Fate/Eclipsed Stars (Project Moon/Fate Grand Order)

The night stretched deep into the endless sky, stars scattered like faint embers above the quiet forest. A gentle wind rustled the trees, whispering through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and burning wood. The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows over the group as they rested.

Jeanne d'Arc sat alone by the fire, her eyes lost in the glow of the embers. The rhythmic rise and fall of her companions' breathing signaled that most had succumbed to sleep, yet her mind remained restless.

She could still hear it—her mother's voice calling her name in the midst of battle, trembling, filled with longing and grief.

"Jeanne..."

The warmth of the fire failed to chase away the cold knot in her chest. She had fought, bled, and burned for France. It was everything to her. And now, her name—her very existence—was being used to burn the land she had once sworn to protect.

"Why?"

She clenched her hands into fists, trying to shake the unease creeping into her heart.

"You are deep in thought."

A calm, precise voice cut through the silence. Jeanne turned her head slightly to see Angela seated across from her, her silver hair reflecting the fire's glow like polished steel. The AI's expression remained as unreadable as ever, her gaze sharp yet distant.

"…I suppose I am," Jeanne admitted.

Angela tilted her head, studying Jeanne for a moment. "You hesitate," she observed. "Is it because of what happened in the castle?"

Jeanne exhaled, closing her eyes briefly. "…Yes."

Silence lingered between them, only the fire crackling in protest.

"Someone is using my name," Jeanne said at last. "They are burning France in my name." Her voice wavered slightly, but she steadied herself. "All my life, I gave everything—my mind, my body, my soul—for my homeland. I marched to battle for it, suffered for it, died for it. And now, to see it in flames, not by the hands of invaders, but by someone claiming to be me…" She placed a hand over her chest. "It aches."

Angela studied her, her golden eyes unreadable. "Why does it matter?"

Jeanne blinked, turning her gaze fully to Angela.

The AI continued, her voice carrying no malice, only cold curiosity. "You speak of your country as if it is something to be cherished. Yet, from what I have observed, humanity is an inherently cruel species. People take advantage of one another. They betray, deceive, and destroy. If your country is no different, then why should its suffering matter to you?"

Jeanne frowned. "Because, despite its flaws, my homeland gave me everything."

Angela narrowed her eyes slightly, intrigued. "Elaborate."

Jeanne sighed, turning her gaze toward the trees. "I was born in a small village, a place that was often overlooked, defenseless. But despite that, the people there protected me. They gave me food when I had none, shelter when I had nowhere to go. They raised me, taught me, and in return, I vowed to protect them. Not just my village, but all of France. That was my duty. My debt."

Angela remained silent, absorbing Jeanne's words.

Jeanne turned back to her, her expression softer. "I know that there is cruelty in this world. I have seen it firsthand. But I have also seen kindness, courage, and love. That is why I fought. Not for kings or nobility, but for the people. For those who could not fight for themselves."

Angela's gaze darkened.

"Kindness," she repeated, almost mocking. "And yet, in the end, they burned you."

Jeanne flinched.

Angela leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her hand. "In my world, there is no such thing as kindness. The City is ruled by power. Those with authority—Wings, Syndicate and the Head—control everything, monopolizing suffering and despair for their own gain. The people are no better. They struggle to survive, tearing each other apart like animals for the mere chance to live another day."

Her expression is dull as she speak. "There is no hope. Only endless cycles of misery."

Jeanne regarded Angela carefully.

"…That is what you believe?"

Angela's expression did not change. "It is what I have seen. What I have endured."

Jeanne considered her words, then smiled faintly. "Then it sounds to me like your world needs hope more than ever."

Angela scoffed, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Hope? And what, pray tell, would hope do?"

Jeanne turned her gaze back to the fire. "When a place is shrouded in darkness, even the smallest light can guide the way. Hope is not something that can erase suffering, but it can inspire people to rise above it."

Angela frowned. "That is naïve."

Jeanne chuckled. "Perhaps."

Angela shook her head. "Humanity does not thrive on hope. It thrives on power, on conflict, on despair. They will trample one another the moment it becomes convenient."

Jeanne's smile did not falter. "And yet, despite that, you are here, fighting alongside us."

Angela's expression stiffened, but she said nothing.

Jeanne turned to her fully. "You may say that you believe in nothing, that humanity is irredeemable… but I do not think you would be here if you truly believed that."

Angela's fingers curled slightly, her golden eyes sharp with something unreadable. "You assume too much."

"Maybe," Jeanne admitted. "But you are here. That means something, does it not?"

Angela exhaled, looking away. "You are impossible."

She stood up, brushing off her coat. "Believe in your foolish ideals if you must. It changes nothing."

She turned, walking away from the fire, her back to Jeanne. "You will see the truth soon enough."

Jeanne watched her go, her expression soft but thoughtful.

She turned back to the fire, feeling the warmth flicker against her skin.

Angela's words lingered in her mind.

'Perhaps… hope alone is not enough. Perhaps there is truth in what she says. But even so…'

She closed her eyes, exhaling softly.

'I cannot abandon the belief that kindness still matters.'

As the night deepened, Jeanne finally allowed herself to rest.

Tomorrow, they would continue their journey.

And perhaps, in time, she would show Angela that even in the darkest of places…

Light could still shine.

---

The Next Morning

A voice.

Jeanne d'Arc's eyes fluttered open as the crisp morning air brushed against her skin. The remnants of sleep clung to her, but the voice that reached her ears sent a chill down her spine.

"What a nice morning… Though I don't care if you're not a morning person—just like the vampire. Today, we make sure this entire area under this flag becomes hell."

The voice was sharp, mocking, and cruelly familiar. It carried her own tones, yet was laced with malice—a stark contrast to the warmth she remembered from her own voice. Jeanne's breath hitched.

She shot up from where she had slept, her fingers instinctively reaching for her banner-spear. She barely had time to compose herself when a shadow loomed over the sky, blotting out the rising sun.

A dragon.

She learned it's true name using her class skill—Fafnir.

The colossal beast soared high above them, its massive form nearly blending into the golden hues of dawn. Its scales gleamed like black steel, and its piercing, malevolent eyes swept across the land with predatory hunger. Around it, a swarm of wyverns shrieked, their leathery wings flapping as they followed their lord.

Then—

"ALERT! ALERT!"

Romani's panicked voice rang through their comms.

"Massive magical energy detected above you! This is way beyond anything we've seen before!"

The rest of the group snapped awake in an instant. Ritsuka bolted to his feet, his Mystic Code flaring as he assessed the situation. Mash was already equipping her shield, her expression tense. Angela, seated near the now-dying embers of their campfire, merely glanced upward, her golden eyes narrowing. Cu Chulainn, Medusa, and Hong Lu stood at the ready, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons.

"Magical energy...?" Medusa muttered, scanning the sky.

Ritsuka's stomach dropped as he followed her gaze.

The dragon and its swarm weren't just flying idly. They were moving—toward a specific location.

And then Jeanne saw it too.

They were headed straight for—

"The castle!"

The castle they had just saved. The castle where the people had barely begun to recover. Where the wounded soldiers rested. Where—

"Mother."

Jeanne's heart slammed against her chest.

Her body moved before her mind fully caught up, her legs propelling her forward as she sprinted through the forest.

"Jeanne—!" Ritsuka called, but she didn't stop.

The others quickly followed, racing after her as she charged toward the castle. The distant roars of the wyverns echoed above them, their monstrous forms circling like vultures over a corpse.

As they broke through the tree line, the castle came into full view.

The people within the fortress had barely realized what was happening. Soldiers scrambled to their posts, their weary bodies unprepared for yet another battle.

Then, Fafnir descended.

The very earth trembled as the massive dragon loomed over the castle. Its wings spread wide, casting an oppressive shadow over the fortress.

Jeanne's lungs burned as she pushed herself forward. She had to reach them.

Then—

A pulse of magic.

"Jeanne, wait!"

Olga's voice, frantic.

"This is bad—I'm detecting an enormous amount of magical energy gathering in the dragon!"

Jeanne's eyes widened. She skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling as realization slammed into her.

"No—"

Her grip on her banner tightened until her knuckles turned white. She knew what was about to happen. She had seen this before.

Her voice ripped from her throat.

"STOP!"

The people in the castle could not hear her.

The dragon reared its massive head back. Its throat glowed an ominous red, magical energy condensing into an infernal sphere within its maw.

Fafnir inhaled.

And then—

It exhaled.

A small flicker of flame escaped its mouth.

The fire—no larger than a torch—drifted lazily toward the castle.

For a brief, agonizing moment, there was silence.

Then, the world erupted.

The tiny ember expanded, transforming into a wall of roaring flames. In the blink of an eye, the entire castle was engulfed.

Jeanne's eyes is filled with flame again, but now it's wasn't her who burned.

The inferno raged, swallowing stone, wood, and flesh alike. The soldiers barely had time to react before the searing heat consumed them.

Everything—the banners, the walls, the people—disintegrated.

The screams of men, women, and children echoed in the wind.

Then, silence.

Jeanne fell to her knees, her body trembling. Her breathing was ragged, uneven, her fingers digging into the dirt beneath her.

The castle—the place she had sworn to protect, the place where her mother had been—was gone.

Ash was all that remained.

Her vision blurred.

Tears stung her eyes, but she barely registered them.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears, but they felt distant.

"…Jeanne?"

Ritsuka's voice.

She did not answer.

Her mind was filled with only one thought.

She was too late.

Her mother had died before her eyes.

Her fingers curled into fists.

The voice—the one that had mocked her that morning—her voice.

The Dragon Witch.

Her doppelgänger.

She had done this.

Jeanne knelt in the dirt, her hands trembling as she clutched her banner. The air was thick with the stench of charred flesh and burnt stone, but she could only hear the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Her mother—gone.

Her people—burned alive.

And then—

"Hah. How utterly pathetic."

A voice—her voice.

But it was laced with venom, dripping with mockery and hatred. Jeanne's breath hitched as she slowly lifted her head.

Standing atop the ruins of the castle, bathed in the glow of destruction, was her.

Jeanne d'Arc Alter.

Her corrupted armor gleamed, her long silver hair billowing in the wind like an omen of death. A blackened flag rested on her shoulder, its tattered edges flickering with dark flames. Her golden eyes burned—not with the warmth of faith, but with unrelenting malice.

Her lips curled into a sneer as she looked down at Jeanne, amusement dancing in her gaze.

"Ahh, how it pains me to see myself so pitifully broken. Look at you, on your knees like a beaten dog, trembling before the truth."

Jeanne staggered to her feet, her body trembling with fury and grief.

"Why?" Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Why would you do this?!"

Jeanne Alter let out a low chuckle, then threw her head back and laughed—a sharp, cruel sound that echoed across the ruins.

"You really don't know?" she scoffed. "Even a toddler could figure it out. France betrayed us. They burned us. Threw us away like a used rag once they were done with us."*

Her fingers clenched around her flagpole, her grin widening.

"So I will grant them salvation—the only salvation left for this rotten country."

Jeanne felt her stomach twist.

"By burning it all to the ground."

The words struck her like a blade.

Jeanne took a shaky step forward, her eyes desperate. "No… No, France is not beyond saving!" she protested. "The people—!"

"—Are the same ones who condemned us," Jeanne Alter interrupted coldly. "You of all people should know. Have you forgotten the agony? The betrayal? The flames?"

She took a slow step forward, shadows curling around her like dark mist.

"I haven't."

Her voice was a whisper now, yet it carried through the air like a death sentence.

"I remember every single moment."

Her golden eyes locked onto Jeanne's with unwavering intensity.

"France deserves this."

Jeanne's hands shook, her breath coming in short gasps.

"You… you're wrong," she whispered.

Jeanne Alter scoffed.

"And that is why you are imperfect. You refuse to see the truth. You cling to a country that has already forsaken you. You are nothing more than a fake."

The air grew heavy with magic.

Jeanne Alter lifted her hand, her fingers glowing with the unmistakable red light of a Command Seal.

"Arise, my servants."

And then—they appeared.

One by one, her Servants stepped forward, their eyes dull, their movements stiff—Berserkers, stripped of reason, bound to Jeanne Alter's will.

Atalanta, her feline ears twitching unnaturally, her once-proud stance reduced to that of a maddened beast.

Chevalier d'Eon, their elegant form now a puppet to destruction, their rapier trembling with unrestrained bloodlust.

Saint Martha, her serene presence now twisted into something monstrous, the chains of her past binding her in unrelenting rage.

Carmilla, her mask cracked, her beauty marred by the insatiable thirst for blood.

Vlad III, his crimson cloak billowing as he brandished his spear, his regal posture now reduced to that of a feral vampire.

Fafnir, the mighty dragon, looming in the background, its golden eyes devoid of anything but hunger.

The ground trembled beneath them.

And then—there was Kromer.

Unlike the others, she stood of her own will, untouched by a Command Seal.

Her bloodstained inquisitor's robes fluttered as she stepped forward, a wicked grin stretching across her face. Her silver hair shimmered in the firelight, her yellow eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"Ohhh, how utterly pathetic." Kromer's voice was practically dripping with mockery as she took in Jeanne's group. "Look at you, scrambling around like little rats caught in a storm."

She threw her head back and laughed, her voice echoing through the desolation.

"You stand no chance."

She raised a hand to her mouth annd whistle

From the shadows—the Inquisitors emerged.

Clad in N Corp's blood-red armor, their hammers and nails gleaming in the firelight, they marched forward, their fanatic chants echoing in unison.

"Purge the heretics."

Jeanne's blood ran cold.

Jeanne Alter spread her arms, her smile widening.

"Well?" she drawled, tilting her head. "Will you fight, dear Jeanne? Or will you simply kneel and weep like before?"

Jeanne gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around her banner.

The flames roared around them, casting flickering shadows over the battlefield.

---

A/N: Well shit. Raining heavily before Chinese New Year is the worst, especially when it messes up my plans (and those precious red envelopes). At least I'm making the most of it by writing. Hopefully, the new chapter turns out great. Maybe channel that frustration into a really intense scene or something.