The Chosen of Tengri(Fate Stay Night)

The dream always began the same way.

Shirou found himself standing in the middle of an endless plain, the ground beneath him soft and uneven, the air sharp with the scent of dust and open skies. Above, the stars hung low, brighter and sharper than any he had ever seen.

And then, the voice came.

"You've returned."

It was deep and commanding, carrying with it the weight of countless battles and victories. Shirou turned, his heart pounding, to see the familiar figure standing atop a nearby hill.

Genghis Khan looked down at him, his cloak billowing in the wind. His presence was overwhelming, a force of nature bound in human form.

"You again" Shirou said, his voice uncertain. "What do you want this time?"

Genghis raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "What I want is irrelevant. The question is, what do you want, boy? You made a vow. You called to the heavens. Why?"

Shirou hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. "I... I don't know. I just don't want anyone to suffer. I want to protect everyone."

Genghis's smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, assessing gaze. "Protect everyone?" he repeated, his tone almost mocking. "A noble sentiment, but a foolish one. Do you understand what that means?"

Shirou clenched his fists. "It means standing up for people who can't defend themselves."

"No," Genghis said, stepping closer. His voice grew louder, colder. "It means sacrifice. It means pain. It means looking into the eyes of the people you fail to save and carrying that weight for the rest of your life."

Shirou flinched at the harshness of his words. "I don't care how hard it is," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll find a way."

Genghis studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Then prove it."

Before Shirou could respond, Genghis gestured sharply, and the ground beneath Shirou shifted. He stumbled, barely catching himself as a wall of wind slammed into him.

"Stand up," Genghis barked. "The steppe does not bow to weakness.1"

The first trial was physical.

Genghis led Shirou across the steppe, setting a brutal pace that left Shirou gasping for breath. The plains stretched endlessly, the horizon always just out of reach. Each time Shirou faltered, Genghis stopped and turned, his gaze hard.

"You're slowing down" Genghis said, his tone sharp. "Are you already finished?"

Shirou forced himself to keep moving, his legs trembling with every step. "No" he said, though his voice wavered. "I can... keep going."

"You say that now" Genghis replied, turning to continue ahead. "But the body will betray you long before the mind does. That's when resolve must take over. Show me yours."

The next trial was combat.

By the time they stopped, Shirou's body was screaming in protest, his muscles trembling from exhaustion. Genghis handed him a sword, its blade gleaming faintly under the starlight.

"Fight" Genghis commanded, motioning to the towering figure that appeared before Shirou. The figure was clad in dark armor, their face obscured by a steel mask.

"Wait, who" Shirou began, but Genghis cut him off.

"Questions waste time. Action wins battles. Strike now, or you'll die where you stand."

Shirou barely had time to react before his opponent charged. He raised the sword instinctively, blocking the first strike, but the force of the blow nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Focus!" Genghis shouted. "A wandering mind is a dead man's weakness!"

Shirou gritted his teeth and pushed back, his movements clumsy and desperate. His strikes were wild, his footing unsteady. Each time he tried to attack, his opponent countered effortlessly, driving him further back.

"Is this all you have?" Genghis taunted from the sidelines. "Do you think promises alone will keep you alive? Fight like you mean it, boy!"

Shirou's frustration boiled over. He lunged forward, putting all his strength into a single strike. His blade connected, sending his opponent reeling. Shirou stumbled back, breathing hard, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Well done," Genghis said, though his tone was devoid of warmth. "But one victory means nothing. Again."

Shirou stared at him in disbelief. "Again? Are you serious?"

"Do I look like a man who jokes?" Genghis retorted. "Your enemies won't stop after one battle. Why should you?"

Shirou's grip tightened on the sword. "This is impossible."

"Good" Genghis said, his expression hardening. "Impossible is where we begin."

The cycle repeated endlessly: trial after trial, each one pushing Shirou further than he thought he could go. Genghis offered little encouragement, his words blunt and often harsh.

But as the trials continued, something began to change. Shirou's movements grew sharper, his reflexes quicker. The sword felt lighter in his hands, and the rhythm of battle started to feel familiar.

After what felt like hours, Shirou finally dropped to his knees, the sword slipping from his grasp. His chest heaved, his limbs trembling.

Genghis approached, his boots crunching softly against the grass. He stopped in front of Shirou, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

"A sword is forged in fire" he said. "So too is a man's will. Remember that."

Shirou looked up at him, his vision swimming. "And if it breaks?"

Genghis knelt down, his gaze piercing. "Then you temper it. Again and again, until it cannot break. That is the lesson of the forge."

When Shirou woke the next morning, he felt disoriented and sore, as though he'd spent the night running a marathon. The details of the dream were gone, slipping from his mind like water through his fingers.

But when he picked up the wooden sword in the backyard, it felt lighter in his hands.

And when he moved, the motions came naturally, as though he'd been practicing for years.