Fate/Knights of the Heroic Throne

[13thsephiroth]

Lol, most uncanon thing here, Arturia Alter is a Tyrant in all regards, and that includes enjoying looking cute so she does it without shame.





Excalibur is a holy sword but doesn't have any major conceptual oomph on its actual beam attack, and that's intentional. Sefar was immune to Earth's concepts and that's why the gods couldn't meaningfully hurt it, since their Authorities failed against it. Without it, and also without the support of the deterrent force which multiplies the energy put through the sword, Excalibur is much less dangerous, possibly only on par with Caliburn.

I am fine either way with you changing it for your story mind you, but if the discussion is Fate Canon that's my 2 nickels

Click to shrink...

Regarding Salter enjoying being cute, I didn't know that. I play FGO but it's on JP so my knowledge of the quirks of my character is based on wiki and my assumptions.

Yeah, from what I understand Excalibur is strong but conditionally OP, depending on the situation but sometimes I like it to be the pinnacle of human's will to survive—even if it's a fae artifact?

So in my mind Excalibur is the best sword a human could wield—despite Arturia having a dragon core. haha

What are your thoughts on Rhongomyniad vs Excalibur?

 

[l---erddad---l]

Regarding Salter enjoying being cute, I didn't know that. I play FGO but it's on JP so my knowledge of the quirks of my character is based on wiki and my assumptions.

Yeah, from what I understand Excalibur is strong but conditionally OP, depending on the situation but sometimes I like it to be the pinnacle of human's will to survive—even if it's a fae artifact?

So in my mind Excalibur is the best sword a human could wield—despite Arturia having a dragon core. haha

What are your thoughts on Rhongomyniad vs Excalibur?

Click to shrink...

Rhongonmyniad is generally stronger, as the Tower at the End of the World. It is literally a pillar of reality, and we know that another manifestation of if is potentially the strongest servant (Voyager, humanity's Foreigner to the cosmos). Just using it for long enough turned Artoria into a legitimate goddess, not just a divine spirit, long past the end of the Age of the Gods. It is on par with Ea as an ultimate conceptual weapon, with them basically doing the reverse of each other (Rhongomyniad anchors the reverse side to the World; Ea severs the heavens and the earth, or rather destroys the texture of the planet).

In terms of "no assistance from the Counter Force Excalibur", there is another sword that is its equal, the OG Caledbolg. The thing that makes Excalibur special is that it's the Sword of Promised Victory, a tap directly into the Counter Force allowing it to provide ridiculous amounts of dakka in the right circumstances, and, since it's just raw ether, you can't be immune to it by rejecting Gaia's concepts. Without it, it still is an insanely strong Noble Phantasm, but it's stupid op above all strength is literally tied up in NOT having special hax that can be countered by other hax.

For context of its full power, it took the entire Greek Pantheon's OG machine god bodies, the interstellar war machines that can toss around attacks equivalent to A-rank anti-army attacks like candy, joining together into one form and using raw force instead of their Authorities to beat Sefar and they still had casualties and almost lost. Excalibur's dakka beat Sefar by itself

 

[13thsephiroth]

Rhongonmyniad is generally stronger, as the Tower at the End of the World. It is literally a pillar of reality, and we know that another manifestation of if is potentially the strongest servant (Voyager, humanity's Foreigner to the cosmos). Just using it for long enough turned Artoria into a legitimate goddess, not just a divine spirit, long past the end of the Age of the Gods. It is on par with Ea as an ultimate conceptual weapon, with them basically doing the reverse of each other (Rhongomyniad anchors the reverse side to the World; Ea severs the heavens and the earth, or rather destroys the texture of the planet).

In terms of "no assistance from the Counter Force Excalibur", there is another sword that is its equal, the OG Caledbolg. The thing that makes Excalibur special is that it's the Sword of Promised Victory, a tap directly into the Counter Force allowing it to provide ridiculous amounts of dakka in the right circumstances, and, since it's just raw ether, you can't be immune to it by rejecting Gaia's concepts. Without it, it still is an insanely strong Noble Phantasm, but it's stupid op above all strength is literally tied up in NOT having special hax that can be countered by other hax.

For context of its full power, it took the entire Greek Pantheon's OG machine god bodies, the interstellar war machines that can toss around attacks equivalent to A-rank anti-army attacks like candy, joining together into one form and using raw force instead of their Authorities to beat Sefar and they still had casualties and almost lost. Excalibur's dakka beat Sefar by itself

Click to shrink...

I guess my understanding isn't that far off—well, at least I think so. Thanks for this!

 

[l---erddad---l]

I guess my understanding isn't that far off—well, at least I think so. Thanks for this!

Click to shrink...

Tbf, Fate is fucky as hell. I guarantee that you could find a justification for most things while keeping with Nasuverse logic

Also, sometimes you've gotta say "yeah, I'm changing power levels a bit to make the story more interesting", and as long as it isn't fully stupid (Artoria losing to pre-Clone Wars Anakin), imo it works

 

[13thsephiroth]

Tbf, Fate is fucky as hell. I guarantee that you could find a justification for most things while keeping with Nasuverse logic

Also, sometimes you've gotta say "yeah, I'm changing power levels a bit to make the story more interesting", and as long as it isn't fully stupid (Artoria losing to pre-Clone Wars Anakin), imo it works

Click to shrink...

Yeah, don't worry. Plus, I'm biased towards the nasuverse in general.

I hope my spelling of Arturia doesn't trigger anyone. In my mind since it's Arthur then Arturia makes more sense, of course I know it's because of Katakana, and using 'tsu' instead of 'to' doesn't make sense. haha

Whenever I see the Artoria spelling, for some reason, I imagine her spinning Excali-nir (Excalibur x Mjolnir) while sending bolts of lightning around. Now this sounds like a fun crack-fic to write.

 

[13thsephiroth]

This'll be my upload schedule, without dates. But at least you'll know the upload order.

Generally, I upload every two to three days, unless work or life gets in the way. I'm trying to increase my speed and produce longer chapters, but so far, my mind fogs once the 2,000-word count looms for some reason.

Argh can't upload photos here and can't use google links to insert image.

You can view the schedule through the following links:

discord​

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Patreon
no need to be a free member you can view instantly​

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Google Drive

The earliest update is on the fourth picture, titled: 'Plus 1 Update Poll #12 Winner.' Of course, that's if this story wins the next poll. I have high hopes for it as it's my second most popular 'Side Story' next to Ending Maker: Fate Wizardry.​

 

[l---erddad---l]

Yeah, don't worry. Plus, I'm biased towards the nasuverse in general.

I hope my spelling of Arturia doesn't trigger anyone. In my mind since it's Arthur then Arturia makes more sense, of course I know it's because of Katakana, and using 'tsu' instead of 'to' doesn't make sense. haha

Whenever I see the Artoria spelling, for some reason, I imagine her spinning Excali-nir (Excalibur x Mjolnir) while sending bolts of lightning around. Now this sounds like a fun crack-fic to write.

Click to shrink...

As long as you don't refer to OG Artoria as Altria, idgaf. That retcon is dumb as hell.

 

[GabeC1997]

Hmm, is Arturia racing buddies with everybody's favorite thrill-seeking senator? Dudes hilarious when you realize his actual motivation is just to stir up a bunch chaos for the thrill of it.

 

[13thsephiroth]

Hmm, is Arturia racing buddies with everybody's favorite thrill-seeking senator? Dudes hilarious when you realize his actual motivation is just to stir up a bunch chaos for the thrill of it.

Click to shrink...

Wait huh? Sorry I'm not that too in deep Star Wars lore, but who's our favourite thrill seeking senator?

 

[carbon1923]

For Excalibur, one way to think of it is its a Death Star Superlaser. Off Earth it is like the Superlaser connected to a Star Destoryer reactor. Capable of destroying ships but not continents or planets. But on Earth it's connected to Gaia, allowing it to work at full power, as when the Superlaser is on the Death Star proper.

As for feats, I would say Emyia is a match to RoTS Obi-Wan or Anakin, while Saber is a match to Darth Vader or Mace Windu in a one in one duel. In terms of raw power, Emiya would still be simular to Obi-Wan, lower raw power, while Saber is equal to Anakin, a fusion reactor of raw energy.

But when it comes to more esoteric abilities, Saber is far below most Jedi, only having Mana Burst, while Shirou is more inline with a Jedi specialist, such as a healer, only being a master in two skills, Projection and Structural Analysis, while being skilled in Reinforment and capable in hypnosis.

 

[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' ages 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>&=-
Chapter 3.2 -
The Once,
'Once and Future Tyrant King'
and The Empty Pantry Challenge
​

---

Arturia, once the Tyrant King of Camelot, feared ruler, peerless knight, took up a napkin and primly dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Her regal composure never wavered as she dispatched another double-patty shaakburger with cheese—seven already finished, their flimsiplast wraps folded neatly at the edge of her large tray, which was laden with her chosen favourites from the restaurant—and, by Shirou's insistence, a large bowl of salad.

The minced shaak patty, smashed near paper-thin, provided a crisp bite, while the second patty was cooked thick, brimming with juice—her deliberate preference for both a seared crust and tender, juicy meat gave her the best of both worlds in mouthfeel.

Melted shaak-milk cheese, a blend of cheeses crafted by Shirou, was draped across each patty, its silky consistency the result of Shirou's expertise in cooking.

Back when they were starting, Arturia, of course, demanded her favourite items, like the current burger she was demolishing demurely. And a burger isn't complete without the greatness of melted American cheese. Like always, he acquiesced and asked for patience as he made several types of cheese from shaak milk.

He used a blend of this and melted it in a splash of white wine, and stabilised it with some sodium citrate. According to him, this was the key ingredient needed for a melting cheese as it prevents the fats from splitting when melted.

Additionally, Shirou prepared an amazing sauce and some pickles, which served as the perfect complement, cutting through the richness of the high-quality meat and cheese.

'An indulgence worthy of a king,' she thought, her eyes closing briefly as she savoured the daily caloric conquest made possible by Tessari Nyl and her holodrama-in-arms, Lessa Vellasi.

In a rare concession to her personal chef, attendant, and mother hen, Arturia had admitted that her appetite might prove a burden on Shirou and their shared finances. She had approached Tessari—Lessa at her side—and together they devised a scheme: a food challenge.

The rules were simple. A group of up to six could be formed for this challenge. If one side cleared their platter within the hour while the other failed, the losers paid for both. If both finished, each simply paid for their own. However, if they finish it within half an hour or the challengers beat the record—currently seventeen minutes—they would eat for free. But if they were to beat the current record, not only would they eat for free, but drinks were on the house for that night, and they could request a reward—provided it's within reason.

She had overheard more than once that customers hoped to claim her company as a prize. Most fell silent whenever Shirou appeared in the room. Only one had been bold enough to speak it aloud: a hulking Zabrak merchant, prosperous, well-travelled, and a regular customer whenever trade carried him through the Chommell sector.

It was that same Zabrak who carved his name into the record at seventeen minutes—beating hers by half a minute. His triumph, however, ended less gloriously—struck down not by defeat but by indigestion. He had, after all, been the first challenger to brave the platter alone.

The platter was daunting: ten sandwiches of every variety—shaakburgers with cheese, battered fish, breaded tip-yip, and sausage in buns—plus a forty-six centimetre pizza, a pile of fried tip-yip, a mountain of tuber fries, a bowl of salad, and a bowl of shaakmeat pasta large enough to feed a family.

He requested transportation to the nearest medcentre—only for Arturia to loudly proclaim that his wish was her command—thus cancelling his earlier request for a date, much to his dismay.

Two months had passed, and the merchant had yet to return. Perhaps trade called him elsewhere. Perhaps he still recalled the indigestion. Or perhaps the humiliation of being carried by a petite 154-centimetre Arturia—perched side-saddle on her swoop bike and clinging for dear life—none could say.

She now faced a challenger of five, the dining area bustling with cheers and wagers. The spectacle had become frequent enough that Shirou was forced to impose limits: once per day only, with no more than four groups permitted at a time. Arturia would still have but a single platter, yet up to four groups could stand against her simultaneously.

Without Shirou's restrictions, the restaurant might truly have lived up to its name—The Empty Pantry. Despite rumours, her stomach wasn't a bottomless abyss, nor was she a sarlacc that had devoured a goddess and stolen her form.

Arturia bristled at the reminder of that rumour—one that had first surfaced shortly after a certain Pantoran's visit. The timing had been too coincidental to dismiss. Distracted by the thought, she seemed to glare openly at one of the challengers as she bit, prim yet menacing, into a piece of fried tip-yip.

The challenger, already heavy with food, stiffened under her heated gaze. Sweat shone on his brow as he bent back over his platter, shovelling more down despite the visible strain. To her, it seemed needless; he was clearly near his limit already.

She spared the man one last glance, noted his foolish persistence, and dismissed it at once. If he chose to choke himself in pride, that was his affair. Arturia returned to her meal, taking a neat bite of pizza with a small 'mokkyu' that, inexplicably, drew giggles and soft 'awws' from the crowd.

Arturia then stood up and bussed out the empty bowl, previously filled with pasta, and threw away all the neatly folded flimsiplast before coming back to the centre table and settling in.

'Anyway,' she thought, forcing herself to dismiss the sarlacc rumour. To temper matters, Shirou ruled that if multiple groups challenged her and lost, they would divide the price of her platter amongst themselves.

For many, the challenge became less a contest and more a bargain. Office workers, families, and circles of friends often booked it on the Zhellday nights before the weekend, treating it as a gathering rather than a competition.

Drink flowed freely during these gatherings—fortunate, given beverages yielded two to three times their cost—often eclipsing food itself. Such revelry was a recent development. For the first half of the year, their income had been steady and unremarkable—until the Zabrak proved the challenge was possible alone. From then, not only did the number of challengers grow, but so too did the restaurant's traffic.

Looking down at her platter, she was surprised that she had already finished all but a single slice of pizza—while the bowl of salad loomed at her periphery, menacingly.

A piercing screech echoed across the marble floor as the challenger shoved his chair back. He rose unsteadily, hand pressed to his mouth, and stumbled for the open street-front, his path swerving close enough to nearly knock into a customer entering.

From the adjacent street—where her swoop bike was parked—came the sound of retching. The crowd jeered and cheered at the group's automatic disqualification.

With her last slice in hand, she leaned to the side and fetched the bucket and mop Shirou had wisely stationed for such occasions. She stood tall, regarding the five disqualified men, hunched and labouring for breath.

Their tray was still filled with untouched wrapped sandwiches, half-eaten burgers, and a mauled piece of fried tip-yip—a significant amount of meat still clung to its bones.

'At least they were able to finish the fries, though they barely touched the pizza, pasta, and salad,' Arturia noted, sighing at the pathetic attempt.

Arturia stood up, holding both the bucket in one hand and biting her last slice of pizza with another 'mokkyu.'

"You there—" the raucous slightly abating at her words, "come assist your downed comrade, here."

The man sitting nearest turned his head to face her, as his cheeks mashed against the table's surface.

Arturia gave him a severe stare as she took another bite of her pizza with a 'mokkyu'. The man held a mesmerised look as the light hit Arturia in such a way that it just enhanced her regality.

"See that you clean the area—and as for the rest, though you have lost, you must finish what you began. To waste what has been prepared, or to leave disorder behind, would be an insult to the toils of others."

The crowd erupted in applause as Arturia nodded, eyes closed in solemn dignity as she basked in their appreciation of her words. She continued to demolish her slice of flatbread, each sharp 'mokkyu' only fuelling the crowd's cheers.

The man, who had hunched over but was facing the black-clad girl, begrudgingly stood up and waddled over to her as she handed over the cleaning materials to him. She patted his shoulder, giving him a sudden second wind at the gesture as she warned him. "One must take care not to dirty my mount… or else."

"One must also finish their bowl of salad," a dry voice cut in. Emiya—somehow already behind the counter, sleeves rolled neat under a black waistcoat—drew fresh laughter from the regulars.

'This man—' Arturia thought, irritatingly, as she puffed her cheeks, as her pout was followed by a ripple of laughter through the room.

Arturia cast her gaze around—quieting the insolence of the crowd—as she lifted her empty tray and carried it towards the counter for Shirou to place in the autowasher

It was then that she got a good look at the new arrival. She hadn't seen her before—or at least not enough to warrant recognition. Judging by her bearing, however, she would have been impossible to forget had she visited more than once.

Black and gold draped her form in distinctly Nabooan style, the robe's lines flowing into gleaming fitted trousers. Her hair was wound into looping coils tied into twin buns, with bangs neatly framing an elegant, sharp-featured face. Amber eyes, steady and unblinking, were fixed on the—

"Ms Verali. This is the co-owner of the restaurant—Arturia Pendragon."

---

-=&<o>&=-
END​

AN: In Star Wars they have five-day weeks. Zhellday is the fourth before the weekend—Benduday.

Next Chapter Update: Release that Witch... and Wizard?!
If you want to read the next chapter, head over to
discord and get the Spellcaster role.
If you want to read Ch 4.2-4.3 and 5—I'll also be updating 6 & 7 before we start with Release that Witch... and Wizard?!—head over to
patreon.​

 

[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>&=-
Chapter 4.1 -
The Future Queen
and the Decree to Empty the Pantry
​

---

Shirou's eyes skimmed the order list as he checked each thermocrate in turn. He'd usually refer to it as 'leasable food container units,' when talking with customers—less questions asked. Cold meats layered with pickles, cheese, salad greens, oil and vinegars, sealed in bread rolls and wrapped tightly in flimsiplast. A lasagna, cooled and firm enough to hold its shape once sliced. Sausages, smoked cuts, dips, flatbreads stack neatly—everything in its place.

Shirou swung open the thermal oven, the relatively new unit gleaming—a replacement for the 'Arturia incident'—reaching in and lifting the pizza just enough to see the telltale leopard spots beneath the crust.

The heat of the oven barely registered—his nerves were long since used to it."

"Alright. Pizza's done," he told the empty kitchen, hefting the pizza with the peel he'd made from Perlote wood—an indigenous tree of Naboo—and slid the pie into another thermocrate.

"All I need are the fried goods," he said to himself, dusting off the peel and propping it against the oven. The delay—having to retrieve the thermocrates from the speeder bay—had been irritating, but at least gave the lasagna time to set. The thought of the dish collapsing into a sloppy mess on a plate nagged at him.

He moved back towards the prep table, sealed the thermocrate shut, and stacked them both—he could feel the container slightly heated up as it did its thing.

'These thermocrates are really convenient,' Shirou mused as he hauled them out toward the speeder.

The thermocrates held meals at the perfect temperature—graphene weave heaters regulating warmth, smart humidity controls preserving balance, and a hydrophobic mesh catching stray droplets before they reached the food. Even fried goods stayed sharp and crisp while the meat retained its juices.

He stowed the containers in the speeder, then rushed back inside. The smell of tip-yip and tuber fries greeted him, along with the sight of Arturia engaged in hushed conversation with the Vareli customer. He winced—once again regretting the day curiosity had led him to look up what tip-yip actually looked like alive.

Shirou fetched two stainless—or rather plasteel—bowls, still warm from the washer, and set them by the fryer. He lifted both baskets—gave them a brisk shake over the fat, then hooked them on the rack above the vat as grease dripped back into the fryer.

Shirou turned the heat down to standby before dumping the golden tip-yip and fries into separate bowls. Raising his hand high, he scattered salt in an even shower as he tossed the fried goods.

He carried the bowl back in two trips, sealing each in its thermocrate before loading them into the speeder.

He snatched up a towel, wiping his hands before circling the bar with quick refills, then stopped before the pair—the guest jotting notes on a datapad while Arturia was describing the garden area they have upstairs.

'Curious.' "Your orders are done."

His gaze shifted to his maidware-clad partner. "Would you care to escort our guest back to the speeder bay?"

Both turned to him.

"Our guest here ordered three thermocrates' worth of food—I would think that would be an inconvenient walk back to their speeder," he explained dryly.

"I'm fine with that," Arturia replied, her hand gesturing with quiet poise toward the blonde guest. Hair tied up in twin buns, bangs, and loose locks of hair framed a sharp, high-cheekboned face, her brown eyes calm and composed. "However, our guest also wishes to book the restaurant for private use after hours."

---

-=&<o>&=-​

The chrono read 23:01. Outside, the luminous disc of Ohma-D'un, Naboo's water moon, spilt silver light across the city of Theed as her sleek six-seater speeder—a graduation present from her parents—slid through the air.

She guided the speeder toward the last-minute event Tsabin had put together.

Rabbine Ondel sat beside her, bright-eyed and cheerful. A new graduate from Coruscant University, she'd landed only today and was already drinking in Theed's nighttime skyline. Palpatine had recommended her; soon she'd take over Tsabin's event duties and help with makeup and wardrobe.

Since it was her first day, Rabbine would mostly observe while Tsabin showed her the ropes. Tsabin and Su Yan, along with the others, had gone ahead to prepare the event, while Rabbine was left to rest for a few hours before joining in to help once they arrived.

Padmé smiled into the holomirror. Behind her, Mara dozed while Sasha leaned against the transparisteel, watching the city pass.

Lately, she had felt the pressure to step up—an idea of becoming a symbol for the people, inspired partly by a holonovel mentioned during one of her mentoring sessions with Senator Palpatine.

With the demonstration postponed—now set three weeks from today, two weeks later than the original Benduday, and in line with the merchant guild's festival—she felt relieved of some of the pressure. She had proposed her idea at that afternoon's meeting, amidst the flavourful spread of food Tsabin had brought—well, she had someone help the three thermocrates' worth of food.

She'd proposed her idea of becoming a symbol for the masses, adopting the name Amidala—taking inspiration from her current public pseudonym Liora, meaning light, while Amidala also means compassion, nobility, and divine favour—a fitting name and symbol for the people to rally behind.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Tsabin, along with most of the team, refused it outright, believing in the power of the people. 'No need to martyr yourself for the cause,' Tsabin had told her, her voice steady, softened by the bite she took from the cheesy, sauced flatbread she called a pizza.

Padmé's lips curved at the thought of Tsabin—her closest friend since childhood. She remembered them splashing in Lake Paonga as neighbours, their school and academy days, afternoons after volunteer work, the internship they shared and the quiet moments between lectures at Theed University.

She could hardly ignore how their friendship had grown into something deeper, sometimes physical when mood, convenience, and discretion met. Since her only relationship with Tavern Furoli ended, she hadn't sought others nor did she have much time for a serious relationship.

Though that final weekend of fun at her family's villa at Lake Country—was a memorable night of passion—and that fiery encore when both their ex, now in a relationship, had visited.

Her reflection in the transparisteel betrayed the blush heating her face, stirred by the memory of four sets of limbs tangled, intertwined, and glistening with sweat after their shared night of passion—made sweeter by her deepening bond with her best friend.

She gave a slight shake of her head, clearing away the thoughts before her companions could notice. She shifted in her seat, thighs brushing, a quiet pulse of relief grounding her.

She shook off the memory, letting her thoughts drift back to the day's events.

Earlier that day, after she'd risen from a refreshing sleep, Tsabin had arrived with a petite companion at her side. The woman held herself with perfect posture; her skin was pale, with a greyish hue, her fair hair tied neatly in a bun, and her arresting golden eyes.

An aura of majesty and severity clung to her as she carried three thermocrates with ease, one arm bearing their weight while the other steadied a faltering Tsabin.

Padmé lifted her gaze to them, her first thought a wry one—that perhaps Tsabin's weakened knees came from some quick indiscretion. Unlike herself, Tsabin did take the occasional partner; Padmé even thought that Tsabin and Su Yan had once shared a history.

She placed the thermocrates on the table, then guided Tsabin into a seat with composure both severe and graceful. Up close, Padmé felt her aura all the more—intimidating, regal—accented by a peculiar dress. Its hem stopped at her thighs, revealing flashes of pale skin above fitted white stockings, with narrow straps trailing upward beneath the skirt.

"This is the spread your companion ordered. May it be to your liking." The voice was dignified, carrying a faint masculine quality. Padmé startled, heat blooming across her cheeks as she realised she had been staring—but the woman gave no sign of caring.

Her delicate fingers brushed the controls, and the thermocrates slid open with a hiss. Steam curled into the air, carrying the mingled aromas of familiar comforts and curious novelties. Her pupils dilated, her mouth tingled with saliva, her senses alight under the assault of fragrance.

"Would you also provide a glass of warm water?" She motioned gracefully toward Tsabin. "Your companion lacks the constitution for speeder travel. I would recommend the use of mild stims to guard against such discomfort."

The bluntness of the remark left the table in silence. The wordless confusion of the others mirrored Tsabin's incredulous disbelief.

She then faced Tsabin with unflinching composure. "We shall strive to meet your request swiftly. I must ask that you arrive early—" not at all sounding like a request, Padmé thought, "should there be last-minute changes—and you did pledge assistance with staffing. As there are supply runs yet to complete, I shall withdraw."

With hands clasped, the woman bowed slightly before turning, each step toward the apartment's entrance deliberate and measured. Her exit seemed to break the spell she had cast, leaving the others blinking in confusion.

"Padmé," Tsabin said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Tsabin?"

"If tall, dark, and handsome warns me not to let that demon drive, make sure I listen next time," she muttered, cheek against the marble table.

"Oooh, tall, dark, and handsome—Shirou Emiya, the co-owner. He leaves an impression, doesn't he?" Su Yan teased.

A chuckle escaped her as she remembered Tsabin's colourful account of the petite demon at the controls.

"Ms Padmé?" Rabbine came tentatively from her side.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just recalling today's little entertainment." She shared a chuckle before glancing at the navigator. "We're close now. Would you message Su Yan and Tsabin for me?"

"Yes, Ms Padmé."

"Rabbine, call me Padmé. Just remember—I'm Liora in public. Tsabin's been careless with names lately.

"Yes, Ms…Pad—Liora?"

Padmé chuckled, her smile warm and encouraging. "It's all right. You'll learn quickly enough."

---

-=&<o>&=-
END
Next Chapter Update: Release that Witch... and Wizard?!
If you want to read the next chapter, head over to
discord and get the Spellcaster role.
If you want to read Ch 4.2-4.3 and 5—I'll also be updating 6 & 7 before we start with Release that Witch... and Wizard?!—head over to
patreon.​

 

[13thsephiroth]

Okay, FYI, I uploaded two chapters. The previous latest chapter was 3.1, and the new ones are 3.2 and 4.1.

I'm trying to increase my chapter average word count; otherwise, you'd just have 1.5-2.5k chapter updates every month. The problem is I'm still not used to this—writing longer chapters is a lot harder for me, so I ask for patience. Thank you!

 

[KIro]

Alright. Pizza's done," he told the empty kitchen, hefting the pizza with the peel he'd made from Perlote wood—an indigenous tree of Naboo—and slid the pie into another thermocrate.

"All I need are the fried goods," he said to himself, dusting off the peel and propping it against the oven. The delay—having to retrieve the thermocrates from the speeder bay—had been irritating, but at least gave the lasagna time to set. The thought of the dish collapsing into a sloppy mess on a plate nagged at him.

"Ok, that's done. Pizza's done. Just the fried goods left," He declared, hand on waist, his hip lightly jutted to one side, as he grabbed a towel to wipe his slightly sweaty face.

Click to shrink...

Seems like an old version of this scene was left in

 

[13thsephiroth]

Seems like an old version of this scene was left in

Click to shrink...

Ohh, sorry and thank you for that. I sometimes forgot to delete when I rewrite a scene and that's even with re-reading and listening it several times with a TTS app.

 

[13thsephiroth]

Fate/Knights of the
Heroic Throne


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>&=-
Chapter 4.2 -
The Future Queen
and the Decree to Empty the Pantry

​

---

Previously…
Her datapad buzzed to life. Tsabin flicked it open—Sasha Malvern. Tsabin smiled faintly—an old acquaintance from their studies, now a trusted teammate, and the reason Tsabin had her Environmental Ministry connection in the first place.

The message was brief and to the point: the demonstration was being pushed back two weeks. Better timing, festival day, local shops and businesses already signed on.

Tsabin exhaled hard. More time to plan. Less panic. Though Padmé would still run herself ragged.

Not if she could help it. Fingers flew as she sent a reply to the whole team, slipping in a cheerful suggestion to invite guests along.

She grinned at the thought and waved for the petite and stoic lone waitress.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

After acknowledging her call, the stoic lone waitress stacked five steaming cups of caf on a tray, slid another under the dispenser, and carried them to the table of six—the earlier wretching customer now back. At the same time, his struggling comrades took cautionary bites of their still massive pile of food.

She set each cup down in turn, skipping the man who had nearly bowled Tsabin over. Each of their faces lit up, eagerly nodding at something she said—her words drowned by the chatter of the restaurant crowd.

Retrieving the last cup from the dispenser, she placed it before the poor guy hunched over the table as she gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

With that task down, her gaze did a quick sweep of her surroundings before she approached Tsabin, tray tucked beside her.

"How may I help you?" The server clad in black and white asked, her voice as flat as her expression.

"I'm putting together a last-minute gathering—my colleagues have been working without pause for weeks. Do you take on catering deliveries?"

The question seemed to snag her composure; her face, usually blank as carved stone, gathered into lines of quiet concentration.

"Before I answer that question, how last-minute would this be and for how many people?" Her voice remained even, though a weight lay behind it.

"Perhaps twenty-five, at most thirty. And… tonight," Tsabin admitted, as heat pricked her cheeks. She forced a small sheepish smile, scratching her jaw as she remembered the posted closing time.

"Around the twenty-third hour," Tsabin added quickly, faltering under the weight of her stare, an awkward chuckle slipping out.

"Hmm." Arturia laid the tray aside, words measured but heavy. "We were planning to close early. Tomorrow is our first day off since opening."

Tsabin frowned at that, already thinking of an alternate.

"However, the previous owner told us to seize opportunities," she added, giving a solemn little nod.

"Besides…" Her lips twitched, a slight smile forming. "Shirou's a busybody." Her gaze flicked toward the back.

For Tsabin, it was a fleeting, picturesque image—broken the next moment by the abrupt snap of her head.

"Unfortunately, the last of our thermocrates are committed to your current order. Would disposable containers suffice?" Arturia asked, pausing only to acknowledge departing patrons with a curt nod.

Tsabin turned the thought over—then inspiration struck.

"Or… we could rent this place instead after hours. Invite more people, have drinks. Everyone wins, right?" She flashed a hopeful smile.

"...!"

"Sorry, is Shirou Mr Emiya?"

Arturia's brow arched as she nodded in acknowledgement. Serendipitously, the back door opened and in stepped the subject of her query.

His gaze swept around the room once before fixing on the fryer. Two baskets, one in each hand, shaken with effortless ease. Not a twitch of strain as the heavy-looking filled baskets were then clipped above the vat.

Then, retrieving two stacked plasteel bowls, he placed them on the counter beside the fryer.

The fried goods fell in a crisp heap. His hand rose high, scattering salt with a motion almost theatrical, light from above framing him as though centre stage. Tsabin caught herself staring—her gaze drawn lower by the unfortunate placement of the bowl.

A prickling awareness slid over her, and she coughed into her hand, trying to shake off the evidence of eyes that had lingered too long. Her quarry had already vanished—retreated into the back, likely to finalise her order.

She straightened her back, expression level, eyes meeting the approach of the waitress who had returned after quickly clearing a table and tending to an elderly lady at the counter.

The woman's face remained unreadable, yet in those golden eyes, Tsabin swore there flickered a glint of amusement.

Their brief staring contest broke when a baritone voice sounded—Shirou Emiya, now fully identified. Tsabin assumed Emiya was his family name. Unless Shirou was, and Arturia simply chose to use it, which seemed unlikely.

"Your orders are done," he said crisply, wiping his hands with a towel.

His silver-grey eyes shifted to his partner, "Would you care to escort our guest back to the speeder?"

"Our guest here ordered three thermocrates' worth of food—I would think that would be an inconvenient walk back to their speeder," he explained dryly.

"I'm fine with that," Arturia replied, her hand gesturing with quiet poise toward Tsabin. "However, our guest also wishes to book the restaurant for private use after hours."

"Oh, really." His brow arched while he set the towel down with exacting neatness on the plasteel counter.

Their eyes locked in wordless exchange—Tsabin felt as though she were intruding on a private moment.

However, this brief moment of silent exchange—a testament to how much they know each other, or at least that's what Tsabin assumed—was broken when Arturia directed her gaze to Tsabin.

"I'm fine with it. We can have our break next week instead. It would be remiss to squander an opportunity; idleness is the enemy," she declared.

"We do seem to collect enemies, don't we? Isn't hunger one of them? Perhaps this is your ploy to upsell the 'Beat the Sarlacc challenge.' I already placed limits on it, lest you become Chunkturia."


Tsabin almost winced at the tension—Arturia's glare could have cut durastell, though the effect was undercut by the faintly puffed cheek she was pouting with.

"I do not appreciate any perversion of my name, nor am I to be likened to an anthropomorphised sarlacc," she intoned, arms crossing with a faint stamp of her foot.

"Furthermore, we maintain rigorous nightly sparring. Two 'Empty the Pantry Challenges' in one day is of little consequence," Arturia proclaimed, her voice cutting cleanly across the room.

Tsabin's cheeks flared instantly, the room going quiet at the innuendo no one missed. Emiya's face shifted from frozen disbelief to the long-suffering look of a man used to this. His raised eyebrow hooked at Tsabin like a dare—as though he knew of the images now circling her overwrought mind: the petite woman at her side and the tall, dark, undeniably handsome man locked in a sweaty, passionate 'spar.'

"Ahem." Emiya's cough cracked the silence, his eyes sweeping the room like a teacher catching out unruly students. Chairs scraped as conversations sputtered back to life, a few patrons seizing the chance to settle their bills with a quick tap of their credit chips.

"What is this 'Beat the Sarlacc Challenge'?" Tsabin asked. Emiya's grin was all triumph, while Tsabin squirmed under the tempered glare of the thoroughly teased 'sparring' aficionado.

And on that note, plans for the night's revelry took shape fast—loudly punctuated by Arturia's indignant protest that it was the 'Empty the Pantry Challenge,' not whatever else people were calling it. It ended with Emiya volunteering her to haul the three heavy thermocrates to their apartments, since she'd be heading out on a supply run anyway.
Despite warnings—from Mr Tall-Dark-and-Sarcastic—Tsabin had allowed Arturia the controls of her speeder. She had wanted to see what the fuss was about, slaving their speeder to hers. But as soon as both speeders lifted into the air, any trace of sleepiness left her body—burned away by terror as she clung white-knuckled all the way back home.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

Padmé cruised the skyline on the way to the parking bay, having just dropped off Rabbine, Sasha and Mara—Veyra, Ryn, and Kaela, she corrected in her mind. She sighed, fighting Tsabin's careless habits that Su Yan had begun to mirror. Serin, Nive, she repeated aloud, the sound grounding her resolve.

When she landed in front of the closed establishment, the plasteel shopfront shutter was pulled down and locked, yet she could see light bleeding through the thin gap between the shutter and the floor.

Serin and Nive greeted her as they were standing at the closed shopfront waiting for her, dressed in the same uniform as the so-called "demon driver"—Serin's nickname for the petite co-owner.

Padmé's gaze lingered on the uniform, a faint heat rising in her chest.

'Perhaps I could convince them to let her keep it?' She thought hopefully—the dress suited her best friend far too well.

Serin—Padmé, reminding herself firmly of the pseudonym, easing into the habit before the event—offered to park her speeder. She explained the owner had already ridden ahead on a speeder bike to save her the walk.

Padmé's mind betrayed her for a moment, the name Tsabin almost rising to her lips. She then shook her head in refusal, preferring a little more peace before the night's rhythm began.

Serin instead passed her the bay number and, oddly, wished her to enjoy.

---

-=&<o>&=-​

Padmé eased her vehicle into the parking bay, steering toward the assigned number. A man sat idly on his speeder, his back a dark silhouette against the sky. The moonlight left her with nothing but his shadowed outline.

She noted the breadth of his shoulders, the cropped cut of his hair, and the lazy way he leaned back while eating—likely a piece of fruit.

As she drew closer, her headlights struck him as he turned to face her approaching vehicle—revealing his white hair and sun-touched skin.

He raised an arm against the glare until she eased the lights down. With a flick of his wrist, the fruit core sailed into the refuse bin, neat as if he'd aimed. Padmé's gaze lingered, catching the subtle shape of his lips—frustratingly silent behind the transparisteel.

With a tap, the transparisteel hatch lowered, the speeder shifting to idle as its thrumming sank to a soft rhythmic hum.

"Padmé—though I suppose Liora is the name I should use, isn't it?"

Her stomach dropped. 'Tsabin!' The thought flared like a spark; her face, no doubt, betrayed the frustration twisting in her chest. The man's amused chuckle confirmed that her face currently reflects her feelings.

"Don't worry," he said, the words carrying a calm assurance. "Serin and Nive already swore us to secrecy. They're…a—"

"Handful." Padmé finished for him, voice flat.

The quiet laugh that followed was disarmingly warm. He turned back to his controls, attitude control thrusters firing in short bursts, his speeder gliding aside with practised ease.

Encouragement wasn't needed. She guided the speeder neatly into the bay and powered it down. The repulsors' hum dwindled to silence, ending in a soft thud as the craft touched down on the duracrete.

He closed the distance in a few strides, one arm offered in a deliberate steadying gesture as she rose from her seat.

"Emiya. One of the owners of The Empty Pantry. I hope you enjoy tonight's festivities."

---

-=&<o>&=-
END
Next Chapter Update: Same Story
If you want to read thenext chapter, head over to discord
and get the Spellcaster role.
If you want to read chapters: 5.1 (8k words), 5.2 (10k words), 6.1 (1/3)
head over to patreon.​

 

[13thsephiroth]

AN: Greetings, for all my stories, I'm trying to increase the average word count per chapter. However, I'm still getting used to being more descriptive or adding more scenes and dialogues between characters. For now, by the time I am done with chapter 6.1, which is the first part of the final chapter of the Ars Veruna arc—basically, the prequel to the Star Wars prequels—I plan to upload all my short chapters; so by then, your next update will be the new long chapters which start at 5.1. I'll be doing the same treatment to other stories.

 

[Orchamus]

You're doing an excellent job, this is a wonderful read so far. I'm curious to see what effect these two will have on Padme and co