The Chosen of Tengri(Fate Stay Night)

Later that week, Kiritsugu set up a small sparring session for Shirou. While his health no longer allowed him to join in, he stood by as an observer, a quiet but firm presence.

"Let's see how you've been progressing" Kiritsugu said, leaning against the porch railing. His voice carried its usual calm, but there was a note of curiosity in it.

Shirou nodded, gripping the wooden sword tightly. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"The usual routine first" Kiritsugu replied. "Then we'll test your adaptability."

Shirou took a deep breath, falling into a familiar stance. The motions were second nature now, his muscles moving with fluid precision. He began the routine, each strike and step executed with surprising sharpness.

Kiritsugu's eyes narrowed as he watched. Shirou's movements weren't just improved—they were polished, deliberate in a way that suggested far more experience than his training should have provided.

When Shirou finished, Kiritsugu said nothing for a moment. Then he gestured toward a small wooden pole set up nearby.

"Let's try something differenf" he said. "I want you to cut at a high angle and recover immediately. See if you can flow into a follow-up strike."

Shirou hesitated. "You've never taught me that."

"I know" Kiritsugu said. "That's why I want to see if you can figure it out."

Shirou stepped up to the pole, his grip tightening on the wooden sword. He raised the blade, adjusting his footing. Then, without thinking, he swung.

The strike was clean, the blade biting into the target at a perfect angle. Shirou shifted his weight and flowed into the follow-up, pivoting smoothly before landing a second blow. The entire sequence took less than a second, and by the time he stepped

Shirou stepped back, breathing steadily, the wooden sword still firm in his grip. He glanced at Kiritsugu, expecting his usual corrections or critiques.

Instead, Kiritsugu remained silent, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifted from the trembling pole to Shirou.

"Where did you learn that?" Kiritsugu asked finally, his voice quiet but sharp.

Shirou frowned, lowering the sword. "I didn't learn it. I just... I don't know. It felt natural."

"Natural?" Kiritsugu echoed, stepping forward. His eyes narrowed as he studied Shirou's posture. "That wasn't natural. That was technique. Precision. You don't just wake up one day and instinctively know how to do that."

Shirou looked down at the sword in his hands, his brow furrowed. "I'm not lying, Kiritsugu. I didn't practice this."

Kiritsugu exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. His health had dulled much of his once razor-sharp presence, but his instincts remained keen. There was something here—something he couldn't quite piece together.

"Let's try something else" Kiritsugu said, gesturing for Shirou to follow him.

Kiritsugu led Shirou to the far side of the backyard, where a series of targets had been set up in a loose pattern. Each one was marked with faint lines, indicating strike zones.

"You've seen these before" Kiritsugu said, leaning against a nearby post for support. "Standard drill: one strike per target, move through the sequence as fast as possible. Focus on accuracy, not speed."

Shirou nodded, stepping into position. He had done this drill countless times before. He raised his sword, the weight of it familiar and comfortable.

"Ready?" Kiritsugu asked.

Shirou took a deep breath, nodding.

"Go."

Shirou moved, the wooden blade cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. His strikes landed with precision, each one perfectly aligned with the marked zones. He transitioned seamlessly from one target to the next, his feet finding their rhythm as if they were guided by an unseen force.

By the time he finished, Shirou stood at the final target, his sword raised in a defensive stance. He lowered the blade, turning to Kiritsugu with a faint smile.

"Well?" Shirou asked, his voice tinged with nervous excitement.

Kiritsugu didn't answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the targets, his brow furrowed.

"You've never completed that sequence without missing at least one strike," Kiritsugu said. "Until now."

Shirou's smile faded. "I don't know how I'm doing this," he admitted. "It's just... happening. Like my body knows what to do before I can think about it."

Kiritsugu crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. "This isn't normal, Shirou. Reflexes like this don't develop overnight. And if they're not coming from me, then where?"

Shirou shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't know! I don't even remember my dreams, but every morning, I wake up feeling like... like I've been somewhere else."

Kiritsugu's eyes narrowed. "Somewhere else?"

Shirou hesitated. He didn't know how to explain the strange sensations that greeted him every morning—the faint ache in his muscles, the lingering sense of exhaustion, the flickers of images that vanished as soon as he tried to grasp them.

"It's like I've been training" Shirou said finally. "But not here. Not with you."

Kiritsugu studied him in silence for a moment, then sighed, his shoulders sagging. "There's something happening to you, Shirou," he said. "And it's beyond anything I've ever seen."

The conversation left Shirou unsettled. That night, as he lay in bed, his thoughts swirled with Kiritsugu's words. Where are these skills coming from? he wondered. What's happening to me?

As sleep claimed him, the steppe returned.

Genghis Khan stood waiting, his imposing form outlined by the stars.

"You hesitate" Genghis said, his voice cutting through the silence.

"I... I don't understand what's happening to me" Shirou admitted, his hands clenching at his sides.

Genghis smirked faintly, stepping closer. "You don't need to understand. You need only endure."

"But Kiritsugu " Shirou began, but Genghis cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"The man who guides your waking life is not your enemy" Genghis said. "But his lessons are limited. Here, I will teach you what he cannot. Now, draw your sword."

Shirou obeyed, the weight of the blade familiar in his grip. The trials began anew, each one pushing him further into exhaustion. But through it all, Genghis's voice rang out, unyielding and fierce.

"Strength is forged through fire. Resolve is shaped by the choices you make. Do not waver, boy. Stand firm."

And when Shirou woke the next morning, his body ached, and his mind felt hazy. The details of the dream were gone, but the lessons lingered, woven into the very fabric of his being.

Later that day, when Shirou picked up the wooden sword, it felt lighter than ever. His movements came naturally, each strike precise and deliberate.

Kiritsugu watched from the porch, his expression unreadable.

"Wherever you're learning this" Kiritsugu said quietly, "I hope it's teaching you the right lessons."

Shirou didn't answer. He wasn't sure how to.

Far above, the stars glittered faintly, their light steady and unyielding.