The Same Game (Intro/Open)
“I see. So I was not lied to. Or maybe we’re both sharing the same lie. Hehehe…“
The figure chuckles under his breath. The laughter is unnatural, as if something that has not been experienced in ages, or perhaps even at all. The person under the metal helmet was definitely not the kind who could allow themselves a good laugh. The life he led had been difficult and not for the weak of heart, and because of that, after some time, he had forgotten the basic human needs, like how to express joy. Maybe during this Grail War that would change…
After all, a whole new world awaited the Chosen Undead, where sorceries were left to rot, forgotten save by a few. Was this really the right direction for the world? Change was a part of life, a natural part of the order, but not always did it bring good results for humanity. Discarding magic seemed like an unnatural choice to the warrior. How could one live without the boons granted by it? Especially with the remedies that Miracles offered…
“We are about to start a war. Pleasant thoughts are the only thing we have left, do we not? It would be best to keep those safely within us. Hm. Tell me something. Do you know what it feels like to die?”
"I would not rule that out" He was not regarding the Grail with anything but suspicion. The device was incredibly dubious, it clearly had a will and intentions of its own. He couldn't trust it.
It was an odd sound, his laughter. Not quite forced just... Out of practice. He remembered laughter at a certain Ionian festival. There had been laughter since, but it owed it's origins there. It was something harder to enjoy alone, perhaps that's why he had decided it worthwhile.
Never being a user of magic, it was not difficult to imagine his life without it. but for someone like Syndra, who simply made trying to hide such magic impossible. Syndra, who was at this war... There was a lot on his mind and the firing guns were still a way off. He was shaken from his reverie as the armoured figure spoke once more.
He was right, they could not afford to be squandered. At that thought, he slipped two cans from inside his suit, taking a look at the label before tossing one of the metal cylinders this knight's way. There was no way he wasn't going to see how far one of his favourite drinks come. A pointed finger pierced the seal with a sharp hiss, and he leaned back against the nearest wall, but made no move to raise the can or his mask.
"I am here, am I not?" It was his impression that all Heroic Spirits were ghosts of the deceased. "But of course, one can die, without feeling death." His mind flashed back to countless battles in the Rift. And those deaths. they were not even real. Time magic and clutch teleportation. But he had something else, a survival instinct that was not just his own. "I'm sure you will forgive me for keeping the details to myself, but I have come much closer than most mortals to death, then been dragged back into the light."










