Abnormal Type Moon

Chapter 11: A Dream

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When I opened my eyes, a raging fire filled my vision.

The flames spread across the entire mountaintop, roaring and surging into the sky. The inferno painted the already dark and murky heavens a vivid orange-red, creating a sight both beautiful and devastating, like the hues of a blazing sunset.

Okita blinked, disoriented, and looked around in confusion.

"This is...?"

Everywhere she turned, the high-reaching, dancing flames consumed her view.

She remembered her summoning—the fierce battle against a modern Magus—and then returning home with her Master.

Though questions had lingered in her mind, it had been late. Her Master had seemed exhausted, so she had let him rest.

And then…?

She, too, had closed her eyes to rest. How had she suddenly ended up here?

Okita lifted her foot to take a step, intending to examine her surroundings.

"Crack."

The sharp, brittle sound reached her ears.

She looked down, and her breath caught. Beneath her foot lay a charred corpse.

The body had been burned so thoroughly in the fire that it was completely blackened. No intact skin remained, and the face was entirely unrecognizable.

Her gaze darted around, and she noticed more bodies scattered on the ground, clustered in groups of three or four.

Countless corpses, burned beyond recognition, littered the area. Among them were men, women, elderly figures with hunched backs, and children no older than seven or eight.

A rough count revealed more than thirty corpses.

All were silent.

From the state of the bodies, it was clear they had been burned alive, their last moments filled with unimaginable agony.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from ahead.

"...Traitor!"

A figure staggered into view.

The man wore tattered armor, his entire body wrapped in bandages. His face was obscured, but his voice was ancient, like that of a man near the end of his life.

His eyes were alight with hatred as he glared at Okita, as if his very soul burned with a desire for vengeance.

"You traitor!" he spat, his voice trembling with fury. "Our clan gave you everything—our knowledge, power, loyalty, even our magic seals! We devoted all of it to you! And yet, this is the answer you give us?!"

He gestured angrily at the corpses scattered on the ground, his voice rising into a furious shout.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Okita's hands instinctively moved to her forehead, and she began to laugh maniacally.

But no—this wasn't her own action. She quickly realized it was the reaction of whoever's perspective she was experiencing.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"That's right! This is the result of raising me for five years. Are you satisfied, you old fool? What a pity I can't see your face twisted in anger! It's almost disappointing!"

The laughter that poured forth was malevolent and dark, oozing with cruelty. It was the sound of a devil savoring its triumph.

Okita could feel the thrill, the delight, the unrestrained ecstasy radiating from the person she had embodied.

This person reveled in the destruction, found joy in the massacre, and delighted in the obliteration of the tribe.

They were the embodiment of malice—a true demon.

---

Okita gasped and opened her eyes.

Her surroundings shifted. Before her stood a spacious Japanese-style mansion, and the present-day world returned to focus.

On the doorplate at the entrance, the word Aozaki was written in bold, large letters.

This was her Master's home.

After leaving Mt. Enzou the previous night, the two of them had returned directly to the Aozaki residence. Roy went to rest while Okita jumped onto the roof, keeping watch and letting the wind carry her thoughts as she closed her eyes to rest.

As it turned out, she had accidentally fallen asleep.

Okita looked up at the sky. Although it was covered with dark clouds, faint sunlight seeped through, signaling that it was probably sunrise.

"It's incredible. Servants aren't supposed to have the ability to sleep."

Standing up quietly on the roof, she moved without making a sound, careful not to disturb anyone.

"Could this be an aftereffect of being forcibly summoned by the Master through his control of the Holy Grail? And that dream just now… was it truly a dream, or was it a reality someone else had experienced?"

Okita frowned, her thoughts swirling in confusion.

If it had been just a dream, the emotions she felt within it were far too vivid, far too real.

"Saber, what are you doing standing there?"

The voice startled her out of her thoughts.

Okita turned toward the sound and saw Roy walking out of the house into the front yard.

Although it was a cold winter morning, the boy wore his usual simple T-shirt and windbreaker. His white hair fluttered lightly in the crisp morning breeze.

Roy raised his head and met Okita's gaze with his blood-red pupils, his eyes as cold as the season itself.

"I'm keeping watch to prevent a sneak attack!"

The female swordsman quickly jumped down from the eaves and dashed toward Roy with excitement, the ahoge on her head swaying in the wind.

"Saber."

"Yes, Master!"

"You are not allowed to materialize until the Holy Grail War officially begins."

"...Huh?"

Okita's thoughts froze momentarily, but she soon grasped his meaning.

"Master, are you trying to avoid people finding out that it was you who broke into the underground cave last night?"

That made sense.

Bazett might have already woken up by now and reported the events of the previous night. Although Roy's identity had not been revealed, Okita had fought Bazett, meaning her face was most certainly exposed. If she appeared openly now, it would effectively confirm that Roy was the one responsible for breaking into the Greater Hollow, potentially causing him significant trouble.

"That's part of it," Roy replied, his face expressionless and calm.

"I asked you to stay hidden mainly because I have other plans. This shouldn't be difficult for you."

"I see."

Okita nodded, though she didn't fully understand his reasoning.

She didn't know what other plans her Master had, but if it simply required her not to materialize, it wasn't a big deal. Although it was disappointing that she couldn't explore this era freely, it was a small sacrifice.

Besides, as announced by the Greater Holy Grail, only a few days remained before the start of the Fifth Holy Grail War. Staying hidden until then would be easy.

"Then let's begin now," Roy said with a slight nod, turning to head back into the house.

Okita agreed without hesitation.

Just as she was about to transform into her spirit form, a memory of the dream she had just experienced flashed through her mind.

The dream of a massive fire consuming an entire mountaintop, burning dozens of lives to death.

A strange thought crossed her mind.

The connection between a Master and a Servant isn't just magical or contractual—it is also tied to causality.

From the common sense granted by the Greater Holy Grail, Okita knew that as the bond between a Master and a Servant deepens, a Master might experience the Servant's past in the form of dreams. Through these dreams, the Master could come to understand the Servant's history and experiences.

Servants themselves lacked the ability to sleep, let alone dream.

So why had she dreamed?

After all, Servants are already dead. Their current forms are magical constructs, created from the fundamental particles of the magical world—spirit particles. Without a steady supply of magical energy, their bodies would vanish instantly.

In that case, the dream she experienced could only have been the dream of the Master with whom she had signed a contract.

So, was that truly a dream, or...

"Master..."

The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

"Hmm?"

Roy turned around, his blood-red eyes meeting hers.

"...No, it's nothing."

Okita hesitated for a moment, then shook her head before transforming into her spirit form and disappearing from sight.

Roy raised an eyebrow slightly at her sudden retreat but chose not to press further. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the kitchen.

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Don't Read Small word count

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Whispers of Existence

In the cradle of time where silence first spoke,

A question was born, cloaked in infinite smoke.

What is this life, this transient flame,

A fleeting shadow, a whispered name?

The stars above, eternal and grand,

Spin stories of dust shaped by unseen hands.

Each atom a secret, each breath a choice,

In the chaos of the void, we find our voice.

What is the self, this "I" that we claim?

A flicker of thought, a candle's faint flame?

Are we but dreamers, caught in a sleep,

Where truth is an ocean, infinitely deep?

The river of time flows steady and wide,

Carving the cliffs where questions reside.

Is free will a current we dare to fight,

Or an illusion we chase in the dead of night?

Morality wavers, a compass unsure,

Bound by the context of hearts impure.

Yet in the abyss, we dare to create,

A mosaic of meaning, despite fleeting fate.

What of love, that tender embrace,

That softens the chaos of time and space?

Is it a chemical spark, a neural dance,

Or the universe smiling, giving us a chance?

The weight of suffering, the burden we bear,

Echoes the question: is it fair?

Yet in the darkness, we search for light,

Building from ashes, ascending in flight.

To be or not to be, Shakespeare's refrain,

An eternal echo in joy and pain.

Yet perhaps the answer lies not in words,

But in the silence where meaning stirs.

For life is a paradox, vast and strange,

A fleeting constant, a ceaseless change.

We're shadows dancing on a cosmic wall,

Fragments of something, yet part of it all.

So let us embrace this fragile hour,

Each fleeting petal, each withering flower.

For though we are small, our questions ignite,

The boundless cosmos with human light.

In seeking the truth, we find our art,

A reflection of soul, a piece of heart.

For though answers elude and questions expand,

The journey itself is what makes life grand.

__________________

Whispers of Existence

In the cradle of time where silence first spoke,

A question was born, cloaked in infinite smoke.

What is this life, this transient flame,

A fleeting shadow, a whispered name?

The stars above, eternal and grand,

Spin stories of dust shaped by unseen hands.

Each atom a secret, each breath a choice,

In the chaos of the void, we find our voice.

What is the self, this "I" that we claim?

A flicker of thought, a candle's faint flame?

Are we but dreamers, caught in a sleep,

Where truth is an ocean, infinitely deep?

The river of time flows steady and wide,

Carving the cliffs where questions reside.

Is free will a current we dare to fight,

Or an illusion we chase in the dead of night?

Morality wavers, a compass unsure,

Bound by the context of hearts impure.

Yet in the abyss, we dare to create,

A mosaic of meaning, despite fleeting fate.

What of love, that tender embrace,

That softens the chaos of time and space?

Is it a chemical spark, a neural dance,

Or the universe smiling, giving us a chance?

The weight of suffering, the burden we bear,

Echoes the question: is it fair?

Yet in the darkness, we search for light,

Building from ashes, ascending in flight.

To be or not to be, Shakespeare's refrain,

An eternal echo in joy and pain.

Yet perhaps the answer lies not in words,

But in the silence where meaning stirs.

For life is a paradox, vast and strange,

A fleeting constant, a ceaseless change.

We're shadows dancing on a cosmic wall,

Fragments of something, yet part of it all.

So let us embrace this fragile hour,

Each fleeting petal, each withering flower.

For though we are small, our questions ignite,

The boundless cosmos with human light.

In seeking the truth, we find our art,

A reflection of soul, a piece of heart.

For though answers elude and questions expand,

The journey itself is what makes life grand.