IBHJ 1129

Inside the train, Shirou saw Goetia, who turned away and ignored him. Having no interest in trying to befriend someone so cold, he walked over to Abigail instead, who had welcomed him, unlike Goetia, who still viewed him as an enemy.

After spending some time talking with Abigail, Shirou started feeling tired. Finding an empty seat, he rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. This real body needed proper rest, unlike his old Servant body made of True Ether. He knew he needed to take good care of it—there would be no point in winning back the future from the Lord of Salvation only to end up as worn down as he'd been before coming to this world.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, a voice brought him back.

"Don't fall asleep."

When he opened his eyes, he found Kama sitting across from him with a serious expression on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"A demon with a particularly nasty personality will steal your dreams."

"Someone nasty who steals dreams... Merlin?"

"Actually, it's Merlin's father." Kama noticed his puzzled look. "Merlin never told you about him?"

He shook his head. "Not a word."

"His name is Ambrosius. He guards Tír na nÓg by stealing dreams from anyone who gets too close." Kama paused. "Once he takes your dreams, you can't enter Tír na nÓg anymore. That's why hardly anyone knows about the place.”

She sat up and closed her eyes. "Just be careful. We don't need any extra problems."

He smiled and nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Kama."

Kama: "..."

"Don't worry about it. We're all in this together now."

She stood and walked away.

A few minutes later, Mordred burst in. She slammed "The Tale of the Holy Sword" onto the table and dropped into a chair with a thud.

"What's wrong with you?"

"This stupid book barely mentions me at the end!" Mordred crossed her arms. "The writer must have had something against me!"

"That's what you're upset about?"

"I wanted to see how they wrote about me." she slumped in her chair. "I wouldn't have cared if they wrote the truth or even said bad things about me. But they barely mentioned me at all! If you're going to tell the story, tell all of it! Don't just throw me in at the end like some afterthought!"

Shirou watched her with amusement. Despite her maturity, she could still act like such a kid sometimes.

Mordred's expression suddenly turned serious. "But this proves it. This empire must be connected to our kingdom somehow." She looked at him. "Who wrote this book anyway?"

Despite her hot temper, he had to admit she could be surprisingly sharp when it mattered.

"At first I heard it was this empire's Morgan, but that turned out to be wrong."

"I see..." she turned the book over in her hands. "This book tells our kingdom's story like someone who was actually there. Maybe one of our knights was summoned here before us?"

He shook his head. "The timing wouldn't work. Heroic Spirits only started appearing after the Emperor defeated the Council and broke into Pan-Human History. Even with different worldlines moving at different speeds, they sync up when they cross paths."

"But are you really sure none of us wrote this?"

"I'm sure. The writing style is all wrong. I remember how every Knight of the Round Table and every courtiers wrote their reports." he gestured at the book. "This wasn't written by anyone we knew."

"Then who wrote it?" Mordred frowned as she turned the pages. "Everything here is too detailed, too real to be made up. Whoever wrote this must have seen it all happen."

He nodded slowly. This was exactly why the book had been bothering him so much. These weren't just stories - the details were too precise, the experiences too vivid for someone to have simply imagined them.

As they both sat wondering about the mysterious author, a soft voice broke through their thoughts.

"It was written by the Emperor."

Shirou and Mordred looked up at the unexpected voice. Standing before them was a young woman in a snow-white dress that seemed to shimmer like fresh snow. She greeted them with a gentle smile on her lips.

She was young and beautiful, but something about her seemed strangely familiar...

"Merlin?" Shirou found himself asking before he could stop himself.

And there was no denying it - from her flowing white hair to those distinctive red eyes, she was the spitting image of what Merlin would look like if he decided to dress as a woman.

"Oh my, you recognize that child right away?" The woman's smile widened. "You must be the wise King who taught him to understand human emotions."

Shirou shook his head, feeling slightly embarrassed at the praise. "I'm not really wise - just someone who picked up a few things along the way. But may I ask who you are?"

"I'm the fairy tasked with guiding you to Tír na nÓg." Her eyes sparkled with gentle amusement. "For us fairies, names don't mean much, but back when I was still a princess of Wales, I went by Dwynwen Ambrosius."

"Ambrosius..." His eyes widened as the connection clicked into place. "Are you Merlin's...?"

"In human terms, I suppose you could call me his mother." Dwynwen held out her hand with a warm smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Fujimaru Shirou."

He reached out to take her hand. "I've wanted to meet you too, Princess Dwynwen..."

Her hand was impossibly soft, even softer than Guinevere's had been. Then a strange thought crossed his mind—why did this feel like meeting his girlfriend's mother?

Dwynwen turned to Mordred with a warm smile. "It's been such a long time, Princess Mordred."

Mordred said nothing, her face blank as she met Dwynwen's friendly greeting with silence.

Seeing the tension between them, Shirou looked back and forth between the two. "Princess Dwynwen, you know each other?"

"Oh yes," Dwynwen kept smiling. "What you might not know is that your Princess Mordred once borrowed the Holy Grail from me."

He turned to look at Mordred with surprise. He knew the Eternal Kingdom's Holy Grail had started with Mordred before making its way to Galahad, but he'd never heard about Merlin’s mother being involved.

Kama walked over to them, her forehead creased with worry. "Princess Dwynwen, we haven't reached Tír na nÓg yet. You shouldn't be here..."

"There's no need to worry." Dwynwen waved off her concern. "Everyone will make it to Tír na nÓg just fine. But I saw her sitting here and, well..." She turned back to Mordred. "Remember what you said? 'Just for a little while,' you told me. And here we are—a hundred years later? A thousand? Hard to keep track with the world turned upside down. But it's been long enough, don't you think? Time to give it back."

Mordred's jaw clenched. "Talk to Galahad. He has it."

"Here's something interesting. I looked through Galahad's records. But there’s no Holy Grail anywhere.” Dwynwen's smile disappeared. “You lost it, didn't you?"

"What if I did?" Mordred raised her chin, but her fingers twitched at her sides.

"Then maybe you should take its place."

Mordred's hand went straight to her sword.

"Relax." Dwynwen let out a small laugh. "I'm just joking."

"Doesn't look that way to me." she kept her grip tight on her sword.

"Back then, I was angry - really angry." Dwynwen took out a handkerchief and pretended to wipe her eyes. "The Holy Spirit gave me their blood to protect. I stayed up at night worried about who might find it, what they might do with it." She lowered the handkerchief and looked away. "But then everything happened. I saw how much it hurt Merlin when the Eternal Kingdom fell..." She shook her head. "After that, I let it go."

Mordred glared at Dwynwen, knowing exactly what kind of person she was. Similar to Gilgamesh's twisted personality, Dwynwen enjoyed playing with people in her own way. She and Galahad had lived through enough of Dwynwen's mind games during their quest for the Holy Grail.

"Wait, Princess Dwynwen." Shirou said with a serious espression. "You said the Emperor wrote this book?"

"That's right."

"Then how would the Emperor know anything about my story?"

"Don't ask me that." Dwynwen turned to look at Mordred with a knowing smile. "Ask your Princess here why she's the one who brought the Emperor into existence."

The words landed like a stone in still water. Everyone turned to stare at Mordred, shock written across their faces.

Even Goetia, who had been trying to ignore everything around him, found himself looking at Mordred. He hadn't planned to get involved, but anything about that annoying Emperor—especially something this important—made him pay attention.

"Me?" Mordred's eyes went wide as she pointed to herself. "I made the Emperor exist? What are you talking about?"

"Oh my." Dwynwen's smile widened. "What a poor memory you have. And you know I never lie - I'm far too nice for that."

She watched Mordred squirm with obvious delight. "Have you forgotten the wish you made on the Holy Grail? Should I remind you?"

"I..." Mordred's voice faltered.

"'Let the empire continue to exist.' Those were your exact words when you first got the Holy Grail."

"But nothing happened!" Mordred's hands clenched into fists.

"Of course nothing seemed to happen. Even a Holy Grail can't change the Root itself. Then you gave the Grail to Galahad, hoping he could rebuild the empire. But you missed something important - your wish started working the moment you made it."

Her smile grew wider. "If a wish can't come true in a world tainted by the Root, then make a new world where it can. That's how the Holy Grail answered you. And that's how we got His Majesty the Emperor."

“…”