[h2]Sigurd, Outside the Tohsaka Manor.[/h2]

His companion manifested. His soul bared, his sword unleashed. Not enough, it seemed.

Ah, was this truly his death? It was not a bad one, not at all. He had enjoyed the time spent, he had felt his blood boil in a good fight, and now his eyelids closed as though this was but a distant dream. Yet, there was still more to do, there were things he would like to say.

He was not a hero that had a tale of surviving when he should have died. He was simply hard to kill properly in the first place, so the only thing he could do was hold to his consciousness and try to hold to those last threads he possessed, grasping them and not letting go.

He would not be so unsightly as to attempt to hold out and live when he should be dead—he would dislike it if an enemy did that instead of accepting the outcome with grace, so it would be quite hypocritical to attempt anything of the sort. Just some time for goodbyes was not wrong, however—at least, he did not think about it that way.

“Ah, man,” The words that came out of his mouth were slurred and he was making an effort to make them heard over the blood building up in his own throat. He spat to the side. “So this is how it ends, huh? Short run, I guess, but can’t say I regret it,” His tone was the usual upbeat, not losing an ounce of brightness in spite of the circumstances—though perhaps more pained than usual. “Though I guess it’s pretty selfish of me to say that. Real sorry, Master, seems like you didn’t summon as reliable a Servant as you thought, huh?”

Peals of laughter intermixed with coughs for an instant, as though he found peace in his own death. His horse approached, steps almost sedate, and the mare nuzzled her head against Sigurd, who ran a hand through her coat before she vanished in motes of light. “Sorry you only got to come to see this, really. But you’re still as wonderful as ever. Maybe next time.”

His gaze shifted to stare at his enemy.

“Yo,” He smiled. “Hey, don’t you think stealing a heart in the first date’s moving too fast? Sorry if that was the aim, though—afraid I already got someone,” He attempted a cheeky smile, but it came out mixed with a grimace. “Mind if I ask you not to go after my Master? I figure it’s about the only thing I can do right now, and it’s sort of my duty still.” Wounds are there, of course, but his skin also showed cracks—like shattering glass.

Gaze upturned towards the heavens, his smile still in place, he seemed to ponder his circumstances for a bit. “I feel bad for leaving them hanging, but I suppose it was a fated outcome. Still, sucks I didn’t even get to ascertain the identity of Lancer or Caster. . .hey if either is a woman with long white hair. . .no, never mind, it’s something I would have to do myself, anyway, it would be meaningless otherwise.” He shifted, attempting to find a more comfortable posture before recognizing that his thorax being caved in is probably not conductive to such. Thus, he resigned himself to spend his last moments like so.

“My name?” Sounding confused for an instant, realization dawned on his features. “Ah, that’s right, yeah, I didn’t actually introduce myself, did I? Well, no harm in it now, I guess. It’s Sigurd, son of Sigmund, Slayer of Fafnir. . .you know, the usual titles. Just Sigurd should do just fine,” Another bout of pained chuckles. “Normally it’d spell bad news to be so open about it, but I doubt it matters at this point. Thanks for a fun fight, at least, Mister Burial Agent.”

And it [i]had[/i] been fun, to him at least. The man was probably a terrible matchup for him, but Sigurd was just the sort of idiot to not care, and it was certainly a better death than the original one. The only thing he regretted was that this chapter was so short, but even that feeling would vanish soon—one had to accept things as they came, and he shouldn’t let himself be embittered by something so petty. He had had his run, so it was only fitting.

The world of the present belonged to those who lived in it. Shades of the past like him—like all the Servants summoned in this War—had no say in it, and attempting to think it their own was foolish. In a way, this was certainly poetic—the heroes of today have the duty to surpass the ones of yesterday. . .or something like that. He had never been that good with words to begin with.

“Oh, well,” Resignation seeped into his tone, his lower body started to vanish. “Guess this is it. It was nice seeing the present is not as terribly boring as I thought it was, so thank you for that.”

Perhaps it was mind-boggling for someone to address his killer in such a way, but the fact of the matter remained that Sigurd had acknowledged his loss and he had never seen why being friendly exempted people from trying to kill each other. It was a rather strange notion of this modern world that he, once again, did not quite get. Shame they hadn’t gotten to share drinks.

He raised his hand towards the sky, as though attempting to catch the stars—something that he could never reach, something that he would forever chase. That was the Karma he carried, and this was but a simple intermission in that journey.

“Not this time around, I am afraid,” His smile carried not the jovial undertones of his usual expressions, and his tone had shifted from upbeat to something resembling longing. But there was a tenderness to his voice that could not be denied. “But I guess. . .the advantage is. . .that I can try again, and again, and again forever,” Letting it fall, he grasped the hilt of his sword, but made no further movements, gaze still drawn towards a dream perhaps only he could see.

A simple woman, a beautiful woman, a wonderful woman. It is true that shades of the past like them have no business in the present, but they could certainly have business with each other. His own present was with her, simple as that.

“One day, Brynhildr,” The last words passed through his lips as he breathed his last. “We will meet again, I swear.”

And thus, Sigurd died, though perhaps the haze in his mind conjured a memory of a time long past—of a smile like the sun.

And thus, Sigurd died—with a smile on his face.