is not. Remember what Selene said: don't lose your humanity in the process of saving humanity."
"Since when are you so philosophical?"
"Since I'm the manifestation of your soul. If I'm philosophical, it's because you are. Don't blame me."
I smiled despite myself. Having Tezcatlipoca in my head was like having a sarcastic brother who never went on vacation. Annoying sometimes, but strangely comforting.
I put on my Master's uniform — Chaldea's black and white, which already felt like a second skin — and stepped out into the hallway. Chaldea's corridors were lit by that artificial light that mimicked morning, and the hum of the life support systems was a constant murmur. As I turned a corner, I almost collided with Jeanne Alter.
"Watch it, idiot," she snapped, but her tone lacked the venom of before.
"Good morning to you too, Jeanne."
She crossed her arms and looked me up and down. Her posture was the same as ever: defiant, scowling, the very image of a juvenile delinquent who had lived too long. But something was different. Her eyes. Normally they bored into me with a fury that wasn't entirely real. Now... now there was a strange warmth in them. A warmth she tried to hide but couldn't.
"Today... I'm free," she said, in a tone that pretended to be casual but sounded forced. "And I thought we could... you know... do something. Together. Or whatever."
I blinked. Jeanne Alter asking to spend time with me? Without an existential crisis or a life-or-death battle intervening?
"Are you okay, Jeanne? Did you hit your head?"
"Shut up!" Her cheek flushed red. "I just... wanted to be with you, okay? It's not a big deal."
"Of course it's not a big deal," I replied, flashing a smile. "I'd love to spend time with you. What do you want to do?"
She seemed disconcerted by my immediate acceptance. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.
"I don't know... walk? Around the hallways? Or something?"
"Walk around the hallways?"
"Yes, walk around the hallways! What's wrong, don't you like walking?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Jeanne Alter, the fearsome Avenger, the witch of black fire, she who had incinerated armies with her hatred... wanted to take a walk with me.
"I love walking," I said. "Let's go."
And so, Jeanne Alter and I took a walk through the hallways of Chaldea. It wasn't an epic walk. There were no dramatic confessions or moments of danger. It was a quiet walk, with her walking beside me, her arms brushing mine occasionally, her eyes scanning every corner as if expecting an ambush. Every now and then, she'd make a biting comment about the decor, the noise of the machines, how boring everything was. But she didn't stray from my side. And when our hands brushed, she didn't pull hers away.
It was a small gesture. Insignificant to anyone watching. But for Jeanne Alter, whose love language consisted of insults and threats, it was a giant step.
«She's leaving behind her cold tsundere phase,» observed Tezcatlipoca. «Now she's entering the semi-friendly tsundere phase.»
«Does that exist?»
«You just witnessed it.»
Jeanne Ruler found us at the end of the hallway. She was carrying a prayer book and wearing her usual habit, but when she saw us together, she blushed slightly. Her eyes went from Jeanne Alter to me, and then to our hands, which were no longer touching but were dangerously close.
"Leonel... Jeanne... are you busy?"
"No," I answered.
"Yes," Jeanne Alter answered at the same time.
They looked at each other. There was a strange tension between them, not of enmity, but of... competition? They were two sides of the same coin, two versions of the same soul, and now both were interested in the same man. If that wasn't a recipe for chaos, nothing was.
"We were just walking," I explained. "You can join us, Jeanne."
"Really?" asked Ruler, with a shy smile.
"No," replied Alter, with a murderous look.
"Yes," I insisted.
Jeanne Ruler joined us. Alter snorted and muttered something about "party poopers with halos," but she didn't leave. The three of us walked together, with Ruler on my right and Alter on my left. Ruler talked about the morning mass readings, about a passage from Scripture she had found comforting. Alter rolled her eyes but didn't interrupt her.
It was strange. Months ago, Jeanne Alter had wanted to destroy everything Jeanne Ruler stood for. Now, although they remained polar opposites, they tolerated each other. I would even say they respected each other.
«Your Bonds are changing them,» said Tezcatlipoca. «Your influence, your unconditional acceptance... is healing them.»
«I wish I could heal them faster.»
«Healing takes time. But you're on the right track.»
Later that day, I encountered an unexpected problem. Or rather, three problems. Three problems with blonde hair, green or golden eyes, and a penchant for swords and spears.
Artoria Pendragon Lancer, the one who had previously been the Lion King, had adapted to Chaldea with surprising speed. Her arrival, just hours after our return from Camelot, had caused a huge uproar. Chaldea's systems didn't register a formal summoning; she had simply appeared in the Rayshift room, materializing like a ghost taking shape, just as she had promised in the throne room. Roman almost had a heart attack. Da Vinci had let out an exclamation in Italian that I didn't understand but sounded very impressed. And Olga Marie had demanded an explanation that Artoria Lancer didn't bother to give.
"I promised Chaldea's Master that I would return," she had said, simply. "And a king's promises must be kept."
Now, two weeks later, Artoria Lancer had integrated into Chaldea's routine as if she had always been there. Her personality was surprisingly similar to her Saber version's: dignified, reserved, with a strong sense of duty and almost chivalrous courtesy. But there were differences. While Artoria Saber was formal and sometimes distant, Artoria Lancer was more... warm. More curious. Her green eyes — because they were no longer golden, no longer those of a goddess — watched me with an interest I hadn't seen in her counterpart.
And then there was the elephant in the room. Or rather, the elephants.
Artoria Lancer's chest.
It's not that I wanted to focus on that. I was a gentleman, damn it. A Chaldean Master. The savior of humanity in training. But it was impossible not to notice. Artoria Saber had a modest, almost flat chest, which was a characteristic that defined her silhouette as a warrior king. But Artoria Lancer and Artoria Lancer Alter... well, let's just say that the spear Rhongomyniad didn't just change the Servant's class. It also changed other things. Things that were hard to ignore when Artoria Lancer bent down to pick something up from the floor or when she stretched after a training session.
Mash had noticed it. Tamamo had noticed it. Kiyohime had made a venomous comment about it. Even Jeanne Alter, who normally didn't pay attention to such things, had muttered something about "unbalanced resources."
But beyond the physical differences, what had really changed was her attitude toward me. Artoria Saber respected me as her Master. She appreciated me as an ally. She even had a certain affection for me, though she expressed it formally. But Artoria Lancer... she looked at me differently. There was a spark in her green eyes, a curiosity that went beyond the professional. And that hadn't gone unnoticed by the other Artorias.
"Those memories," Artoria Lancer explained to me one afternoon, as we drank tea in the cafeteria. "The memories of Camelot. Of the Lion King. I don't have them all... only fragments. But in those fragments, I saw you."
"Me?"
"I saw your strategies. I saw how your Servants trusted you. I saw how you faced me," she paused, correcting herself, "the goddess I was. And I saw Bedivere's sacrifice. You gave him strength at the end. You used your last Command Seal to ensure his victory."
"It was the least I could do."
"No. It was more than anyone would have done for a wandering knight who had been fleeing his destiny for fifteen hundred years." Her green eyes locked onto mine. "You are an extraordinary Master, Leonel Herrera. I'm glad I promised you I would return."
I didn't know what to answer. Fortunately, I didn't have to.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Artoria Saber Alter appeared in the cafeteria doorway. Her black armor gleamed under the artificial light, and her expression was a mask of ice. Behind her, Artoria Lancer Alter entered with silent steps, her dark spear sheathed but ready.
"We were just talking," replied Artoria Lancer, with a calm that contrasted with the sudden tension in the air.
"Talking," repeated Saber Alter, with a sarcastic smile. "How interesting. Because it seemed to me that you were talking very closely with our Master."
"He's my Master too," retorted Lancer. "I have a right to get to know him."
"Get to know him," interjected Lancer Alter, her voice deep and cutting. "And what exactly do you want to get to know?"
The three Artorias looked at each other. Three pairs of eyes — two golden, one green — met in a silent clash that dropped the temperature in the cafeteria by several degrees. Artoria Saber Alter leaned against the door, her arms crossed and her posture defiant. Artoria Lancer Alter had positioned herself beside me, her presence a protective shield. Artoria Lancer remained seated, her tea cooling in her hands, but her eyes didn't stray from her counterparts'.
It was at that moment that I understood the magnitude of the problem. The three Artorias had different personalities, but they shared a common core: the pride of a king. And kings do not share. If things weren't resolved quickly, or if some kind of agreement wasn't reached between them, Chaldea would become the stage for a war between three versions of the same legend. It wouldn't be a war of swords — I hoped — but it would be a war of looks, of words, of gestures. A cold war that could escalate at any moment.
And if Olga Marie found out... I didn't even want to imagine it. Chaldea's director had already scolded me several times about "the atmosphere of chaos that your harem generates in the facilities." Her exact words. If we now added a civil war among Artorias to the mix, her patience would run out. And I valued my life.
"Ladies," I intervened, raising my hands in a peaceful gesture. "Can we discuss this like civilized people?"
"I am a king, not a civilized person," replied Saber Alter.
"I am a storm," added Lancer Alter.
"I am an ex-goddess," concluded Lancer, with a slight smile.
Wonderful. I was surrounded by Artorias who were unwilling to give an inch. I took a deep breath. If I wanted to avoid the apocalypse, I had to act.
"I propose a deal," I said. "All three of you are important to me. All three of you have a right to be here. But if you start fighting among yourselves, Chaldea will become a battlefield. And believe me, I already have enough battlefields."
"What do you propose?" asked Lancer.
"A non-aggression pact. Turns. Like I did with the others." I looked at each of them. "We can set up a schedule. Specific days for each of you to spend time with me. That way everyone gets what they want and there are no conflicts."
Silence. The three Artorias looked at each other. Then they looked at me.
"I don't like sharing," said Saber Alter.
"Neither do I," added Lancer Alter.
"I'm willing to try," said Lancer. "For Chaldea's sake."
The other two glared at her. But finally, Saber Alter snorted.
"Fine. I accept. But I want the first turn."
"Why you?" protested Lancer Alter.
"Because I'm the oldest."
"That's not true. I'm the oldest. I'm the one who was in Fuyuki," said Artoria Saber, entering at that precise moment. Four. Now there were four Artorias.
"This is getting complicated," I muttered.
"It always does," replied Tezcatlipoca.
The following days passed in a kind of tense semi-peace. The Artorias had reluctantly agreed to split their time with me according to a schedule I designed myself to avoid conflict. Monday and Thursday for Artoria Saber. Tuesday and Friday for Artoria Saber Alter. Wednesday and Saturday for Artoria Lancer Alter. And Sunday for Artoria Lancer. It was an imperfect system, and there were occasional frictions — especially when one Artoria ran into another in the hallways during the other's "turn" — but at least an open war hadn't broken out.
Meanwhile, the other girlfriends in the harem weren't far behind. Each day brought a new prank, a new attempt to monopolize my attention.
Tamamo no Mae had established the habit of bringing me breakfast in bed every morning. It was a sweet gesture, but also a silent declaration of war against the others. "No other wife cooks for you like I do, Goshujin-sama," she would whisper in my ear, brushing my cheek with her lips. Her food was delicious, that had to be admitted. But the price was enduring the murderous looks from the others when they found me eating in my room.
Nero had taken to organizing "private performances" in Chaldea's theater. They were plays she wrote, directed, and starred in herself, and they always, somehow, ended with a monologue dedicated to "my Caesar of my heart." The other girlfriends attended sometimes, and their reactions ranged from boredom (Jeanne Alter), to exasperation (Artoria Saber Alter), to poorly concealed jealousy (Kiyohime).
Speaking of Kiyohime, her nocturnal incursions had become bolder. She no longer limited herself to sneaking into my bed while I slept; now she arrived before I went to bed, slipped under the sheets, and pretended to be asleep. When I arrived, I'd find a dragon-shaped lump in my mattress. If I tried to wake her, she'd pretend to be asleep. If I tried to ignore her, she'd hug me in her sleep. It was impossible.
Jeanne Ruler, for her part, had found a new excuse to spend time with me: spiritual guidance. Apparently, after Camelot, I needed "soul healing," and she was the only one qualified to provide it. Her sessions consisted of long conversations about faith, destiny, and love, during which she would blush every time I looked directly at her. It was adorable and frustrating in equal measure.
And then there was Scáthach, who respected no schedules, turns, or agreements. She appeared when she wanted, dragged me to the gym when she wanted, and kissed me when she wanted. For her, the harem's rules were mere suggestions she could ignore. Her attitude provoked protests from the others, but no one dared to confront her directly. Scáthach was, after all, the woman who had killed gods.
And now, on top of all that, I had to deal with the possibility of a war among Artorias.
"Life in Chaldea is never boring," I thought.
«That's an understatement,» replied Tezcatlipoca.
It was during one of those afternoons of relative calm that I received the notification.
"Leonel," said Da Vinci, appearing in my doorway with an enigmatic smile. "The summoning system is ready. We've accumulated enough energy from the Grail you brought back from Camelot. It's time we tried a new summoning."
"Summoning?" I blinked. "I didn't know we had the resources for that."
"We do. Ozymandias was generous with his Grail. And although part of it was used to stabilize the new Servants who came back with you, there's still enough left to try to bring in a new ally. One who could be useful in Babylonia."
Babylonia. The Seventh Singularity. The name echoed in my mind like a funeral bell. Igor and Selene had warned me it would be the true test. That there I would face enemies of a power surpassing everything seen so far. Having more allies was an urgent necessity.
"When?"
"Right now, if you're ready. All the preparations are made."
I sighed. There was something in the air, a strange feeling I couldn't identify. As if destiny were holding its breath, waiting for the moment to play a cosmic joke. My intuition told me this summoning wouldn't be normal. That something — I didn't know if good or bad — was going to happen.
"Alright," I replied, standing up. "Let's go."
Chaldea's summoning chamber was a place that always made my hair stand on end. Not because it was sinister — it was a white, well-lit space, with Chaldea's emblem engraved on the floor — but because of the weight of what it represented. It was where the contracts between Master and Heroic Spirits were forged. It was where humanity's destiny was decided, one summoning at a time.
The magic circle was prepared. It was an intricate design of runes and circuits that glowed faintly with the accumulated energy of the Holy Grail. Around it, several technical staff members adjusted the parameters. Roman supervised from a console, biting his nails as usual. Da Vinci stood beside him, tablet in hand, monitoring the mana readings. And behind them, behind the observation glass, my Servants crowded to watch the show.
Mash was in the front row, her violet eyes full of anticipation. Tamamo no Mae, beside her, had her tails bristling in a mix of curiosity and preemptive jealousy. "If it's another woman, Goshujin-sama, please don't let her be too pretty," she had muttered before entering. Jeanne Alter leaned against the wall, arms crossed, feigning disinterest but not taking her eyes off the circle. Kiyohime watched me with her dragon eyes, her expression a mask of devotion that didn't entirely hide her jealousy. The four Artorias were present — Saber, Saber Alter, Lancer, and Lancer Alter — forming a silent line that radiated tension.
And in a corner, apart from the group, Scáthach observed with an enigmatic smile. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a light I didn't like at all. It was the look of someone who knows something others don't.
"All set," announced Da Vinci. "Leonel, whenever you're ready."
I nodded. I positioned myself in front of the magic circle, extended my right hand toward it, and began to recite the summoning chant. The words flowed from my lips with the familiarity of someone who has repeated a ritual dozens of times, although in reality this was one of the few summons I had performed personally.
"Silver and iron. Stone and bond. The anchor of the link..."
The energy began to flow. The magic circle lit up with a white glow that gradually intensified. Small spheres of light appeared around the perimeter, floating like ethereal fireflies.
"...the spirit of origin, the guiding star..."
The spheres began to spin. Slowly at first, tracing orbits around the circle. Then faster. And faster. Until they became concentric rings of light converging toward the center.
"...come to me, Hero of the Throne!"
The spheres collided in the center of the circle. A pillar of white light rose to the ceiling, so bright I had to cover my face with my arm. The magical wind swept through the room, making the technical staff's coats and the hair of those present flutter. The sound was deafening, like the chiming of a thousand bells.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the light faded.
I blinked, trying to regain my vision. In the center of the circle, where before there were only glowing runes, now stood a figure. A woman. Her presence was... imposing. Not in the way Ozymandias imposed, with his golden arrogance. Nor in the way the Lion King imposed, with her blinding divinity. It was a more subtle imposition. Deeper. Like that of an ocean that seems calm on the surface but hides unfathomable abysses.
The first thing I noticed was her hair. Long, silver, almost white, cascading over her shoulders like water illuminated by the moon. She wore a black and blue dress, fitted at the torso with flowing sleeves, reminiscent of an ancient sorceress's robes. Her eyes... her eyes were the color of ice, blue and deep, with a serenity that was unsettling. In her hand she held a staff that seemed made of dark crystal, topped with an orb that glowed with an inner light.
But the most disturbing thing was her face. It was beautiful, without a doubt. But what chilled my blood was her resemblance. She wasn't identical, but it was unmistakable. That jaw. Those cheekbones. That facial structure.
She resembled Artoria.
"No way," I murmured.
The woman stepped out of the circle. Her blue eyes found mine, and her pale, thin lips curved into a smile. A smile that was both warm and terrifying.
"I see you again," she said.
Her voice was soft, melodious, but charged with an authority that brooked no reply. It wasn't the voice of a Servant who had just been summoned. It was the voice of someone who had been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time.
"How...?" I began.
"My husband," she continued, walking toward me with slow, deliberate steps. "This time, you won't escape me."
The silence in the room was absolute. I could hear the hum of Chaldea's machines. I could hear my own breathing, rapid. And I could hear, behind me, the cracking of clenched fists. Many clenched fists.
Morgan le Fay. Artoria Pendragon's sister. The Queen of Fairies. The most powerful sorceress in Arthurian legend. And in the Fate/Grand Order timeline, the future antagonist of the Avalon le Fay Lostbelt, one of the most terrible threats we had faced in the game. But she shouldn't be here. Not yet. Her summoning wasn't scheduled until much later, when the Lostbelts began to appear.
«Tezcatlipoca, what's happening?»
«I don't know. Her parameters are inconsistent. She has the spiritual signature of a Berserker-class Servant, but her sanity is absolute. It's as if...»
«As if what?»
«As if she summoned herself.»
Before I could process that information, Morgan reached me. She was taller than she had seemed from afar, almost as tall as me. Her gloved hand rested on my cheek, a gesture that should have been tender but felt unsettlingly possessive.
"You've grown," she murmured, her blue eyes examining me as if she had known me all her life. "And you've suffered. I can see it in your eyes. The battle of London. Bedivere's sacrifice. The burden of the last Master." Her thumb stroked my cheekbone. "Don't worry. I'm here now. And I take care of what is mine."
"What is... yours?" I repeated, completely lost.
"Yes. Mine. My husband. My consort king. My partner on the throne of Britain." Her smile widened. "I know we haven't lived those moments yet. That to you, I'm a stranger. But to me... you are the man I will marry. The man who will rule beside me. The man who..."
"One moment," interrupted a voice behind me.
Artoria Pendragon Saber stepped forward. Her expression was a contained storm. Her green eyes were fixed on Morgan with an intensity that could have pierced steel.
"Sister," said Morgan, tilting her head slightly. "Long time no see."
"Morgan." Artoria Saber's voice was icy. "Can you explain why you just called my Master 'husband'?"
"Your Master?" Morgan raised an eyebrow. "How possessive you've become, little sister. Last time we saw each other, you didn't want anything to do with men."
"That's none of your business."
"Of course it is. Everything concerning Leonel Herrera is my business." Her blue eyes swept over the other Servants present. "I see he has a harem. That is... unexpected. But it doesn't matter. A queen does not fear concubines."
"Concubines?!" exploded Tamamo no Mae, her tails bristling. "I am Goshujin-sama's legitimate wife! Not a concubine!"
"I am his wife too," added Kiyohime, her dragon eyes blazing with fury. "Anchin-sama and I are married."
"You aren't married to anyone," Jeanne Alter snapped at her. "None of us are!"
"Yet!" Tamamo and Kiyohime chorused in unison.
Morgan watched the argument with an amused smile. Then, without warning, she grabbed me by the nape, pulled me toward her, and kissed me.
It wasn't a chaste kiss. It wasn't a shy kiss. It was a queen's kiss, deep, possessive, and absolutely public. Her lips were cold, like marble, but her tongue was warm and skilled. I felt the magical contract seal between us, a current of mana flowing from her lips to my Magic Circuits, establishing a Master-Servant bond as solid as the one I had with Mash or Tamamo.
When she pulled away, a strand of saliva connected our mouths. Her blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Contract sealed," she announced. "Now, officially, I am your Servant. Berserker. Morgan le Fay. Queen of Fairies and future queen of Britain. I hope our collaboration will be... fruitful."
Chaos erupted.
"LET GO OF GOSHUJIN-SAMA!"
"Anchin-sama, get away from that harpy!"
"WHAT KIND OF GREETING IS THAT?!"
"THAT'S NOT A GREETING, THAT'S AN ASSAULT!"
"Good heavens, what a scandal..."
"This is better than a soap opera," murmured Mordred from the back.
"What's a soap opera?" asked Xuanzang.
"I'll explain later."
The Artorias, meanwhile, had instinctively positioned themselves side by side. The four of them. Saber, Saber Alter, Lancer, and Lancer Alter. They formed a united front, a wall of Arthurian legend facing the intruder who had just kissed their Master.
"Sister," said Artoria Saber, her tone dangerous. "This is unacceptable."
"Why?" asked Morgan, with feigned innocence. "I've only done what all of you have done. Don't you all kiss your Master when you seal the contract?"
"That's not... you did it in a... indecent way!"
"Indecent." Morgan laughed, a crystalline, cold laugh. "What a prude you are, Arturia. You always were. Too busy being the perfect king to enjoy life's pleasures."
"That's not..."
"And you," Morgan continued, addressing Saber Alter and the Lancers. "How interesting. A dark version, a walking storm, and the ex-goddess who almost destroyed the world. My sister has much more entertaining variants than herself."
"Watch your tongue, sorceress," growled Saber Alter.
"It's not a threat. It's an observation." Morgan wrapped an arm around me, resting her chin on my shoulder. "But don't worry. I haven't come to usurp your place. I only want my own."
"And what place is that?" asked Lancer Alter.
"The first wife's, of course."
New chaos. Shouts. Threats. Bristling tails. Black fire erupting from Jeanne Alter's fists. Kiyohime partially transforming into a dragon. Tamamo summoning her talismans. The Artorias drawing their swords. Morgan smiling with absolute calm, as if all of it was entertainment she had planned in advance.
And me, in the center of it all, wondering what I had done to deserve this.
«Tezcatlipoca,» I called mentally.
«Yes?»
«I think my intuition was right.»
«About something ridiculous or absurd happening?»
«Yes.»
«Well, you hit the bullseye.»