The Chosen of Tengri(Fate Stay Night)

The steppe felt different this time.

Shirou stood in the center of a vast plain, the horizon stretching endlessly in every direction. The stars above were faint, their light muted by a haze that hung over the landscape. The air was still, heavy, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Genghis Khan stood nearby, his imposing form outlined against the faint glow of the horizon. His expression was sharper than usual, his eyes glinting like steel.

"You feel it, don't you?" Genghis said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Shirou nodded, his chest tightening. "Yeah. It feels... wrong."

Genghis stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the dry grass. "This is the weight of uncertainty" he said. "The doubt that creeps into the hearts of those who seek to change the world. It is a forge, boy. And tonight, you will be tested."

Shirou frowned, gripping the hilt of the sword at his side. "Tested how?"

"By fire" Genghis said simply. He raised his hand, and the ground beneath Shirou began to shift.

The landscape twisted and warped, the plains transforming into a vast, barren wasteland. The air grew hot, the ground beneath Shirou's feet cracking as flames erupted around him. He stumbled, the heat searing his skin, but managed to steady himself.

"Why are you doing this?" Shirou shouted, turning to Genghis.

Genghis stood at the edge of the flames, untouched by the fire. "Because strength cannot be forged without struggle," he said. "If you cannot endure this, you have no right to wield the ideals you claim to uphold."

Shirou gritted his teeth, the flames licking at his legs as he tried to move forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the heat sapping his strength.

"You said I could protect everyone!" Shirou yelled, his voice cracking. "How does this help me do that?"

Genghis's gaze hardened. "I said no such thing. I told you the truth: to protect some, you must sacrifice others. Leadership demands choices, and choices come with consequences."

Shirou froze, his breath catching. "I don't want to make sacrifices" he said quietly.

"Then you are unfit to lead" Genghis said, his tone cold.

Shirou's hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The flames surged around him, the heat nearly unbearable, but he refused to back down.

"I don't care if it's impossible" Shirou said, his voice shaking but resolute. "I'll find a way. I'll protect everyone, no matter what it takes."

For a moment, Genghis said nothing. Then, he nodded. "So be it."

The flames roared higher, consuming the wasteland. But instead of retreating, Shirou stepped forward, his body trembling with effort. Each step was a struggle, but he kept moving, his resolve burning brighter than the fire around him.

Finally, he reached the center of the flames, where a massive anvil stood. Atop it rested a glowing piece of steel, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light.

"This is your essence" Genghis said, his voice echoing in the inferno. "The core of your being. Forge it into something worthy of your ideals."

Shirou stepped up to the anvil, his hands reaching for the steel. It was hot to the touch, but he didn't flinch. He lifted it, placing it onto the anvil with a determined gaze.

"Now what?" Shirou asked, glancing at Genghis.

"Strike" Genghis said. "Shape it. Give it purpose."

A hammer materialized in Shirou's hand, its weight comforting despite the heat. He raised it high, bringing it down onto the steel with all his strength. The sound of the strike echoed across the wasteland, reverberating in his chest.

Again and again, Shirou struck the steel, his arms burning with effort. Each blow sent sparks flying, the metal gradually taking shape.

As he worked, flashes of memory flickered through his mind—faces, voices, moments of triumph and failure. He saw the people he wanted to protect, the lives he hoped to save, and the sacrifices he feared he would have to make.

The steel began to glow brighter, its shape becoming clearer.

"What is it?" Shirou asked, his voice strained.

"That" Genghis said, his tone almost reverent, "is your will made manifest. It is the foundation of your strength. Do not stop now."

Shirou continued to strike the steel, his determination growing with each blow. The flames around him began to recede, the wasteland shifting back into the familiar plains of the steppe.

When he delivered the final strike, the steel blazed with light, its form revealed: a blade, long and unyielding, its edge gleaming like the stars above.

Shirou stared at it, his chest heaving. "This... is mine?"

"It is," Genghis said. "But it is not finished. This is only the beginning. The forge has awakened, but the rest is up to you."

Shirou woke the next morning, his body aching as though he'd been working for hours. He didn't remember the dream, but the sensation of the hammer in his hands lingered, a faint echo in his mind.

As he practiced with the wooden sword later that day, his strikes felt sharper, his movements more deliberate. Something inside him had shifted, though he couldn't explain how.

Far away, on the steppe, Genghis Khan stood at the forge, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "The boy has begun to understand," he murmured. "But the real test is yet to come."