Chapter 1 – Born in Fire

Illya, my daughter…what do you wish for from the bottom of your heart? Now that the war is over, what would you seek? I want to hear what you think, honestly and sincerely.

"Absolutely not, Rhaenys! You are a princess of the Targaryen family, and it is the height of folly for you to go unprotected."

Illya fumed at being denied her latest request. It's not like she was a child! Though she was in the body of one. Still though, she was a magus! Victor of a Holy Grail War! Technically last man standing…or would it be last girl?

She'd been tortured since she was a child by her past life's family to become the vessel for the Holy Grail. During the war, she had been the most feared master for her unparalleled control of Berserker. Any normal magus would have died from the continual prana cost required to keep him under control. Death had stalked every corner of her life, and it was "unsafe" for her to go somewhere unprotected? Papa and Mama have never let me leave the Red Keep.

"But Mama— "

"No. And if you keep this up, you will not be allowed to come with your father and I to Harrenhal for the tourney in a few weeks. Furthermore, Septa Annila has informed me you have been skipping your lessons. Perhaps you could explain to me where you have been?"

"Other children my age don't have to attend lessons yet! Besides, Ser Jaime told me I was already smarter than people four times my age."

"Other children of your age don't have a mind as sharp as you," proclaimed her Mama. Elia Martell crossed her arms and levelled a stern glare at her wayward daughter, evoking flashbacks of her previous mother in Illya's mind. "The good septa is of the opinion that you are the smartest child she has ever had the pleasure of instructing, while also quite possibly being the laziest. The former is excellent, the latter something which I have every intention of changing by the time you come of age. Now, the Septa is waiting in the usual room, and I expect you to make your way there immediately."

Illya grumbled to herself as she picked herself forwards, short legs on her three-year-old body toddling in front of the other, one foot at a time. Will I look more like Mama or Papa in this body when I'm older? Either would be fine with her. Mama had dark skin that exuded a sensual quality, contrasting with her delicate nature. Papa on the other hand had both white skin and hair of such an extreme shade that if one was in a dark room at night, he might be mistaken for a spirit.

Which kind of girl did Shirou like? Illya tried to think of the women in her brother's life to determine a working ideal. She still had her wishcraft ability, and now that she had time, she might be able to figure out how to alter her body as it grew, thanks to the absurd prana output her new body had.

Saber was very pretty, and she had almost-white blonde hair…on the other hand both Sakura & Rin had dark hair…But Sakura's hair was purple, and purple is exotic, just like white is exotic, so does that mean I should keep my white hair? If I keep my white hair, I'll also get to look like my first mama! Does that mean I should try to grow a body like mama #1 also?

That Sakura girl who always was following him around definitely had big breasts. But on the other hand…Saber & Rin didn't have any at all. Servant Rider did though…and she was the one who stole his virginity. Illya paused her walking to wonder if she should've gotten revenge on Rider. After all, the big sister has to guard her little brother's chastity!

Thoughts about her little brother made her morose, as she wondered how long it would be until she saw him again. I know he isn't born yet, but will he remember anything when he is. How much of his mind and soul was left by the end? What does that mean for what he will be like when he's reincarnated?

Screech screech.

Someone must have been working with metal nearby, probably one of the men-at-arms or the blacksmith? Perhaps they were maintaining a sword?.

Screech screech.

Illya shuddered and picked up her pace. She had to get away. Away from that sound. Away from that awful reminder of her last sight of Shirou.

Blood pouring from his eyes and ears, red so dark that it was almost indistinguishable from the mud of Angra Mainyu. His shirt and pants littered with gashes from prior battles with Saber and Berserker. But where there should have been open flesh or blood gushing from his wounds, there was instead what on first glance appeared to be a sort of armor. It was only on a closer look that it was obvious what was truly there. Blades. In his wounds and under his skin, blades were growing, grinding, skewering his body from within.

"My body is made of blades." She'd thought it was stupid when she first heard it. Who came up with such a stupid aria when fighting? The truth was far more horrifying.

"Shirou? Shirou?" She shook his body, repeating his name trying to elicit some reaction from him. "Please be alright!"

And then Shirou said his last words.

For Illya, it would've been better if he cursed her. If he'd just quietly died, or given her last words to pass on to Taiga, perhaps she would've been fine. Instead he'd smiled at her. A genuine smile full of joy, like the one she would give to Kiritsugu when playing with him before he left. A smile as if he had been the one who had been saved.

"You're…guahah…alright, Illya?" Blood welled through his mouth, the swords growing in his throat as they cut off his lungs. "I'm….uah….glad."

Emiya Shirou died. And Illyasviel von Einzbern was all alone.

Her father had abandoned her, her mother had died, and the Einzbern family had sent her to die. Her only family was the boy who she'd met two weeks ago. The boy she'd been convinced her father had abandoned her for. And the only person in the world who cared about her was now dead.

A terrible resolution filled her, as she looked at the glowing tendrils of the Grail. She still had a wish. She was hearing the Dress of Heaven. And so she wished…

"I…want to see my onii-chan again." She murmured softly to herself, as the shadows of the Red Keep seemed to softly twist-and-turn, stealing the light of a mid-summer's day, doubts disturbing her mind as she wondered about the future.

2 years later….

The sky was burning.

It was a night unlit by the moon, but the inferno provided all the light one could wish for and more.

Lyanna Stark screamed as she was bound by invisible chains, unable to move, and unable to stand. Only able to watch as the mud on which the fire burned raced through the city, laying low everything in it's path.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She sobbed. "I didn't know." But being sorry didn't change the fate of those she was apologizing to.

They had left messages with the Maesters for her father and Brandon. She had asked Petyr to send the message to her brother in case he came by Riverrun as a back-up. How come they had all thought she was kidnapped? She hadn't done anything wrong. But neither did the thousands who have died, a dark voice spoke in her mind.

The city was a monument to human ingenuity. Bran the Builder would have begged for lessons from its creators. The tallest buildings outstripped the wall in height, but far more intricate in design, with gleaming windows of glass and rivulets clearly designed for some unknown purpose.

But it did not matter before the fire, as all of it burned. Movement started at the top of each structure. Slowly. Ponderously. Enough that there might have been hope. Then bits and pieces broke off, catching fire as they fell almost like shooting stars, but far more malevolent in their end result

Then everything came crashing down. And a cacophony of voices, forming a chorus of the burning and damned, screaming, pleading to their gods.

Save me. Help me. I don't want to die! Their pleas asked for a savior or a hero, someone who could take their pain away.

A mother, trying to carry her two infant children to safety, holding them in her arms to prevent the flame from touching, laid low by a falling piece of debris. All three screamed as the flames devoured them. Was it mercy that the end was quick?

A boy, barely on the edge of manhood, helped his father at the barrier of the flames. They were running but not quite quick enough. The flames reached them, and they became torches, screaming even they as they continued to walk, holding on for the futile hope that if they kept moving, there might be a respite.

"It's not your fault," Rhaegar had said. His face had taken on the same expression he used when talking of Harrenhal. "No one could have expected my father to be mad enough to burn both your father and brother." But because you wanted your Silver Prince, they both burned.

Her father. Screaming as the fire burned him. Flesh charring, skin blackening, and the smell of cooked meat ripe for carrion and maggots. Looking at her, judging her, holding her responsible. Lyanna's apologies meant nothing to him, and before the flame took his eyes, she only saw condemnation in them.

Then it was her brother. His broad shoulders which used to carry her when she was a child only provided more fuel for the flames.

On and on it went. Rhaegar burned. Then it was sweet and sickly Elia. Her children little Rhaenys and baby Aegon. Bannermen of her father who had always laughed at her japes. And nameless strangers beyond the numbering.

All dead. All burned. All because of her.

"No more….please…no more…I can't do anything…I'm sorry….sorrysorrysorry sorrysorrysorry," she sobbed, choking on them in her throat, until one last sight struck her silent.

She saw him. He was a boy, no more than five or six namedays old. His hair was sun-kissed as the wildlings called it, with eyes of a strange, almost-golden colour. Marching forward, he continued on, with a one-sided determination to try and survive.

And despite his appearance, Lyanna knew who he was instantly.

Flames edged onto his body, but he continued to press on. His eyes, initially crying and full of fear, became empty and dull. As the screams began to silence, his steps, once stumbling and full of purpose, and abrupt and mechanical, like one of the automatons she'd seen made by a Maester.

Lyanna began to hope as the screams died out. Her son was still alive. He could still survive. His body was littered with burns, but he continued to press on. As the flames around him died out, he continued to walk on.

She didn't care how broken he was from what had happened, if he survived, then that was enough for her.

But like all her wishes since she'd left with Rhaegar, it was for naught.

Her baby fell like a puppet with its strings cut, wordlessly to the ground, not making a sound of pain or a cry of depair. He lied on the ground facing the sky, waiting to die.

"Why bother showing this to me!" She screamed. "I already know it's my fault, what do you expect of me!"

The flames which had died out suddenly flared up again. Stretching into the sky, a world made of blood and fire, built on the ashes of men. The flames raced towards her, covering and bathing her like a long-lost lover as she screamed in pain, with one last set of words engraved on her memory.

"Fire cannot harm a dragon. But for a dragon to be born, life must pay for death."

She fell into the darkness.

Tower of Joy – End of Rebellion

Eddard Stark looked at the child in his arms. My nephew, all that's left of Lyanna.

They'd found him in the fire, squalling in the burnt arms of his dead mother. Of the three men still alive, none of them knew why Lyanna had chosen to burn herself alive in her birthing bed.

Promise me, Ned. Promise me.

A promise made as he looked at her through the slits of the barred doorway, as her skin began to burn and blacken.

His hands stroked the child's face, dark hair and grey eyes. He was thankful for that, things would have been much more difficult if the child had taken more after Rhaegar.

Howland Reed sat in shock on the ground, while Arthur Dayne looked at Ned with an intent expression.

"Will you protect the king?" Ser Arthur asked.

"I see no king, only my natural son." Responded Ned. He kept his hand near the hilt of his sword and waited for a response.

A second passed, then a minute as all three men watched each other. Arthur nodded, dropped his hand, and said, "You are more capable than I in this regard. And I am too well-known. May I at least know his name?"

"His name will be Jon. Jon Snow. He will grow up with my own children as another brother, safe and protected with his mother's family."

Initiating Soul Transference Process – Emiya Shirou

Hypothesizing Concept of Origin

Origin: Sword – Successful Install

Aligning Element: Sword – Successful

Imitating Experience of Growth

Sympathizing with Emotional Feedback Model

ERROR! Warning: Invalid Personality Model. Multiple Reality Marbles detected, are you sure this is a human?

ERROR! Warning: Corrupt Data. Conflicting growth experiences. May cause stability errors when utilizing U*limite* Bl**e W**ks

Root Override accepted. Safety Protocols removed. Potential Errors in Transfer Process

Transfer Process Complete.

Draconic Heritage Found - Prana Reactor Activated.