The Chosen of Tengri(Fate Stay Night)

 Shirou groaned softly, his body trembling as he pushed himself upright. His workshop was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a faintly flickering lamp in the corner. The cold concrete floor felt unyielding beneath his palms, and a dull ache throbbed in his shoulder where the spearman's attack had grazed him.

He glanced down, his eyes widening as he saw the blood pooling beneath him. His uniform was torn, and the wound on his shoulder burned sharply with every movement.

"What... what just happened?" Shirou muttered, his voice hoarse.

His gaze drifted toward the workbench at the far end of the room. The ceremonial sword fragment lay there, untouched yet glowing faintly, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly light.

The sight of it sent a chill down his spine.

Shirou struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily as he made his way to the workbench. The sword fragment pulsed softly, as though resonating with something unseen.

As he reached out to pick it up, a sharp jolt of energy shot through his body, making him gasp.

"What the...?" Shirou pulled his hand back, his heart racing. The fragment's glow intensified, casting shifting patterns of light across the walls of the workshop.

The air around him grew heavy, vibrating faintly with an unseen force. Shirou staggered back, clutching at his chest as a sudden warmth spread through him.

Before he could process what was happening, the floor beneath him began to change.

The faint lines of a summoning circle, etched into the concrete and barely visible until now, flared to life. Symbols and runes pulsed with golden light, their intricate patterns swirling outward from the sword fragment at the center.

Shirou's breath caught in his throat. He recognized the circle—it was part of a set of old diagrams and tools Kiritsugu had left behind. He'd seen them before but had never thought they were more than remnants of his adoptive father's past.

"Is this... magecraft?" Shirou whispered, his voice barely audible.

The glow of the circle grew brighter, filling the room with blinding light. The air felt charged, crackling with energy that made his hair stand on end.

And then, he heard it—a voice, distant and commanding, echoing through the space around him.

"Answer my call. Heed my summoning. From the farthest reaches of the past, come forth!"

Shirou froze, his heart pounding as the light reached its peak. A deafening roar filled the workshop, and for a moment, it felt as though the very fabric of reality was tearing apart.

When the light faded, Shirou blinked, his vision adjusting to the sudden darkness.

Standing in the center of the summoning circle was a figure, bathed in the faint glow of the ceremonial sword fragment.

The figure was clad in shining silver armor, its intricate plates polished to a mirror-like sheen. A long blue cape billowed behind them, though there was no wind.

Shirou's breath hitched as the figure turned to face him. Their face was delicate yet stern, framed by golden hair that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The figure's piercing green eyes met Shirou's, their gaze sharp and assessing.

"Are you my Master?" the figure asked, their voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight of authority.

Shirou stared at them, his mind reeling. "Your... Master?" he repeated, his voice shaking.

The figure nodded, their expression unchanging. "Yes. By summoning me, you have established a contract. You are now my Master, and I am your Servant—Saber."

"Saber?" Shirou echoed, the word unfamiliar and strange on his tongue. "Wait, I didn't summon you! I don't even know what's happening right now!"

Saber's brow furrowed slightly, their gaze narrowing. "You lack understanding," they said bluntly. "Yet the summoning circle responded to you, and the catalyst forged our connection."

They gestured toward the ceremonial sword fragment, which now lay dark and still at their feet.

Shirou shook his head, his chest tightening. "I didn't mean to..."

Before he could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside the workshop, accompanied by a familiar, menacing voice.

"Well, well. Looks like the rat survived."

Shirou's blood ran cold as the door to the workshop swung open. Standing in the doorway was the spearman from earlier, his crimson armor gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"I thought I'd finished you off" Lancer said, his tone mocking as he stepped inside. "Guess I'll just have to try again."

Saber's expression darkened, their posture shifting into a combat stance. The sword at their side materialized in an instant, its blade shining brilliantly despite the lack of light.

"Stay back" Saber said, their voice firm. "I will handle this."

Shirou stumbled back, his legs unsteady as Saber stepped forward, placing themselves between him and Lancer.

"So, you're Saber" Lancer said, his grin widening. "Figures. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Saber didn't respond. Their focus remained locked on Lancer, their blade held steady.

Shirou could only watch, his heart racing as the two figures squared off. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with an invisible energy that made his skin prickle.

And then, in a flash, the battle began.

Saber and Lancer's clash was blinding, their weapons meeting with a force that shook the walls of the workshop. Sparks flew, illuminating the darkened space as their blades collided in a flurry of strikes.

Shirou pressed himself against the wall, his mind struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of the fight. This wasn't just a battle—it was something beyond human comprehension.

As the sound of clashing steel filled the air, one thought echoed in Shirou's mind:

What have I gotten myself into?