Illya gaped at the Servant standing in the summoning circle–Assassin? Assassin?! She was supposed to have summoned a Berserker! Not only that, but she found herself doubting that the Servant was even the one the catalyst had been prepared for–but that was because she couldn’t really see Heracles as the sneaking type. And if the catalyst hadn’t worked, then why couldn’t she have at least gotten a Berserker?
She’d said the incantation right, she was sure of it. She’d repeated it enough times now that it was second nature, almost, to say the lines of the aria. Sure, she hadn’t expected being told to summon her Servant so early, but–but the time couldn’t have had that much of an affect on the ritual, right? Just because it was so early–that couldn’t have ruined all of her family’s plans, it couldn’t have!
The white-haired homunculus narrowed her eyes, scratching irritatedly at the magic circuits on her forearms, which were already protesting the burden of the Servant’s existence, no matter if he was an Assassin. Assassins were supposed to be weak, they and the Caster-class Servants…and she was supposed to have summoned the strongest Servant. The strongest Servant that her grandfather had been able to obtain a catalyst for. And–and who did this Servant think he was, anyways, getting in the way like that?!
Something about his voice was strange, like something she’d heard before, but she was more focused on the fact that he had appeared at all, instead of the Servant they had worked for. “I wasn’t trying to summon an Assassin,” she hissed out, already bemoaning in her head the task of explaining this to her grandfather, who would surely think that she hadn’t done something right, even when she knew it wasn’t her fault. “Just who do you think you are, anyways?!” He might not tell her his true name immediately, but she was going to try anyways–anything to salvage something good from this misfortune.
...Ah. This must be my punishment. What a black comedy this is, to be summoned like this, in the here and now. But even so... even so, to see her face again, to hear her voice...
She was almost close enough to touch.
Is this your doing, Iri? A second chance? To protect her once more, where before I failed? Does some part of you remain in that black mass, even with what I’ve done?
“It matters not what you were trying to do. A circle was inscribed, and I was summoned. That is the result. Therefore, instead of focusing on possibilities that could have been, it would be prudent to work with what we have now... Master.”
The word was strange on his tongue.
“I apologize if I have offended you by my summoning, but know that I will serve you faithfully regardless of these circumstances.”
“Please forgive me, Master.”
The words were spoken in his usual quiet tone, without fuss or undue emotion, carefully avoiding the reveal of his identity. For all that he showed, the Assassin could have been mistaken for statue for how little he moved, only puffs of breath in the winter air showing that there was life in that still form - but within him, a desperate mixture of hope and grief clawed at his heart, the words that he’d never gotten to say finally having slipped out.
Please forgive me, Illya. I wasn’t able to keep my promise. I wasn’t able to protect you. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t come back. I left you alone. I caused you so much pain. I’m not worthy to be called your father.
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