Fate/Thorns of Glory

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"Perfection is a mask. The longer you wear it, the more it becomes your skin."

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The Rayshift to Akrytos was smooth—too smooth.

No resistance. No correctional turbulence. As if the Singularity wanted them there.

They landed in a plaza carved of ivory-white stone. The wind was soft. The sky impossibly blue. Music drifted through the air—gentle flutes and humming voices, as though they had stepped into a dream sculpted from marble and perfume.

People greeted them kindly, their smiles bright and warm. No one questioned their strange attire or the fact they appeared out of nowhere.

"Welcome, travelers," said a young woman in flowing robes. "His Majesty is always pleased to receive guests."

Mash glanced at Ritsuka. "It's… perfect. Too perfect."

Da Vinci frowned as she scanned the streets. Children laughing. Gardens blooming in unnatural symmetry. Fountains flowing like liquid silver.

"I feel like I'm inside a painting," she whispered. "Every inch of this place is curated beauty. Not a single crack. Not a single shadow."

At the heart of the city stood a towering statue—ten meters tall. Carved of pristine white marble, it depicted a man seated on a throne, barefoot and robed in flowing Greek cloth. His face was delicate yet regal—almost too beautiful. The expression was kind. Merciful. Gentle.

"This is him?" Gordolf asked, astonished. "The King of Thorns?"

"No," Sion muttered, voice tight. "This is someone else."

They began to see the signs.

A man crying alone—but forgetting why he was sad.

A soldier who smiled but couldn't remember what war was.

A historian who recalled nothing.

As they explored, a haze began to settle over their minds. Thoughts dulled. Emotions softened. The longer they stayed, the less they questioned.

Ritsuka felt it first—peace. Not calm, but indifference wrapped in beauty. The city whispered that everything was fine. That there was no pain. That they should stay.

Mash smiled gently beside them. Too gently.

"Master… Isn't it lovely here?"

Ritsuka blinked. That wasn't her voice.

That wasn't her smile.

Something was wrong. So deeply wrong.

They activated emergency command. Forced ejection.

The world shimmered—and turned on them.

Voices pleaded, "Stay."

Hands reached, "Don't go."

The music warped. The statue smiled a little too wide.

And then—they were gone.

Back in Chaldea.

Gasping. Pale. Cold sweat.

Silence.

Ritsuka and others collapsed to their knees.

"That wasn't peace," they whispered. "That was a lie."

Da Vinci looked haunted. "I felt myself fading."

Holmes adjusted his coat, expression unreadable. "We weren't inside a city. We were inside a story."

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And the worst part was—everyone inside that story believed it was true.

Even the king with the heroine's smile.

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