Fate/Eclipsed Stars (Project Moon/Fate Grand Order)

The village burned.

Not completely—yet—but the sky was thick with black smoke, the scent of charred wood and flesh choking the air. Houses crumbled as flames spread through thatched roofs. The screams of the villagers mixed with the hideous screeches of wyverns circling above, their leathery wings casting dark shadows over the ground.

Men and women fled in all directions. Some carried what little they could—children clutched in their arms, bundles of food hastily wrapped. Others tried to fight, desperate, wielding rusted swords and farm tools against the beasts.

It was hopeless.

A wyvern swooped down, its talons ripping into a fleeing man, sending him tumbling. He barely had time to scream before the beast's jagged maw clamped around his torso, lifting him into the air—then dropping him from a terrible height. His body crunched against the stone road, lifeless.

A woman gasped, her legs giving out beneath her. Her child screamed beside her, tugging at her dress, trying to pull her up.

A shadow fell over them.

The wyvern was descending, its hungry eyes locked onto them.

She could only stare, frozen.

And then—

A flash of white.

The moment stretched impossibly long. The woman saw him clearly.

A lone warrior, clad in white and gold, landed between them and the wyvern. His cape fluttered, his armor gleaming even beneath the ashen sky. Wax seals, golden insignias, and carefully placed ribbons adorned his arms. He stood with his back to them, his halberd held loosely in one hand—a weapon too heavy, too unwieldy for most men, yet he carried it with ease.

The blade of the halberd was blunt, but burning embers still clung to its edge, dripping like molten wax onto the ground.

The wyvern shrieked and lunged.

He moved.

It was not a knight's stance. Not a disciplined warrior's technique.

No—he fought like a rabid beast.

He swung his halberd wildly, catching the wyvern mid-charge. The sheer impact shattered the beast's fangs, sending it skidding across the dirt road. Before it could recover, he was already upon it.

The second strike slammed down like an executioner's axe, the heat of his weapon scorching into flesh. The wyvern let out a horrible, high-pitched scream—not from the wound itself, but from the fire spreading through it. The burn spread unnaturally fast, like oil igniting.

The warrior tilted his head, watching the wyvern's body convulse in the dirt, writhing as flames licked hungrily at its open wound. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

The beast tried to flap its wings, tried to lift off.

He didn't let it.

With one final, brutal swing, he drove the halberd's blunt edge straight through its skull.

The wyvern stopped moving.

Silence.

The woman, still clutching her child, barely dared to breathe.

The warrior let out a slow, measured sigh. His grip on his halberd tightened as he murmured,

"Sixteen today."

His voice was soft—too soft for the horror around him.

"Tomorrow… twice as many."

A faint chuckle, dry and humorless, escaped his lips.

"If I keep at it… will it finally be enough?"

His fingers flexed around the halberd's handle. His golden eyes, sharp and empty, reflected the flickering flames around him.

He exhaled. "No, not yet."

And then, without hesitation—he lunged forward again.

The next wyvern barely had time to react before the halberd found its mark. It let out a gurgled shriek as its throat was torn open, blood spraying onto the cobbled street. The warrior did not pause, did not wait. He tore the weapon free and swung again, and again, and again—each blow more violent, more erratic than the last.

Fire. Blood. Screams.

And through it all—his voice, soft but unwavering, like a priest whispering a prayer.

"This filth… must be purified."

Another wyvern fell. Its body twisted grotesquely, its scales blackened from the flames still clinging to its flesh.

The warrior stood amidst the carnage, his armor now streaked with blood. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. His golden eyes gleamed unnaturally in the firelight.

A faint smile curled at his lips.

"She was right. I must continue."

His grip tightened around his halberd, knuckles white.

"It is the only way."

The remaining wyverns hesitated.

They were beasts, yes—but they were not without instinct.

And something in this white-clad figure—this thing draped in gold and blood and fire—made them hesitate.

For the first time since the attack began, the wyverns considered retreat.

The warrior exhaled, lowering his stance.

"No, no, no…"

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried.

The embers on his halberd flared brighter.

And then—

He leapt toward them once more.

The purge was not finished.

---

The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through rolling hills and quiet forests. Birds chirped overhead, and a faint breeze rustled the leaves, making the journey almost peaceful—if not for the looming threat of the Dragon Witch still hanging over their heads.

"Alright, I'm scanning for anything unusual," Romani's voice crackled over the communicator. "Da Vinci, anything on your end?"

"Hmm… still calibrating," Da Vinci replied. "France is big, you know! Finding Servants signature is like looking for a needle in a haystack—except the haystack is on fire, and the needle is running around stabbing people."

Olga sighed. "That's… not reassuring."

"Well, don't worry too much!" Da Vinci laughed. "We'll find them eventually."

"For now," Romani added, "just keep walking. I'll let you know if we detect anything."

Ritsuka groaned. "Great. More walking."

"You say that like you're not used to it by now," Cu smirked, slinging his spear over his shoulder.

"Just because I'm used to suffering doesn't mean I like it," Ritsuka shot back.

Marie, ever the optimist, clasped her hands together. "Oh, but walking is delightful! It gives us time to enjoy the scenery and chat with one another. Why, this is the perfect time to learn something new!"

"Like what?" Mozart muttered. "How to develop back pain from walking too long?"

"No, no! Like… hmm… new ways to speak!" Marie said cheerfully. "For example, I heard a very interesting phrase earlier!"

Everyone turned to her.

She cleared her throat elegantly.

"Wassup, my homies."

Silence.

Ritsuka physically recoiled. "No. No, no, no."

Marie smiled brightly. "Wassup, Master!"

"Please stop."

Scorched Girl, still clinging to Marie's arm like a lost kitten, tilted her head. "Wassup…?"

Ritsuka let out a pained noise. "No, not you too!"

"Wassup," Scorched Girl repeated, expression completely blank.

"Wassup," Marie giggled.

"Wassup, Marie" Scorched Girl mimicked, blinking slowly.

"Wassup," Marie said again, more confident.

"Wassup," Scorched Girl nodded sagely, as if she had unlocked a great truth of the universe.

"STOP!" Ritsuka covered his ears.

Mash coughed into her fist. "U-Um, Marie, where did you hear that?"

"Oh, the Grail provided me this knowledge!" Marie said happily. "I thought it was a greeting. Is it not?"

"It is," Ritsuka muttered "Why is the Grail providing you modern lingo?."

"Wassup," Scorched Girl said again.

Cu wheezed. "Alright, this is hilarious. Keep going."

"Wassup," Mozart deadpanned.

"Not you too!" Ritsuka wailed.

Hong Lu, who had been silent up until now, suddenly grinned. "Oh? This is fun. I'd like to try too. Wassup?"

Ritsuka groaned. "Not you too!"

Hong Lu hummed. "Why not? Language is meant to be flexible, isn't it? I've heard stranger greetings in my time. There was this one syndicate in the City that greeted people by headbutting them."

Mash blinked. "That… sounds painful."

Hong Lu laughed. "Oh, absolutely! The City have it's fair share of strange greeting!"

Medusa, who had been quietly walking behind the group, finally sighed. "You're all ridiculous."

Marie gasped dramatically. "Medusa, you must try it too!"

Medusa glanced at her, unimpressed. "Try what?"

Marie beamed. "Wassup."

Medusa stared at her.

Then, without any emotion, she said, "No."

Ritsuka grabbed his head. "I hate this timeline."

Mozart grinned. "Truly, a cultural revolution."

Angela sighed. "If this is what passes for 'cultural enlightenment' in this era, I am beginning to regret my continued existence."

"Wassup," Scorched Girl repeated.

Jeanne, who had been silently enduring this, finally turned to Marie. "Please… please learn something else."

Marie pouted. "But it's fun!"

"Wassup," Scorched Girl whispered again, gripping Marie's sleeve.

"You've created a monster," Ritsuka groaned.

Mash, clearly trying to be helpful, offered, "Maybe we should teach Marie and Scorched Girl more modern phrases to balance things out?"

Ritsuka rubbed his face. "Yes. Yes, please. Anything but this."

Mozart perked up. "Oh! I know a modern phrase!"

Everyone turned to him.

He grinned devilishly.

"Bros before hoes?"

The entire group stopped walking.

Ritsuka looked at him in abject horror. "Mozart, WHAT."

Mash looked flustered. "M-Mozart, you—!"

Mozart tilted his head. "What? It's modern, isn't it?"

"Where did you even learn that?!" Ritsuka demanded.

Mozart shrugged. "The Grail gave me this knowledge. I assume it conveys the importance of camaraderie over fleeting romantic entanglements?"

Mash looked ready to cry. "That's not where you should be learning modern lingo!"

Cu burst out laughing. "Man's got his priorities straight."

"Wassup," Scorched Girl tried again.

Mozart nodded sagely. "Wassup, indeed."

Ritsuka threw his hands in the air. "I can't do this."

Marie clapped her hands. "This has been most enlightening! I shall continue learning."

"I beg you not to," Ritsuka muttered.

"Wassup," Scorched Girl whispered one last time.

---

[Meanwhile, Back in Chaldea]

Olga Marie rubbed her temples. "I swear to the Root, if I have to listen to this for one more second—"

"Come on, it's kind of funny," Romani chuckled.

"NO, IT'S NOT!"

Da Vinci snickered. "To be fair, this is the most relaxed they've been since arriving in France. A little humor before battle is healthy, you know."

Olga glared at the monitor. "If they don't get back to work, I am going to personally go to France and drag them into the next battle myself."

"Alright, alright," Romani sighed. "Let's get back to business. We've almost locked onto a signal."

Olga crossed her arms. "Finally. Now if we can just—"

"WASSUP."

Olga screamed in frustration.

---

The group continued down the dirt road, the morning sun filtering through the trees as they pressed forward. The atmosphere had settled after their earlier antics, though Marie still occasionally whispered, "Wassup," much to Ritsuka's horror.

The communicator in Ritsuka's ear suddenly crackled to life, Da Vinci's voice chiming through with a note of excitement.

"Alright, team! Good news—I've finally got something for you!"

Mash straightened, gripping her shield. "A Servant signature?"

"Bingo," Da Vinci confirmed. "It's faint, but it's definitely a Servant signature. Could be a rogue Servant. Maybe more than one."

Olga Marie's voice followed immediately, her tone brisk and commanding. "Ritsuka, you are to investigate immediately. We still have no idea how many rogue Servants are wandering France, but any ally you can recruit will increase our chances against the Dragon Witch."

Ritsuka nodded. "Understood. How far is the village?"

"Not too far," Romani answered. "If you keep up the pace, you should be there before midday. But be careful—we don't know if the Servant is friendly."

Mozart smirked. "Oh, what's life without a little risk?"

"Finally," Cu Chulainn muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Something to do other than walking, long as it's not another damn wyvern nest, I'm fine with whatever's waiting."

Marie perked up. "Oh, I do hope it's someone charming! Perhaps another royal? A knight, maybe?"

Scorched Girl, still latched onto Marie's arm, tilted her head. "Do knights burn?"

Everyone paused.

Ritsuka coughed. "Uh… what?"

Scorched Girl blinked at him, her voice soft. "Knights. They wear metal, don't they? Metal heats up fast in fire. So I was wondering if they burn."

A beat of silence.

Mozart let out a long sigh. "And just like that, the mood is ruined."

Medusa frowned. "That's… an unsettling question."

Angela answered in a beat. "In most circumstances, yes, knights do burn."

Scorched Girl nodded. "Good to know."

Ritsuka shuddered. "Can we not talk about burning people alive?"

Der Freischütz, ever casual, smirked. "You might be in the wrong profession if you can't handle a little fire talk, Master."

Mash quickly changed the subject. "D-Da Vinci, any other details on the signal?"

"Nothing yet," Da Vinci admitted. "We'll have a better reading once you get closer. Just be ready for anything."

Olga Marie sighed through the communicator. "Keep your guard up. And don't waste time—get moving."

The connection cut, leaving the group standing in the quiet woods once more.

Ritsuka exhaled. "Well, you heard the director. Let's go."

---

The village was unusually quiet as Ritsuka and his group approached, but something felt… off. The moment they stepped past the first row of houses, they were met with a bizarre sight—dozens of villagers crouched in corners, hands clamped firmly over their ears, expressions twisted in agony. Some had buried their faces in their arms, others had ducked inside their homes, doors left slightly ajar as if they had retreated in a panic.

Mash frowned. "This village… something's wrong."

Hong Lu glanced around, his usual relaxed smile still in place, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Oh? A tragedy unfolding before our very eyes? How fascinating."

Medusa, ever the quiet observer, narrowed her gaze toward the village square. "I hear something… but it's not normal."

A strange, wailing sound drifted toward them, warbling and erratic. At first, it was barely noticeable, blending into the background noise of the wind. But as they stepped further in, it became clear what was happening.

A voice—if one could even call it that—pierced through the air, a mixture of screeching, off-key high notes and something that almost sounded like an otherworldly chant.

Cu Chulainn cringed. "What in the name of Lugh is that?!"

Mozart, who had remained silent up until now, suddenly grabbed his own head, his face contorted with agony. "No… No, this is sacrilege!" he wailed, nearly doubling over. "That's not singing! That's blasphemy against music itself!"

The others turned to him, startled.

Angela raised an eyebrow. "I assume this noise is particularly offensive to those attuned to proper composition?"

Mozart shot her a look of pure despair. "Attuned? This isn't just offensive—it's a crime! Whoever is producing that sound is a criminal against the arts! The very foundation of music itself is being shaken!"

Ritsuka, more concerned about the villagers, approached one of them—a middle-aged man still clutching his head. "Excuse me, sir, what's going on? Why is everyone covering their ears?"

The man didn't respond at first, only groaning in pain. Then, with great effort, he lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips quivering. "The… The pink one…" he croaked.

Ritsuka blinked. "Pink one?"

Another villager whimpered. "Her voice… it's agony… We were just trying to live our lives, but then she arrived…"

The first man continued, voice trembling, "She called it a concert… a 'gift' to the people… but it's torture! It never stops! And then… then the other one showed up!"

Mash looked concerned. "The other one?"

The villager nodded rapidly, tears forming in his eyes. "She… she tried to stop it! She told her to be quiet! And then… then they started fighting! But the pink one… she wouldn't accept that her singing was… was horrible!"

Ritsuka turned toward the source of the noise, still echoing painfully through the air. "We need to see this for ourselves."

The group pushed forward, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the village and the so-called 'concert.' And when they finally reached the main square—

They were met with utter chaos.

Two women stood in the center, both radiating an unnatural presence. One, dressed in frilly gothic attire, had long, vibrant pink hair that cascaded down her back. She stood with one hand on her hip, the other gripping a microphone that seemed far too advanced for the medieval setting. Her draconic features—horns, a tail swaying in agitation and her bright blue eyes burning with wounded pride.

Opposite her stood another woman, this one dressed in a traditional kimono, her green hair falling elegantly around her shoulders made her seem regal, but her furious expression and the way her hand clenched tightly to her fan betrayed her simmering frustration.

"You dare insult my voice?!" the pink-haired woman screeched, her tail flicking violently. "I'll have you know that my singing is legendary! Otherworldly! The very heavens themselves tremble when I perform!"

The green-haired woman scoffed, folding her fan. "Yes, tremble out of pain!" she shot back. "Even the earth recoils at your so-called 'singing'! I have heard dying animals that sound more pleasant!"

The pink-haired woman gasped dramatically. "How dare you! You just don't understand art!"

"Art?" The green-haired woman smirked. "That wasn't art! That was a curse! A plague upon all who hear it!"

The pink-haired woman stomped her foot, sparks of magic flickering around her. "I won't stand here and be slandered by a jealous nobody!"

The green-haired woman let out a dry laugh. "Jealous?! Of that? Ha! As if!"

The tension between them grew, their tails twitching, eyes locked in a furious stare-down.

Ritsuka, despite everything, felt the need to intervene. He hesitated for a moment—after all, these were clearly powerful beings, and interfering in their fight might not be wise—but the villagers were suffering.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. "Excuse me, but—"

He didn't get the chance to finish.

The moment he opened his mouth, both women turned to him in perfect unison, their glares filled with absolute fury.

"SHUT UP!"

A gust of wind exploded outward. Before he could react, Ritsuka was launched into the air, soaring past buildings as if he had been struck by a hurricane.

Mash gasped. "Senpai!"

Cu winced, watching Ritsuka's airborne figure. "Welp. That's what you get for stepping between a woman."

Angela, unfazed, merely react. "A predictable outcome."

Mozart, arms crossed, nodded solemnly. "A tragic, yet necessary lesson. One must never interrupt a catfight."

The others stared at the ongoing argument, the two dragon-like women now too consumed in their own fury to even notice what they had done.

Mash sighed. "We should probably… go get Senpai."

Der Freischütz chuckled, shaking her head. "After he lands, maybe."

Marie, watching the spectacle unfold, clapped her hands together. "Oh! This is like a drama! We should charge admission!"

Scorched Girl, still nestled beside her, tilted her head. "Drama?"

Marie grinned. "Yes! A battle of pride, a clash of ideals! Two mighty figures locked in a duel neither can win!"

Scorched Girl blinked, then mimicked her tone. "A battle of pride! A clash of ideals!"

Mozart groaned. "I refuse to acknowledge this as anything close to art."

Meanwhile, Ritsuka, now lodged in a pile of hay, groaned. "Why do I even try…?"

The argument between the two dragon-women raged on, their voices shaking the very air.

This was going to take some work.

---

A/N: Man, has it already been a week? Time really flies! Sorry for the slow update—between schoolwork and a ton of projects, my brain feels completely numb. But I still tried my best to get this out for you all. Updates are gonna be slow for a bit, so I appreciate everyone who sticks around to read. Thanks for your patience!

Feel free to let me know what you think of how the stories are going and where it should go. I'm always eager to hear from you. Leave a powerstone or a comment to support me ;)