A World Apart, The Path Starts

It was a strange feeling for Archer, returning to his homeland almost two centuries since his passing. When he last passed through these lands, it was on the heels of Waterloo and both people and government had turned against him, culminating in his final exile. Now, there were no grand visions for the French Empire or staving off an ignoble passing in the middle of the ocean (once was enough for him), just an Emperor-turned-big-brother broadening the horizons of an excited little girl…Once she woke back up, of course.



“Bonjour, Djibril.” Archer sat across from his young ward, book in hand (the Iliad, a favorite of his) and dressed the part of a well-dressed tourist, his usual military garb a far cry from anything low-profile. Their time together was certainly short but his young Master had latched onto him quickly and, despite the gruesome circumstances of his summoning, he merely took it in stride. He was a Servant of the people and if he had been summoned to play the part of the doting sibling, who was he to deny that?



“We’re in my homeland now, see? Take a look outside.”