"That's nice, isn't it? I wonder whether Illya will make friends like this someday." Peering around the flowerbed, Irisviel found herself thinking of her own daughter.
"I understand the impulse in theory, but why are we hiding like thieves and spying on them? This is rather embarrassing." Saber glanced around.
"My mom's calling me home. I'll come back tomorrow. So, uh—I'll leave my slingshot with you as collateral for the cards. Don't shoot birds with it." The earnest little boy placed the slingshot in Yimi's hand to make up for the cards.
Seemingly worried Yimi would round on a bird the moment he left, he kept glancing back as he walked away.
"Bye-bye." Yimi grabbed at the air.
The moment he vanished from sight, she followed his exact instructions, drew the slingshot back, and took aim at a bird. Maybe she could bag some game to take home.
"Stop that, Ruler. Is your daily amusement truly tormenting fragile creatures?" Saber, who had been watching for a while, spoke up to intervene.
They were really only passing by. As a homunculus, Irisviel had barely stepped outside her own home in her lifetime. Whether Saber was genuinely curious about this later era or not, she was happy to walk this caged bird through it properly.
Unlike most Servants, though, Saber—whose true identity was King Arthur—shared one very specific issue with Yimi: she couldn't revert to spirit form to hide herself. The reason was that she counted as a "living" person, having contracted with the world at the instant of her death.
Lacking that convenient ability, she couldn't exactly walk down the street in armor. She had, however, kept up her lifelong habit of male dress and wore a modern men's suit, looking for all the world like a princess's personal lady butler.
Yimi gave her a once-over. "Who are you?"
The kitty could only identify people she'd met once by their clothing.
"Is that intended as a deliberate insult?" As a king, Saber naturally didn't take that sort of line well.
"All right, all right, Saber, don't be so stern." Irisviel clapped her hands and bent down to look at Yimi. "You can't point a slingshot at an innocent little bird, okay?"
"Why?" The cat didn't understand.
"Survival of the fittest in nature is normal, of course, but if you're bullying another small creature purely for fun, isn't that a bit cruel? Ruler isn't hunting it because she needs food, is she?"
The ears hidden beneath Yimi's hat twitched. "But I haven't had anything to eat yet."
"You don't mean you actually planned to eat it? A Servant should be fine just on prana from her Master..." Saber parted her lips in surprise.
"If you're hungry, I could buy you something. We're out shopping anyway." Irisviel smiled down at the little one.
The cheeks—plump as a baby's, just like Illya's. So pinchable...
"Really?" The kitty's eyes lit up.
"Irisviel!"
"It's all right. We'll be enemies later, but during the day we can still hold to a truce, can't we? I still believe Kiritsugu is going to win."
Even if the methods might be a touch cruel—like killing the Master to sever a tougher Servant's prana supply...
Shaking her head, Irisviel glanced past Yimi. "That very young-looking Master of yours didn't come?"
Yimi didn't answer. Instead she tugged at Irisviel's clothes. "I want that."
She was pointing at some baozi not far off. She vaguely remembered Mom being fond of that sort of thing.
"Sure. I almost expected you to ask for something more extravagant. Unexpectedly well-behaved. Good girl." Auntie Iri gave a little clap.
"Mm. Head pats." Yimi pushed her head up under Irisviel's hand—the required ritual before receiving food.
"There, there." Mistaking this for affection, Irisviel obligingly patted her head.
Saber's brows drew together slightly. "Irisviel."
"What is it, Saber?" Irisviel looked over, not following.
"No, I was being oversensitive, perhaps." Saber shook her head and watched the little cat cling to the stall, transfixed by the baozi-making. "I understand a mother separated from her child would feel tenderness toward other children, but I must still caution you: it's better not to judge someone's age by appearance."
"Like Saber?"
Artoria's age had frozen at fifteen the instant she pulled that sword.
"Yimi is one." The kitty had overheard. She turned to Iri and reported.
"Eh? That young?" Auntie Iri covered her small mouth.
Saber closed her eyes. "As the prophesied knight, such circumstances aren't actually unusual..."
Plenty of heroes had been force-grown, some even born already adult.
"But isn't that a little sad?" Something struck Irisviel, and she ran her fingers sympathetically through Yimi's hair.
Yimi looked up at her. "You petted twice extra. You need to buy more baozi."
"Mm. All right, let's get two more." Auntie Iri agreed without complaint, and picked up her earlier thread. "Whatever she was created for, whatever circumstances forced her body's growth—none of that changes the fact that she's a child who deserves to be loved, does it?"
Hearing that, Saber looked at her with unmistakable conflict. "Irisviel... are you talking about yourself?"
"Hm?" Irisviel looked momentarily lost. She hadn't actually been thinking of that at all. She might wear the face of a mature woman and have a daughter, but her actual age was just nine.
Seeing her genuine surprise, Saber looked even more conflicted.
If you aren't talking about yourself—please don't tell me you're insinuating something about that renegade knight of mine?
"Little lady, your baozi's ready."
Yimi had earned her head-pat reward; she reached out to grab one.
Iri headed her off. "Just pinch it through the paper bag and eat it that way. No need to grab it with your bare hands."
"Mm..."
Yimi lowered her head and blew into the paper bag, hoping to cool the baozi off quickly—only to see the bag puff up from her breath.
Then, driven by some instinct she couldn't name, she transferred all the baozi into another paper bag. She blew the empty bag full of air, pinched the opening shut, set it on the ground—and stomped on it.
The pop was a sound the cat didn't quite like, but stomping it was inexplicably fun.
The kitty giggled.
"Really now. Pick that up and throw it in the trash. Even an Apocalypse Knight has to be a good girl with manners, okay?"
"..."
Being separated from her daughter had evidently taken a real toll on Irisviel.
Artoria closed her eyes and looked into the distance.
A real child... and yet this was the strongest obstacle in this Holy Grail War?
After they'd moved off, the baozi vendor paused in thought.
He couldn't understand a word of what those two had been rambling about. The little one he could excuse—but the other two, grown as they were, still talking like chuunibyou?
The Kabbalistic Tree of Life, composed of ten Sephirot and twenty-two paths. This was the lucid dream Ritsuka had this time.
Was this the Garden of Eden?
The woman standing at the far end of this space was the unknown existence containing all ten Sephirot—and yet the real protagonist of this dream stood on the opposing side.
The enemy was the divine path itself, her mere presence enough to crush the will to resist. And the only thing supporting this small girl was the hand of the Messiah, resting on her shoulder.
...
"Ritsuka, you're awake." Roman greeted her instantly.
Ritsuka rubbed her eyes and looked at the wall clock. "It's almost noon already?"
"You could sleep a bit longer, you know. Even if I couldn't be with you through the end of it, last night must have exhausted you."
"Caster and his Master have been eliminated." Ritsuka rolled over, sat up, and started tying her hair in front of the mirror. "I think I dreamed about Jesus, Doctor."
So the final days in the prophecy meant directly confronting the Kabbalistic Tree of Life? But why would God order the Apocalypse Knight to move against His own Garden of Eden... unless someone had managed to occupy it?
Oh—before this dream, she'd also dreamed about Mash.
"Ah, it's normal enough for a Master to occasionally dream of her Servant's memories." Roman wore a weary look.
"Why aren't you at all surprised...?"
"Isn't it obvious? What Apocalypse Knight could pull out the Spear of Longinus?"