Cross-posted on Fanfiction, Spacebattles, AO3, Wattpad, and Quotev

(A/N) Chapter revised on Oct 15, 2023. The majority of changes were made in the second half of the chapter.

The inside of the hooded van rocked along the uneven terrain, its tires navigating potholes and debris. Inside the trunk, dim light filtered through the dust-laced coverings, revealing a figure seated on the floor. His posture was relaxed, almost meditative. The folds of his clothing whispered softly with each bump, revealing hints of red and black beneath the rags shrouding the man. So often, the van would jolt from a particularly rough patch, but the figure remained undisturbed, eyes closed as if lost in his thoughts.

For a while the pattern continued, the sway of the truck, almost hypnotizing if not for the aggressive dips and protrusion of the road. When the engine eventually grumbled to a halt, everything became quiet to the ears, and even to the body. The abrupt silence amplified the distant sounds, echoes that seemingly droned on endlessly, too muted to be recognized for what they were. Yet, slowly, the vacuum of emptiness within the van was pushed back by the noise.

Far-off booms, the sporadic rattling of metal, and desperate howls of something primal, like the struggling of a dying animal, whimpering, crying. But perhaps that was wrong, as rarely do animals cry in such horrendous fashion upon death. It was not the sound of animals, it was the voices of—

A battlefield is hell itself.

—men. It was only natural, a tune that he was accustomed to, one that he had heard all too many times when he promised to walk down this path.

So, the man rose and brushed past the drapes of the van. He stepped into the dusk that was painted hues of red and gold by the flames that licked the landscape. A world of skeletal remains jutted from the earth, gravestones of once upstanding buildings. It was a land filled with grief, despair, and rage. But, for those who shuddered within the shadows, a slivering—dying—notion, that maybe there might be—

There's no hope to be had in one.

—someone to save them.

Thus, on the barren hill, he stood, grey eyes homed in, past the wilderness, into the town, over the buildings, and onto the streets.

There were two figures in dirtied tunics, both small, but one was taller and the other shorter. Hunched over, they hurried along the inside of a blown open building, sticking to the walls, waiting for the opportune moment to cross to the other side of the streets. So, when the timely arrival of ceasefire happened upon them, when the hail of bullets halted, when one side was eliminated by the other, and all became quiet, they ran –

There is nothing but unspeakable despair.

—and she tripped, the smaller of the two, the girl.

She didn't see the glass bottle.

They froze. The taller one snapped his head towards one of the ruptured buildings and waited with held breath. Still on the floor, the child whimpered but bit down on her cries. With abated breaths, the older boy moved, slowly and rigidly to the side of the girl, and gently lifted her up from the bottle she was sprawled over. The two stared carefully and silently toward where moments ago flashes of muzzles had dotted the streets –

Just a soulless crime we call victory…

—yet, they were all too distracted to notice the sound of scraping glass. Freed from its hold, the bottle rolled along the tilted floor towards the edge of the broken building, tinkling against the tiled floors. It was agonizingly slow. Light chimes of the cylinder resounded with each pebble it collided against.

The siblings' gaze shifted, paralyzed as they watched the glass make its way across the room.

It was too far now. There was no way to reach it in time.

The bottle fell.

Perhaps it was too much to hope for mere children to survive here, in this inferno that felled grown men by the hundreds each day.

It was crisp. Loud and clear, like an echo in the depth of the oceans.

In the building across from the siblings, heads snapped, and muzzles turned, aimed in caution at a threat unknown.

Was it a foe? Or simply a passerby?

It did not matter, not in the face of the potential risk. After all, it was better safe than sorry. So with urgency, orders were given, and fingers latched onto triggers—

Paid for by the pain of the defeated.

—muzzles still warm and ready to get hotter.

The siblings stood there, rooted in place. Then, in all suddenness the brother moved and dived onto the sister, covering her body beneath his, closing his eyes, and turning his head. The girl, young as she was, was frozen throughout the entire endeavor, and her eyes stayed glued to the building with the soldiers, even as she was tackled down by her brother. Bright golden eyes stared, wide open, for the inevitable.

Muscles in forearms rippled, stocks pressed firmly into shoulders, and fingers tightened around triggers.

The men breathed out calmly. The brother tensed his body. And the girl remained unmoving.

It was then that both the girl and the men, stationed almost a street apart, caught something in their peripherals.

Successive flashes of red in the distance. They occurred almost simultaneously, mistaken by the mortal eye as just a single, if not prolonged, shine of glowing red on the horizon. The soldiers shifted their gaze to the brief anomaly, the beginning of perplexity just barely starting to take form at the back of their minds.

Then, the first of the projectiles arrived, and so did dozens of its identical, slicing through the air as they entered the building where the men encroached. Arrows of crimson red hummed in a luminescent glow and the dust particles in the air glimmered under their light. Reflections of bloody red pulsed in the irises of the soldiers, almost like the shining of stars, but their eyes were focused past the projectiles and into the distance where the flash of red first appeared, yet to comprehend—to react—to what had come to and what will come by.

The arrows parted the air, inching forward, and their skin glowed an ethereal scarlet, the men's uncomprehending forms stood rooted in place—

But humanity has never recognized this truth.

—white hair fluttered against his tanned cheeks, and dirtied cloak drifted down as they settled once again over his form, concealing the peculiar garments adorned by the man: a formfitting black body armor and a two-piece red, if almost holly, shroud that decorated his figure. He slowly dropped his arms, and with it, a great bow of pure black lowered to his sides. The man looked on, grey eyes lingered on the distance where—

And the reason is that, in every era, a dazzling hero has blinded the people with their legends…

—the brother stayed frozen while the little girl hiccupped. The younger sibling had watched as flashes of red illuminated the inside of the building for all but a second, and then silence reigned the night.

It wasn't until the distance thundering of the artilleries were the two jolted awake from their trance-like states. Scrambling up and peeking over the edge of the broken floor, the older teen took one last glance at the shattered bottle and the opposing building down the street, he grabbed the hand of the younger girl, tugging her along, as they made a break for alleyways.

As they ran, the girl kept on glancing back at the building and then further, past the street, over the town, and through the wilderness to a hill in the distance, a hill that had shined red a split second before the buildings did too—

And kept them from realizing the evil of bloodshed they bring.

—he tugged on his cloak and moved. There was no hesitation, just… a little bit of sympathy. All those who stood in this hell understood.

Perhaps, if he wasn't so far away and if they hadn't aimed their weapons at those children, maybe he wouldn't have to resort to such methods—

'—ster.'

—but what's done is done, in the end, those who are truly innocent are preserved—

'—ister?'

—that is all that matters.

"Sister!"

Hestia tilted her head, mousy brown locks shifting as she turned towards the voice, eyes almost unfocused, as if looking into something far away. The grand hall of Olympus was bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the marbled floors as the light pooled through the towering pillars. The council meeting had just adjourned, and most of the gods had dispersed, leaving behind only the faint echoes of their discussions.

Demeter, with her flowing green robes that seemed to ripple like fields of wheat, approached Hestia, who kneeled by the hearth, seemingly lost in thought. The gentle crackling of the flames was a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of voices.

"Sister," Demeter began, her voice soft and inviting, "Would you care to join me for some snacks? I've recently been experimenting with a new recipe. I believe you might find it delightful."

Hestia blinked, red eyes focusing as they rid themselves of the remnants of her vision. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds lovely, Demeter. Thank you."

The path leading to Demeter's temple was lined with alabaster stones, each reflecting the hues of the setting sun. The two goddesses walked side by side, their footsteps echoing softly against the marbled pathway. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of ambrosia and nectar, the divine sustenance of the gods.

Olympus stretched out around them, a blend of nature and architecture. Fountains lined the path they were walking down, cascading waterfalls flowed, their waters shimmering with a myriad of colors, each droplet catching the light and refracting it like a prism. The sound of the water was gentle, a soothing backdrop to their quiet journey.

On the sides, marbled buildings stood in ancient groves of olive and laurel trees, their leaves rustling with the gentle breeze. Between the groves, meadows stretched out, dotted with wildflowers in a riot of colors - blues, purples, yellows, and reds. Every so often, a soft glow would emerge from the flowers, hinting at the presence of a nymph or a sprite.

Above them, the sky was a canvas of oranges, purples, and pinks, the colors blending seamlessly, heralding the approach of twilight. The first stars of the evening began to twinkle, their light soft and steady.

As they neared Demeter's temple, the scent of freshly tilled earth grew stronger. Fields of grain appeared, swaying gently in the breeze, their golden stalks shimmering in the soft light, creating a soft rustling sound with each gust of wind. A great temple of marble stood on a hill of wheat; its shadows stretched for hundreds of meters to its side. Pillars lined the structure, intricately carved with scenes depicting the cycle of life, from sowing to harvest, while vines laden with ripe fruits wound their way around the columns, their weight causing the branches to droop slightly.

As the two goddesses made their way to Demeter's chambers, the goddess of the harvest cast a sidelong glance at Hestia, finally voicing the question she had withheld during their stroll. "You seemed distracted during the meeting. Is something troubling you?"

Hestia paused, her fingers lightly touching the pendant around her neck. "I had a vision," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh?"

"Of the mortal world. But... it's unclear, fragmented… and unsolicited."

"…That is," Demeter's brow furrowed in concern, "unsettling."

"I know," Hestia pursed her lips, "it is exceedingly rare to receive visions regarding mortals without actively searching for them."

"Right. I had assumed that it was about Zeus and Hades again..." The blonde goddess nodded, "How long has it been? A few decades since Hades last attended the Winter Solstice?"

"…Indeed," Hestia agreed. "I cannot fault him though. It is unimaginable to have so many you held dear, murdered by the unjust wrath of your own brother…" Her hands tightened around her robes.

Demeter glanced at her sister's anguished—and perhaps angered—expression.

"…and to fail within the very domain you ruled, salvaging nothing, not even a trace of their souls. As much as I value family—" Her warm eyes glowed with frustration. "Because how much I value family, sister… I don't think I could forgive Zeus either."

Demeter reached for Hestia's shoulder gently. "You are startlingly blunt today." Her brown eyes searched the other goddess's features. "Does this have anything to do with your vision?"

Hestia sighed. "Yes. I was shown something that so few of us gods have. And… I can't forget it… not when I see Zeus boasting and smiling all the time after every act he has committed."

"…What did you see."

"…Everything Zeus should have stood for and could have been…" She turned towards Demeter.

The blonde goddess paused at the way her sister's eyes seemed to gaze into something far away. She waited for the answer.

"Justice." Red eyes focused and stared intently into brown ones. "The most unwavering form of justice, despite the burdens of seeing it to the very end."

"Truly? Such a soul exists…and within a mortal?"

"Yes. That is why I cannot agree to Zeus' behaviors."

Demeter gathered her thoughts before speaking. "You've never expressed such, strong, opinions before, especially not towards those you term as family."

"No. But perhaps things need to change now. Our family cannot be treated so unjustly anymore."

"You truly believe so? My older sister who loves her siblings, nieces, and nephews, the one who revoked her seat as an Olympian to keep her little family intact, she, has declared her desire to—" The goddess arched an eyebrow. "—deliver justice upon her little brother? One that she holds as one of the dearest family?"

"Well…"

"About time I'd say." Demeter's lips pressed into a tiny grin. "Zeus needs to get some sense knocked into him."

Hestia looked at the younger sibling in surprise.

Demeter giggled. "Not everyone is as accommodating as you, dear sister. I think many of us have been fed up with our little brother's temper tantrums, even Hera. You were honestly the last person I would have thought to have shared such a firm opinion on this matter, especially because of your forgiving nature."

"…Am I truly that viewed as such? I had believed myself to be quite stern with admonishment—whenever their behaviors were led astray, that is."

"And when did those egotistical pricks ever listen? Did they ever learn from their mistakes? Zeus certainly has not changed a bit since the fall of Greece."

"No. He hasn't changed at all…" She once again stared into space. "I have been awfully optimistic, haven't I? And it has blinded me. If only I have stood my ground firmly…"

Demeter wrapped her arms around her Hestia. "You know, it isn't your fault. We couldn't have asked for a more caring and loving sister."

"Thank you, Demeter." The hearth goddess returned the hug.

"Any day, sister." She hummed softly.

The two stayed in the embrace for a short moment before stepping back.

"…If only there were more people who would simply imitate him, even if crudely, then surely there would be less tragedies."

Demeter studied the pensive state of her older sibling. "Now I am really intrigued. This mortal, I must discover who are they." A mischievous smile crept across her face. "Are they a man? If so, just how charming must they be to garner such—dare I say—obsessed attention from my dear maiden sister? Hmm?"

"Demeter!" Hestia swatted lightly at the blonde goddess.

"Ohh, so it is a male~ Wait, don't hit me again, sister. It was just a joke. But really, never have I seen you praise a mortal to such a degree. Do you plan to find this individual?"

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to belong in the past. You know how fickle these foresights can be, but I do have some clues as to where to look. Perhaps I should start with those."

"Indeed, visions can be perplexing, especially when they concern the realm of mortals. They are, in this day and age, always ever-changing," she paused, fingers propping up her chin, "like how they keep sending seeds up into space, and the next thing you know, there are dozens of new crop strains. And they keep appearing, wave after wave, every single year."

The goddess of the hearth tilted her head, not sure where the conversation with her sister was heading.

Demeter raised her index finger and continued with a little huff. "So, now I just sit down and observe, and eventually, after a couple of years, these mortal affairs sort themselves out."

Hestia nodded, appreciating Demeter's input. "I understand. Perhaps, things would unravel itself with time. It's just…" She trailed off.

For a few seconds, silence hung in the air. The goddess of harvest furrowed her brows as she observed the way her sister absentmindedly stared into space. Demeter shuffled around and reached for something behind her.

"Anyways!" the blonde woman exclaimed, her green dress twirling as she whipped out a golden box, "enough of the serious talks. Look!"

Hestia, interrupted from her thoughts, stared questioningly; her red eyes focused on the item that was presented all too close to her face.

"Behold, sister," grinned Demeter as she shook the package up and down, sounds of tumbling emanating from the box.

"Yes?"

"Hestia," the goddess began, her voice filled with a mix of pride and anticipation, "I've been working on something new, something I believe will revolutionize the way mortals start their day."

The older sister, ever the patient listener, tilted her head slightly. "Oh? And what might that be?"

With a flourish, Demeter's hands pulsed, and a wave of green light washed over the box, unveiling vibrant images of golden grains and fruits. The title, in bold, cheerful letters, proclaimed: "Demeter's Divine Delight!"

"A new cereal!" the harvest goddess exclaimed, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Not just any cereal, mind you. This is a blend of the finest grains from my fields, kissed by the morning sun, and combined with fruits nurtured by my own hands. It's the perfect balance of nutrition and taste. Oh! And~ it's also made from one of those space grains I told you about!"

Hestia smiled gently. "It sounds delightful, Demeter. But why cereal?"

Demeter sighed, her expression turning thoughtful. "Mortals have such hectic lives nowadays. They rush from one task to another, barely pausing to nourish themselves. I wanted to give them something that's both quick and wholesome. And besides," she added with a playful wink, "I've noticed they have a certain... fondness for cereals."

The brunette goddess chuckled softly. "Well, if it's made by you, I'm sure it's nothing short of the best. May I try some?"

Demeter's face lit up. "Of course! That's why we're here." She quickly poured a bowl, added a splash of milk, and placed it in front of her sister. The blond goddess watched eagerly, like a child awaiting praise.

The warmth of the grains, the sweetness of the fruits, and the richness of the milk melded perfectly. Hestia closed her eyes, savoring the taste. "It's wonderful, Demeter."

The goddess of harvest beamed, her earlier enthusiasm returning tenfold. "Thank you, Hestia. I hope the mortals will love it as much as you do. And who knows? Maybe 'Demeter's Divine Delight' will become the breakfast of champions!"

The two goddesses shared a light-hearted laugh. In the grandeur of Olympus, amidst the politics and power plays, it was these simple moments that truly mattered.

After a while, the older sister rose from her seat, her gaze drifting towards the hearth. "Thank you for the delightful snack, Demeter. But I must tend to the fires at Camp."

The blonde goddess nodded, understanding the importance of Hestia's duties. "Of course, sister. Take care."

With a soft smile, Hestia flashed in a warm glow, embers of orange light fluttered down as she disappeared from Olympus.

It was in in her lonesome, during the silence of the night and enveloped by the flickering warmth of the campfires, did the goddess' mind drifted back to the white-haired man. He was no ordinary mortal, that was certain.

The war, the death, and the children forced onto the streets, without a place to call home bothered her greatly. She had searched through recent memories, and Hestia had concluded that the events she had witnessed must have occurred somewhere in the modern-day Middle East—although the finicky nature of visions would suggest that it was either of the recent past or the near future.

Those grey eyes… was he a child of Athena? But he had used a bow… no, it was impossible that Artemis would break her vow. He was oddly mature for a demigod as well. Hestia estimated that he was well into his twenties, quite an "old" age for mortal children of gods.

And those words uttered in her mind. Was he the one who spoke them? All of it felt wrong—to hold such nihilism while speaking with a tone of acceptance… yet the voice was correct. Shed away the glory and the biases of the victor; remove the heroes from their legends; and then, finally, will history speak for itself.

Memories of the visions continued to plague her mind. Hestia didn't just see. She didn't just hear. She felt it too, submerged, drowning under an ocean of emotions. She suffocated on those feelings, his feelings. He had looked so serene, and that made it all the worse.

A perfect lie that would have deceived anyone, and almost any god. She had watched him ride the van in silence, how he gazed at the town from atop that hill, and when he lowered his bow, sparing the children of their fates.

He was calm. He was ok.

But Hestia knew that was not true.

It was not OK.

She didn't know how he managed to do it, to have constructed such a perfect façade, perhaps one that even he did not realize. But she felt it beneath the shell of impassive focus—something deep down within him was dying, a small piece at a time.

Her curiosity had got the best of her. Hestia had peered deeper, she caught a glimpse of it, and for the first time in millenniums, it had hurt… her own heart had hurt. The goddess wasn't sure what she had witnessed, because no man—no immortal—had ever held something so pure and vibrant.

It was done so with every step the man had taken. He had mourned for the innocents, the children lost, the families torn apart, the unwilling men who perished in the conflict, and every life he had taken and every breath he would come to end.

The purest of hearts had to commit the worst of atrocities, crimes that would have broken mortals with a lesser mind. But he had been resilient, he had continued down his path. No one else would have hurt as much as he did for the same actions committed. No one else would have hoped for a dream as brilliant as he held for the same circumstances presented.

Hestia didn't know it was possible until she had seen it.

So, when that heart of glass had chipped and scratched, she felt her own crack as well.

(A/N) Hi, this is the author here, first time writing a story, and I somehow ended up picking a crossover. I apologize in advance for any inadequacies in my writing.

The Fate franchise is one of my favorites, and Emiya's character was one that I absolutely fell in love with. To me, both the simplicity of his ideals and the complexity of his journey to strive toward that goal were mesmerizing, and the tragedy of the path he took, along with the dream he carried, inherited from those before him, makes him one of my favorite characters.

Even Shirou is, in my opinion, a complex character. For whatever seemingly foolish things he does or says (people die when they are killed), and how blatantly straightforward his way of thinking is, all of it just adds to the intricacy of his character. It is because he adheres to impossibly clear-cut morals and mindset, that the audiences are presented with a character who is seemingly inhuman to a broken degree, which builds on the almost alien nature in which he operates in comparison with normal individuals. And that makes Shirou, and Archer to an even greater level, so interesting.

They are unlike other protagonists who are just inherently good, without reason or consequences. Rather, Emiya Shirou is inherently good, because he is fundamentally broken. It is a goodness rooted in neural psychological disability, and, thus, burdens him with all the consequences and sufferings that are associated with it. Emiya is good for a reason, and Emiya's good has consequences.

That being said, it does not mean I plan for this story to be a continuation of Emiya's suffering. He may suffer, or he may not. I have not decided yet, as of beginning this story. This is just me testing the waters a bit.

Regardless, I hope that this writing experience can turn out to be a valuable journey for me, and I hope whoever decides to tag along enjoy it as well.

Thanks.

Oh, also, I forgot to mention, but I picked Percy Jackson and the Olympians as the cross-over because it was the first fictional book I read, and it was what got me into reading fiction.

Cheers.

IMPORTANT: As of currently, I'm not sure if Percy will exist in this story, as it is too difficult for me to balance two protagonists simultaneously. And frankly speaking, while the story is focused on Emiya, I don't want to be bashing Percy because of it. Therefore, this story will very likely be slightly AU at the very least, with Percy either not existing, or not being a boy. In Fate terms, we might have a Proto-Percy. I dunno, kind of like Proto-Merlin I guess... Anyways, just a disclaimer, don't want to disappoint readers when they are too far into the story, only to find out then that seaweed brain doesn't exist, or isn't a boy. Haha.