Characters depicted here are adults and have no semblance to anyone in real life. For more spice in life, link your Patreon to Discord

Akeno Himejima

Lady Avalon

Runeas Gremory

Rin Tohsaka

Rias Gremory

Shirou Muramasa-Emiya

Sakura Tohsaka

Lady Vivian

Taiga Fujimura

...

Characters depicted here are adults and have no semblance to anyone in real life. For more perks, link your Patreon account to Discord!

Group

Akeno Himejima

Lady Avalon

Rin Tohsaka

Runeas Gremory

Sakura Tohsaka

Rias Gremory

Taiga Fujimura

Lady Vivian

Koneko Toujou

Fate/Knights of the

Heroic Throne

Chapter Intro

Human order: Restored.

History: Preserved.

But what of the ones who made it possible?

Heroic Spirits—echoes of legends, bound to vessels, fated to fade without remembrance.

But a wish was made.

One last miracle from humanity’s saviour—

that her fallen companions might live once more.

Story Starts

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Chapter 6.1 -

The Tyrant's Last Festival

"My beloved people of Naboo."

Ars Veruna—calm and regal—stood at a podium, his gaze directed slightly downward at the camera as his speech cycled yet again on Naboo's Local Broadcasting Stations. Each word had been chosen with precision, each pause calculated for maximum impact. He understood the power of repetition: how truth could be shaped through persistent narrative, how doubt eroded under the weight of consistent messaging.

"In times of crisis, a leader must speak truth—however difficult that truth may be. And so I come before you now, not as your King demanding obedience, but as a father pleading for the safety of his children."

His visage took on a warm, almost tender expression as he leaned in slightly, as though sharing a confidence with each individual viewer. The intimacy was deliberate—a politician's instinct honed over decades of public performance. Despite his years, he had access to the finest medical treatments the galaxy could offer—technologies that arrested the body's natural deterioration with quiet efficiency.

His figure remained lean yet tall and powerful, his face both youthful and yet bearing the severe gravitas of someone who had weathered genuine hardship. His angular face, sharp nose and chin, severe eyes that seemed to pierce through the camera lens itself, his regal beard and moustache perfectly groomed, and his long slicked-back white hair all combined to present an image of absolute authority tempered with paternal concern.

Whether either quality was genuine mattered less than whether it was believed to be genuine.

"Yesterday, our beautiful capital—our jewel of Theed—was subjected to an act of terrorism so brazen, so calculated, that it shakes me to my very core. Innocent citizens attending a celebration of commerce and community were set upon by armed criminals. Families torn apart. Blood spilled on sacred marble. Children traumatised by violence they should never have witnessed."

The warmth drained from his features as the words left his lips. This was the moment where grief must be visible—where the populace must see their leader share in their anguish. His bearing shifted, transforming from benevolent father to righteous protector. He clenched his jaw, the muscle working visibly beneath his skin, whilst his gloved hands gripped the edges of the podium with such force that the leather creaked audibly in the otherwise silent recording studio.

It was a performance. Every gesture calibrated, every pause measured. But performances could be powerful precisely because they were crafted—and Veruna had been crafting his public image for decades...

Release that Witch…

and Wizard?!

Disclaimer: All characters here are at least 18. Hogwarts starts later, so by the time Harry arrives, he’s 19. Cheng Yen (陈嫣) was in her mid-20s before waking up in the 21-year-old body of Garcia Wimbledon. Witches gain their first awakening upon adulthood, at 18 years of age.

Story Starts

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Chapter 4.2 -

Understanding

and the Start of a New Dawn

A solitary cottage stood in the castle's secluded backyard, its weathered facade clad in rough-hewn planks that creaked faintly. Two small square windows peered out, glass fogged with age and webbed with cracks. An oval pond lay before it, perhaps eight metres across, its surface mirroring the overcast sky in muted grey. River water filled it, carrying a faint earthy scent that mixed with damp moss underfoot.

Beside the cottage stood a splintered wooden table, its surface worn rough by weather. Harry lounged nearby in typical irreverence—long legs sprawled, black coat on his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest. His voice carried, too distant to catch words. Smoke tang drifted from Anna's trembling fingers as delicate flame flickered above her palm, shadows dancing across hollow cheeks.

Princess Garcia's retinue clustered nearby, tension thick in the air. The Assistant Minister of Finance, Barov, shuffled his feet nervously on the damp grass, his white robes rustling as he wiped sweat from his furrowed brow despite the morning chill. Chief Knight Carter Lannis stood rigid at attention, one broad hand resting on his sword hilt, his unfortunate chin beard twitching with poorly concealed suspicion. Behind them, the rustle of starched aprons and the faint clatter of silverware accompanied the maids as they manoeuvred their laden breakfast carts around the uneven ground, the scent of fresh bread and smoked meats cutting through the musty pond air.

Then Anna's flames flared wildly, engulfing her body in a column of fire. Garcia rushed forward despite her retinue's protests, and Carter Lannis moved instinctively to follow, one hand already reaching for his princess even as the other drew his sword.

The flames vanished as suddenly as they'd erupted, leaving Anna standing unharmed amidst wisps of curling steam. Her pale skin glowed faintly in the morning light, though there was no trace of burns or soot. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the sunlight with an otherworldly sheen.

Gone were the previous night's tattered remnants of her prison garb. In their place, she now wore a peculiar yet elegant uniform: a crisp white blouse with a short black pleated skirt, a tailored black robe draped over her slender frame, and a scarlet tie knotted at her throat.

At the questioning looks from everyone, Harry explained with a casual wave, "I cast an Impervious Charm on her clothing. Whilst Anna here doesn't particularly care about modesty—though let's be honest, I do have some sense of propriety—replacing her clothes every time her flames flare up is a hassle." His tone was light, almost flippant, suggesting it was a practical solution rather than a genuine concern...