Chapter 10: Chains That Bind
Riya awoke to a world of lead.
Every fiber of his being ached.
The aftermath of the "connection" with Jack had left his body trembling, wrung dry of energy.
His skin still tingled faintly, and his breath came in shallow pulls as if gravity itself had grown crueler overnight.
Muramasa sat nearby, cross-legged, sharpening one of his blades in silence.
His eyes flicked to Riya once he stirred.
"You're alive," the swordsmith said plainly.
"That's good. I was starting to wonder."
Riya tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the makeshift bedding with a grunt. "I feel like I fought a war in my dreams."
Muramasa nodded once, expression unreadable.
They said little else for a while.
But unspoken tension hung heavy between them — not animosity, but awareness.
Muramasa had seen what Riya did to that magus.
Saw the detached brutality.
And yet, he hadn't judged it.
After some time, Riya finally sat upright and rubbed his face, thinking.
The war was escalating too quickly.
He was one man, with a powerful but limited array of Servants and borrowed powers.
The enemy was a fortress.
But worse, the rules themselves were shifting.
The Grail had marked him as Ruler.
That title wasn't just symbolic — it meant something had changed on a fundamental level.
"Something's wrong with this war," Riya muttered aloud.
Muramasa gave a low grunt of agreement.
"I've fought in more than one Holy Grail conflict. This… feels wrong."
"Like there's a second set of hands rewriting the script behind the curtain."
Riya closed his eyes and focused.
He called upon Jeanne's power — Revelation.
A whisper.
The voice of guidance born from the heavens.
He held his breath and reached inward.
A flicker.
A thread.
A quiet voice that wasn't a voice.
Return to the beginning.
That was all.
No details.
Just a direction.
Riya opened his eyes. "We're going back to the church.
Muramasa arched an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because something started there," Riya said, standing slowly.
"And if we want to understand this mess, we need to go back to the beginning."
Far from Sighisoara, deep within the Black Faction's fortress, a quiet miracle unfolded.
A lone homunculus awoke, coughing fluid and gasping for breath in the shattered remains of his growth capsule.
Around him, dozens of others lay dead — never fully formed, or broken apart by magic surges.
But he had survived.
Driven by fear, confusion, and the instinct to live, he stumbled out into the cold, sterile corridors of the castle.
He didn't make it far before collapsing again — but fate had other plans.
Astolfo, Rider of Black, was the first to find him.
His colorful armor glinted in the torchlight, and his eyes widened with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Hey there, little guy," he said, kneeling.
"You okay? You look like a newborn deer."
The homunculus tried to speak, but could only groan.
Astolfo gently lifted him and carried him through the halls, until they met Chiron.
The Archer of Black said nothing for a long moment as he observed the shivering figure.
Then he summoned a blanket and medicine, treating the homunculus's minor wounds with quiet efficiency.
"You were not meant to live more than a few years," Chiron explained calmly. "Your life expectancy, by design, is no more than three."
The homunculus looked stricken.
But then, something fierce sparked behind his wide, uncertain eyes.
"Even if that's true… I want to live," he said.
Astolfo smiled. "That's the spirit."
But fate had little time for dreams.
Before long, Celenike found them.
The raven-haired Master of Astolfo stared at the scene with delight.
Her voice slithered across the room like a blade coated in honey.
"My, my… what's this? A traitor with a pet?" she cooed.
Neither Chiron nor Astolfo answered.
Celenike stepped closer, her Command Seals already glowing faintly.
"I should report this to Lord Darnic."
"But I won't."
"Not if you two agree to entertain me instead."
Her meaning was clear.
Disgustingly so.
Astolfo stiffened.
The homunculus blinked, confused… but desperate.
"I'll do it," the homunculus said quickly.
"Please… I just want to live."
Later that night, chains clinked in candlelight.
The room stank of perfume and dread.
Celenike grinned like a devil.
The two captives endured it — for freedom, for survival.
The cost of life was high.
Back in Sighisoara, Riya and Muramasa followed the Revelation's call through the fog-laced streets.
The town felt colder than before.
Harsher.
When they reached the church, what they found chilled them further.
The building had been obliterated.
Burned timbers and shattered stone littered the foundation.
Ash clung to the broken pews.
The holy air that once surrounded it had been scorched clean.
Muramasa bent down, examining the floor.
"No ordinary explosion did this."
"This was targeted magic — destruction meant to silence."
Riya nodded, eyes scanning the ruin.
"Shirou," he muttered. "This was him."
The priest had been too calm.
Too coordinated.
Riya had dismissed him as a sideshow, a background player.
He was wrong.
The real enemy… might not be the Black Faction.
It might be hiding in plain sight.
Riya stood amidst the ruins, staring into the dying embers of a place that once symbolized truth.
And he realized: the war wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about unmasking the lies beneath it all.
And maybe — just maybe — breaking the chains that bound not just him, but everyone caught in this twisted game.