Fate/Thorns of Glory

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"The King of Thorns, they called him. A devil turned human, they said. A ruler with a villainess's beauty and a tyrant's pride. They said he died gloriously. But stories lie. And so do worlds."

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It began like all anomalies do—with a distortion too small to notice, a crack in a map long forgotten.

"Akrytos?" Da Vinci blinked, looking at the map projection on the monitor. "That city doesn't exist."

"But it should," Holmes replied, adjusting his gloves with a frown. "Or rather—it once did. In fragmented myths, children's stories, and war songs from over two thousand years ago. A place supposedly ruled by a devil-king."

"A king who become human," Sion added. "Leonas. The so-called King of Thorns."

Mash tilted her head. "He's… a fairy tale, right? The villain who became a hero? The one who wore white and walked barefoot into death?"

"A historical figure swallowed by legend," Holmes said, his voice grim. "But here's the problem—someone just Rayshifted into his city."

Everyone stared at the screen. On the monitor, Eretria Minor bloomed like a jewel carved into the earth. Vibrant greenery, white buildings, statues gleaming in sunlight. A paradise untouched by time.

"A phantom Singularity," Da Vinci murmured. "These are rare. Not anchored to any known history or timeline."

"A city from stories… a king from legends…" Gordolf muttered. "This has Beast-class threat written all over it!"

Holmes narrowed his eyes. "Not necessarily. But I suspect someone—or something—is rewriting history into fiction. Turning suffering into songs. Devouring facts to sculpt a more 'pleasant' reality."

"And if that's true," Sion said, folding her arms, "then whatever's behind this Singularity has hijacked not just the past, but the meaning of it."

Ritsuka watched the peaceful city spin slowly on the holomap. It shimmered like a memory. Or a trap.

"Should we go?" they asked.

Holmes hesitated for the briefest second. Then nodded.

"If we're to find out what's real," he said, "we must walk into the lie."

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Somewhere deep within the phantom city, beneath the statue of a smiling king, something shifted. Not the marble. Not the ground.

But the memory of a man who should have died long ago.

And who did not.

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