Fate/Knights of the Heroic Throne

[13thsephiroth]

Fate/Knights of the
Heroic Throne​

Disclaimer: This story is set in an alternate universe that diverges from established Star Wars lore. I'm not confident enough to follow Star Wars lore one-to-one, but I'll do my best to respect both Legends and canon where possible. Some timelines and characters have been adjusted to either fit a narrative or just for the sake of it. Shirou Emiya (former Counter Guardian EMIYA) and Arturia Pendragon (former Saber Alter) won't be curbstomping Jedi and Sith—they're both powerful, respectively—but both Jedi and Sith could also reach heights that could rival legends.

Chapter Intro
Human order: Restored.
History: Preserved.
But what of the ones who made it possible?
Heroic Spirits—echoes of legends, bound to vessels, fated to fade without remembrance.
But a wish was made.
One last miracle from humanity's saviour—
that her fallen companions might live once more.


Story Starts
-=&<o>&=-
Prologue Chapter 0 -
The Sword and the
Once Tyrant's Arrival

​

---

Live your lives well—my brave, beloved companions.

​

---

Galactic Year: 34 BBY

Beep! Beep! Beep! …Thud!

Shirou Emiya—former counter guardian and all-around janitor for the will of humanity—groaned at the sound of the chronometer, after being summarily kicked out of the sleeper.

With his forehead mashed against the cold floor, Shirou let out a pained groan, the chronometer's beeping gnawing at his resolve.

Something soft struck his back—Arturia's sleepy voice followed. "Shirou!"
Shirou jerked upright with a groan, pawing at the chronometer in the near-total dark.

It took Shirou a moment to adjust—17:27 on the chrono, and he almost forgot Naboo ran on a straight twenty-hour day. Meaning it was mid-early morning, about two and a half hours before first light—and he wasn't about to lose another chronometer to Arturia's temper as he clicked the alarm off.

With a sigh, Shirou retrieved the pillow from the floor and tossed it at the lump under the covers—shorts and pale legs poking out beneath the blanket, the scent of booze lingering around the groaning mess.

The only reply was half-hearted groans and unintelligible mumblings, followed by snoring.

Shirou chuckled as he left a glass of water and some pain meds on the nightstand before he went down to begin his morning routine.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

Bathed in moonlight and the scent of damp leaves, Shirou sat on a wooden bench, the cool morning breeze brushing past. He sat down with his cup of Caf—laying it on the space beside him and tore off a corner of the warm flatbread coated with a thin brushing of bantha butter already melting.

He sat at the edge of the Palace Plaza, still not entirely used to the buildings around him. The architecture was strange—structures topped by domes that resembled something out of the Middle East, with sharp lines and columns that felt almost Greek or Roman, yet had an odd, faint resemblance to ancient Egyptian architecture, but modernised.

But it wasn't just the city that stood out. The surrounding forest pressed close to the capital, green and dense. It reminded him of the thick tropical jungles he'd fought back in the seventh Lostbelt—and yet, there was something more extraordinary, more structured in how the trees layered themselves. It felt almost like a European forest at the same time.

Most likely… it was her wish that landed them here—one last miracle before the curtain fell. He'd expected to be dragged back into Alaya's shadow until the altered version of Arturia quietly sat down beside him.

For once, the ever-stoic king had confessed fear—of what might come next. After all, her very existence was an anomaly, born of a corrupted Grail system.

Coupled with the phenomenon of the singularities, she had been given a legend, history, and significance. What once was just an Arturia Pendragon, who was just a corrupted version of herself—by a vessel containing all of humanity's sins—is now given a legend. The Tyrant-King, with her Excalibur, warped by Vivian's counterpart, Morgan.

And yet, Excalibur remained a divine construct—despite its form. It wasn't corrupted. If anything, it had been unleashed.

Though branded a tyrant, the truth was more complicated. Both versions of Arturia held the same ideals: a 'perfect king' who placed the prosperity of her kingdom above all else.

One remained chaste, out of duty rather than virtue—a king who placed responsibility above desire, suppressing personal connections for the sake of the throne and her subjects. Yet in doing so, she forefeited something essential and was no longer seen as human by those she served.

The other embraced a tyrant's crown—believing a true king must be willing to become a symbol of fear if it meant shielding her people, even if it meant being hated.

In the end, from Shirou's perspective, both are almost essentially the same: kingdom first, self last. Disconnected. Elevated. A king apart from those they ruled.

Throughout their time in Chaldea, she had mellowed somewhat—no longer rejecting anything that wasn't deep-fried, processed, or sugar-laced.

He chuckled at the memory. Arturia, king of stoicism, had looked personally betrayed when dinner came skewered and smoking, not wrapped in flimsiplast wrap.

Thankfully, Shirou still had access to his tracing. He could at least spear a fish—though he consistently felt some resistance whenever he did. After further analysis revealed nothing wrong with the traced weapons, he chose to ignore it for now.

He hadn't experimented much, but at the very least, he could still trace his ever-trusted married blades. Meanwhile, Arturia could still feel Excalibur's presence—but couldn't seem to grasp or draw it.

The strangest part was the bond. It resembled a Master-Servant connection, except that it was mutual and balanced. This, too, has not been explored yet, as they are still adjusting to their new life.

And with that final thought, Shirou checked his chrono device on his wrist and wiped his somewhat greasy hands on a cloth wipe. He then downed the now-cooled caf, holding the greasy handle with the cloth wipe, before returning to their home, ready to start the day.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

Shirou leaned casually against the frame of their blue-and-yellow SoroSuub AV-21 Landspeeder, one arm propped on the side, his head resting on his knuckles, the other hand on the steering yoke. The wind whistled past, brushing his white hair back, while yellow-tinted goggles shielded his eyes.

Luckily, when they'd awakened in this strange new world—much like the grail system—they'd been granted the knowledge and skills needed to survive in this peculiar galaxy. Most likely the result of that wish.

So, from speaking to the locals to operating these hover vehicles was natural to both Arturia and Shirou. Conveniently, they'd also found identification, two chrono devices, two comlinks, and a credit chip loaded with one hundred thousand credits—though they only discovered the latter later.

Shirou coasted past the silent stalls of the river market, the early hour keeping the city hushed. Instead of stopping, he turned toward the docks—just in time to see a repulsorlift vessel ease into the berth beside him, punctual as ever.

"Oi! Yer early as always, good morning." A gruff, grey-haired, sun-weathered man from the deck of the vessel. The two of them then exchanged three flat, lightweight metal boxes—each about forty-five centimetres square and five and five centimetres thick.

"Much appreciated, lad. But are you sure you want to do this every time?" The family patriarch, Garron Vellasis, asked, eyeing the boxes. "It's more than enough for a couple of days."

"You don't need to worry too much," Shirou assured him with a smile. "You and your family helped Arturia and me a great deal. This is just repayment—plus the dough's already at peak fermentation—any later and it goes to the refuse bin."

Of course, Shirou didn't say that he'd always prepare three extra doughs, three days prior to doing an ingredient run.

For the first few days, they stuck to the river's edge, following its current with the quiet hope that they would soon find a city or a town.

Their identification listed their birthplace as Naboo—a temperate Mid Rim planet, apparently known for its river, lakes, and greenery. Judging by the surrounding vegetation and the fish he'd caught for their meals, it seemed they probably were on their supposed planet of origin.

Most vessels drifted past without so much as a glance. But on the fourth day, one slowed. A Family of fisherfolk, haulers, and part-time ferrymen—curious enough to stop and kind enough to offer help.

They said they'd seen the two of them days earlier—lingering by the riverbank, clearly lost. Curiosity prevailed over caution, and they came to offer their help.

For whatever reason, they'd offered a free ride to Theed—the capital city— without asking for anything in return. Shirou and Arturia hadn't questioned it too hard, as they boarded the floating vessel.

The trip took three more days, with the family stopping in towns and ports along the way—offloading their catch, making deliveries, and trading as they went.

Over those three days, Shirou handled most of the cooking. The Vellasis didn't complain—quite the opposite—especially once tasting the results. Unfamiliar ingredients didn't slow him down. Whatever knowledge they'd been granted worked, and Shirou kept the meals coming, same as always.

Of course, feeding the Pendragon stomach meant that he had to spear an extra fish or twenty—not wanting to burden their benefactors any more.

Hunger's the enemy, indeed. Her favourite line, usually delivered while halfway through her third helping.

"Well now, you spoil us, lad," Garron said with a grin, laying the boxes down and popping the top. A fragrant burst of steam rolled out.

"Oi! Miala! Tenno! Lessa! Come get a slice while we shift the crates—Shirou's got his own haul to collect.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

Dawn stretched across the city, and the first waves of life began trickling into the streets. Ahead of schedule, Shirou let the speeder idle through the waking city—no need to rush back just yet.

Home… Still a foreign word. But every so often, on quiet mornings like this, Shirou found himself watching the city stir—and letting himself believe it might be real.

He was grateful to the Velassis, and—though she'd never admit it out loud—Arturia was too. She usually insisted on joining his supply runs, especially when there was something she 'absolutely had to purchase'... which meant food. Always food. The greasier the better.

Somehow, she and Lessa, the Velassi's youngest daughter, had bonded—over a holodrama of all things. Last night was the season finale.

Three episodes back-to-back. Triple the ads. Every complaint—hers especially—still managed to echo straight through permacrete.

Due to the show's popularity and the fact that it was this season's finale, it was marred by advertisements, much to her quite vocal and loud frustrations, which emanated from our restaurant below our living space.

She and a few of our neighbours and regular customers had a holodrama watch session downstairs—accompanied, unsurprisingly, by a bit too much libation. Even through a floor of stone, Shirou hadn't been spared the sound. He figured she'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep by the time he woke up, so he let her be.

Moments like these reminded him how strange—and lucky—their arrival on this planet had been. If not for the Velassis, he wasn't sure where they'd be.

The speeder glided to a quiet halt behind the restaurant, its low hum fading into the stillness of the early morning—another small comfort they were lucky enough to stumble upon.

Meeting the Velassis had been sheer luck. Somewhere along their slow journey to the capital, someone had asked about their plans—Shirou, half-distracted, muttered something about maybe opening a restaurant.

That offhand comment turned into an introduction—to Balron and Tessari Nyl. Balron, in his mid-sixties and born on Naboo, had once worked in logistics—until he grew tired of upper management. He left and opened a restaurant near the Palace Plaza.

Tessari, a Pantoran in her early sixties, was a former casino accountant who eventually joined her then-boyfriend in running the restaurant's back end.

With no children to tie them down, they planned to retire in style—spending their remaining years and credits in Canto Bight, an infamous resort-and-casino city haven in the planet Cantonica.

After tasting Shirou's food—and after Tessari had talked Arturia's ear off—they were offered a generous deal: no down payment, just 600 credits a month, plus a 10% share of profits during repayment and for fifteen years after the final instalment.

The best part? If their 10% profit share amounted to at least twice the monthly rent, half of that value was credited as rent—and any extra was carried over. No need to pay an extra 600 on top of that.

Seven months in, and they'd already paid off over half of the 160,000—credit price tag. With luck, the place would be theirs by year's end.

"Welcome back, Shirou." The flat voice from his left—no mistaking it. Arturia, leaning just far enough around the swoop bike for her torso to be visible, braced herself with one arm and casually bit into a crust. He'd already been preparing the usual three pizzas for the Velassis—so he figured, might as well make three more for Arturia's breakfast.

She was probably eating while tuning her bike, cross-legged on the floor, same as always.

The swoop bike had been a parting gift from the Pantoran—skylane legal, sure, but that didn't stop her from tearing through the forest whenever the mood struck. She called it a 'relaxing cruise'.

Shirou suppressed a shiver at the memory of him riding behind Arturia—clinging on for dear life as Arturia blazed through the woods surrounding Theed.

"Morning. Been up long? Shirou asked as he started unloading the speeder—stacking crates carefully near the rear entrance—his muscles moving on autopilot—while his brain ran through every hair-raising moment of that so-called 'relaxing cruise'. Near-miss, they called it. Stupid phrase when it literally means the opposite. Every moment of that ride was a near-collision.

"I believe I awoke just as you departed. How were the Velassis? And… the medicine helped. Thank you," Arturia said, voice as cool and clipped as ever—formal even in gratitude.

"They're well. Lessa asked for you—I told her you were up late. She'll likely swing by tomorrow," Shirou said, brushing off a speck of flour from one of the crates.

"It would be pleasant to see Lessa. I have cleaned the dining area and set the doughs out to warm," she said evenly, leaning in to resume her work on her bike.

Shirou murmured a quiet thanks and slipped through the back, arms full, already sorting the tasks ahead in his mind.

"...!"

Something clicked. Shirou leaned out of the kitchen's rear entrance.

"Arturia, mind parking the speeder? I left my speeder bike in the bay as well."

In response, a pale greyish hand shot up from around the corner—thumbs-up, no questions asked.

---

-=&<o>&=-
END


Story Tracker|Story ETAs
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[MrSplashy]

Oh hell yeah especially the Sword and the Sheathe finally reuniting even though both are different person but this I love to see...


Need more of this tbh.

 

[13thsephiroth]

Gave a minor edit. Cause apperently I've been living a lie.
Source: Projection Magecraft

Shirou and Archer mentally divide the process of Tracing into seven steps (投影六拍?), which include:

1. Judging the concept of creation.
2. Hypothesizing the basic structure.
3. Duplicating the composition material.
4. Imitating the skill of its making.
5. Sympathizing with the experience of its growth.
6. Reproducing the accumulated years.
7. Excelling every manufacturing process.

Due to the extra effort, it is possible to produce incredibly stable ordinary items that can remain in the world seemingly indefinitely after their creation, unless broken or dismissed.[6] Furthermore, whenever replicating mystical objects such as Noble Phantasms, it is possible to faithfully copy their special abilities and any skill that their owner performed is available for use.

Click to shrink...

The reason this is possible is due to the nature of Unlimited Blade Works, which at a glance, records the history, composition, and design of what the user sees, and then provides the necessary materials needed to reproduce them. The actual reproduction happens within Unlimited Blade Works, and is then brought into the real world at need via Projection. If the image of the Projection is interrupted in any way, the item will be physically weak and shatter upon physical impact. It is also possible to apply Reinforcement to objects recorded within Unlimited Blade Works, as demonstrated with Caladbolg II or Kanshou and Bakuya.

I think I've read too many fanfics that I thought Gaia rejecting Shirou's constructs was a thing. I think degradation still happens if it's the usual way magus does projection.

So Ch 0 Fate/Knights of the Heroic Throne

Prev. Line: Thankfully, Shirou still had access to his tracing. He could at least spear a fish—though, he'd felt the familiar sensation of something rejecting his constructs. Of course, it wasn't Gaia, but something akin to it.

Correction: Thankfully, Shirou still had access to his tracing. He could at least spear a fish—though he consistently felt some resistance whenever he did. After further analysis revealed nothing wrong with the traced weapons, he chose to ignore it for now.