The house was quiet.
Not the comfortable kind.
Not the kind that meant rest.
The kind that lingered.
Illyasviel von Einzbern lay beneath heavy blankets, her breathing uneven, heat clinging stubbornly to her skin.
The night had ended.
The fight had ended.
But her body hadn't followed.
"…mm…"
She shifted slightly, her hand tightening weakly against the fabric.
At the edge of the room, he sat.
Still.
Watching.
Not her face.
Not her expression.
Her breathing.
Something about it felt… off.
Not dangerous.
Not urgent.
But wrong in a way he couldn't name.
The door creaked softly.
"…She's still burning," Leysritt muttered, leaning against the frame with her usual looseness—though her eyes lingered longer than normal.
Leysritt
Sella stepped in without hesitation, adjusting the blanket with precise, measured movements.
Sella
Her expression didn't change.
But her attention didn't waver either.
"…This is not an ordinary fever," she said quietly.
He finally spoke.
"…Because of last night?"
Sella paused for a fraction of a second.
"…Most likely."
Leysritt clicked her tongue softly.
"…She pushed herself too far."
Neither of them elaborated.
They didn't need to.
Silence returned.
After a moment, Sella stepped back.
"Ensure she rests."
It wasn't a request.
Then they left.
The door closed behind them.
Quiet again.
He didn't move at first.
Then—
Illya stirred.
"…don't…"
His gaze sharpened.
"…stop…"
The word barely formed.
Her fingers curled slightly.
"…even if…"
A pause.
Her breathing hitched.
"…it's wrong…"
He froze.
Something in his chest tightened.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Recognition.
His hand shifted slightly against his sleeve.
"…Why…"
The thought didn't finish.
Because something else drew his attention.
The table.
His eyes moved without thinking.
A single card rested there.
Plain.
Still.
Unremarkable.
And yet—
It felt present.
Not glowing.
Not reacting.
Just—
There.
His gaze lingered.
Longer than it should have.
"…What is this…" he murmured.
He didn't remember standing.
But he was closer now.
The card hadn't changed.
It didn't respond.
Didn't call to him.
And yet—
His hand moved.
Slowly.
He picked it up.
Nothing happened.
No light.
No sound.
No reaction.
Just—
Silence.
Then—
Weight.
Not in his hand.
Deeper.
His grip shifted slightly.
Naturally.
As if adjusting to something familiar.
His breathing slowed.
The room felt distant.
Not gone.
Just—
Far away.
Wind.
Dry.
Endless.
He felt it before he understood it.
Then—
Steel.
Not one.
Not a few.
Many.
Above.
Around.
Waiting.
His fingers tightened.
"…my body…"
The words slipped out quietly.
Uncertain.
"…made of…"
He stopped.
Not by choice.
Something resisted.
Refused to continue.
The feeling remained.
Heavy.
Not his.
And yet—
It fit.
His stance shifted slightly.
Unconsciously.
Balanced.
Ready.
Then—
It was gone.
The room returned.
The silence.
The heat.
The quiet rhythm of her breathing.
The card rested in his hand.
Unchanged.
He stared at it.
For a long moment.
His fingers trembled.
Slightly.
"…This isn't mine…"
A pause.
His gaze lowered.
"…Then why does it feel like I've used it?"
Behind him—
Illya shifted again.
"…don't stop…" she whispered faintly.
He froze.
Slowly—
He placed the card back on the table.
Exactly where it had been.
Carefully.
Like disturbing it any further would matter.
He didn't look at it again.
But the feeling didn't leave.
Not completely.
Outside—
The wind moved softly through the trees.
Inside—
Something had begun.
And neither of them understood it yet.
The heat did not fade.
It settled.
Illya's breathing slowed, but it never became steady. Each inhale came just a little too late, each exhale a little too shallow.
"…cold…"
The word slipped from her lips, barely more than breath.
Her fingers twitched.
The ceiling above her blurred.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
Just—
Uncertain.
The edges softened.
The light dimmed.
And then—
It was gone.
She wasn't lying down anymore.
She stood.
The ground beneath her feet was dry. Cracked. Endless.
No walls.
No house.
No warmth.
Only distance.
Illya turned slowly.
"…where…"
Her voice didn't carry.
It felt absorbed.
The horizon stretched too far.
Too empty.
Too quiet.
Wind moved across the land.
Soft.
Steady.
And beneath it—
A sound.
Metal.
Not striking.
Not clashing.
Waiting.
Illya's breath caught.
"…what is this…"
She didn't feel afraid.
Not the way she expected.
She felt—
Small.
Like she had stepped into something that existed long before her.
And would continue long after.
The wind shifted.
Her hair stirred slightly.
Then—
She looked up.
And everything stopped.
The sky was wrong.
Not dark.
Not bright.
Filled.
Shapes.
Countless.
Blades.
They didn't fall.
Didn't move.
They remained.
Suspended.
Watching.
Illya's chest tightened.
"…no…"
Her hand rose slowly, almost without her noticing.
Something formed in it.
Weight.
She looked down.
A weapon.
Unfamiliar.
And yet—
Her grip adjusted.
Perfectly.
"…I don't know this…"
The words felt weak.
Uncertain.
Because her body disagreed.
The wind carried something else now.
A voice.
Not loud.
Not clear.
But close.
…don't stop…
Her fingers tightened.
"…I didn't—"
Another fragment.
Closer.
Sharper.
…even if it's wrong…
Her breath hitched.
"…why does that…"
She took a step forward.
Nothing changed.
And yet—
Everything felt closer.
The weight in her hand shifted slightly.
Her stance lowered.
More stable.
More—
Certain.
"…I've never…"
The sentence broke.
Because something else rose instead.
A feeling.
Not memory.
Familiarity.
The wind grew stronger.
The blades above remained still.
But she felt like—
If she reached out—
They would answer.
Another voice.
The same.
Closer now.
…my body…
Her lips parted.
"…made of…"
Silence.
The words stopped again.
Not fading.
Refusing.
Her hand trembled.
"…what is this place…"
No answer came.
Only wind.
Only steel.
Only the sky that should not exist.
Across the hall—
He stood still.
His hand rested lightly against the wall.
His eyes unfocused.
"…steel…" he murmured.
The word came easier this time.
Not understood.
But known.
His brow furrowed slightly.
There was no dream.
No vision.
No image.
And yet—
He felt it.
Distance.
Not measured in space.
But in something harder to name.
His fingers tightened slightly.
"…This again…"
The feeling pressed at the edge of his thoughts.
Not breaking through.
Just—
Waiting.
Then—
It faded.
Slowly.
Leaving nothing behind.
Except—
The certainty that it would return.
Back in the empty world—
Illya stood alone.
The wind moved.
The blades remained.
And somewhere within it all—
Something watched.
Not with intent.
Not with awareness.
But with presence.
Unchanging.
Unending.
Illya's grip tightened once more.
"…I don't understand…"
The wind answered.
But not in words.
The room returned before she understood it had left.
Heat.
Blankets.
The faint sound of something moving beyond the door.
Illya's eyes opened slowly.
"…mm…"
For a moment, she didn't move.
The dream lingered.
Not clearly.
Not in images.
Just—
A feeling.
Her hand shifted slightly under the blanket.
Empty.
"…what was…"
The thought slipped away before it formed.
A knock.
Soft.
Illya blinked.
"…come in…"
The door opened.
And Miyu stepped inside.
Miyu Edelfelt paused near the doorway, as if measuring the room before committing to it.
"…You're awake," she said.
Illya stared at her for a second.
Then—
"…you came…"
Not surprised.
Just—
Relieved.
Miyu gave a small nod.
"…You didn't come to school."
"That's because I'm dying," Illya muttered weakly, sinking slightly deeper into the blanket.
"…You're not," Miyu replied.
A pause.
"…Probably."
Illya let out a small, tired laugh.
"…That's not reassuring…"
Miyu stepped closer.
Her movements were quiet.
Controlled.
She placed something on the table beside the bed.
A glass of water.
Illya glanced at it.
"…Thanks…"
Miyu didn't respond immediately.
Her eyes shifted.
Briefly.
Toward the table.
The card remained there.
Exactly where it had been.
She didn't comment.
Neither did he.
He stood near the window now.
Silent.
Watching.
Not intruding.
Just—
Present.
Illya noticed him after a moment.
"…you're still here…"
He nodded slightly.
"…Yeah."
"…You don't have to watch me suffer, you know…"
"…I'm not."
A pause.
"…Just making sure you're okay."
Illya looked at him for a second.
"…That sounds like watching me suffer."
"…Probably."
Miyu glanced between them.
Quiet.
Then—
"…You should rest."
Illya sighed.
"…I've been resting…"
"…Then rest properly."
"…What does that even mean…"
Miyu didn't answer.
She adjusted the blanket slightly.
Precise.
Efficient.
Illya blinked.
"…You're weirdly good at this…"
"…I've done it before," Miyu said simply.
Illya tilted her head slightly.
"…At taking care of people?"
A pause.
"…Something like that."
Silence settled again.
Comfortable this time.
Illya shifted slightly, pulling the blanket closer.
"…Hey, Miyu…"
"…Yes?"
Illya hesitated.
"…Do you ever get weird dreams?"
Miyu's gaze sharpened slightly.
"…What kind?"
Illya frowned faintly.
Trying to remember.
"…I don't know…"
A pause.
"…Like… places you've never been…"
Miyu didn't answer immediately.
"…Sometimes," she said.
Illya nodded slightly.
"…This one felt… real…"
Her fingers curled faintly against the blanket.
"…There were… things in the sky…"
She stopped.
Because that was all she had.
Miyu watched her for a moment longer.
"…Dreams can feel like that," she said quietly.
Illya didn't look convinced.
But she didn't push it either.
"…Yeah…"
Her eyes drifted shut again.
The conversation faded.
Miyu remained seated.
Silent.
He didn't move.
But his gaze shifted.
To the table.
The card.
Still there.
Still quiet.
And yet—
Something about it felt heavier now.
Not outwardly.
Internally.
His fingers flexed slightly at his side.
"…You didn't touch it again," Miyu said suddenly.
He paused.
Looked at her.
"…No."
Her gaze held his for a moment.
Searching.
Then—
"…Good."
No explanation.
No elaboration.
Just—
That.
Silence returned.
Outside, the wind moved softly.
Inside, nothing changed.
And yet—
Something had.
Not enough to understand.
Not enough to name.
But enough that none of them were quite where they had been before.
Night came quietly.
Too quietly.
The Mirror World opened without resistance.
Illya landed unevenly.
Her feet touched the ground—but her balance didn't follow.
"…I'm fine," she said immediately.
Before anyone asked.
Rin didn't respond.
She didn't believe her.
Miyu stood slightly ahead.
Already focused.
Already watching.
Luvia exhaled lightly.
"…Try not to collapse mid-battle."
"…I said I'm fine…"
She wasn't.
The air felt wrong.
Not heavy like before.
Not oppressive like Saber.
This was—
Sharper.
Like something was already moving.
Waiting for the moment they stopped paying attention.
"…Stay alert," Rin said quietly.
Illya tightened her grip on her wand.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A flicker.
Not light.
Not movement.
Absence.
Miyu reacted instantly.
She turned—
Blade already moving—
Clang.
Steel met something unseen.
A shape flickered into existence.
A figure.
Thin.
Sharp.
Then gone again.
"…Assassin," Rin muttered.
Assassin (Class Card)
Illya swallowed.
"…I didn't even see—"
"Don't rely on sight," Miyu said.
Too late.
The presence vanished again.
Silence.
Stillness.
Then—
Pain.
Illya gasped.
Her arm jerked back.
A thin line of red spread across her sleeve.
"…What—?!"
She hadn't seen it.
Hadn't felt it—
Until it was already done.
Miyu turned sharply.
"Where—"
Too late again.
Another strike—
Blocked.
Barely.
Miyu forced it away.
But her stance shifted.
"…It's faster than before," she said.
Rin's expression hardened.
"…And it's targeting her."
Illya stepped back instinctively.
Her breathing uneven.
"…I can't—see it…"
"Then stop trying to," Rin snapped.
The presence flickered again.
Closer this time.
Illya turned—
Too slow.
A flash—
Pain.
Her shoulder this time.
She stumbled.
"…Illya!" Miyu moved immediately.
But something was wrong.
The wound—
Burned.
Not like a cut.
Like something spreading.
Illya's vision blurred.
"…what… is…"
Her grip loosened.
Her breathing broke.
"…I can't—"
The world tilted.
The ground felt unstable beneath her feet.
"…Illya, stay focused!" Rin's voice cut through—
But it didn't reach her properly.
Everything felt—
Distant.
Wrong.
The wind—
Changed.
Not the Mirror World.
Something else.
Metal.
Faint.
Far away.
"…no…"
Her hand trembled.
The wand slipped slightly.
"…not now…"
The presence moved again.
Faster.
Closer.
A killing strike—
Intercepted.
Miyu forced it back.
But this time—
She didn't push forward.
She turned.
Toward Illya.
"…You're losing control," she said.
Illya shook her head weakly.
"…I'm not—"
Her voice broke.
Mana surged.
Unstable.
Uncontrolled.
The air around her twisted.
"…Illya—stop!" Rin shouted.
Too late.
The pressure exploded outward.
A burst of light.
Raw.
Unfocused.
Everything within range was thrown back.
Rin braced.
Luvia shielded.
Miyu held her ground—
Barely.
The blast faded.
Silence followed.
Illya stood at the center.
Breathing uneven.
Eyes unfocused.
"…I didn't mean to…"
Miyu stepped forward slowly.
Not attacking.
Not comforting.
Just—
Watching.
"…You're unstable," she said quietly.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just—
Certain.
Illya's hands trembled.
"…I can still fight…"
"…No."
The word landed harder than anything before it.
Silence.
Rin didn't interrupt.
Because she agreed.
The presence flickered again.
Watching.
Waiting.
The fight wasn't over.
But something had already broken.
Far away—
In the real world—
He froze.
Mid-step.
His breath caught sharply.
"…What—"
It hit him all at once.
Not pain.
Not exactly.
A memory—
No.
A feeling.
Sharp.
Violent.
A strike he hadn't seen—
But knew.
His hand clenched instinctively.
"…That… wasn't…"
The sensation faded just as quickly.
Leaving him standing there.
Confused.
Breathing uneven.
"…This again…"
He looked toward the door.
For a moment—
It almost felt like he should move.
Like he needed to be there.
But—
He didn't.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Back in the Mirror World—
Illya stood frozen.
Miyu stepped forward.
The space between them quiet.
"…We end this quickly," Miyu said.
Not to Illya.
To the fight.
The air tightened again.
The unseen presence shifted.
And the night—
Did not end quietly.