The Chosen of Tengri(Fate Stay Night)

A Sudden Chill

That evening, as Shirou walked home from school, the air had grown colder than usual. He hadn't brought a jacket, thinking the day's mild warmth would last, but now the chill gnawed at him, cutting through his thin shirt.

The streets of Fuyuki City were quieter than normal. It was subtle at first—less chatter from passing pedestrians, fewer cars on the road. The faint buzz of city life, the comforting hum that usually accompanied his walk home, seemed muted, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

Shirou glanced over his shoulder, his pace slowing. He wasn't sure why, but something felt... off.

The small side streets he usually took home were eerily empty. The soft glow of streetlights illuminated the narrow lanes, but their light seemed dimmer, weaker somehow. He passed by a closed convenience store, its windows reflecting the pale glow of the overhead lamps. The faint hum of the fluorescent sign buzzed intermittently, its sound unnaturally loud in the silence.

A faint gust of wind brushed past him, carrying a chill that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

Shirou paused, glancing behind him again. This time, the feeling was stronger—an uncomfortable prickle at the base of his spine, as though a pair of unseen eyes were fixed on him.

"Is someone there?" he called, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest.

His words echoed faintly down the empty street, but no answer came. The silence that followed felt heavier, oppressive, as though the city itself were conspiring to keep its secrets.

Shirou frowned, his hand tightening instinctively around the strap of his bag. He tried to brush off the unease, forcing himself to move forward, but his steps were slower now, his senses on edge.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears.

Shirou stopped abruptly, his heart pounding. The sound was faint, rhythmic, coming from somewhere behind him. He turned sharply, his eyes scanning the empty street, but no one was there.

The footsteps stopped.

Shirou's pulse quickened. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner where someone might be hiding.

"Hello?" he called again, his voice more uncertain this time.

Silence.

As he stood there, trying to make sense of the unease creeping through him, another gust of wind swept down the street. This one was sharper, colder, carrying with it the faint scent of something metallic—blood, maybe, or rust.

Shirou swallowed hard, his breath visible in the frigid air. He glanced around once more, his mind racing. You're just imagining things, he told himself. It's late, and you're tired. That's all.

But the sensation of being watched didn't fade.

The sound of footsteps returned, louder this time. They were deliberate, purposeful, and they didn't stop when Shirou turned toward the source.

His instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. The footsteps grew closer, and then, just as abruptly as they had started, they stopped again.

Shirou exhaled shakily, his body tense. He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the street. The shadows seemed to shift and stretch unnaturally, their edges sharp against the faint glow of the streetlights.

And then he saw it.

At the far end of the street, barely visible in the dim light, a figure stood. They were tall and broad-shouldered, their features obscured by the darkness. The faint glint of something metallic—a weapon, perhaps—caught Shirou's eye.

The figure didn't move.

Shirou's heart raced as he took a step back, his hand fumbling for the phone in his bag. The moment he moved, the figure tilted its head slightly, as though studying him.

"Who are you?" Shirou called, his voice louder now, though it wavered at the edges.

No answer came.

Shirou's grip on his phone tightened, his thumb hovering over the screen. He could call Taiga or the police, but something deep inside him told him neither would help. Whoever this was, they weren't... normal.

As if to confirm his thoughts, the figure took a step forward, the sound of their boots echoing faintly. The glint of metal became clearer now—it was a spear, its long shaft reflecting the dim light as the figure raised it slightly.

Shirou froze, his mind racing. A spear? Who walks around with a spear?

The figure stopped again, their posture relaxed but deliberate. It was almost as if they were daring Shirou to run, waiting to see what he would do.

The cold in the air deepened, biting into Shirou's skin. Every instinct told him to turn and flee, but his feet refused to move.

"Who are you?" Shirou repeated, his voice shaking now. "What do you want?"

The figure tilted its head again, and though they still didn't answer, Shirou felt an unmistakable sense of menace radiating from them. This wasn't just someone out for a walk.

This was something else entirely.

The figure took another step forward, the spear in their hand gleaming like a shard of ice. Shirou's breath caught in his throat, and for the first time, he felt the full weight of the danger he was in.

He turned sharply, his legs finally obeying him, and bolted down the street. Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed once more, steady and unrelenting.