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Chapter Text

The grand hall of Chaldea was buzzing with activity. Mash, standing straight but visibly nervous, held a set of carefully prepared documents while Da Vinci, lounging casually on the central table, observed the gathered Servants with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you all for coming!” Mash began, her voice trembling but resolute. “This year, we’ll celebrate and organize Christmas together. It’s a chance to strengthen our bonds and give ourselves a much-needed break after… everything we’ve been through.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some Servants looked intrigued, others perplexed. Mordred, leaning against a wall, scoffed. “And who’s stuck doing all the chores, huh? Not me, that’s for sure.”

Nero let out a triumphant laugh. “Chores? Nonsense! This will be the perfect opportunity for me to showcase my talents! I shall take charge of the spectacle! It takes someone as charismatic as I to elevate this event to imperial heights.”

Other Servants chimed in. Bedivere and Gawain volunteered to help with decorations, while Emiya sighed and raised his hand for the kitchen, looking already exhausted at the thought of managing so many mythological palates.

Arturia rose to her feet, her posture solemn. “No matter the task, I volunteer. If this can bring joy to everyone, I will do my best to contribute.”

Her declaration drew admiring reactions. Mash gave her a shy smile, and even Mordred, despite her grumbling, seemed impressed by her resolve.

Just as Mash was about to distribute the roles, a golden light illuminated the hall. Gilgamesh, clad in his regal attire, appeared silently at the center of the assembly.

The room fell silent. Mash, startled, nearly dropped her documents as Gilgamesh smoothly plucked them from her hands.

“King Gilgamesh…?” she murmured, bewildered.

The King of Heroes cast a disdainful glance at the notes, flipping through the pages as if they were filled with nonsense. “Hmph. What a pitiful excuse for organization. Is this what you call effort? A meeting to assign meaningless chores? This is nothing but a collection of trivialities.”

The murmurs turned into protests. Mordred stepped forward, fists clenched, but Arturia was quicker.

“Gilgamesh, that’s enough,” she said in a clear and authoritative voice. “Everyone here is doing their best to prepare for this celebration. You have no right to judge those who, unlike you, are willing to contribute.”

The King of Uruk slowly raised his eyes from the papers, a mocking smile spreading across his lips. “Oh? And you dare lecture me, King of Knights? Perhaps these… mongrels are good enough for you, but my standards are far beyond such childishness.”

Da Vinci, who had been silent until now, stood to intervene. “Now, now, Gilgamesh. It’s just a holiday, not a contest of divine grandeur.”

But the Archer ignored her, his red eyes sweeping over the room with disdain. “If you insist so much… I will personally supervise your preparations. If this charade is to exist, then everything must be worthy of my attention. You can be certain I will accept nothing less than perfection.”

The protests grew louder. Mordred snapped, “And who asked you to get involved, huh? If you don’t want to help, then just leave!”

Arturia, her fists clenched, added in a measured but cutting tone, “Participating is not about grandeur. It’s about heart. And that’s something you can never judge.”

Gilgamesh laughed, his voice echoing through the hall. “Such naivety. But no matter. Show me what you’re capable of, fools. You will be judged… and believe me, I won’t be lenient.”

With those words, he vanished in a golden shimmer, leaving behind a tense silence.

Mash timidly picked up her scattered documents, visibly shaken. Da Vinci shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Well, at least this makes things more interesting. He’ll participate, in his own way.”

Arturia, however, kept her gaze fixed on the spot where he had stood. Though irritated by his arrogance, she couldn’t deny that this unexpected challenge might push them to do their very best.

Chapter Text

The grand hall of Chaldea was bustling with activity as Arturia and a group of Servants stood ready near the command room. Mash, slightly nervous, held a map and detailed notes, awkwardly adjusting them in her gloved hands.

“Alright,” she began in a timid but determined voice. “We’ve identified a micro-singularity where a forest full of fir trees is located. Our mission is to bring back enough to decorate all of Chaldea. We need one large tree for the main hall, several medium-sized ones for the communal areas, and plenty of small ones for the hallways and private rooms.”

“That sounds easy,” commented Bedivere, standing beside Arturia.

“Easy?” Mordred scoffed, arms crossed. “You know full well Gilgamesh is going to throw a tantrum if we bring back anything less than perfect trees.”

“He’ll probably want them made of gold,” Ishtar quipped, hovering lazily above their heads.

Enkidu chuckled softly, clearly enjoying their king’s anticipated antics.

Arturia sighed. “His expectations don’t matter. Let’s just focus on the task at hand and do our best.”

Upon arriving at the singularity, they found themselves in a breathtaking landscape. A thick layer of pristine snow blanketed the ground, sparkling under a gentle sun, and an endless forest of majestic fir trees stretched before them.

“By the Round Table…” murmured Gawain, awestruck. “This place is incredible.”

Arturia nodded, scanning the area with a focused gaze. “Let’s not waste time. We’ll split into teams. Bedivere, Mordred, and I will handle the largest tree. Ishtar and Enkidu, gather the medium-sized ones. As for the rest, collect the smaller trees. Take only the ones that are beautiful and well-shaped, but don’t overdo it.”

Everyone set to work immediately, their steps crunching in the snow as they moved through the forest.

Arturia’s team quickly spotted an enormous tree, so tall it seemed to touch the sky. Its lush branches were a deep green, shimmering with frost.

“That’s the one,” declared Arturia, planting Excalibur in the snow. “It will be the centerpiece of Chaldea.”

Mordred whistled. “The biggest tree I’ve ever seen. So… how exactly are we supposed to haul this beast back?”

“We’ll find a way,” Bedivere said calmly, already inspecting the trunk.

The three knights set to work, their blades biting into the wood with rhythmic strikes that echoed through the forest. After several minutes of effort, the massive tree finally fell with a thunderous crash, sending a cloud of snow billowing into the air.

Not far away, Ishtar returned, surrounded by several medium-sized trees floating in the air, held aloft by Enkidu’s chains as they followed behind.

“I hope these trees are up to His Majesty’s impossible standards. If not, he can come fetch them himself,” she said with a hint of irony.

“Well done,” Arturia replied, wiping sweat from her brow. “Mash, how’s the collection of smaller trees going?”

Mash came running over, accompanied by a snow-covered Gawain and Fergus, each carrying several small trees under their arms. The rest of their group was still on their way.

“We’ve got plenty, my King! They’ll be perfect for the hallways and rooms.”

“Excellent. Let’s wrap up before the snow starts falling harder.”

But just as they began to gather the trees for transport, a golden light suddenly illuminated the area.

“Oh no…” Mordred groaned, already exasperated.

Gilgamesh appeared with his usual infuriating laugh. His gaze swept over the gathered trees, settling on the massive one with a mixture of approval and disdain.

“Tsk,” he said as he approached the colossal tree, his crimson eyes gleaming with critical appraisal. “Acceptable. But the decorations will need to elevate this… rustic simplicity.”

Arturia crossed her arms. “Maybe you could decorate them yourself, then?” she suggested, her tone pointed.

A mocking smile spread across the King of Uruk’s face. “A king does not decorate. A king commands. You will ensure that every tree—especially this one—is presented in a manner worthy of my attention.”

Before Arturia could reply, Mordred exploded. “Then why don’t you carry it yourself, huh? Instead of showing up just to boss us around?”

Gilgamesh looked at her with disdain before raising a nonchalant hand. Golden portals appeared, and chains emerged to wrap around the giant tree.

In an instant, the tree was lifted effortlessly into the air, its massive size seemingly no more than a trivial detail.

“It’s done,” he declared with a smug smile before vanishing in another golden light, taking the main tree with him.

“I hate him,” Mordred growled, clenching her fists. Enkidu laughed softly in the background, clearly amused.

Arturia sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “At least he saved us the trouble of moving it. Come on, let’s gather the rest and head back to Chaldea before he finds something else to criticize.”

As they stepped back through the portal with the remaining trees in tow, Arturia pondered. Despite her frustration with Gilgamesh’s arrogance, she couldn’t deny that this odd rivalry pushed her to exceed herself. She suspected she wasn’t the only one who felt that way… perhaps the very reason why Ishtar had chosen to lend a hand today.

Chapter Text

Chaldea was slowly transforming under the combined efforts of the Servants. String lights ran along the walls, glittering ornaments reflected the dim light, and Advent wreaths now adorned every room. Mash eagerly noted the progress while Arturia inspected everything with her usual meticulousness.

"A good start," she declared, observing the decorations hanging in the main hall. "Everyone's efforts are reflected here."

Not far away, Mordred grumbled as she hung the last string of lights. "If only everyone pulled their weight..."

The implication was clear. From the beginning, Gilgamesh had only inspected the others’ work, offering disdainful remarks. But that wasn’t entirely fair; many Servants, like Ozymandias and Iskandar, were more interested in having a good time than helping. Still, when it came to Gilgamesh, his room was the only one adorned with a massive golden wreath, studded with sparkling gemstones.

"I suppose the King of Uruk can't settle for anything simple," Ishtar remarked with a sly grin as she walked by. Though Arturia noted that Ishtar had clearly tried to compete with him. And Nero? She had decorated her entire doorframe.

Arturia allowed herself a faint smile before continuing her inspection.

Other Servants were discovering the tradition of decorating, with some still in the process. Karna, for example, was being helped by Jeanne, who was patiently showing him how to arrange decorations.

As the day went on, the Servants gradually dispersed, having completed their tasks. When Arturia returned to her own room, she froze in place, her eyebrow arched.

Her door was already adorned with a wreath. Unlike Gilgamesh’s, it was elegant and refined, but strangely overdone for her tastes. The star at its center gleamed with a golden glow, almost too ostentatious.

She opened the door, and her breath caught in her throat.

The interior of her room had been transformed. Lights adorned the walls, glittering ornaments decorated her furniture, and a large golden star rested on her table, shining like a precious jewel.

Arturia frowned. The decorations, though lavish, felt... overwhelming. Too bright, too opulent, and above all, not at all in line with the simplicity she preferred.

"What is this?" she murmured, scanning the room.

"An improvement that was necessary."

The familiar voice of Gilgamesh echoed behind her. She turned to find him standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

"You... decorated my room?" she asked, her voice a mix of irritation and surprise.

"A king does not 'decorate,'" Gilgamesh replied with an air of superiority. "He elevates insignificant spaces to a grandeur befitting his presence. Your room was desperately in need of my intervention."

Arturia stared at him, dumbfounded. "You entered without my permission."

"And? It needed to be done," he said nonchalantly. "Consider it a gift. You should thank me."

"Thank you?" she repeated, a note of sarcasm cutting through her words. "You invaded my personal space and filled it with decorations that have nothing to do with my preferences."

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her indignation. "Nothing to do with your preferences? These ornaments are perfect, King of Knights. Perhaps your sense of taste is simply lacking."

Arturia pressed her lips together to avoid saying something she might regret. "You overstepped your bounds."

"Hmph. No matter. Do as you wish with these decorations," he said, turning to leave. "But remember: only a king can transform mediocrity into magnificence."

With that, he walked away, leaving her alone in the illuminated room.

Letting out a deep sigh, Arturia stepped inside. She took in the twinkling lights and gleaming ornaments. Instinctively, she began removing them. The extravagance was far removed from her vision.

Yet, as she pulled down the decorations, she paused at certain pieces.

A small carved star, subtle but perfectly crafted, caught her eye. Its details almost evoked an image of Camelot. A silver garland, understated yet elegant, complemented the simplicity she cherished. And a small lion-shaped ornament, representing her symbol, sat deliberately placed on her desk.

Arturia frowned, holding the ornament between her fingers.

"That man..." she muttered, shaking her head slightly, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips.

In the end, she decided to keep some of the decorations. Though she would never admit it aloud, she recognized a sincere effort behind his arrogance. Perhaps, in his own way, Gilgamesh had tried to understand what might appeal to her.

Placing the lion on her shelf, she murmured, "Thank you, Gilgamesh... but next time, ask before entering."

Chapter Text

Chaldea was unusually lively since the announcement of Christmas preparations. The Child Servants were running everywhere, threatening to disrupt some of the ongoing activities. So Mash Kyrielight set out to find King Gilgamesh. She had thought long and hard before making this decision: asking the golden king for permission for something as trivial as building a Christmas nativity scene. But she felt that the enthusiasm of the Child Servants was on the verge of spiraling out of control.

She eventually found Gilgamesh in one of the lounges, engaged in conversation with Ozymandias. The two kings seemed engrossed in one of their usual verbal sparring matches, a royal competition as obscure in content as it was amusing to anyone listening.

"My kingdom thrived along the fertile banks of the Nile long before your Uruk was even a pile of bricks," Ozymandias declared, a smug smile on his lips.

"And yet, it is my Uruk whose brilliance transcends the ages, while your desert is but a memory buried under the sands," Gilgamesh retorted with his usual pride, his eyes gleaming with mockery.

Mash hesitated to interrupt. The imposing aura of the two kings was enough to intimidate anyone, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to step forward.

Ozymandias was the first to notice her presence. "The little demi-Servant seeks your attention, golden king," he said with a hint of challenge. "I shall take my leave to confront Iskandar and prove to him the superiority of my architectural genius."

Gilgamesh nodded, an amused smile on his face, then turned his attention to Mash. "Speak, Mash Kyrielight. What brings you before me?"

Mash lowered her head slightly, gathering her courage. "Please forgive the interruption, King Gilgamesh, but I would like to request your permission to organize an activity for the Child Servants."

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "An activity? Elaborate."

Mash shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "With Christmas approaching, the children seem... restless. They're running around everywhere, disturbing others' work. I thought we could channel their energy into something productive: creating a nativity scene, but Chaldea-style. Each of them would carve a figurine representing themselves, and we could display it in the main hall."

Gilgamesh studied her for a moment, his scrutinizing gaze weighing heavily on her. "You mean to occupy these unruly children to keep them from causing further chaos?"

Mash nodded eagerly. "Yes, Your Majesty. It could also help them work together and share in the Christmas spirit."

A thin but calculating smile curved Gilgamesh's lips. "Hm. A reasonable idea, I suppose. Very well, I grant you permission to proceed with this plan. I will personally inspect the results later."

Mash felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "Thank you very much, Your Majesty!" she said, bowing deeply.

Gilgamesh waved a hand dismissively. "Do not disappoint me, Mash Kyrielight. If this activity fails to curb their tumult, you will bear the blame for this failure."

With a final respectful salute, Mash quickly left to put her plan into action.

A few hours later, she had gathered the Child Servants in the grand hall. Wood, carving tools, and even simple models for guidance were laid out on the tables. Sitonai and Alexander were the first to show enthusiasm, closely followed by Paris and Kid Gil.

"So, we’re really going to carve stuff? This is awesome!" Setanta exclaimed, plopping down with great energy.

"I hope you’ve stocked up on bandages, because with this group..." Hans Christian Andersen muttered with an exasperated sigh.

Mash, smiling yet focused, supervised the children’s early efforts, thrilled to see her project come to life. The Chaldea nativity scene was starting to take shape.

In the cheerful bustle of the grand hall, Artoria Pendragon entered carrying a tray carefully laden with freshly baked cookies from Chaldea's kitchens. Emiya, always quick to anticipate everyone's needs, had prepared them in anticipation of the many activities animating the establishment during the festive season.

She paused at the entrance, taking in the scene before her. The Child Servants were scattered around several tables covered in wood shavings and figurines in various stages of completion. Some were intensely focused—like Alexander, the young conqueror, who worked with surprising precision for his age. Beside him, Paris chuckled softly as he sketched sheep for inspiration.

Others were noisier: Setanta hammered at a block of wood with alarming enthusiasm, causing concern among those nearby, while Sitonai attempted to calm Asterios, who was apologizing profusely after accidentally breaking a tool in his massive hands.

Artoria smiled faintly. The spirit of Christmas was indeed alive and well.

“Cookies!” Gil exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the tray.

Artoria moved forward to place it on an empty table, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. “I thought you might need a little energy boost,” she said gently.

A chorus of thanks and reaching hands followed as the children eagerly grabbed the treats. Even Hans Christian Andersen, typically aloof, discreetly snagged a cookie before returning to his notebook.

After ensuring that everyone had taken a snack, Artoria began wandering among the tables, observing the figurines in progress with curiosity. She stopped near Marie Antoinette, who had joined the activity to share in the festive cheer. The queen was delicately carving a figure that resembled her, complete with a crown and flowing gown.

“That’s beautiful, Marie. You have real talent,” Artoria remarked.

“Thank you, Lady Artoria,” the queen replied with a radiant smile. “I wanted my figurine to reflect a bit of the elegance this project deserves.”

Further down the hall, however, a small cry of pain broke through the cheerful hum. Artoria turned to see Gil clutching his finger, tears welling in his eyes.

“I cut myself!” he whimpered, waving his hand toward Sitonai, who was fumbling with a handkerchief.

Artoria hurried over immediately. “Let me see,” she said, her voice calm and soothing.

Gil held out his trembling hand. The cut was superficial but red enough to alarm a child. Artoria quickly searched a nearby first-aid kit and retrieved a small packet of festive bandages.

She carefully cleaned the cut with a corner of a tissue before applying a bandage decorated with cheerful holiday motifs.

“There, it’s nothing serious. But next time, be more careful with the knife, alright?”

Gil sniffled and nodded, a bright smile replacing his tears. “Thank you, Lady Artoria. You’re so kind.”

He was so delighted by her attention that he refused to let her leave until she helped him finish his figurine. Amused, Artoria agreed to lend a hand.

“So, this is supposed to be you?” she asked, examining the small sculpture.

Gil nodded proudly. “Yeah, but... I wanted to add a star on top, but it’s too hard to make.”

Patiently, Artoria showed him how to hold the knife and carve the details carefully. Little by little, a small star began to take shape atop the figurine.

The other children watched quietly, impressed to see Artoria, usually so formal, engaging in such a humble activity. Even Setanta seemed calmer, channeling his enthusiasm into a sculpture that was only slightly chaotic.

When they finished, Gil held up his figurine with pride. “Look! Lady Artoria helped me!”

Artoria felt slightly embarrassed but managed a genuine smile. “It was a team effort, Gil. Keep up the good work.”

As she moved away to let the children focus on their creations, she sensed a familiar presence behind her.

“Hun hun,” Gilgamesh remarked, arms crossed. “I see you’ve found your true calling, King of Knights.”

Artoria turned to him, surprised by his sudden appearance. He observed the children for a moment with an unreadable expression before commenting dryly, though not without a hint of satisfaction, “Mash has kept her word. This chaos has finally found a purpose. Well done.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Artoria to reflect on the scene before her: happy children, fully immersed in their work, in an atmosphere filled with warmth and joy.

Chapter Text

The halls of Chaldea were bustling as Christmas preparations continued in full swing. The Nativity scene had been a resounding success the day before, but today, a subtler tension seemed to linger among the discussions of certain Servants. In particular, Arturia Pendragon and Gilgamesh, appeared to be locked in a particularly intense verbal sparring match.

In a corner of the common room, the two royal figures stood face-to-face.

“You’re demanding too much from everyone, Gilgamesh,” declared Arturia firmly, her arms crossed. “Not everyone can work at your pace or under your whims. The holidays should be a time for sharing and joy, not a test of endurance.”

Gilgamesh, leaning casually against a wall, let out a low, mocking laugh. “Hm. Speaking of moderation coming from you, King of Knights, is almost amusing. You, who are known for losing yourself in your quest for perfection. Don’t project your shortcomings onto me.”

Arturia furrowed her brow, her eyes flashing. “This isn’t about me. It’s about not exhausting those who are trying to make this celebration special. Even you, King of Uruk, could show a little more consideration.”

As the exchange grew increasingly heated, their attention was drawn to movement above them. Alexander, perched on a ladder, was carefully attaching a sprig of mistletoe to the ceiling.

“Well now,” Gilgamesh remarked, lifting his gaze toward the decoration. “What’s the purpose of hanging such an insignificant plant?”

Alexander, smiling broadly, turned to respond. “It’s a tradition, King Gilgamesh! Under the mistletoe, people are supposed to kiss. It’s supposed to bring good luck for the new year. And… maybe it’ll help you two relax a little.”

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, a mischievous spark lighting up in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to Arturia, a playful smile forming on his lips.

“Ah, I see. An intriguing tradition. What do you say, King of Knights? Perhaps we should… honor this custom.”

Arturia felt an unpleasant warmth rise to her cheeks, but she maintained her composure. She shot him a glare as icy as a winter wind.

“Don’t even think about it,” she retorted sharply before spinning on her heel and walking away briskly, her dress billowing behind her.

Gilgamesh remained still, an amused glint in his crimson eyes. “Hmph. Fascinating. The opportunity will present itself again and I'll be able to savor the moment.”

Alexander, still perched on his ladder, couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Well, at least the mistletoe did its job: bringing a bit of life to the holiday spirit.”

Gilgamesh, his enigmatic smile unwavering, glanced up at another sprig of mistletoe hanging further down the hall. Preparations continued, but it seemed Christmas still had plenty of surprises in store for Chaldea.

Chapter Text

The preparations for Christmas continued in the halls of Chaldea, and Mash Kyrielight, ever determined to foster the festive spirit among the Servants, decided to organize a special activity: a Secret Santa. Since the day she had arranged the Christmas Nativity play with the children, Gilgamesh had granted her more freedom to take initiatives.

She spent much of the morning setting up a draw in the common room. Once everything was ready, she invited the Servants to each pull a folded piece of paper from a large bowl, with the name of another participant written inside.

“The idea is simple,” Mash explained with a smile. “You need to give a gift to the person whose name is on your paper. But remember: it’s a secret, so don’t reveal who your gift is for!”

The Servants, intrigued, gathered around her. Some, like Jeanne and Marie, were visibly excited by the idea. Others, like Castor and Pollux, seemed more reserved but still chose to participate.

Arturia Pendragon drew her paper calmly when Mash approached her with the bowl. But as she unfolded it, her eyes widened slightly at the name written inside: Kid Gil. She cast a glance at the young king, who was already beaming with joy, visibly excited about his own draw as he peeked at Lily’s name from his vantage point.

Was it the legendary luck of the King of Uruk keeping him in this endless circle, or the misfortune of the many Arturias in Chaldea? Either way, Arturia thought, as long as Kid Gil had fun, it wasn’t such a bad thing.

“This could be interesting,” Arturia murmured to herself, already pondering what kind of gift she could offer him. The younger version of Gilgamesh would probably be easier to please.

Not far away, Gilgamesh Archer observed the scene with his usual nonchalant air, arms crossed.

“And you, King Gilgamesh?” Mash asked timidly, holding the bowl out to him. “Do you want to participate?”

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, a faintly mocking smile spreading across his lips. “Hmm. A game based on chance? Very well. This world requires my magnificence, even in its simplest traditions.”

He dipped a hand into the bowl and drew out a paper, though he already had a good idea of whom he would select. His crimson eyes scanned the name written on it, and his smile grew more enigmatic.

Arturia Pendragon.

Gilgamesh said nothing but carefully folded the paper before slipping it into his sleeve. Mash eyed him curiously, but he simply gestured for her to move on, as if dismissing any need for her to dwell on what she might have seen.

Later in the day, Arturia, despite her composed exterior, was actively thinking of an appropriate gift for Kid Gil. She knew that, though he was a younger version of the King of Uruk, he had a strong personality. Finally, an idea struck her: she would spend time in Da Vinci’s workshop creating a small model of Uruk.

Meanwhile, Gilgamesh had already made up his mind. He intended to give Arturia something special, a gift that reflected his own impeccable taste while capturing an essence of his knightly queen.

“I know,” he murmured, examining a brilliant treasure he had drawn from his Gate of Babylon. “This should suffice to surprise her.”

Chapter Text

The scent of spices, freshly baked bread, and roasted meats filled the halls of Chaldea. This year, the Christmas dinner had taken an unexpected turn: a culinary competition supervised under the sharp, theatrical gaze of Gilgamesh, who decided to oversee every step with near-regal severity.

Perceval, ever enthusiastic and ready to help, volunteered to lead a team of Servants passionate about cooking. He was joined by figures like Emiya, Martha, and even Tamamo Cat, each bringing their own style and creativity to the mix.

In the main kitchen, pots clanged, knives danced across chopping boards, and voices rose as the Servants competed to create the most flavorful and impressive dishes.

“This dish lacks balance, Martha,” declared Perceval, tasting a spicy sauce. “Add a touch of honey to soften it.”

Tamamo Cat, ever cheerful, complied while juggling a spatula and skillet, her boundless energy bringing life to the kitchen.

Nearby, Gilgamesh observed with a calculating air, his piercing crimson gaze scrutinizing every movement with royal precision.

“This is still far from worthy of a king’s banquet,” he remarked sharply as he passed by Tamamo Cat, who was happily mixing pastry dough. “If this cake cannot rival those served in Uruk, you might as well abandon it now.”

“Oh my, Your Majesty!” Tamamo replied with a teasing grin. “Just wait until you taste it! I’m putting my whole heart into this recipe.”

“The appearance and your methods already allow me to assess your level,” he replied coldly. “But I’ll admit, if the taste is acceptable, I may overlook your techniques.”

He continued his evaluation, deliberately ignoring Emiya as though the chef were already disqualified, and sparing no comment for Martha. It seemed the judge was unwilling to let any flaws slide. Perceval, however, remained calm and trusted his team.

Meanwhile, in the grand hall where the meal would be served, Artoria Pendragon and a few other Servants had volunteered as tasters. Jeanne d’Arc, Karna, and Nemo also stood ready, curious to sample the chefs’ creations.

Artoria’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I heard Perceval is preparing a roasted lamb with herb sauce. It reminds me of Camelot’s feasts!” she said enthusiastically, tapping the table lightly.

Her energy was contagious, and the other Servants eagerly anticipated the dishes. Gilgamesh, who entered to oversee the final preparations, raised an eyebrow at her comment.

“King of Knights,” he said sarcastically, “aren’t you a bit too eager over something so trivial?”

Artoria shot him an annoyed look but couldn’t hide her smile. “A good meal brings people together and lifts spirits, Gilgamesh. Even you should recognize that.”

Gilgamesh shrugged with a mocking smile, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.

When it was time for judging, the dishes were laid out on a long table. Each Servant had produced marvels: a golden turkey, a creamy gratin, and desserts adorned with fruits and caramel. The tasters took their role seriously, savoring each creation with care.

Artoria couldn’t hide her delight.

“This gratin is perfect,” she said, taking a second bite. “And this sauce! A harmony of spices and sweetness!”

Gilgamesh, watching the scene from his seat, burst out laughing. “Look at yourself, King of Knights. You’re like a child at a buffet.”

Jeanne, tasting a bite of her own, added with an amused smile, “It’s rare to see Artoria enjoying herself this much.”

The competition ended in a burst of laughter and warm camaraderie. Perceval was praised for his perfectly roasted lamb, while Tamamo Cat received applause for her extravagant cake, staring at Gilgamesh with pride. (Emiya, true to his style, received only a simple compliment from Artoria.)

Even Gilgamesh, despite his harsh critiques to push the chefs to improve, seemed satisfied with the final results. Along with the others, he debated the proper presentation of a meal, arguing that a dish should be fit for a royal banquet—even though this was meant to be a Christmas feast.

Despite his occasional abrasiveness, the group enjoyed a wonderful time tasting the remaining dishes. Everything was so delicious that no one even bothered to declare a winner.

Chapter Text

The halls of Chaldea were quiet on the eighth day of the Christmas festivities. In a secluded common room, Artoria Pendragon had gathered several Servants to introduce a quintessentially English tradition: stockings.

Around her were familiar faces—her loyal knights Gawain, Gareth, Bedivere, Lancelot, Mordred, Tristan, and Perceval. Mash Kyrielight, eager to connect with Galahad’s legacy, had also joined them. Karna and Rama, intrigued by this foreign custom, decided to observe and perhaps participate.

Artoria stood before them, her hands clasped in front of her, looking serene yet resolute.

“The tradition of stockings,” she began, “involves hanging decorated socks near a fireplace or another symbolic place, so that Santa Claus can fill them with gifts. It’s a simple custom, but it embodies the Christmas spirit: generosity and hope.”

Gawain, ever quick to support his king, smiled. “A lovely idea, my uncle. This tradition isn’t widespread in other countries, so we could help introduce it here.”

Mordred, lounging casually in a chair, shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not? Could be fun.”

Gareth, her eyes sparkling, added, “And can we personalize them? Choose designs that represent us?”

“Exactly,” Artoria replied. “It’s meant to be a creative activity.”

The activity soon drew the attention of other English- and American-origin Servants, as well as a few from other regions who came to watch.

Of course, when it came to sewing, certain specialists couldn’t stay idle for long.

As the knights discussed their stocking designs, the door creaked open to reveal Medea. The mage held a box brimming with fabrics, threads, and various sewing tools.

“I couldn’t resist such a project,” she said with a mysterious smile. “You’ll need help to create true masterpieces.”

Artoria narrowed her eyes slightly, wary. “Medea? What’s brought on this sudden interest?”

Medea stepped forward, her smile widening. “Why? Because you deserve the best, of course. A charming activity like this demands an expert touch.”

Mordred muttered to Gareth, “She’s got some weird obsession with Father. It’s creepy.”

Gareth nodded in agreement.

Ignoring Mordred’s comment, Medea placed her tools on the table and watched Artoria with an intensity that made the latter slightly uncomfortable.

“Besides,” Medea continued, “once the stockings are done, we could move on to a more ambitious project.”

Artoria raised an eyebrow. “What sort of project?”

“A dress, of course. The perfect outfit for the Christmas ball.” Medea’s smile turned sly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know I’m the best choice to bring out your true beauty.”

“A dress?” Artoria hesitated, almost leaning back in her chair as Medea drew closer.

“Exactly.” Medea stepped even closer, almost insidiously. “You can’t say no to such a gift. Let me handle everything.”

Gawain interjected, his tone polite but firm. “Lady Medea, I believe my uncle is already busy enough with the Christmas preparations.”

Medea ignored him, her eyes still fixed on Artoria. Finally, under the mounting pressure, Artoria sighed. “Fine… but later. For now, let’s focus on the stockings.”

Overjoyed, Medea settled into a chair and began explaining the process.

With Medea’s help, everyone got to work on their stockings. The Knights of the Round Table, accustomed to wielding swords rather than needles, quickly warmed to the task. In the background, Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty’s rivalry could be heard, while poor Frankenstein grew frustrated with her needle until Mordred stepped in to calm her down.

Gawain chose a golden, radiant design representing the sun, while Gareth picked green hues with leaf patterns, symbolizing her optimism and loyalty. Mordred, true to herself, decorated her stocking with bold red and black lightning bolts, clearly pleased with her creation.

Lancelot crafted an elegant stocking with silver accents, while Tristan opted for dark, somber tones evoking winter nights. Bedivere, ever modest, created a simple yet refined stocking in blue and white.

With Medea’s guidance, Mash designed a purple and gold stocking adorned with symbols reminiscent of Galahad.

Karna and Rama, though less skilled at sewing, contributed ideas: Karna suggested a motif of flames and stars, while Rama envisioned patterns inspired by traditional Indian designs.

Artoria herself created a stocking adorned with a golden lion, symbolizing her royalty, surrounded by silver snowflakes.

As the activity progressed, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Even Mordred, initially reluctant, began to enjoy herself. Some Servants, though they gave up on sewing, stayed to chat and watch.

The most enthusiastic participants started making additional stockings as gifts for others, especially Ritsuka.

Meanwhile, Medea’s focus never wavered from her true goal. Though she finished a stunning stocking, her mind was already brimming with ideas for the dress she planned to make for Artoria.

By the end of the session, the completed stockings were displayed in the common room, each one reflecting its creator’s personality and tastes.

“This was a wonderful idea, my uncle,” Gawain said. “Thank you for bringing us together.”

Artoria nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “It’s Christmas—a time to share and celebrate together.”

From a corner, Medea murmured with a smile, “And a time to beautify my dear Artoria… soon.” Her soft laugh unnerved those still present, who exchanged wary glances.

Chapter Text

In Chaldea’s kitchen, a strange smell hung in the air. A mix of burnt sugar and overcooked dough betrayed the efforts of Artoria Pendragon, who busied herself in front of an oven, her brow furrowed and her cheeks slightly flushed with frustration.

“Christmas cookies are supposed to be easy to make,” she muttered, staring at a new batch fresh out of the oven. The cookies were oddly shaped, slightly burnt around the edges, and gave off a... questionable aroma.

Mordred, passing by the open door, stopped, sniffed the air, and frowned. “Father, what are you doing exactly? Smells like you’re conducting some kind of alchemical experiment gone wrong.”

Artoria sighed, feeling a bit ashamed. “I’m trying to bake Christmas cookies. It’s a tradition I wanted to share with everyone.”

Mordred looked over the latest batch and shrugged. “Well... good luck, I guess. But don’t expect me to taste any of that.” She left, laughing, leaving Artoria alone with her culinary disasters.

After several attempts, each as catastrophic as the last, Artoria finally gave up. The kitchen table was cluttered with misshapen cookies—some overcooked, others barely cooked, and all thoroughly unappetizing.

“This is pointless,” she murmured, taking off her apron. “I’m just not cut out for cooking.”

As she began tidying up the kitchen, a familiar and haughty voice echoed behind her.

“What is this chaos, King of Knights?”

Artoria turned around, surprised, to see Gilgamesh standing in the doorway, surveying the kitchen with a mix of disdain and amusement. His ever-arrogant smile graced his lips, as if he’d stumbled upon an entertaining discovery.

“Gilgamesh? What are you doing here?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the scattered cookies. “I was merely passing by, but the smell alerted me to a significant problem. Now I see why.”

Artoria averted her eyes, slightly embarrassed. “I… I was practicing baking. I thought Emiya’s advice would be enough... but it didn’t quite work out.”

Curious, Gilgamesh picked up a cookie between his fingers, examining it as if it were some sort of strange artifact, then took a bite.

He chewed slowly, his expression shifting from curiosity to a grimace of obvious disgust. “This is absolutely dreadful. My refined palate is under attack from this appalling texture and flavor.”

Artoria flushed with embarrassment. “I know! You didn’t have to—”

But to her surprise, he picked up another cookie and ate it.

“Wait… If it’s that bad, why are you still eating them?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Gilgamesh smirked, a teasing glint in his crimson eyes. “Because you made them. Even your failures deserve recognition from me.”

Artoria crossed her arms, skeptical, feeling equal parts amused and irritated. “I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”

“Consider it a compliment,” he replied, grabbing another cookie.

After a few minutes of silence (and several more cookies eaten by Gilgamesh, despite his complaints), Artoria found herself smiling faintly.

“Maybe I should just stick to battles….”

Gilgamesh looked at her, an almost tender gleam in his gaze. “Don’t say foolish things, King of Knights. Kings don’t stop at their first failures. (Though this isn’t exactly your first time failing, is it?) You’re more capable than that. Next time, get someone to teach you. Perhaps even me, if you dare to ask.”

Artoria rolled her eyes, but a sincere smile lit up her face. “I’ll think about it. For now, you can finish these.”

“Huhu. Consider it a royal sacrifice.”

And so, amidst mockery and thinly veiled encouragement, Artoria’s failed cookies found a home—in the stomach of the King of Heroes. In that strange shared moment, an unexpected Christmas spirit was born in Chaldea’s kitchen.

Chapter Text

From the hallways of Chaldea came bursts of voices echoing from the rehearsal room. Nero Claudius, self-proclaimed empress and chief organizer of the Christmas show, was directing the preparations with her characteristic overflowing passion.

At the center of the makeshift stage, Mash Kyrielight, dressed in a shimmering gown specially designed for the occasion, was rehearsing her lead role. Her face was flushed with embarrassment as she tried to follow Nero’s precise—and often exaggerated—directives.

Artoria Pendragon quietly entered the room, drawn by the buzz of activity. She hadn’t planned to participate in Nero’s production, preferring to stay in the background and let others take the spotlight. However, seeing Mash on stage, visibly nervous but determined, she couldn’t help but stay to offer her support.

Nero spotted her immediately and waved enthusiastically.

“Ah! My dear crowned rival! What a joy to see you here! You’ve come to admire my artistry, haven’t you?”

Artoria offered a small smile. “I’m just here to support Mash and the others. Your production already seems well-organized.”

Nero puffed out her chest proudly. “Of course! When I’m at the helm of a performance, everything becomes a masterpiece! But, Artoria, why not join the rehearsals? A royal presence like yours would add prestige to the play.”

Artoria raised a hand in polite refusal. “Thank you, but I’d rather stay a spectator. Mash already seems perfectly suited for the role.”

Mash, who had just forgotten a line, blushed even harder upon hearing this. “Senpai… I’m doing my best!”

The rehearsal continued, with Nero delivering dramatic instructions to everyone. She played the roles of director, lead actress, and narrator all at once.

“Mash, more passion! It’s not just a line; it’s a declaration of love for the arts!”

“Gareth, stop hiding behind that curtain! If you’re a tree in the scene, be the most majestic tree!”

“And you, Astolfo, don’t sing like an injured owl! Find the grace! The grace!”

Seated among the impromptu audience, Artoria couldn’t help but smile with compassion as she observed Nero’s boundless enthusiasm and demanding nature.

During a break, Mash stepped down from the stage to grab a glass of water. Artoria approached her quietly.

“You’re doing an excellent job, Mash.”

Mash looked down, a little self-conscious. “Really? I’m so nervous… I’m not used to being the center of attention like this.”

Artoria placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’re already exceptional. You inspire everyone around you with your determination. Nero chose you for a reason: she sees something special in you. So do I.”

Artoria’s words seemed to calm Mash, who gave her a shy smile in response.

When the break ended, Nero called everyone back to the stage.

“Alright! We’ll do one last rehearsal, and then we’ll have worked enough for today. But remember, tomorrow I want absolute perfection! Artoria, stay close if you want to witness even more of my genius!”

Artoria shook her head slightly, amused. “I think you’ve got everything well in hand, Nero. Keep it up.”

As the day drew to a close, Artoria left the rehearsal room with a lighter heart. She was proud of Mash, and even though she wasn’t part of the show, she knew her presence, even as a spectator, had made a difference.

The preparations for Christmas continued, bringing more moments of shared joy and mutual support among the Servants.

Chapter Text

Artoria strolled quietly through the festively adorned hallways of Chaldea, admiring the Christmas decorations hung everywhere. The soft light of the garlands bathed the area in a warm and inviting glow. She didn’t have much planned for the day, so she decided to wander through Chaldea’s halls. Along the way, she exchanged a few words with Ritsuka, who had been keeping a low profile during the holiday preparations.

The poor Master was still busy scrounging up resources for the Servants and trying to gather volunteers, even as most of them preferred to focus on the festivities. Artoria considered offering her help, but Ritsuka had already assembled a team for the day. So, she continued her walk.

As she passed by one of the large communal rooms, familiar laughter reached her ears. Curious, she paused and peeked inside.

Inside the room, Gilgamesh was surrounded by the Mesopotamian Servants—Ishtar, Ereshkigal, and Enkidu. The King of Uruk appeared more relaxed than usual, laughing heartily as Enkidu animatedly recounted a story.

“And then you tried to command that bull to salute you as a king!” Enkidu said, a mischievous smile on their face.

“Hmph, it was a test, of course,” Gilgamesh replied, crossing his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “I wanted to see if the beast could recognize greatness. Naturally, it failed.”

Everyone burst into laughter, even Ishtar, despite her well-known rivalry with Gilgamesh—after all, it was her Bull of Heaven that had been defeated.

Artoria watched the scene with surprise. She had never seen Gilgamesh so at ease, almost… human. He looked truly happy, surrounded by those he considered his equals and friends.

Just as Artoria considered moving on, she noticed Enkidu glance upward with a playful smile.

“Gilgamesh, look,” Enkidu said, pointing at the ceiling.

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow and followed their gaze. Hanging just above them, a sprig of mistletoe glimmered softly in the Christmas lights.

“I’ve heard,” Enkidu explained gently, “that under mistletoe, people are supposed to kiss.”

Gilgamesh let out a low, amused laugh, his thoughts seemingly wandering back to some memory. “Yes, strange custom from these modern humans. But if it’s you…”

Without hesitation, he leaned slightly closer, and Enkidu did the same. Their embrace was simple and sincere—a blend of respect, affection, and a timeless bond that transcended eras.

Artoria, who hadn’t intended to witness such a moment, felt her cheeks flush. She quickly averted her gaze and turned to leave discreetly. But as she walked away, she felt a piercing gaze on her back.

Gilgamesh had seen her before she disappeared from the doorway.

She kept walking without looking back, hoping he wouldn’t make any remarks. Yet, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling in her heart. That brief moment had revealed a side of Gilgamesh she had never seen before.

Later, as she sat in another part of Chaldea near a grand Christmas tree, with a faux fireplace radiating a gentle warmth beside her, Artoria reflected on the scene.

Gilgamesh, so often arrogant and aloof, had shown an unexpected tenderness toward Enkidu. Their bond was deep—far stronger than she had imagined.

“Even the proudest of kings have moments of vulnerability,” she murmured to herself.

She wondered if she, too, could ever allow herself to be so open with those she cherished.

Chapter Text

The preparations for Chaldea’s Christmas celebration were well underway, but today, Artoria Pendragon had decided to take some time to gather with her knights. Between Nero’s play rehearsals, decorations, peculiar traditions she had introduced, and her knights’ own activities, she had barely had the chance to enjoy their company.

In a small, cozy room simply but warmly decorated, Artoria sat at an improvised round table, savoring a steaming cup of tea with her loyal knights. Mordred was there too, though visibly annoyed, sitting in a corner grumbling as she tried on a costume for Nero’s play.

“This is ridiculous,” Mordred growled, tugging at the sleeves of a red-and-gold outfit. “Why do I have to wear this? I’m not an actress! Nero tricked me!”

Gawain, seated beside Artoria, smiled in amusement. “At least you’ll give an unforgettable performance alongside Gareth.”

Bedivere added, “It’s the season for generosity and compromise, Mordred. By participating, you’re bringing joy to others.”

“Joy?” Mordred rolled her eyes. “More like I’ll die of embarrassment wearing this ridiculous costume.”

It was true that the outfit was rather feminine, something Mordred, who insisted on being seen as a boy, found almost humiliating. But everyone secretly thought she looked adorable in it.

Gareth, ever optimistic, tried to reassure her comrade. “You’ll look amazing, Mordred! Besides, your role is much better than mine.” She was cast as a tree for the entire play.

Artoria, watching the scene unfold, hid a small smile behind her cup.

Bedivere, making his rounds with a teapot, approached her to refill her cup. “My King, what do you think of the progress in the preparations?”

Artoria sighed softly, a hint of fatigue in her tone. “They’re coming along… though it’s hard to ignore the methods of that King of Uruk… and his presence.”

Tristan, strumming a harp softly in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “That king is surprisingly well-organized, despite his questionable methods. With all the iconic figures here, he still manages to make himself heard and take charge.”

“The privilege of being the King of Heroes, I suppose,” Perceval added, extending his cup for a refill.

“It’s more like the chaotic dictatorship he was famous for in his time,” Artoria replied, setting her cup down. “He commands everyone and everything as if they were his subjects. I almost wish we had his older version here… and Kid Gil is too young to care.”

She paused, reflecting.

“And yet, I must admit, everything is moving along well. He’s arrogant, but efficient.”

“It’s hard to remain indifferent, my King,” Bedivere continued. “But seeing you relax is a welcome sight for us. I suggest we let the King of Uruk carry on with his tasks, while we focus on lending a hand where we can.”

Everyone agreed. Even Mordred, despite her grumbling, seemed to be quietly enjoying the time spent with her father, albeit grudgingly.

Lancelot, who had been silent until now, stared pensively into his tea. “Why don’t we take this opportunity to hold some friendly jousts in the simulation room?”

Gawain perked up at the suggestion. “Yes, that’s a great idea! We could invite the other knights to join. What do you think, my King?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea! But just so you know, I’m participating. Prepare to see what it’s like to be defeated by a king.”

“Haha, challenge accepted, my King. I’ll make the arrangements. Let’s meet later!” Lancelot stood up, energized, and left to make the preparations.

Artoria couldn’t help but smile. To her, this was a precious moment. Watching them, each with their strengths and quirks, filled her with a quiet pride.

“You’re all incredible,” she murmured, more to herself than to them.

Bedivere, ever attentive, smiled warmly. “We are because we follow a remarkable king.”

Artoria blushed slightly, hiding her embarrassment by lifting her cup to her lips.

This simple moment, surrounded by those she trusted most, reminded her why she had poured herself into this holiday celebration—to bring people together, to share, and to celebrate the bonds that united them, knight or not.

Even if Gilgamesh’s methods irked her, she resolved to keep working to make this holiday unforgettable, in her own way.

And later that afternoon, the impromptu jousting tournament turned out to be a modest success.

Chapter Text

In the lively yet peaceful atmosphere of Chaldea, the ongoing preparations for Christmas allowed occasional moments of calm. These breaks were welcome, giving both Servants and staff time to relax and enjoy the festive spirit that had taken over the facility.

In the hallways, the soft sound of Christmas carols could be heard, sung by the Servants who embraced the holiday cheer. Marie Antoinette, as radiant as ever, led a small group of singers, accompanied by Tristan and his trusty lute. Jeanne and Mash sometimes joined in the refrains, their harmonious voices blending beautifully with the others. The resulting melodies created a warm, uplifting atmosphere for all who stopped to listen.

Elsewhere in Chaldea, in a projection room adjacent to the archives, several Servants were exploring more modern traditions—Christmas movies, a cultural staple created and celebrated yearly during this season.

“Look at this!” exclaimed Mordred, holding up a dusty DVD case. “A movie about some old guy flying through the sky with reindeer. Who even believes this stuff?”

Kid Gil and a group of childlike Servants waited impatiently on the couch. “It’s a legend, Mordred. It’s meant to make people dream,” Kid Gil replied confidently.

Paris, clutching his lamb-shaped plush, nodded in agreement.

Hector, who had accompanied his younger brother, scratched the back of his head, trying to grasp the concept. It was Atalante who managed to explain it best. The stories ranged from love to adventure, each carrying a sense of wonder.

Even if the idea seemed strange to them, they were all captivated by the vivid images unfolding on the screen. Many stayed for hours, engrossed in one film after another.

In her room, seated at her desk, Artoria worked on a personal project. Before her lay an assortment of papers, quills, and ink. She had long since fallen out of the habit of writing letters to her knights and allies, but this time, she wanted to create something personal.

Artoria paused in thought, her gaze distant. Then, with quiet resolve, she began to write, one card after another. For Ritsuka, for Mash, for her knights, for Jeanne, for Marie, and even for certain Servants with whom she had shared meaningful moments. Each card carried a heartfelt message, a warm wish for the season.

As she finished a card for Bedivere, a voice startled her.

“And what about me?”

She accidentally knocked over the inkpot, spilling ink across the desk and smudging the card she’d just written. Looking up, she saw Gilgamesh leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, his crimson eyes sparkling with amused mischief.

Artoria sighed, trying to calm her nerves as she cleaned up the mess with a mild scowl.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, slightly flustered. “While technically not in my room, you could have knocked and waited for me to invite you in.”

“I was passing by,” he replied with an enigmatic smile, ignoring her complaints. “And I wanted to see how my queen was doing. I noticed you writing—greeting cards, I presume?”

Artoria looked away, muttering under her breath that she wasn’t his queen. “It’s nothing. Just… little gestures.”

Gilgamesh sauntered into the room, his movements exuding his usual confidence. “Tell me, then—will I receive one of these little gestures?”

Artoria hesitated, suppressing a twinge of annoyance. “You’re not exactly…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Not exactly what?” he asked, feigning offense. “Not an ally? Not a friend?”

She sighed. “That’s not it. I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Gilgamesh crossed his arms, his smile softening slightly. “Anything from you interests me. So make sure my card is special.”

Artoria felt her cheeks grow warm. She quickly looked away, murmuring something unintelligible, which only seemed to amuse him further.

When he finally left, Gilgamesh left behind a flustered yet determined Artoria. She added a new card to her pile, this one adorned with a carefully drawn golden star and accompanied by a message she’d carefully composed.

Though he was arrogant, irritating, and often unbearable, Gilgamesh had put forth considerable effort to make the celebration a success.

And this card recognized that effort.

Chapter Text

In one of Chaldea's simulation rooms, a magical winter landscape had been created to set the stage for the holiday season. Snowy mountains rose on the horizon, encircling a frozen lake perfect for skating. The trees glistened under a white blanket, and soft snow continued to fall, giving the area a dreamlike atmosphere.

Curious, Artoria decided to visit the space with a few other Servants. She couldn't help but smile as she watched the children running around excitedly, armed with snowballs. Even some of the adult Servants seemed to have reverted to childhood, playing gleefully in this idyllic scene.

“A snowball fight!” shouted Setanta, his face lighting up with youthful excitement.

“Prepare for utter defeat! My victory will be total!” Alexander declared.

“Not so fast, King of Conquerors. Against my armada, you’ll lose!” Kid Gil fired back.

Everyone eager to join the fray dashed about, gathering snow and forming it into snowballs. Their excitement was contagious, and soon, more Servants and staff joined in the moment of fun.

Mordred, always up for a challenge, dove straight into the action. “Finally, something interesting! Who's brave enough to face me?”

“Me!” Gareth laughed, already armed, and promptly launched a snowball that hit Mordred squarely in the face.

Momentarily stunned, Mordred quickly recovered and retaliated, grinning from ear to ear.

Laughter echoed across the simulated winter wonderland, and memorable scenes unfolded.

At first, Artoria remained a spectator, watching the chaos with amusement. She narrowly avoided a stray snowball that nearly hit her, stepping aside with a soft smile, choosing instead to let them enjoy their game undisturbed.

Instead, she followed a small path leading to the frozen lake, where the more agile Servants practiced skating and executing graceful moves. Artoria, unsure of her ability to skate, simply admired the sight, particularly the elegant routines performed by Meltryllis. Applause rippled through the onlookers as others joined her on the ice.

Further off, ski slopes had been set up. From gentle inclines to steep challenges, the bravest attempted the riskiest descents, while others enjoyed casual sledding or sliding down the snowy paths.

There was also an enchanting forest path adorned with decorations here and there. Romantic Servants brought their partners there, or used the opportunity to charm them. Everywhere in this space was designed for relaxation and joy.

Artoria opted to climb a small cliff to admire the snowy landscape. The view was breathtaking. The evening light cast a magical glow, painting the scene with soft, varied hues. A few snowflakes drifted down from the sky, settling gently on the ground and her clothing.

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the tranquility. The distant noise was faint enough not to disturb her peace.

Who would have thought she’d ever feel such serenity as a Heroic Spirit?

A faint memory surfaced—other versions of herself, acting for or against Chaldea, and even at Fuyuki… She remembered being summoned during winter, when it sometimes snowed. But those were memories better left untouched.

Artoria returned to where the snowball fight was raging. The area was nearly devastated—in the best way possible. The children had rosy cheeks from their exertions, and Mordred lay buried under a pile of snow, clearly defeated. Artoria smiled in amusement as she turned toward the exit.

And then it happened.

A snowball, likely meant for her, missed its target and hit Gilgamesh square in the face as he entered the simulation room to check on his carefully orchestrated winter scene. (As they would later discover, he was the one responsible for this memorable setup.)

A tense silence followed. Artoria froze, watching him with surprise, as children and Servants held their breath. Everyone braced for an outburst from the arrogant king.

The snowball fell to the ground, and Gilgamesh stood motionless for a moment, processing the sudden assault. Then, to everyone’s shock, he burst out laughing.

“What is this? A challenge to the King of Kings? Very well, prepare to face my wrath!”

Grabbing a handful of snow, he charged toward the group of children and launched a perfectly aimed snowball at Kid Gil, who collapsed into the snow, laughing uncontrollably.

The tension melted instantly, replaced by a surge of excitement. Gilgamesh didn’t stop at retaliation; he threw himself into the battle, laughing and playing with unexpected energy.

Artoria, still on the sidelines, watched in astonishment. She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as she observed Gilgamesh laughing with the children, his usual arrogance temporarily set aside to reveal a lighter side of his personality.

“That’s… almost adorable,” she thought, before shaking her head. “No, I can’t think that. It’s Gilgamesh, after all.”

Yet, despite herself, a soft smile appeared on her lips. As Christmas approached, the tension in Chaldea seemed to melt away bit by bit.

The snowball fight ended with a resounding victory for the children and younger Servants, who managed to bury Gilgamesh under an improvised avalanche.

Covered in snow, Gilgamesh didn’t seem to lose his cheerful mood. As he stood up, he glanced at Artoria, who was still watching him.

“What? Do you want to challenge me as well?” he asked with a sly grin.

“I prefer not to stoop to your level,” she replied with a raised eyebrow, though her tone betrayed a hint of playful teasing.

“As you wish,” he laughed, turning back to the group of children.

As he joined the others, Artoria watched him again, her emotions a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Sometimes, even the most arrogant of kings could be surprisingly human.

Chapter Text

The morning at Chaldea started quietly, but the silence was deceptive. In the corridors of the headquarters, worried voices echoed as several Servants and staff discovered, to their dismay, that the gifts they had painstakingly prepared for the Secret Santa had vanished.

Ritsuka, hoping for a day of rest after an intense session farming resources, was immediately called into action. Mash burst into their quarters, her anxious expression betraying the gravity of the situation.

"Senpai! Something strange is happening! Several people are saying the gifts they prepared disappeared overnight!"

Ritsuka sighed, casting a wistful glance at their bed but stood up with determination. "Looks like it's decided. Today, we're becoming detectives. Who’s with me?"

Mash smiled timidly, ever-faithful by their side.

They crossed paths with Arturia in the hallway, who was also investigating the missing gifts.

"You can count on me, Master," the king declared with natural sincerity.

At that moment, another voice, laced with restrained anger, rang out.

"Even here in Chaldea, some dare disturb the grandeur of an organization I have meticulously shaped for these festivities?" No one bothered to point out that the Secret Santa was Mash's idea in the first place.

Gilgamesh appeared in all his splendor, draped in a ceremonial robe in Christmas colors, undoubtedly crafted specially for the occasion. Everyone silently suspected Enkidu was behind the outfit; Gilgamesh rarely refused them anything. His crimson eyes blazed with irritation, yet he seemed… almost enthusiastic about joining in.

"If these miscreants think they can mock the King of Heroes and steal gifts under my watch, they will soon regret their folly."

"Are you really going to help us?" Arturia asked, her tone tinged with skepticism.

"I’m not doing it for you but to preserve the excellence of this event. Consider my involvement a privilege," he replied with a sly smirk.

The small team began their investigation, questioning the Servants one by one. Some hadn’t even noticed their gifts were missing, while others, like Nero, loudly lamented the loss of their handiwork. Nero, as it turned out, had prepared gifts for everyone.

"These were gifts made by my own hands! The perfect embodiment of my artistic genius! Who would dare steal from me?"

Tristan, perpetually melancholic, added in a dramatic tone, "Ah, it is surely the fate that strikes me every Christmas. The sadness of losing a gift mirrors the perfect sorrow of the human soul..." He punctuated his lament by strumming mournfully on his harp.

Most testimonies agreed: the gifts had disappeared during the night. No one had seen an intruder, yet it was certain the presents hadn’t left Chaldea.

After hours of fruitless searching, Ritsuka proposed an idea.

"What if we set a trap? We’ll create an extremely enticing fake gift and see what happens."

Arturia nodded approvingly. "Perfect. We'll draw them out of the shadows."

Gilgamesh shrugged, his disdain evident. "If it takes this level of effort to catch this pitiful thief, so be it. But make sure the decoy is worthy of the gifts prepared so far."

With Leonardo Da Vinci’s help, an elaborate fake gift was prepared, extravagantly wrapped, and placed in plain sight in the common room. The three allies concealed themselves in the room’s dark corners, waiting patiently for the culprit to appear.

In the early hours of the morning, as silence once again reigned, a furtive shadow emerged. The figure hesitated but finally made its way toward the decoy.

"This is it," Arturia whispered, already poised to pounce.

Before the culprit could touch the fake gift, Gilgamesh summoned several of Enkidu’s chains, binding the figure in place.

"Who are you, mongrel? Show yourself!" he thundered.

To their surprise, the intruder was a small Servant. Jack the Ripper stared at the group with innocent eyes.

"Jack? Why are you doing this?" Ritsuka asked, clearly stunned.

Jack averted her gaze, looking embarrassed. "We saw all those gifts... and we thought they’d be thrown away after Christmas. So we wanted to keep them for ourselves..."

Ritsuka pinched the bridge of their nose. "Jack, the gifts aren’t meant to be thrown away. They’re for the Secret Santa. Each one is for someone specific."

The little girl seemed to think about this for a moment before murmuring, "But... we just wanted to make sure everyone got something..."

After a lengthy discussion, Jack agreed to return all the gifts. With everyone’s help, they managed to replace each present in its original spot.

Gilgamesh, despite his initial frustration, eventually cast an almost approving glance at Jack. "Even if your methods were absurd, your intention was… acceptable. I’ll allow you to remain in my presence this time."

Arturia sighed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "At least all’s well that ends well."

Ritsuka, though exhausted, smiled upon seeing the recovered gifts and the relieved expressions of the Servants—particularly Nero, who cheered loudly in the hallway. This little adventure ultimately strengthened the Christmas spirit in Chaldea, proving that even mistakes could lead to unforgettable moments.

Chapter Text

Chaldea was slowly waking up to a new day, but the usual flurry of activity felt strangely distant to Arturia. She opened her eyes in her quarters, a heavy fatigue weighing down her body. A faint blush, caused by a light fever, tinged her cheeks, and even the smallest attempt to sit up left her dizzy and weak.

She sighed softly, frustration evident in her expression. This wasn’t the first time she had felt like this. Although Ritsuka was a capable Master, it was impossible to supply enough mana for every Servant, especially with so many Heroic Spirits residing in Chaldea. The base’s energy support systems ensured the Servants’ continued materialization, but occasionally, minor imbalances left them temporarily weakened. Today, Arturia was the unfortunate victim of such a lapse.

She forced herself to remain in bed, though the inactivity gnawed at her. She knew rest was essential to recover the mana she lacked, but a dull loneliness crept into her mind. Her companions seemed occupied, and no one had come to check on her.

Meanwhile, in the common room, the usual bustle of conversations and activities barely masked the absence of Arturia’s commanding presence. Sitting in a corner, Gilgamesh noticed the void and frowned slightly.

"She’s not here today," he murmured to himself.

No one responded directly, but he soon pieced the situation together from snippets of nearby conversation.

"Arturia’s stayed in her quarters. Apparently, she’s not feeling well," Tristan remarked in his usual melancholic tone.

"Ah, she’ll be back soon, I’m sure," Gareth added optimistically.

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow as he rose from his seat with calculated ease. For someone as disciplined as Arturia to be confined to her quarters, it was a rare occurrence—and rare occurrences always piqued his interest.

"Momentary weakness, hmm?" he muttered as he left the common room.

Arturia’s light doze was interrupted by a sound at her door. Before she could respond, it opened slightly, revealing none other than Gilgamesh.

"I see you’ve chosen to turn this day into a display of idleness," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though it carried a faint trace of genuine curiosity.

Arturia groaned weakly, placing a hand on her forehead. "If you’re here to mock me, Gilgamesh, I’m too tired for your games."

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, holding a steaming mug in his hand. The rich aroma of hot chocolate filled the room, its comforting sweetness a surprising contrast to the king’s imposing presence.

"I’m not as cruel as you imagine," he said, extending the mug toward her. "Consider this an act of charity on my part. I made it myself."

Arturia raised an eyebrow skeptically but accepted the hot chocolate cautiously. She took a small sip, and the taste surprised her—it was delicious, perfectly balanced between sweetness and richness. Warmth spread through her body, soothing her fatigue.

"I suppose I should thank you," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Gilgamesh took a seat in a chair beside her bed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "There’s no need. A simple word of gratitude wouldn’t suffice to honor my magnificence. However, I’ll forgive this omission, considering your pitiful state."

Arturia rolled her eyes but lacked the energy to reply. The fatigue pressing down on her was simply too great.

In the quiet that followed, Arturia finished her hot chocolate, the warmth from the drink spreading through her like a soothing balm. Her cheeks, already slightly flushed from her fever, grew redder under its comforting heat. Gilgamesh reached out to take the empty mug from her, setting it on the bedside table with care.

"Lie down," he ordered, his authoritative tone softened by an unexpected note of concern.

Before she could protest, he leaned closer, pressing the back of his hand lightly against her forehead to check her temperature. Arturia’s eyes fluttered open in surprise at the unexpected gesture. She wanted to react, but the exhaustion weighing her down made resistance impossible. She simply stared at him in silence, her eyelids half-closed.

Satisfied with his assessment, Gilgamesh nodded slightly, as if confirming some unspoken judgment. He gently guided her to lie back down, and she obeyed without a word, her eyes growing heavier with each passing second.

She finally closed them, and before he could say anything else, she had already slipped into a deep sleep, her breathing steady and peaceful.

Gilgamesh stood motionless for a moment, observing her. She seemed strangely vulnerable in that state, at the mercy of anyone who might approach. The thought stirred a cascade of ideas in his mind, scenarios where he could exploit this rare vulnerability. Yet, to his own surprise, he did nothing of the sort.

A faint, almost dreamy smile appeared on his lips. He leaned down slightly, carefully pulling the covers over her to ensure she was properly tucked in.

"Rest well, King of Knights," he murmured softly, his voice unusually gentle, before straightening up.

With quiet steps, he left the room, leaving Arturia to sleep peacefully, her fatigue soothed by a rare display of care from the King of Heroes.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Arturia couldn't quite remember when Gilgamesh had left her room, but it didn't matter. A micro-singularity had been detected: an animated Christmas market, where temporal distortions seemed to blend with the hustle and bustle of the festivities. After much research, Chaldea’s team had located the anomaly. The market quickly captured the attention of everyone, and many Servants expressed their desire to go, both to investigate and to enjoy the atmosphere.

For Arturia, it was also an opportunity to find an additional gift, aside from the one she had to give to young Gilgamesh during the exchange organized by Mash. She decided to go alone, dressed in a thick coat more suited to the time period represented by the market. As she strolled through the lively aisles, she marveled at the variety of stands: food stalls with delicious aromas, hand-carved toys, sparkling souvenirs. But the choice was so vast that she couldn’t decide what to buy.

A little bored from being unable to make up her mind, she stopped at a stand selling spiced mulled wine. She bought a steaming glass and sat on the edge of a frozen fountain, watching the comings and goings of the visitors. In the distance, she spotted a few Chaldea Servants wandering around. The proximity of Christmas warmed her heart. The evening promised to be memorable: the gift exchange would be convivial, Nero's prepared show seemed grand, and the banquet was sure to be even better than the menu she had tasted before.

Lost in her thoughts, she smiled to herself while observing the market’s hustle. It was then that she saw them: Gilgamesh and Enkidu strolling together among the stands. Gilgamesh, true to form, had a look of displeasure on his face as he mingled with the crowd, while Enkidu seemed to be enjoying himself like a child, eagerly exploring everything the market had to offer.

It was Enkidu who noticed her first. A wide smile lit up his face as he waved at her. He quickly approached, clearly happy to see her.

“What are you drinking, Arturia?” he asked curiously, glancing at her glass.

“Mulled wine,” she replied. A Christmas market specialty.

Enkidu immediately wanted to try some. He cheerfully declared that he would go get one for himself and Gilgamesh before disappearing among the stands.

Gilgamesh, meanwhile, walked over slowly, and without asking permission, sat beside Arturia on the edge of the fountain. His crimson eyes scrutinized Arturia's drink with a mix of skepticism and disapproval.

“Is this supposed to be good?” he asked in a neutral yet critical tone.

“A popular drink among the northern peoples to stay warm in winter,” Arturia calmly explained. “Not very useful in Uruk, I imagine.”

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, but before he could reply, Enkidu returned with two glasses of mulled wine, holding them out with a broad smile. He handed one to Gilgamesh before sitting on the edge of the fountain as well.

“Let’s try it,” Enkidu said enthusiastically.

Gilgamesh cautiously sniffed the drink before taking a sip. Arturia, watching the scene, found it amusing to see their contrasting reactions.

Enkidu seemed to appreciate the idea of the drink, but his expression became unreadable after the first sip, as if he was trying to figure out what he was actually drinking. Gilgamesh, on the other hand, furrowed his brows slightly, analyzing the taste with a perplexed look, clearly unimpressed.

“Hm, interesting... but strange,” Enkidu commented.

“This drink lacks refinement,” Gilgamesh grumbled, setting his glass down.

Arturia couldn’t help but laugh softly. The two men, so different yet inseparable, were tasting the mulled wine as if they were evaluating a mystical treasure. Their intrigued and slightly confused expressions made her smile despite herself.

Arturia couldn’t hold back a laugh at the sight of the two men, bewildered by the drink. Enkidu and Gilgamesh seemed surprised, but both appeared to enjoy hearing her laugh. Their faces softened, and a nearly imperceptible smile appeared on their lips.

They exchanged a few more words before continuing to wander among the stands, each enjoying the celebration in their own way. Enkidu, ever attentive, helped Arturia choose her gifts, pointing out a few hidden gems among the stalls. Gilgamesh, for his part, observed everything with a detached air but didn’t miss a chance to add a few sarcastic comments, though he remained at a distance from the hustle and bustle.

The market was lively, noisy, but also comforting. Despite being with her two companions, Arturia felt a gentle tranquility, far from the demands of war and battle.

Chapter Text

In a small room near Chaldea’s grand reception hall, tension was mounting rapidly between Arturia and Gilgamesh. The Christmas preparations, meant to be a collective and joyful effort, had turned into a clash of wills. Arturia, with her sharp sense of order and protocol, fiercely opposed Gilgamesh’s flamboyant but chaotic approach. The table between them was cluttered with seating charts, covered in handwritten notes and furious corrections.

“I’m telling you, the dance floor must be at the center,” Arturia insisted, her gaze firm, arms crossed. “It’s the best way to ensure smooth movement and create a welcoming atmosphere. This isn’t a royal banquet, Gilgamesh; it’s a Christmas party.”

Gilgamesh, leaning casually against the wall with arms crossed, fixed her with his radiant crimson eyes and a smug smile. “And I’m telling you, your so-called smooth flow is a soulless absurdity. A banquet, royal or otherwise, must dazzle. The guests should feel honored. I’m placing the dance floor on a raised platform to dominate the room. It’s a matter of grandeur—something you seem to lack understanding of.”

Arturia clenched her fists, her patience quickly wearing thin. “It’s not about grandeur; it’s about practicality. If you can’t even apply common sense to a Christmas celebration, how do you claim to understand what brings people joy?”

Gilgamesh let out a hearty but slightly mocking laugh. “People don’t know what they want until it’s shown to them. That’s why they need me, Arturia.” The way he said her name grated on her nerves. “Their happiness is born of my vision. You, with your rigid rules, forget the very essence of a celebration.”

“And you,” she fired back, her voice rising with frustration, “are so self-absorbed that you fail to see this party isn’t about you but for everyone!” Her cheeks flushed slightly red with anger. “Why is it always about your ego?”

Gilgamesh straightened, abandoning his perch against the wall. His smile faded slightly, but his eyes still burned with a provocative glow. “Because ego, my dear, is what separates a king from the rest. A king without ego is merely an administrator.”

Arturia opened her mouth to retort but stopped abruptly, the words catching in her throat. Part of her knew he would never yield, just as she refused to bend. This stalemate was familiar yet somehow more exasperating than ever.

“Fine,” she said at last, trying to rein in her frustration. “If you won’t listen, I don’t see why you asked me to come, nor why I should continue this argument.”

Gilgamesh, satisfied with what he perceived as a victory, resumed his arrogant smile. But before he could deliver another jab, a low rumble reverberated through Chaldea. Then, in an instant, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into near-total darkness.

The argument ended abruptly, replaced by a perplexed silence.

The lights flickered one last time before shutting off completely, leaving the small room in icy darkness. A faint mist of condensation escaped Arturia’s lips as she muttered a barely audible curse. She could already feel the cold creeping in, intensified by the extreme conditions outside.

Gilgamesh, ever calm despite the situation, stepped forward. In the darkness, his crimson eyes glimmered faintly, like embers in a storm. “Well, this is interesting,” he murmured with a touch of irony. “Is Chaldea so poorly equipped that a mere storm can paralyze its systems? How pathetic.”

Arturia, fumbling to find something to steady herself, shot him a furious glare, even though she knew he probably couldn’t see it. “This isn’t the time for criticism, Gilgamesh. The outage seems serious. The automatic doors are likely locked, and there’s no manual override here.”

She moved to the door to confirm her suspicion, pulling at the access panel with all her strength, to no avail. Gilgamesh watched her efforts with a neutral expression. After a few seconds of fruitless attempts, she gave up and rested her forehead against the icy door.

“Rest assured, I could leave here in an instant,” he declared, his voice brimming with characteristic confidence. “I need only take my spiritual form and disappear. You, however…”

“Then do it!” Arturia interrupted, her tone exasperated. “If you’re so eager to leave and too stubborn to listen to my opinion, then go. Leave me to handle this alone.”

A heavy silence settled between them, laden with unspoken words. Yet, to her surprise, Gilgamesh did nothing. Instead of vanishing into the air as she expected, he remained, his crimson eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her uneasy.

“No,” he finally said, almost nonchalantly. “I’m staying.”

Arturia turned to face him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re staying? Why? You have no reason to be stuck here!”

He shrugged as if it were the most natural decision in the world. “Consider it an act of generosity on my part. A king does not abandon his subjects in their time of need, does he?”

Arturia rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself to fend off the cold as her cape materialized over her shoulders. “Your generosity is misplaced, Gilgamesh. If you truly want to help me, go find someone who can unlock this door or restore power. This is a waste of time.”

“How ungrateful,” he replied with mock offense and amusement in his voice. “I ought to leave you to your fate for such audacity.”

In response, he summoned warm blankets and a luxurious brazier from his Gate of Babylon, which cast a faint golden glow across the room.

Arturia didn’t reply. She returned to the armchair she had spotted earlier, her face marked with irritation. As the cold continued to seep in, she realized that this forced confinement would be far more trying than she had anticipated—not because of the physical conditions, but because of the man sharing this cramped space with her.

The weighty silence that followed their exchange did nothing to ease Arturia’s tensions. She curled into the armchair, clutching her cape tightly to preserve her body heat. Meanwhile, Gilgamesh, entirely at ease, created a miniature lounge for himself. His gaze, ever present, seemed to linger on her, though she resolutely ignored his unspoken invitation to join him.

Arturia groaned, her breath visible in the freezing air. “Why are you still here, Gilgamesh? You could be anywhere else, yet you stay here, staring at me like you’re above all this.”

The King of Uruk smirked. “Does that bother you, King of Knights? I could leave, yes, but where would be the fun in leaving you to struggle alone with your foul temper?”

She glared at him. “If that’s your idea of amusement, you have a twisted sense of the situation.”

He shrugged lightly, as if brushing off her reproach. “A king must find entertainment even in the most mundane circumstances. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you. You’d be utterly lost without me.”

“Lost?” she repeated indignantly, her voice rising a notch. “I’m perfectly capable of handling this situation on my own, thank you very much.”

Gilgamesh chuckled softly, further fueling her anger. “And yet, here you are, locked in this room, unable to change your fate. A true king, you say?”

Clenching her jaw, Arturia rose abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “And what about you, huh? You stay here to torment me instead of using your powers to get us out. If you really want to be useful, do something instead of strutting around like you always do.”

Gilgamesh remained still, his crimson eyes still glowing with that defiant gleam. “Why should I? This little moment between us is far more intriguing. After all, it’s rare for someone to speak to me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

“You’re insufferable,” she growled before sinking heavily back into her armchair, frustrated.

A tense silence fell, but it wasn’t long before Gilgamesh broke it. Summoning a golden tray from his Gate of Babylon, he revealed two elegant goblets and a carafe of wine. The faint light of the brazier reflected off the tray, casting warm hues around the room. He poured the wine with practiced ease, offering one of the goblets to Arturia.

“Since we’re stuck here and the storm shows no sign of abating,” he said with a theatrical flair, “we might as well make this evening memorable. After all, it would be a shame to spend the time brooding over insignificant details, such as… seating arrangements.”

Arturia rolled her eyes but accepted the goblet cautiously, as if expecting some sort of trick. However, the rich, sweet aroma of the wine was inviting, and as she took a sip, she found it warm and comforting. It tasted familiar, a reminder of distant, simpler days.

“I suppose this wine is far superior to the one you criticized yesterday,” she remarked with a hint of mockery.

Gilgamesh shrugged with a smug smile. “Everything is superior when it comes from my treasures. But I’ll grant you this: that rustic mulled wine had… a certain charm. If you believe that, it’s part of my magnanimity.”

They exchanged a knowing look, and for the first time, Arturia allowed herself to smirk without restraint. Gilgamesh, though still insufferable, seemed oddly less overbearing when he made an effort. Perhaps it was the isolation imposed by the storm, or maybe it was simply the fact that they had finally found some common ground, however tenuous it might be.

"You know," Arturia said after a moment, her voice softer than usual, "thank you for not leaving me alone."

Gilgamesh fixed her with his piercing gaze, his eyes gleaming with a rare sincerity. "In addition to being generous, I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be in your company, Arturia. Between kings, we both understand the loneliness of the throne. It would have been pointless and a shame for you to feel that same solitude here, in a room as austere as this, especially with Christmas approaching."

These words surprised Arturia. They lacked the mockery or condescension she had come to associate with Gilgamesh. For once, he seemed to speak without guile, and his honesty touched her. Instead of replying, she offered him a quiet smile and chose to savor the wine he had poured for her.

The silence that followed was neither heavy nor awkward. It was calm, almost comforting, as though their earlier quarrel belonged to a distant past. They exchanged a few more light-hearted words about trivial matters, the wine helping to soothe their spirits. Gilgamesh recounted a few extravagant tales about his treasures, and Arturia, though more reserved, shared one or two memories of her own celebrations with her knights.

A few hours later, a metallic clanging echoed through the corridors, and the lights of Chaldea gradually returned, accompanied by the gentle warmth of the restored systems. Arturia and Gilgamesh rose almost simultaneously, preparing to leave their makeshift shelter.

As they stepped out, they found Ritsuka and Mash, relieved to see that everyone was safe. Arturia and Gilgamesh walked side by side through the brightly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the immaculate floor. Far removed from the evening’s quarrels, an unspoken truce seemed to accompany them.

As they parted ways to return to their respective quarters, Arturia, without a word, cast one last glance at Gilgamesh, a faint but genuine smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Perhaps Christmas, after all, had a subtle way of bringing even the most stubborn spirits closer together.

Chapter Text

The grand hall of Chaldea gleamed with luminous garlands and ornaments hanging here and there. At its center stood the majestic, towering Christmas tree, its branches a vibrant green. Brought in earlier in December, it was the largest of them all and had been left undecorated for this very day. Each Servant was tasked with adding a personal ornament, a cherished moment established this year to reflect the diversity of the stories and eras converging in this unique place.

Arturia and her knights were among the first to step forward. Each of them carried modest decorations imbued with deep symbolism. Lancelot and Gawain hung handmade garlands adorned with Arthurian motifs, while Arturia placed a finely carved wooden crown, evoking the simplicity and honor of her kingdom. Mordred, after her usual grumbling and a lively exchange with Bedivere, hung a small golden dragon in homage to her own heritage.

The hall gradually came to life as more Servants joined in. Jeanne d'Arc hung a silver star adorned with a fleur-de-lis, while Ishtar amused herself by trying to outshine her counterpart with glittering jewelry she claimed to have “borrowed” for the occasion. Laughter and shared memories filled the air, making the atmosphere light and joyous.

Then, Gilgamesh made his entrance, carrying a massive star of solid gold, finely engraved and encrusted with gems. His arrival did not go unnoticed. With a theatrical flourish, he strode through the crowd and approached the tree.

"Step aside, mongrels," he declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "Only with my light can this tree truly shine."

With royal precision, he placed the star at the very top, a golden brilliance immediately illuminating the entire tree. He stepped back to admire his work, a satisfied smile on his lips, while some Servants sighed in a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Arturia, watching the scene from the side, remained silent. Jeanne, standing next to her, couldn’t help but ask.

“You’re not saying anything? Doesn’t it annoy you, the way he behaves?”

Arturia cast her gaze toward the proud figure of Gilgamesh, surrounded by Servants who, despite everything, seemed to share in the joy of this particular moment. She replied softly, a faint smile gracing her lips:

“It’s Christmas. If being extravagant makes him happy, especially for a celebration like this, it would be foolish to deny him that. He is… himself, after all.”

Surprised by this response, Jeanne finally nodded in silence.

In the hall, Gilgamesh ensured that every branch of the tree met the level of perfection he deemed worthy of his presence. His egotistical remarks elicited a few quiet laughs, and even Arturia couldn’t suppress a broader smile as she watched him, strangely fitting into the festive atmosphere.

The tree, now sparkling with countless lights, seemed ready to welcome Christmas in all its splendor.

Chapter Text

The apparent calm of Chaldea was merely a façade on this day, where activity filled every corner. Between the final preparations for Christmas and the usual training routines, Arturia barely found a moment for herself. That didn’t stop certain Servants from seeking her out, offering help, compliments, or simply their company.

In a corner of the main hall, Siegfried, ever polite and measured, addressed her with a few warm words:

“Lady Arturia, your dedication to organizing this celebration is admirable. You inspire us not only through your actions but through your presence as well.”

Arturia, slightly taken aback by the compliment, nodded with a faint smile.

“Thank you, Siegfried. Your words mean a lot.”

Later, Diarmuid approached her, his eternal gentleness almost disarming.

“If there are still tasks to complete or if you need assistance with anything, I am at your service.”

“That’s kind of you, Diarmuid, but I think everything is under control for now,” she replied with a smile.

“Though perhaps you could check the kitchen. The banquet will require a lot of resources.”

“Understood, King of Knights.”

As she passed through a doorway, she was startled by the presence of Gilles de Rais, who was watching her with his bulging eyes and strange intensity, still confused and insistent in his habit of mistaking her for Jeanne d’Arc.

“Oh, Saint! How radiant you are during these festive days! Your aura is a beacon for us, poor servants of faith.”

It was as if he were about to fall to his knees and worship her. Arturia furrowed her brow slightly but chose not to respond, preferring not to encourage his mystical delusions, and stiffly walked away.

Later in the afternoon, she crossed paths with Emiya, who, with a relaxed tone laced with innuendo, teased her as he passed by:

“Looks like the organization hasn’t lost its seriousness, just like in Fuyuki. You haven’t changed, Saber.”

She looked up at him, a mixture of surprise and melancholy flashing across her face, but chose not to dwell on his words. She knew who he was originally, but even though the Arturia from Fuyuki and the one in Chaldea were the same person, she only had fragmented memories of her time there and of certain events she had experienced. That boy, Shirou, was just an echo in her life as a Heroic Spirit.

Finally, there was Lancelot, seemingly everywhere at once, throwing himself into any task he could find. Whether it was moving decorations, rearranging a room, or responding to other Servants’ requests, he did it all with an almost desperate zeal, hoping to regain her trust. Arturia kept telling him to relax. The past was the past, after all; there was no point dwelling on it. But she understood that Lancelot wanted to take advantage of these moments of calm to rediscover his values, and so she could only encourage him in that regard.

Throughout all this, Gilgamesh observed in silence, staying in the background. His crimson eyes followed every interaction, and his mood seemed to darken with each new exchange his queen had with the others.

When the day was nearing its end, Arturia finally noticed his presence, leaning against a column as though he were spying, arms crossed, with a look on his face that was difficult to read. She approached him slowly, a faint concern marking her features.

“Is something wrong, Gilgamesh? You have a strange look on your face.”

He averted his gaze for a moment before responding, his tone neutral but tinged with a hint of irritation:

“No, nothing at all. Continue shining before these poor souls. After all, someone has to keep them in line.”

He turned on his heel, walking away with an attitude that oscillated between wounded pride and the look of a dejected dog. Arturia, puzzled, watched him leave, unable to understand what had upset him so much.

A little later, as she walked through a corridor, she came across Ishtar, floating lazily while trying to fix a fallen decoration.

“Is Gilgamesh in a bad mood today?” Arturia asked as she stopped nearby.
Ishtar shrugged, clearly annoyed.

“Maybe. What do I know? Go ask his clay puppet.”

As if summoned, Enkidu emerged from the shadows behind her, a mischievous and almost malevolent smile on his lips.

“What did you say about me, Ishtar?” he asked with deceptive sweetness.

The effect was immediate: Ishtar let out a startled yelp and fled down the corridor at full speed, floating away.

Arturia, slightly amused by the scene, turned to Enkidu, who greeted her with a much kinder smile.

“What were you asking, little Arturia?”

“Oh, I was wondering what was wrong with Gilgamesh. He seems to be in a bad mood today,” she asked simply.

Enkidu raised his eyebrows, placing a finger on his chin.

“Oh, I’ve noticed he’s been watching you a lot lately. Especially when there are many people around you. It’s probably a bit of possessiveness. After all, he doesn’t like sharing his treasures, not even with his own people.”

Arturia blinked, perplexed. “You mean… he’s jealous?”

“Yes, in a way. But he’s holding back. He knows he can’t force you to be with him all the time. That would be foolish. And I’d make him pay if he tried, anyway.” Enkidu chuckled softly, his amusement genuine.

Arturia smiled, grateful for Enkidu’s kindness, and watched him walk away before continuing on her way. As she reached her room, she murmured softly, deep in thought:

“Who would have thought he’d be jealous?”

Chapter Text

The frenzy of Christmas preparations had largely calmed. Gilgamesh often roamed Chaldea to ensure everything was perfect according to his standards, while Enkidu helped temper his demands. Overall, Chaldea had become a spectacular place. Everyone was happy with the results, and smiles adorned their faces. Even the other kings willingly acknowledged the remarkable work that had been done.

Moreover, even for Nero's grand show scheduled in two days, everything seemed to be in place. Only echoes of songs and music could be heard in the distance, but at this point, no one was allowed to attend the rehearsals.

In the meantime, the Servants were enjoying this brief respite to relax before the festivities. Arturia, after a quiet breakfast, hoped to take advantage of a calm moment in Jeanne's company. Why not enjoy a stroll through the snowy landscape in the simulation? Or try ice skating, as Jeanne suggested?

Meanwhile, the two women wandered through a corridor, chatting about various topics, when a strange presence appeared at the corner. A familiar, almost unsettling figure stood there, shadows playing across her features.

"My muse," Medea said in a soft voice, though it carried an intense undertone.

Jeanne and Arturia stopped in their tracks, a flicker of confusion in their eyes. Medea, taking advantage of their surprise, darted forward and firmly seized Arturia’s arm, pulling her along before she could protest.

"Medea?! What are you doing?" exclaimed Arturia, slightly thrown off, while Jeanne followed them hesitantly.

The mage did not respond, swiftly leading Arturia to her quarters. They were spotted by Mordred, who seemed to be fleeing the rehearsals and took the opportunity to follow them discreetly. Once inside, Medea gently released Arturia and, with a theatrical gesture, unveiled a sumptuous gown.

"As promised, here is your dress for the ball. But it still needs a few adjustments, and it can only be perfect with you wearing it," she declared with an almost possessive pride.

The dress was spectacular: a dazzling white, adorned with refined lace and sprinkled with glitter that caught every ray of light. It reached down to her ankles, light yet warm, though perhaps a bit too revealing in certain areas, such as the shoulders, arms, and... the sides? But the brilliance of the attire made the sight truly splendid.

Arturia, slightly embarrassed, said, "This is the dress? I mean, it’s really magnificent, but..."

Faced with Medea's expression—admiring, captivated, utterly engrossed in Arturia and all the effort she had poured into completing the gown—Arturia hesitated one last time before giving in. “Very well, I’ll try it on.”

Medea nodded eagerly and guided her in front of a mirror. Jeanne, amused and admiring, was not left out. Medea offered her a gown she had also prepared for her, and when she finally noticed Mordred’s presence—having taken refuge in the room to escape Nero—she took the opportunity to show her outfit as well.

Arturia stepped out from behind the screen, embarrassed, as Medea guided her to the mirror, already captivated by the vision before her.

Regal—that was the only fitting word for this moment. She was simply regal.

However, one detail bothered Arturia. The cut and elegance of the gown leaned more toward a wedding dress than an evening gown. Arturia turned slightly, searching for the right words.

“Medea… isn’t this a bit… much?” she asked cautiously. How could she tell Medea that the dress wasn’t suitable for an evening event?

The mage, busy adjusting a piece of fabric, replied without hesitation: “Too much? Not at all! You are perfect. Brilliant, majestic. Like a star illuminating all of Chaldea.”

Arturia sighed softly; Medea was far too enthralled to listen. She would have to make do.

Meanwhile, Mordred and Jeanne were showing off their own outfits.

Jeanne wore a lovely black dress with a sheer overlay on the shoulders, a stark contrast to her usual combat attire. The result seemed to please her—it was simple and elegant.

As for Mordred, she wore more of a red suit, with a jacket that gave the impression of a gown in the back, paired with pants that resembled a tuxedo. “Now this is style!” she declared.

“You look stunning, Arturia,” Jeanne said warmly, her smile both admiring and kind.

Arturia, still unsure about the shimmering dress that made her look like a living star, cast one last glance at the mirror, trying to come to terms with her reflection.

“If everyone is meant to shine during this evening, I suppose this will do,” she murmured at last, resigned but with a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, in a distant kingdom where snow fell endlessly, there was a village nestled at the foot of a shimmering mountain. Every year, on Christmas Eve, the evening star of radiant brilliance appeared at the mountain's summit, bathing the village in silvery light.

It was said that this star represented the hopes and dreams of the villagers and protected them from the cold and darkness.

But that year, the star did not shine.

Worried, the villagers turned to their leader, Arturia, for answers. Without the star, Christmas would be plunged into darkness.

Arturia decided to form a team to uncover what had happened to the star and bring back its light.

The group she had chosen gathered around her, as snowflakes danced softly in the air at the mountain’s base. The departure to reclaim the star’s light carried an unusual solemnity, as though even nature held its breath.

Arturia, clad in a thick, pure white coat, held her sword firmly planted in the snow. She looked at her companions, each bearing a different expression toward the task ahead.

Gilgamesh, draped in a crimson cloak contrasting with the wintry landscape, wore his eternal arrogant smile.

"This shouldn’t take more than a few hours if you heed my recommendations, King of the North. After all, there is no secret I cannot unravel," he declared.

Mash, equipped with her imposing shield adorned with runes, and a loyal squire, displayed a confident smile. "I’m ready, Master!" she proclaimed, looking toward Arturia.

Mordred, already impatient, stomped her foot into the snow. "So, are we going or not? We don’t have all night!" she growled, visibly eager to prove herself to her father.

Then there was Grigori Rasputin, walking a bit behind, present for reasons unknown… silent, with an enigmatic glint in his eyes. He carried a staff engraved with ancient symbols, his aura exuding a strange, unsettling serenity.

"The star is not just a mere light," he murmured to no one in particular. "It is a mirror of the human soul. Be prepared to face your truths."

Gathered together, Arturia took a deep breath. "Listen to me carefully," she said firmly. "We don’t know what we’ll face up there. But if we move forward together, if we stay united, no force will be able to stop us."

It was a beginning worthy of a classic adventure novel as they set out on their journey.

The path winding up the mountain seemed peaceful, yet each of them felt an underlying tension.

As they progressed, Gilgamesh quickly took the lead, claiming he knew a better route. "This path is too ordinary. There is an ancient road, forgotten by all, that leads directly to the star."

Arturia frowned. "Are you sure it isn’t more dangerous?"

"Would you truly dare to doubt me, King of the North?" he retorted with a hint of menace.

"Then why doesn’t it appear on the map?" she asked with authority.

Rasputin stepped forward as well. "Because it is indeed more perilous. Beyond those great fir trees lies the forgotten trail that once tested the worthiest to reach the star. Perhaps that is why it no longer shines—no soul has dared to attempt this path to prove their valor, choosing instead the easy way."

"Ridiculous… those are just old wives’ tales!" snapped Mordred, already fed up with the detour.

Mash, observing in silence, cleared her throat as she approached her master. "My king, perhaps we should try this path. If we want to give ourselves every possible chance, it might be our best option."

Arturia sighed, understanding their point of view. "Very well, but we must double our vigilance and be aware of the risks."

As they took the route indicated by Gilgamesh and confirmed by Rasputin, the temperature seemed to drop even further. Strange shadows appeared to dance among the snow-covered trees, and the wind carried sounds that resembled whispers.

Rasputin suddenly stopped. "We are nearing the threshold of the trials," he said calmly. "The mountain is already beginning to test our resolve."

Arturia tightened her grip on her sword. "Prepare yourselves."

Gilgamesh, with a sly grin, drew a glittering artifact from his dimensional treasury. "Whatever awaits us, there is nothing a king cannot conquer."

The group advanced cautiously in silence, their steps crunching on the fresh snow. The already arduous ascent quickly turned into a labyrinth of challenges. The path charted by Gilgamesh plunged them into a landscape of icy peaks and treacherous trails.

As they moved forward, a violent wind suddenly rose, accompanied by a snowstorm so dense it obscured the path ahead.

"Stay together!" shouted Arturia, her voice nearly carried away by the howling wind.

Soon, each of them found themselves isolated in a thick mist, and illusions began to take shape around them.

Arturia stood surrounded by silence, gazing at a snow-covered Round Table where her knights awaited her, their faces frozen in a mix of hope and reproach. "You abandoned us, my king," murmured Lancelot. She shook her head, trying to shatter the illusion with her iron will.

Her knights were no longer of this world, and she had already honored their sacrifice in the past, but this illusion preyed on her lingering guilt. She would not let it overcome her—not while others still relied on her.

Mordred, meanwhile, found herself engulfed in darkness, confronted by a vision of her father, Arturia. This version stared at her with cold disdain, red eyes piercing and frigid. 

"You were never worthy of me. No matter how hard you try, you will always be a disappointment, a counterfeit. Aren’t you ashamed of your very nature, bastard? Or should I say, puppet?"

Mordred roared in anger, drawing her sword and slashing through the image.

Yet more apparitions of her father surrounded her. These were not real. The true Arturia had begun to accept her, even if she still refused to fully acknowledge Mordred as her son. Over time, her father had shown her growing respect. A gust of wind swept away the visions, and Mordred broke the illusion.

Mash, frightened but determined, saw distorted versions of the other villagers accusing her of not being strong enough to protect them. She stood firmly behind her shield, whispering to herself, "That’s not true. I’m here for them. I can do this."

Closing her eyes, she pressed forward, continuing to reassure herself. When an opening presented itself, she charged through with a yell, collapsing in the snow at her master's feet. Arturia helped her up with a proud smile. "Well done, Mash."

Gilgamesh, on the other hand, seemed entirely unbothered by his vision. He laughed as he watched the illusions trying to surround him. "Phantoms? How pathetic. Not one of them is even worthy of troubling me."

His unshakable confidence seemed to deter the visions entirely. His indomitable will shattered the illusion with ease, leaving the others quietly awed by his resolve.

Rasputin, standing motionless, gazed at a flickering light that seemed to speak directly to him. "Can a blackened heart still bear the light?" he whispered. Closing his eyes, he murmured a prayer. No one knew what he had seen, and no one dared to ask.

The storm eventually subsided, dispelling the illusions, but each of them appeared a little more marked by what they had experienced. Arturia, gathering her strength, raised Excalibur toward the sky, unleashing a brilliant light that guided her companions back to her.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked with concern.

Gilgamesh shrugged, as if nothing had happened. "An insignificant threat. Perhaps you should keep your sword lit so these children stop wandering off."

"I’m not lost!" protested Mordred, visibly still irritated by her own vision.

Mash nodded. "I’m fine, Master."

Reassured, they resumed their journey.

The path guided them further toward the summit, narrowing as the group advanced. The cold grew ever more biting, and each step sank into deep, treacherous snow. Despite their progress, a palpable tension hung in the air. The mountain seemed alive, as though it were watching their every move.

As they climbed a narrow trail flanked by sheer cliffs, the shadows from earlier began to coalesce around them, projected by the northern lights shimmering in the sky above.

"What is that...?" Mash murmured, tightening her grip on her shield.

The shadows slowly took distinct forms—familiar figures, echoes of enemies the group had faced in the past. Forgotten warriors and monstrous beasts now stood in their way.

"They’re reflections of our own fears and doubts," Rasputin declared. "We must confront them to proceed." His usual calm made them uneasy, as though he were unaffected or unconcerned by what was happening before them. The three women exchanged glances and nodded.

Arturia, raising Excalibur high, charged forward first.

The shadows, made of black snow, simply took the shape of each individual’s inner demons. Arturia faced her greatest fear—tyranny. Though initially troubled, as she had been during the earlier illusion, she knew she would never become that tyrant. She would fight to ensure it. Slashing through the dark snow, she destroyed the phantoms one by one, each representing a flaw she refused to let define her.

Mordred found herself confronted with a horrifying vision. She had already faced a false version of Arturia earlier, but now a new copy stood before her, corrupted by her mother and willing to sacrifice everything to take her father’s place. The young knight had had enough. The black snow gathered around her, starting at her feet and trying to engulf her, but with a roar of rage and sheer strength, she swept away the warped representations of a reality that did not exist.

Mash, on the other hand, chose to ignore what she saw, even as fear made her tremble. Behind her shield, she charged forward, scattering the dark snow with brute force, focusing only on Ritsuka and the duty she had to protect them. That purpose alone was enough to drive her forward.

Meanwhile, Gilgamesh and Rasputin stood back-to-back, observing the strange entities.

"Divine retribution has descended upon us," Rasputin said, his eyes closed.

Gilgamesh burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all, opened portals to his treasury, and unleashed his wrath upon the pitiful representations of fear.

"No divine judgment will ever fall upon me," he declared.

The trial proved less difficult than the one before it. However, its purpose was not to harm them but to determine whether they were worthy of the star. Once calm returned, Arturia resumed the path, and the others followed in her footsteps.

One final challenge awaited them: a test of their courage and worth.

A transparent bridge, composed of ice and light, stretched before them, suspended over a dizzying abyss. The bridge seemed on the verge of breaking with every step.

"This is a terrible idea," Mordred muttered, staring nervously at the void below.

"We have no choice," Arturia replied. She was as uneasy as Mordred but knew there was no other way forward.

One by one, each member of the group crossed the bridge.

Gilgamesh went first, walking with a calm stride, utterly unconcerned by the threat of the precipice. Pieces of the bridge fell away beneath him, but he didn’t waver for a moment. Once across, he turned back and wondered why the rest of the group was taking so long.

Mash went next. She used her shield to ensure the bridge was stable, but when Mordred, already stressed about her own life, complained that Mash was too slow, she panicked and quickened her pace, stumbling to the other side.

More pieces of the bridge fell.

Mordred followed, even more terrified than the others. Determined to prove herself worthy of her father, she mimicked Gilgamesh’s calm demeanor—though her tension betrayed her. Walking stiffly, she kept muttering to herself, "Don’t look down... if I fall, I’ll destroy this mountain... don’t look down."

Then it was Arturia’s turn. She cast a glance downward before stepping onto the bridge. Beside her, Rasputin let out a quiet chuckle.

"Even our sovereign has her weaknesses."

Arturia shot him a cold look. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward. The bridge threatened to collapse beneath her weight, but summoning her faith and resolve, she crossed. By the time she reached the other side, what remained of the bridge was even thinner and more precarious.

Rasputin stood before the remnants of the bridge, examining it with a thoughtful smile. After a few calculated steps, he crossed with ease, barely setting foot on the bridge before reaching the other side.

As he stepped off, the entire bridge crumbled behind him, leaving the rest of the group shivering from the close call.

Before continuing, the group took a brief rest. Arturia gazed at the summit of the mountain, where the star was supposed to be, still shrouded in darkness. They were almost there.

After sharing some warm drinks and encouraging words, they resumed their journey. However, the group was quieter and more subdued than when they had set out. The mountain seemed to weigh on their minds.

The rest of the ascent passed without incident, save for the steep and perilous paths that required teamwork to navigate. Soon, they arrived at the summit, where the star rested—silent and dark. Beneath it, a natural circle glowed faintly with an otherworldly light.

Arranged within the circle were shapes of stone.

At the center of the circle stood an altar of pure ice, shimmering faintly. An ancient inscription was carved upon it in a language so old that even Rasputin struggled to decipher it.

“This is where we must make our offerings,” he announced.

“Our offerings?” Arturia asked.

“An act of faith. We must relinquish something that represents our hearts. If these offerings are worthy, the star will shine again.”

They exchanged looks, each lost in personal reflection on what they would sacrifice.

Mash was the first to step forward, a hesitant smile on her face. She placed her shield upon the altar, the symbol of her promise to protect others.

“I offer my determination and my faith in my friends.”

Arturia smiled at her gesture. Mash was truly an admirable and promising individual.

Arturia then approached the altar, struggling with the weight of her decision. With great reluctance, she placed Excalibur upon the altar. The blade gleamed with a golden light as it touched the crystalline surface.

“I offer my sovereignty and my duty, so this light may continue to illuminate others.”

 With a heavy heart, she stepped back, making way for Mordred, who wore a reluctant expression.

“This kind of sentimental stuff isn’t my thing…” Mordred muttered. But she eventually removed her helm, the symbol of her defiance against her own destiny.

“I offer my pride—or at least part of it.”

Gilgamesh approached next, his ever-present smirk on his face. From his treasury, he summoned a golden chalice.

“The Holy Grail should suffice as an offering, regardless of its meaning.”

Yet his gaze betrayed a sincerity he chose not to voice aloud.

Finally, Rasputin stepped forward, placing an ancient candle upon the altar and lighting it with a simple gesture.

“I offer hope, even in darkness.”

As the offerings came together, the star began to emit a faint glow, its light growing steadily brighter. The travelers’ gifts intertwined with an ethereal radiance, creating a beam of light that connected each object, each person, and the heavens above.

“It’s beautiful,” Mash whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.

The members of the group felt an unexpected warmth, as if their hearts were beating in unison. Even Mordred, usually reluctant to show her emotions, seemed moved, though she clumsily tried to hide it.

Arturia smiled with a certain sadness, yet the beauty of their gesture deeply moved her as she observed the brilliance of the star.

As the beam reached its maximum intensity, it opened a luminous path leading even higher, toward the very light of the star.

 "Let’s see where this takes us," declared Rasputin, his voice unusually serene.

All, filled with a mix of awe and respect, followed him on this starry path.

The luminous beam guided them to a final plateau, so high that the clouds stretched below like a sea of cotton. At the center of this celestial summit, the light of the star shone with a soothing intensity, enveloping the group in a welcome warmth despite the biting cold.

They stood before an immense tree—a crystalline pine of breathtaking beauty. Its branches seemed made of shimmering glass, adorned with natural lights dancing like fireflies. At its top, the radiant star pulsed gently, emitting a subtle and mesmerizing melody, like a forgotten song.

This vision was both a gift and a blessing—a symbol of a bright and promising future. The aurora borealis glowed even brighter, shooting stars streaking across the sky as their happiest memories resurfaced.

When the light finally dimmed, the star spoke, its voice soft yet powerful:

"You have offered your hearts, and in return, I grant you what you have always sought: a fragment of peace, unity, and light to guide your way."

The group, with a profound sense of accomplishment, descended the mountain by a safer path, where Chaldea eagerly awaited their return, and where Christmas would finally take place.

—

Ritsuka woke up suddenly, sitting upright in bed, feeling slightly disturbed by the dream he had just experienced.

With the excitement of the approaching festivities and the general commotion, he had started having strange dreams, as if the dreams of all the Servants were merging with his own. His head hurt, and he felt overwhelmed by various emotions, giving him the impression of having a hangover.

Disheveled, perplexed, and lost, he looked at himself in the mirror, his expression disheveled and drained. A knock came at the door, and Mash entered with Fou perched on her shoulders.

"Senpai? Perfect, you're awake. Emperor Nero wants to talk to you about today’s performance..."

Ritsuka let out a loud sigh before muttering his agreement. Yet one question lingered in his mind: why had he dreamed of Rasputin?

A mystery among so many others :).

Chapter Text

Although Nero's performance was initially planned for December 24th, it was quickly decided that it would take place a day earlier. The reason? Nero’s overflowing ambition. According to her, a work of such magnitude should not be rushed between two festivities. It needed time to be fully appreciated.

Thus, on December 23rd, all of Chaldea’s residents headed to the simulation room. This space, better suited for recreating elaborate settings, perfectly met Nero’s extravagant demands for a “setting worthy of her imperial genius.” As usual, she had overdone it.

Excitement grew as everyone took their seats. Servants, Masters, and staff chatted animatedly, eager to discover what the emperor had prepared. This was not merely a simple show: it was a promise of grandeur, chaos, and a bit of unintentional improvisation, as only the Servants of Chaldea could deliver.

The simulation room, transformed into a temporary theater, immersed the audience in a magical atmosphere. The carefully crafted set evoked the splendor of winter and the comforting warmth of a hearth. Snow-covered fir trees lined the sides of the stage, decorated with twinkling garlands and ornaments that shimmered with an almost magical glow. At the center, a grand simulated fireplace crackled gently, while artificial snowflakes fell delicately, creating an enchanting ambiance.

The audience, consisting of Servants and staff members, took their places on neatly aligned chairs facing heavy red curtains trimmed with gold. The excitement was palpable, and a soft buzz of conversation filled the air.

Among them, Arturia took her seat alongside her knights. Though she maintained her usual composure, anticipation was evident on her face. Lancelot, sitting beside her, cast anxious glances toward the still-closed curtains.

“Is everything alright, Lancelot?” Arturia asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

Lancelot averted his gaze slightly, a shadow of unease crossing his expression.

“Yes,” he finally replied, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “It’s just that... Mash has the lead role.”

Arturia understood immediately. Galahad, the chivalrous spirit cohabiting in Mash’s body, was a source of pride for Lancelot, who had come to think of Mash as his own daughter. She placed a light hand on his shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile.

Their exchange was interrupted by a familiar figure. Gilgamesh, with his trademark nonchalance, seated himself uninvited next to Arturia, a satisfied smile lighting up his face.

"The King of Knights relegated to common seating," Gilgamesh remarked, his voice brimming with smugness. "Wouldn’t you prefer a box seat more befitting your rank?"

Arturia sighed at his provocation and replied calmly, "These seats are more than adequate to enjoy the performance."

Gilgamesh shrugged, his smile widening. "You truly lack ambition."

Their exchange was briefly interrupted by the jingling of bells, signaling that the performance was about to begin. The chatter in the room subsided as the curtains rustled slightly, ready to unveil the long-awaited masterpiece.

A solemn silence filled the hall as the lights gradually dimmed, leaving only a soft golden glow illuminating the central curtain. Suddenly, a festive burst of light flared from the spotlights, bathing the stage in brilliance. The curtains parted just enough to reveal Nero Claudius, majestic and resplendent in an outfit specially designed for the occasion.

Her costume, a dazzling adaptation of Roman imperial attire, sparkled with festive touches: golden embellishments, deep red accents, and a white fur-lined cape evoking the spirit of winter. A laurel crown adorned with red ribbons rested proudly atop her head, completing the bold blend of Roman elegance and Christmas cheer.

Nero stood tall, one hand on her hip and the other raised in a grand gesture to greet her audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” she declared in a clear, confident voice that filled the space with theatrical energy. “Today, you are the privileged witnesses of an unprecedented event—a performance of grandeur worthy of my imperial genius!”

Her voice carried a warmth that could not be ignored, and even the most skeptical found themselves smiling. Some quietly noted how often she repeated “imperial genius” in her speech.

“Every scene you are about to witness was crafted with divine perfection,” she continued. “You will laugh, you will cry, and most of all, you will marvel at the magnificence of this work celebrating Christmas as it should be!”

She paused dramatically, savoring the murmurs of awe that rippled through the audience.

“I would also like to thank everyone who contributed to this creation,” she added, raising her arms as if to bless her audience. “Whether you are Servants, members of Chaldea, or simple spectators, your presence elevates this masterpiece!”

She concluded her speech with a graceful bow before turning with elegance to exit the stage.

The curtains closed, leaving the audience in suspense. But not for long, as the orchestra of musician Servants began a mesmerizing prelude. A gentle crescendo announced the imminent opening of the performance.The spectators, captivated, had their eyes fixed on the stage, their excitement palpable at the thought of what was to come.

The orchestra of musician Servants, seated to the right of the stage, played an enchanting melody. Soft violins, a deep drum, and delicate chimes painted an atmosphere that was both mysterious and festive. The curtains slowly parted, revealing a set of unparalleled magnificence.

The stage depicted a snowy forest bathed in a bluish light that evoked a winter night. Artificial trees sparkled—one of them secretly Gareth—adorned with glowing garlands and ice crystals. At the center was a clearing dominated by a majestic star suspended above, casting a golden glow over the entire scene.

A deep and captivating voice-over echoed through the room: “There was once a night when Christmas, bearer of joy and hope, was threatened for the first time…”

As these words resonated, spotlights illuminated Mash Kyrielight, dressed in a simple yet noble costume—a white cape adorned with silver patterns. She stepped onto the stage hesitantly, her shining shield resting on her arm.

“I, guardian of Christmas, will not let this sacred day be defiled!” declared Mash, her voice trembling slightly but filled with sincere determination.

On the opposite side, another spotlight revealed Mordred, clad in black and red armor, accented with details resembling chains and flames. She embodied an agent of the Krampus, her imposing presence a stark contrast to Mash’s. Mordred raised her sword in a theatrical gesture and proclaimed: “Death to Christmas! These undeserving children don’t merit Father Christmas’s gifts. Christmas is a lie that must be destroyed!”

Mash stepped back slightly, startled by the intensity of the declaration. But she quickly regained her courage.

“No! Christmas represents hope and unity. I will protect it, no matter the cost!”

A tense silence followed this exchange, broken only by the simulated icy wind that howled across the stage. Mordred hesitated slightly, but quickly resumed her role with a scowl:

“How naïve you are, l-little sister. Out of my way!”

She pointed her weapon directly at Mash, a gesture that sent shivers through the audience.

Suddenly, a loud, crystalline laugh echoed from above. All eyes turned toward the suspended star, where Nero appeared, gracefully seated and dressed as Santa Claus. She wore a long red coat lined with white fur, and a crown of stars adorned her head.

“How foolish you are, my children!” she said, laughing heartily. “I, Santa Claus, declare that this quarrel shall be resolved through a challenge! Fight, and prove your vision of Christmas. If you are so certain of your convictions, show me who is worthy to decide the fate of this holiday!”

Her theatrical declaration was followed by a dramatic gesture: she waved her scepter grandly and disappeared in a shower of sparks.

Mash and Mordred exchanged defiant glances, each silently vowing not to lose. Without a word, they turned and left the stage in opposite directions, ready to gather allies for the coming battle.

The stage dimmed, and the audience, fully immersed in the story, eagerly anticipated the next chapter of this spectacular tale.

The lights gradually came up, revealing a warm and festive kitchen. A large wooden table was covered with trays of freshly baked cookies, steaming pots of milk, and colorful candies. Martha, playing the role of Mrs. Claus, busied herself with elegance and authority. Dressed in a red gown trimmed with white lace, she wore an apron decorated with golden snowflakes.

She carefully arranged cookies on a platter, speaking softly to herself,

“The elves will need strength to make it through the night... With this cold, they’ll need sugar and warmth.”

Suddenly, Nero entered the scene with a theatrical stride. She carried a backpack filled with gifts and wore her ever-confident smile.

“Here I am! I bring joy and the spirit of Christmas!” Nero declared, raising her arms proudly.

Martha froze, one hand on her hip, and shot Nero a stern look.

“You’re a fool, Claus,” she growled. “What are we going to do with all these gifts if Christmas doesn’t happen? Are you really going to let Krampus and your children ruin the holiday?”

“Come now, dear wife, don’t worry about such trivial things,” Nero replied with disarming confidence. “My children simply want a bit of attention. They’re playing Santa Claus versus Krampus, that’s all! They’re young and impulsive. Christmas is far from lost!”

Martha crossed her arms, exasperated, and gave Nero a piercing look

 “Claus, stop underestimating your brother. Krampus has never accepted that you, the younger sibling, took all the glory of Christmas! Do you realize the hatred he’s been harboring against you?”

She grabbed a stack of letters and threw them in front of Nero.

“Look at this. Read them. You should have paid attention to these a long time ago!”

Surprised, Nero sat down and began reading the letters aloud. They were filled with reproaches, threats, and bitterness. As she read through the missives, her expression shifted from lighthearted to deeply concerned.

“By Jupiter!” Nero exclaimed. “I’ve never read so much hatred! And he’s even manipulated our son to turn against me.”

Martha nodded, her hands on her hips, her expression grave.

“Now, listen to me carefully. Go support our daughter! She needs your help to save Christmas. In the meantime, I’ll take care of comforting our son when he loses, because that’s the only acceptable outcome! Poor child…”

“Of course, madam!” Nero responded with a theatrical military salute before dashing offstage.

The audience laughed, charmed by the overly dramatic and clumsy interaction between the two characters.

Martha sighed, shaking her head.

“Sometimes, I wonder why I married him,” she muttered before returning to her cookies.

The curtain fell briefly to signal a scene change, as the audience applauded, amused by this outrageously comedic couple dynamic.

The curtain rose again, revealing a magical snowy landscape. Snow-covered fir trees sparkled under a silvery light, while a winding path meandered through an icy clearing. Mash, wrapped in a white cape and carrying her shield, walked cautiously through the snow, accompanied by Fou.

“I don’t know if we’re going to find her, Fou... The Fairy Godmother rarely shows herself,” Mash murmured, her shoulders slightly hunched under the weight of uncertainty.

“Fou! Fou!” her companion replied, hopping around her.

Mash raised her eyes to the sky, letting out a soft sigh.

“Yes, I know... But where should we look?”

Just as she was about to continue, a spotlight illuminated a small cabin in the distance, nestled between two towering fir trees.

“Fou, look!” Mash exclaimed, pointing toward the light.

“Fou! Fou!” he replied enthusiastically, bounding toward the cabin.

Mash followed her companion, her steps sinking into the thick snow. Reaching the wooden door adorned with twinkling garlands, she knocked timidly.

A moment of silence passed before the door creaked open, revealing Merlin, draped in a purple cloak and wearing a sparkling headpiece that seemed like an improbable compromise between a legendary wizard and a fairy godmother.

Merlin looked utterly dejected, his shoulders slumped and his gaze weary.

“Hello, young girl,” he said in a monotone voice. “Welcome to my humble abode… What can I do for you, you who dares to disturb the great and only Fairy Godmother who shouldn’t even exist?”

The audience erupted in laughter, as Merlin leaned heavily into the role of weary exasperation.

“I… I’m sorry to bother you!” Mash began, hesitant. “But I’ve come seeking your advice… and your help. My brother has allied himself with the great Krampus, and I must defeat him to save Christmas.”

At the mention of Krampus, Merlin raised his eyebrows, feigning exaggerated concern.

“Krampus, you say? Oh dear… very serious!” he murmured, making theatrical gestures. “We must act quickly. Yes, quickly! Let us call upon the spirit of the star to grant you the strength you need!”

Merlin began gesticulating absurdly, spinning on the spot while waving his staff.

“Bibbidi, bobbidi, boo!” he cried, placing his staff on Mash’s head.

A shimmering dust enveloped Mash, illuminating the stage with a golden glow. The music swelled as a shining silver armor adorned with snowflake and star motifs appeared on her.

“There!” Merlin said, standing tall with his hands on his hips. “You have everything you need. But remember, at the twelfth stroke of midnight, it all vanishes. That’s the rule. Now, good night!”

Before Mash could respond, Merlin vanished in a flash of light, leaving Fou flailing and protesting loudly onstage.

“I… I think I’m ready,” Mash declared, looking at her armor with a mix of hesitation and wonder.

The audience cheered enthusiastically, some still laughing at Merlin’s antics. Mash exited the stage, her expression resolute, as the lights dimmed in preparation for the next scene.

The lights shifted, plunging the stage into a dark and icy atmosphere. Snow swirled around Mordred, who marched stiffly along a rugged path.

The music grew ominous, almost menacing, as the audience leaned forward, fully engrossed in the palpable tension.

Mordred’s expression betrayed visible irritation. She muttered under her breath, clenching her fists.

“Why does it have to be me? It could’ve been anyone… but no, it had to be me!” she grumbled, trudging forward.

At last, she stopped in front of a massive, dark cave, its entrance yawning like the jaws of a beast. The stage was shrouded in thick fog, and the low whistle of an eerie wind rose, sending a chill through the audience.

Mordred swallowed audibly, clearly uneasy. After a brief moment of hesitation, she planted herself firmly in front of the entrance and called out, her voice lacking confidence:

“O… uh… great Krampus, my uncle… I’ve come to request your aid in defeating my sister… the one protecting Christmas. Will you, um… lend me your strength to crush her… dear uncle?”

An oppressive silence followed her plea. The audience held their breath, their eyes fixed on the cave entrance. Mordred cleared her throat, sneaking a quick glance backstage, where Nero waved emphatically for her to continue.

“I said: WILL YOU LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH, DEAR UNCLE?!” she bellowed, her voice echoing throughout the theater.

The echo faded slowly, the tension climbing even higher. Finally, a low rumble emerged from the depths of the cave. Heavy footsteps reverberated, shaking the stage beneath Mordred’s boots.

The audience sat on the edge of their seats, eyes locked on the impending reveal. A massive, shadowy figure stretched across the walls of the cave. Mordred, despite her usual bravado, looked genuinely unnerved.

“Huh?” she murmured, taking a step back.

The rumble grew into a monstrous roar, and the creature finally emerged: a towering, beastly colossus covered in shaggy black fur, with twisted horns that scraped the top of the stage. Its glowing red eyes gleamed with malevolent intent as it scanned the scene with a piercing glare.

“That’s… that’s a real monster?!” Mordred exclaimed, panic evident in her voice.

The beast unleashed an ear-splitting roar and lunged forward as if to attack. Mordred screamed in return, leaping off the stage in a spectacularly dramatic dive.

“THAT WASN’T IN THE SCRIPT!” she yelled, sprinting offstage at full speed.

The audience burst into laughter and applause, the blend of terror and comedy keeping them completely entertained. Meanwhile, the Krampus stood center stage, looming menacingly as the lights dimmed to set the mood for the next scene.

The creature charged, causing instant chaos among the spectators. Arturia immediately stood up, her hand on her invisible sword, while Gilgamesh, true to himself, remained seated with an amused smile on his lips.

“A living beast,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “The emperor of roses has exceeded all my expectations this time.”

Nero burst onto the stage, raising her arms to try to calm the situation.

“What is it? It’s just a detail! Nothing serious, nothing serious,” she announced with theatrical exaggeration.

Ritsuka, visibly panicked, ran toward her.

“Nero! Why is there a real monster in your show?!”

Nero shrugged, as if the answer was obvious.

“Well, no one was capable of playing Krampus, so I decided to bring in a real specimen! It’s authentic, isn’t it?”

The spectators were either shocked or on the verge of hysterical laughter at her nonchalance.

The situation quickly took a chaotic turn as the Servants present regrouped to subdue the beast. After a brief but intense fight, the monster was defeated to the cheers and sighs of relief from the audience.

Arturia, still stoic, crossed her arms as she looked at the destroyed stage.

“There are limits to authenticity,” she sighed.

Gilgamesh, still seated, burst out laughing, while Enkidu seemed fascinated by the audacity of the performance.

“A show that will go down in history,” declared Gilgamesh.

Nero, despite the furious looks from the others, seemed delighted by how things had turned out, until she was politely but firmly escorted out of the hall by the staff.

The curtain briefly fell to allow the technicians to reorganize the stage, leaving the spectators still processing the unexpectedly intense moment.

As the curtain had briefly closed, leaving the hall in an atmosphere still charged with electricity after the battle against the monster, it was suddenly pulled open again, revealing the stage in a state of total devastation.

Pieces of broken set littered the floor: toppled artificial trees, torn garlands, and paper snowflakes still floating in the air. Silence settled over the audience for a moment, interrupted only by the sound of footsteps as Shakespeare slowly stepped forward amidst the chaos.

With a book in hand, he seemed both calm and eloquent. He raised an arm theatrically, drawing the attention of all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, noble spectators! Fear not, for all is still possible,” he declared in an enchanting voice. “Even in the heart of disaster, the story can be saved.”

The spotlights focused on him, and his commanding presence seemed to bring a semblance of calm back to the hall.

“We have seen tragedies, comedies, and battles worthy of the greatest epics! But there is still one chapter to write! Let the magic of theater come to life once more!”

He made a dramatic gesture toward the wings, and Mordred timidly appeared, still shaken by the previous incident. She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, arms crossed.

“I signed up to play a role in a play, not to be chased by a monster,” she muttered.

Shakespeare, unperturbed, gave her a kind smile.

“My dear Mordred, your courage and presence are indispensable! The story has not yet reached its peak. Let us resume the narrative, together.”

Mordred, still a little reluctant, finally nodded. She joined the center of the stage where Mash, Merlin, Martha, and other actors also appeared, taking positions around Shakespeare.

With elegance, Shakespeare began to narrate the next part of the story, using his pen and voice as if orchestrating a ballet. The actors began to mime the scenes he described.

“And thus,” continued Shakespeare, “the sister and the brother met once more, their hearts heavy with the battle to come.”

Mash, dressed in her shining enchanted armor, entered from one side of the stage, her gaze determined. Mordred, looking fierce but slightly troubled, entered from the other side. They faced each other at the center of the stage.

“The wind howled around them,” continued Shakespeare, “their souls torn between duty and familial love. And yet, neither of them gave way to adversity!”

The two actresses simulated an intense fight, exchanging choreographed blows under Shakespeare’s instructions, their performance supported by dramatic music.

“But as the battle reached its climax, a blinding light illuminated the stage!”

The spotlights suddenly changed, bathing the stage in a golden light. A spotlight suddenly illuminated Arturia, seated in the audience. A little surprised, Shakespeare gestured for her to join him, and like the others, he described what she was to do, embodying the new Santa Claus.

“Let this madness cease!” declared Shakespeare, imitating Arturia. “Christmas cannot survive if the family tears itself apart!”

Mash and Mordred froze, clearly moved by his words. Martha appeared to ease the tension, placing a comforting hand on Mordred’s shoulder.

“Now that you have proven your worth through battle, it is time to celebrate Christmas together, as a united family,” continued Shakespeare. “I hope this lesson has taught you.”

Mordred lowered her head, seeming to struggle with an inner conflict. Mash smiled and approached her brother to embrace him.

The audience, touched by this scene of reconciliation, clapped gently.

As Shakespeare’s narration reached its conclusion, a final melody echoed, filled with serenity.

“And so, Christmas was saved,” concluded Shakespeare with a smile. “A new star shone in the sky that night, a witness to the peace restored.”

The curtains slowly closed on this peaceful ending, and the audience applauded fervently, almost forgetting the chaos that had preceded.

When the curtain fell for good, a thunderous applause filled the simulation hall. Despite the incidents and forced improvisation, the audience seemed to have enjoyed the unique experience this performance had offered them. Some were still laughing about the panic caused by the “real” Krampus, while others commented on Shakespeare’s eccentric performance.

Arturia, silently, watched the spectators rise, some exchanging knowing smiles. She herself smiled, relieved to see that, despite the trials, everything had ended well.

As she headed toward the exit, she overheard a conversation that caught her attention.

“If I had known, I would have volunteered to play Mrs Claus,” said Gilgamesh, seated nearby, arms crossed with a satisfied look. “Even if her role was minor, it was of the utmost importance.”

Enkidu, standing beside him, burst into laughter.

“Oh? Because Arturia ended up playing Santa Claus? What irony!”

Arturia, hearing this, rolled her eyes with an amused smile but chose not to intervene. She left the hall, her thoughts wandering between the wild events of the evening and the satisfaction of seeing Chaldea’s festivities continue to bring everyone together, despite their differences.

In the hall, Nero, still cheerful despite the chaos she had caused, found herself confronted by an unhappy organizing committee.

Ritsuka, arms crossed, stared at her.

“Nero, how could you think bringing a real creature from a singularity was a good idea?”

Unfazed, Nero replied with her usual enthusiasm:

“A emperor never settles for mediocrity! And what’s more imperial than bringing unmatched authenticity to my work?”

Mash, who had just arrived, still in her sparkling costume, sighed as she saw Nero defend herself with unshakable pride.

“Maybe a… slightly more modest approach would be a good idea next time,” she suggested timidly.

Nero crossed her arms, thinking for a moment, before responding with a radiant smile:

“Modest? Never! But… perhaps I’ll consider your advice for next year.”

General laughter and lively voices filled the end of the evening. Everyone left the hall with unique memories and anecdotes they would tell for a long time.

Thus, December 23rd ended, in an atmosphere of unity and joy, where the spirit of Christmas had finally triumphed, even in the chaos orchestrated by the imperial Nero.

Chapter Text

In Arturia’s room, the atmosphere was both peaceful and filled with anticipation. Medea was bustling around the sovereign, adjusting the final details of the dress. Her skilled fingers glided over the fabric with almost artistic precision, her lips curling into a satisfied smile with each successful adjustment.

The dress, brilliantly white, was adorned with delicate lace that gracefully flowed along Arturia’s shoulders and bare arms. Despite its solemn appearance, the dress had a festive charm, partly due to Arturia’s subtle but firm requests to make it more suited to the occasion and less reminiscent of a wedding gown.

However, she couldn’t help but notice certain liberties taken by the mage. The bold openings along the sides revealed more skin than she was comfortable with. Yet, she said nothing. It was too late for last-minute changes, and the sparkling excitement in Medea’s eyes made any protest seem futile.

"There, perfect," Medea finally declared, stepping back to admire her work. "Majestic as always. What do you think?"

Arturia glanced down at herself, assessing the outfit with a hint of resignation, but she couldn’t help a faint smile.

"It’s... very beautiful." She deliberately left out any mention of the details that made her uneasy, preferring not to dampen Medea’s enthusiasm.

"Of course it is," the mage replied with a glimmer in her eyes. "Now, go dazzle all of Chaldea."

After Medea’s departure to assist other Servants in their preparations, Arturia left her room to join the evening festivities in the grand hall. There stood the enormous Christmas tree, the winter masterpiece, whose luminous garlands and shimmering ornaments captivated every gaze. Beneath its majestic branches, the space had been transformed to host the ball.

Tables and chairs were arranged with care, a glowing dance floor awaited its first steps, a grand buffet overflowed with delicious dishes, and a stage for musicians completed the scene. A few last-minute decorative adjustments added an extra festive touch, enhancing the warm and grandiose atmosphere of the evening.

At the entrance, Mash, dressed in an elegant mauve gown that accentuated her natural gentleness, greeted Arturia with a sincere smile. Her eyes lit up as she saw her mentor in her attire.

"You look stunning, Lady Arturia," she said, a note of admiration in her voice.

Arturia responded simply, a slight smile on her lips. "Thank you, Mash."

The hall, still sparsely populated, already featured some notable figures. Gilgamesh, unsurprisingly, stood at the center of attention. Clad in a luxurious golden suit accented with a leopard-print motif, his hair styled down, he shone under the lights of the hall. His commanding charisma left no doubt: he had taken it upon himself to act as master of ceremonies, ensuring all eyes were on him.

Enkidu, far more reserved, stood nearby, nibbling on some treats with an almost childlike serenity. However, Arturia's arrival did not go unnoticed. Her dress, crafted with such care, immediately drew the attention of the few guests present.

Gilgamesh, naturally, was among the first to notice her. He approached her, a satisfied smile lighting up his face.

"Splendid. I expected nothing less from my companion," he declared confidently.

Arturia raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard. "Your companion? Since when did you decide that?"

"Just now," he replied with disarming nonchalance, his smile unwavering.

Arturia sighed lightly, an expression caught between amusement and resignation. She turned away, preferring to join Enkidu and the buffet, her true refuge at such events. However, before she could walk away, Gilgamesh gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Stay with me tonight," he requested, his voice soft yet tinged with that natural authority that defined him.

Arturia hesitated for a moment, then replied with an enigmatic smile. "I’ll think about it."

With that, she continued on her way, approaching the buffet where Enkidu, ever composed, greeted her with a tranquil smile and handed her a plate already prepared.

Arturia looked at the plate, slightly surprised. The dishes were carefully chosen, consisting only of her preferences.

She glanced up at him, intrigued.

"You seem to know my tastes well," she remarked with an amused smile.

Enkidu responded with disarming calm. "After all this time in Chaldea, it’s only natural. We share the same home, and I enjoy noticing the details that make everyone happy."

Touched by his response, Arturia took the plate with a sincere smile. "Thank you."

They made their way to a nearby table, Enkidu adding in his usual calm tone, "The evening is likely to get lively. Best to enjoy the peace while it lasts."

Arturia nodded, taking a bite. "You’re right. But I’m not worried. Gilgamesh seems to have everything under control."

Enkidu gave a faint, amused smile. “Indeed. My king is always flawless when he can be the center of attention.”

These words echoed in Arturia’s mind. She thought back to Gilgamesh’s earlier request. It hadn’t been a command, far from it. His tone, though confident, had been surprisingly gentle, almost an invitation. Perhaps she really should consider responding favorably. For now, however, she chose to leave that decision in suspense.

-

As she finished her plate, more guests began to arrive. The hall gradually grew livelier, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Arturia, however, was quickly surrounded by her knights.

Lancelot, Gawain, Tristan, and Bedivere approached her, each wearing a sincere and admiring smile.

“Your Majesty,” Gawain said with a warm touch of respect, “you are radiant tonight. This dress suits you perfectly.”

Lancelot, more reserved, gave a gentle nod. “I couldn’t have imagined an outfit that better highlights your grace.”

Tristan, with his usual melancholy, added in a poetic tone, “The moonlight on snow pales in comparison to your brilliance tonight.”

Bedivere simply offered a heartfelt smile and said, “It is an honor to see you like this.”

Arturia blushed slightly under this wave of compliments. She thanked them with modesty, but their presence only increased the attention she was already drawing in the hall. She was quickly becoming the center of admiring gazes, not just from her knights.

Arturia placed a hand on her cheek, visibly flustered by her knights’ praise. “Stop it; you’re making me blush. You all look very handsome in your suits as well.”

Before any of the knights could respond, a familiar voice rang out.

“Careful, gentlemen, you won’t be the only ones catching the attention of the ladies tonight.”

Mordred stepped forward, wearing an outfit Medea had tailored for her. Her posture, though slightly stiff, betrayed a sense of pride. The bold cut and modern details seemed perfectly suited to her character.

Gawain burst into laughter. “Is that a challenge, Mordred?”

“Maybe,” she replied, crossing her arms with a mischievous smile.

A playful exchange of banter followed, further lightening the atmosphere. The knights and Mordred competed with humor and good-natured jabs, creating a small bubble of camaraderie within the rapidly enlivening celebration.

But soon, the hall grew crowded enough for the group to naturally disperse. That was when Ozymandias made his appearance, drawn to Arturia’s light like a moth to a flame.

“Lady of the sword,” he declared with an exaggerated bow, “if only your skin were a bit darker and your hair black, I wouldn’t hesitate to make you queen of my harem.”

Arturia blinked, unsure how to respond. Fortunately, Iskandar barged in before she could find a reply.

“Ozy, hold your tongue!” he boomed with a laugh that shook the room, slinging a robust arm around the pharaoh’s shoulders. A half-empty goblet of wine swung in his free hand. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable? Come, have a drink instead!”

With a mix of irritation and amusement, Ozymandias was dragged away, freeing Arturia. She let out a sigh of relief, though her reprieve was short-lived.

“Your Majesty,” a soft feminine voice interjected. Marie Antoinette, radiant in her gown adorned with pastel frills and ribbons, approached with a smile.

“I see you’re drawing much attention tonight, but allow me to rescue you. Come along!”

With a motherly gentleness, Marie took Arturia’s hand and led her toward a group of female Servants.

Around an elegantly decorated table, the conversations were lively. Jeanne d’Arc stood there, her black dress accentuating her calm yet attentive gaze. Scáthach, in a striking violet ensemble, exuded quiet authority. Medb, on the other hand, dazzled with her boldness, almost overshadowing Euryale, Parvati, Sima Yi, and Europa, all resplendent in their unique styles.

The discussions were light, filled with compliments on their outfits and amusing exchanges about recent events at Chaldea. It was a rare moment when war and battles felt so distant.

However, the tranquility was briefly interrupted by the arrival of young Alexander. He entered the scene like a conqueror, head held high and eyes sparkling with confidence.

“Ladies!” he proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “You’re so beautiful that I’ve decided to conquer you all tonight!”
The group burst into laughter, finding the young king’s boldness as endearing as it was amusing.

But before he could go any further with his declaration, Zhuge Liang appeared behind him, looking both tired and resolute.

“Come now, Alexander, leave these ladies alone. Help me keep an eye on Iskandar before he tips over the entire buffet.”

Amid the young king’s light protests, Zhuge Liang led him away from the group, allowing the female Servants to resume their conversations with amused smiles.

However, the general attention was suddenly drawn away from the chatter when Gilgamesh made his way to the stage, his regal presence instantly commanding every gaze. As the official host of the party, it was only natural for him to take the floor and formally open the evening.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, with some Servants exchanging knowing smiles and teasing remarks about how he always managed to find a way to put himself in the spotlight. Yet Arturia, standing at some distance, did not share this mocking mood. She watched Gilgamesh ascend the stage with a certain sympathy.

The King of Heroes, so often arrogant and aloof, was here revealing a more approachable, almost... joyful side. It wasn’t unpleasant—not at all what she had imagined from him when they had first met.

Gilgamesh tapped on a golden microphone (of course) to gather everyone’s attention, and his clear voice rang out through the grand hall.

“Silence, mongrels,” he began with a sly smile. “Your king addresses you.”

Stifled laughter rippled through the guests.

“Behold this banquet, these splendid decorations, this divine ambiance! All of it is the work of my grandeur and vision!” he declared, spreading his arms wide, his tone dripping with theatrics.

He paused dramatically, savoring the attention he received. Naturally, he omitted mentioning the considerable help he’d had from others in organizing the event. Arturia crossed her arms, rolling her eyes with an amused smile. You don’t change the King of Heroes in a single evening, she thought.

But she couldn’t blame him. His natural presence and charisma were integral to who he was, and tonight, they contributed to making the celebration unforgettable.

“You, my dear subjects, guests, and rivals, are gathered here tonight under the light of my magnificence,” Gilgamesh continued, his smile widening. “But I am magnanimous. Tonight, rejoice! Set aside your conflicts, your duties, and your burdens. Tonight, we celebrate! The glory of Chaldea and its heroes!”

A thunderous round of applause followed his speech, accompanied by bursts of laughter and enthusiastic cheers.

"Now," he concluded with calculated elegance, "let the festivities begin!"
With a theatrical gesture, he signaled to the musicians, who immediately began playing a cheerful melody. The lights in the hall seemed to soften, adding a warm and magical touch to the atmosphere.

Arturia, observing from her place, nodded gently, a discreet smile stretching across her lips. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him tonight, but for once, he had surpassed her expectations. Even if his bravado remains unchanged, she thought with amusement.

The party was in full swing, and already, some guests were heading to the dance floor or the buffet, while conversations grew lively once again. The evening promised to be memorable.

Since Arturia had already sampled the buffet, she didn’t return immediately, though she had made it her mission to try every dish. She wandered among the Servants and staff, who were letting themselves be swept up in the celebration. Some had even started dancing, like Mordred, who had bravely invited Fran, and the two of them danced with adorable awkwardness.

Before Arturia could head elsewhere, a small hand grasped hers.

She turned to see young Gil smiling brightly up at her.

“Yes? How can I help you, young king?”

Gil blushed a little but gave her a bow, holding out his hand.

“Lady Arturia, would you grant me this dance?”

Arturia, though slightly surprised by the request, couldn’t help but smile at young Gil’s enthusiasm. He reminded her of a simpler time, when royalty wasn’t merely a heavy burden of responsibilities but also a source of precious moments like this one.

She gave a slight bow, placing a hand over her heart in a gesture of respect while keeping her tone light:

“It would be an honor, young king. Show me your skills.”

Gil’s eyes sparkled with a childlike satisfaction as he led Arturia to the dance floor. The difference in their height made the scene endearing: Arturia, graceful and elegant in her white gown, and young Gil, as proud as a true king in his perfectly tailored modern attire.

The music played a light and joyful tune, perfect for a simple dance. Arturia knelt slightly so their hands were at the right height, and Gil, with an almost comical seriousness for his age, tried to lead the dance.

The guests occasionally paused to watch them. Mordred and Fran, still on the dance floor, stopped their awkward movements to observe. Even Gilgamesh, from the stage, smirked as he watched his younger self effortlessly claim Arturia’s attention.

“You’re doing well,” Arturia said softly, following his steps with infinite patience.

Gil lifted his head, visibly proud. “Of course! I am the king, after all!”

Arturia let out a light laugh. “And a very good dancer.”

They twirled gently on the floor, Gil focused but clearly delighted, while Arturia savored this rare moment of levity. Applause broke out as the dance came to an end, and Gil, though slightly breathless, bowed with an elegance that would have done any sovereign proud.

Arturia, smiling, bowed in return, offering Gil genuine respect for his effort.

“Thank you, Arturia. That was fun,” he said with an almost shy look before flashing her a radiant smile.

She placed a fond hand on his head, ruffling his hair lightly. “The pleasure was mine. Keep shining, little king.”

As Gil returned to join his admirers in the crowd, Arturia lingered for a moment on the dance floor, savoring this pause in the whirlwind of the evening. But she didn’t have long to reflect, as familiar faces were already approaching her, clearly ready to request the next dance.

Just as Arturia politely declined an invitation, Enkidu appeared with his characteristic gentleness, slipping gracefully among the would-be suitors to extend a hand with a playful smile.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice filled with disarming warmth.

Grateful for the reprieve, Arturia accepted without hesitation, placing her hand in his. The simplicity of Enkidu’s presence offered her a welcome escape from the delicate situation. They stepped onto the dance floor, and after only a few movements, Arturia couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Enkidu, though elegant, danced with a deliberately playful flair. He added a few exaggeratedly awkward moves to make her smile, and it worked wonderfully. The tension of the evening seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of rare lightness for Arturia.

But soon, Enkidu broke their joyful camaraderie with a remark, spoken in a deliberately nonchalant tone:

“You know, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

Intrigued, Arturia followed his gaze. There, near a table adorned with a pitcher of wine, stood Gilgamesh. His posture was relaxed, almost overly self-assured, but his gaze was fixed on her with a disconcerting intensity. He held a cup in one hand but seemed to have forgotten to drink.

Arturia quickly averted her eyes, acutely aware of the warmth rising in her cheeks.

“He never lacks audacity, as always,” she murmured, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Enkidu chuckled softly, continuing their turns on the dance floor with subtle grace. “Audacious, yes, but also patient. The more distant you are, the more fascinated he becomes.”

Arturia furrowed her brow slightly. “That’s not very wise, Enkidu. Gilgamesh is not a reasonable man. Giving him hope... it would be irresponsible of me.”

She lowered her gaze briefly, her thoughts drifting to their past interactions. The King of Heroes, with his legendary arrogance, had never crossed the line here in Chaldea. He had learned to adapt, to make compromises. Perhaps he had even changed.

Sensing her hesitation, Enkidu responded with a soothing sincerity,

“He knows how to discern boundaries, Arturia. He may be persistent, but he’s far from oblivious.”

These words only deepened Arturia’s reflection. Was she hesitant on principle? Or out of fear of what it might mean for her? A subtler question emerged: did she truly want to refuse?

“Just be yourself,” Enkidu added with a gentle smile. “That’s your greatest strength. Besides, he wouldn’t be Gilgamesh without a touch of persistence.”

Arturia couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head lightly. “You’re incorrigible too.”

The dance continued for a few moments longer until Enkidu paused. He looked at her with kindness, as if offering one last bit of encouragement, before gracefully stepping away.

Troubled, Arturia barely had time to gather her thoughts before a low voice, laden with that unshakable confidence, sounded behind her.

“Arturia.”

She turned to find herself face-to-face with Gilgamesh. He was closer than she had expected. His crimson eyes blazed with an almost magnetic intensity, but there was no arrogance or dominance in his expression.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he extended a hand toward her.

“Dance with me. My way.”

It wasn’t a demand. But it wasn’t an order either. It was an invitation. An invitation that Arturia knew she could refuse but didn’t truly want to ignore.

She stared at the outstretched hand, then lifted her eyes to Gilgamesh. What she saw in his gaze reminded her that she was far more than just a trophy to him tonight.

After a brief pause, she sighed softly and placed her hand in his.

“Very well, but don’t think this gives you any kind of advantage.”

A victorious yet sincere smile spread across the King of Heroes’ lips. “As if I needed an advantage.”

And with that, they stepped onto the dance floor, instantly capturing the attention of the entire hall.

Gilgamesh led the dance with disarming mastery, his movements imbued with a natural elegance. Every step, every gesture created a subtle yet undeniable connection with Arturia. At moments, a faint sensuality wove into the choreography, but never to the point of impropriety. Far from being offended, Arturia found herself unexpectedly enjoying this exchange, almost as much as Gilgamesh, whose satisfied smile betrayed the pleasure he derived from the moment.

The entire hall seemed to freeze, enraptured by the spectacle. Conversations faded, laughter died down, and the dance floor became theirs alone. In this respectful silence, the impromptu King and Queen of the evening moved with a harmony that even Arturia found surprising.

When the music ended, Arturia suddenly became aware that all eyes were on them. A wave of self-consciousness swept over her as her gaze darted across the room. She blushed slightly at the amused smiles and applause from the guests. Gilgamesh, on the other hand, basked in the collective admiration. His demeanor radiated a pride that bordered on arrogance, as if he had perfectly orchestrated this moment to ensure he remained the center of attention.

Fortunately, the focus shifted when a familiar voice rang out from the stage. Nero Claudius, radiant in a dazzling red gown, strode onto the platform with spirited confidence, instantly taking command of the atmosphere. With her exuberant charm and natural charisma, she announced that she would offer an imperial performance to liven up the evening, eliciting laughter and applause from the crowd.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Gilgamesh moved closer to Arturia, his actions imbued with an almost unexpected tenderness. He lightly touched her arm to draw her attention before leading her away from the crowd.

“Come, you must be thirsty after such a memorable dance,” he said with a sly smile, his fiery gaze never leaving hers.

He guided her to the buffet, where he handed her a glass of wine. Arturia, intrigued by this gesture, followed without a word, her mind still slightly unsettled by their dance.

Gilgamesh finally broke the silence. “So, my dear Arturia… will I at last receive an answer to my request?”

His voice was calm, but a glint of challenge sparkled in his eyes. He brought his glass to his lips, waiting with regal patience for her to speak.

Arturia took a deep breath, turning her attention to the glass she held. She studied the amber hues of the wine for a moment, as if seeking answers within its depths. The evening had taken a turn she hadn’t anticipated, and yet, she couldn’t deny that part of her had been touched by the sincerity she had sensed in Gilgamesh’s actions.

After a moment of thought, she raised her eyes to meet his. “Very well. I’ll spend this evening in your company. Consider it… my Christmas gift to you.”

A triumphant smile lit up Gilgamesh’s face, his satisfaction palpable. He set his glass on the buffet and straightened, his demeanor almost theatrical.

“Then I promise you, Arturia, that you will not regret this decision. I shall show you the pleasures of royal company.”

Arturia raised an eyebrow, her gaze both amused and firm. She crossed her arms, responding with a calm, biting tone:

“Slow down, Gilgamesh. We are far from being married, so get your head out of the clouds.”

Gilgamesh laughed, a rich, vibrant sound that matched his personality perfectly. He waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing off her remark with ease.

“Oh, don’t worry, Arturia. Every great union begins with a single step. Consider this an evening where I’ll prove to you that no one could suit you better than I.”

Arturia shook her head slightly, unable to suppress her amusement. She lifted her glass to her lips, silently promising herself not to give in too easily to his provocations.

And yet, as she stole a quick glance at Gilgamesh, she found herself thinking that, for once, he might just be right.

The evening carried on at a leisurely pace, and though the festivities were still in full swing, Arturia relished this moment of reprieve. Gilgamesh seemed to take great pleasure in monopolizing her company, slipping his arm around hers with no hint of subtlety, openly declaring that she was his companion for the night. While Arturia found the gesture a bit bold, she said nothing. She had given her word, after all.

The various entertainments of the evening unfolded around them, creating a cheerful and festive atmosphere. Conversations buzzed among the Servants and guests, and despite her initial reservations, Arturia found herself genuinely enjoying the night. At one point, she shared a few drinks with Iskandar, the King of Conquerors. Their conversation, serious at first, quickly devolved into good-natured banter.

"Your kingdom may be grandiose in legends, Arturia, but honestly, you didn’t even leave behind an empire," Iskandar joked with a hearty laugh.

Arturia narrowed her eyes, a faint, amused smile tugging at her lips. "And you, Iskandar? True, you left your mark on history, but how many of your conquests truly endured? Perhaps what remains of you is an inspiration for the ambitious, but my legacy, though legendary, transcends mere power."

They both laughed, reluctantly acknowledging each other’s merits. This lighthearted exchange was a refreshing contrast to their usual conversations, often tinged with rivalry and solemn respect.

After this banter, Gilgamesh, ever observant, noted the growing fatigue in Arturia. With his natural confidence, he led her away from the noise, declaring that a little quiet would do them good.

They left the main hall and entered a simulation room transformed into an enchanting setting. The magic of the place was striking upon entry: trees glittered under a thin layer of frost, and snowflakes gently fell in the soft light. The cobblestone path meandered through this wintry landscape, offering spectacular views at every turn. The air felt cooler, reminiscent of calm and peaceful winter nights.

Arturia took in the scene with keen eyes. Part of her wondered if it had all been tailored for this very occasion. Gilgamesh, with his flair for the dramatic, was more than capable of orchestrating such a romantic atmosphere.

They passed several pairs of Servants also enjoying the space, speaking softly or admiring the icy wonders. Arturia felt an unusual warmth rise to her cheeks as she noted the intimacy radiating from these scenes. She lowered her gaze slightly, acutely aware of the nature of this moment with Gilgamesh.

The King of Heroes led her to a small clearing where a frozen pond stretched out before them. Magnificent ice sculptures adorned the area, depicting various animals captured in lifelike poses: a majestic stag, a family of swans, and even a mischievous fox. Each detail was intricately crafted, reflecting the light in an almost magical way.

Arturia stopped, crossing her arms as she observed the scenery with a mix of suspicion and admiration. "You’re not going to tell me this is all just a coincidence, are you, Gilgamesh?"

He responded with an enigmatic smile, his golden eyes gleaming with a familiar intensity. "Does it really matter, Arturia? The moment is perfect, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy it."

She turned her gaze slightly away, feeling her heart beat faster. She knew this conversation was steering toward an inevitable direction—an impasse where she would have to confront her own feelings, or at the very least, the decision he was waiting for.

Gilgamesh stepped forward, positioning himself right next to her. He observed the sculptures in silence for a moment before turning his gaze to her.

Gilgamesh faced Arturia, a mysterious smile lingering on his lips, and broke the silence surrounding them. “Tell me, Arturia, do you recall that infamous Secret Santa organized by the little mongrel? It was only a few days ago, if I’m not mistaken.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the unexpected question. “Of course I remember. Why?”

His smile widened, and with an elegant gesture, he summoned the Gate of Babylon. In a burst of gold and light, two objects descended gently before them, landing in Gilgamesh’s hand with surprising delicacy.

Arturia leaned in slightly to get a better look. They were two bracelets, perfectly identical, adorned with intricate engravings and glowing with a soft, almost ethereal light. They appeared ancient, yet their flawless craftsmanship suggested an artistry far beyond any known era.

“These are bracelets of illusion,” Gilgamesh explained, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. “The wearers can manipulate others’ perceptions. They could render us invisible or make others believe we’re occupied with far more mundane activities than what we’re truly doing. And that’s not all...”

He paused for a moment, observing Arturia’s reaction. She watched him closely, both attentive and wary.

“These bracelets also affect the memories of those who wear them, if they so desire. Once activated, you could choose to forget everything you do while wearing them.”

Arturia remained silent, analyzing Gilgamesh’s words while studying the bracelets. They were breathtakingly beautiful, yet their power was terrifying. She lifted her eyes to meet his, searching for any hint of malice or deceit. But she found nothing beyond his usual, almost arrogant confidence.

With a sigh, she straightened up and crossed her arms, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Admit it—you got this as a gift for yourself, didn’t you, Gilgamesh?”

He laughed, a rich and warm sound. “Of course. But isn’t that the very essence of a perfect gift?”

She picked up one of the bracelets, holding it between her fingers for a moment, her gaze hesitant. Finally, she looked back at him, a glint of defiance shining in her eyes. “Fine. I’ll accept... but on one condition.”

“And what would that be?” he asked, intrigued.

She slowly slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, adjusting its position with care. “That you, too, forget everything that’s about to happen. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

Gilgamesh’s smile grew wider, clearly amused by her demand. He took the other bracelet and slipped it on without hesitation. “I accept. But I warn you, Arturia, even if I lose my memory, moments like these have a way of leaving a mark on the soul.”

She rolled her eyes, though an amused smile escaped her. Before she could respond, a golden light shimmered from the Gate of Babylon. A sprig of mistletoe descended gently, suspended by a fine chain of solid gold, stopping just above their heads.

Arturia looked up at the mistletoe, then back at Gilgamesh, a mix of exasperation and resignation crossing her face. “Of course… it had to start like this,” she muttered.

Gilgamesh crossed his arms, his triumphant smile lighting up his face. “An essential tradition, even for a king.”

Arturia sighed, but a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “Alright, consider this my Christmas gift to you, Gilgamesh. But don’t get used to it.”

She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his chest to steady herself. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but she bravely lifted her face toward his. Gilgamesh, visibly delighted, placed a hand on her cheek with surprising gentleness, slowly inclining his head to close the distance between them.

Under the silvery glow of the artificial moonlight and stars illuminating the enchanting scene, their lips met in a kiss that was delicate yet filled with intensity. The moment seemed frozen in time, as though the magical landscape around them had been created solely for this very scene.

Their breaths mingled briefly before they pulled apart softly. Arturia averted her gaze, hiding her flustered expression behind a stoic mask. Gilgamesh, on the other hand, seemed utterly satisfied, as though he had just claimed a crucial victory.

“Merry Christmas, Arturia,” he murmured, his tone almost tender.

She looked back at him, her gaze sharp. “Merry Christmas, Gilgamesh. But don’t forget… none of this must remain in our memories.”

A mysterious smile lit up his face. “We shall see, my dear Arturia. We shall see.”

And beneath the enchanted snowfall, the bracelets of illusion activated at last, wrapping their world in a veil of forgetfulness… or perhaps not.

They shared another kiss, this time unbothered by the thought of anyone catching them, as though they were the only two people in the world savoring this moment.

But perhaps she should have been more cautious, when the sensation of their lips touching remained until the next morning and an arm embraced her naked body in an incredibly comfortable, silk-covered bed, without remembering how she'd gotten there. She was torn between regret and satisfaction at a night that had seemed but a dream.

"Merry Christmas," Gilgamesh whispered sensuously in her ear, accompanied by a gentle embrace.