[Suzerain of Sheol]

So. It will be here.

Avignon, for all its holy significance, seemed quaint, isolated by its ancient battlements from the wheelings of the world. Given its ties to the Church, Leila doubted most of the citizens here had even heard of the Mage's Association, let alone the Grail Wars. It certainly lacked in Zürich's metropolitan refinement, and the quarters were close. The College had arranged for her housing on the University grounds, procuring her an entire apartment as her base of operations on Le Roux Saint-Bernard, and on her trip over, the streets had been barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. The idea of fighting a vicious mage-war here seemed ludicrous. Her Tarterus Tetragrammata alone would devastate the pale, looming buildings flanking every path through the city. With seven Servants unleashed, Leila doubted the city would survive at all.

So be it, she thought as she began to unpack her belongings. In pursuit of the Akasha, we are as Gods to these hapless people. They will die for our sins.

She had brought little with her from her home in Zürich, having already ceded the remainder of her worldly possessions to Johannes. Their last evening together before her departure had been... fraught; as absorbed as she was in her endeavors, Leila could not in sound conscience have kept the truth from her husband. Even now, she was not sure he truly understood. He had not come to see her off, and she did not blame him. For all she truly cared for Johannes, even the purest love was but meaningless noise against the cosmic cogency of the Absolute. It must be abandoned with all her other mortal trammels, or wilt upon the carcass of her failures. Irrelevant.

The thought came to her unbidden, then, of her forgotten family. Perhaps they had deserved more from their daughter, a return on the investment of their marriage. Grandchildren who might have proved less of a dissappointment.

No matter.

Leila opened her phone to the few contacts she possessed, found their number. It would suffice as her final mortal gesture, not that she knew what she would tell them.

Ringing once. Twice. Four times. Nothing. Leila shrugged.

Releasing the tiniest parcel of her internal mana, the Kabbalist called forth her Tetra, wrapping the phone in hundreds of minuscule chains of fire, watching it disintegrate in her hand. A deep breath, and a deeper sigh. She cast aside the ashes.

That left only the gift from the College, wrapped in night-blue velvet. Leila closed the windows to her loft and turned on the archaic interior lights to examine the summoning focus. It was heavy in her hand, angular, and as she quickly discovered, bladed. The knife was old, pitted with deep rust from the filthy blood that had once coated it. It might very well shatter if she attempted to use it for any practical purpose. Nonetheless, it would call forth the Servant with whom she would win the Holy Grail.

Leila wrapped the artifact once more, setting it carefully on the loft's table. She would have to clear enough space to work the ritual, and time was drawing short for the arrival of Ruler which would signal the commencement of the War.

Is this the time for fear? she wondered. For the anticipation of victory? Reflection on all I am about to lose, no matter how this ends? Leila smiled to herself, a small and final indulgence before it all began. She set about to work, inscribing the summoning diagram.

I think not.