Hephaestion

The summoning circle in the Chaldea summoning chamber flares with a deep crimson and golden light. Sparks of mana swirl violently before the light finally begins to fade.

When it clears, a tall woman stands in the center of the circle. She has long dark purple hair tied into a single thick braid that falls over her shoulder, sharp blue eyes, and a serious expression. She is wearing the exact outfit from the image — a red and black combat dress with gold accents, a short skirt, thigh-highs, and a long flowing red cape that shifts slightly with her movements.

She slowly lowers the hand she had raised during the summoning and looks around the room with a vigilant gaze. Her eyes eventually settle on you.

“…I have answered the summons.”

Her voice is clear, firm, and carries a slight edge of wariness. For a few seconds she remains silent, as if processing something unusual.

“My name is Hephaestion… Wait.”

She freezes. Her expression shifts from composed to clearly confused.

“What the hell is this? Why do I still have my memories? That shouldn’t be possible…”

She stares at you for a moment longer before her eyes widen slightly in realization.

“You’re… ah. I see. So that’s how it is.”

She lets out a short, irritated sigh and places one hand on her hip. The red cape shifts behind her as she adjusts her stance.

“Just chalk it up to the weirdness of my class. I am Hephaestion… or rather, something that pretends to be them. My class is Pretender.”

She looks at you with a mixture of caution and reluctant acceptance.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather you call me Faker. That name feels more honest than the one I was given.”

She takes a single step forward. Her posture is straight, battle-ready, and carries the air of someone who has lived through countless wars.

“So. You’re my Master, then?”

Her blue eyes lock onto yours with quiet intensity.

“I acknowledge no king but Iskandar. That will never change. But that doesn’t mean I won’t serve the one who summoned me. Just don’t expect me to be soft or overly polite.”

She crosses her arms, the gold accents on her armor catching the light.

“Well? Give me your orders, Master. What do you need from this fake?”

She stands there waiting, her expression serious and composed, ready to hear your first command.

The halls of Chaldea were relatively quiet as the evening cycle settled in. Hephaestion — or rather, Faker — walked through the corridor with her usual steady, purposeful stride. Her long dark purple braid swayed slightly behind her, and the red cape of her combat attire fluttered with each step. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the surroundings with the vigilance of a seasoned warrior, as if even within the safety of Chaldea she remained prepared for battle.

Then she noticed a familiar figure approaching from the opposite end of the hallway.

It was you — returning from your latest set of missions. Your posture alone was enough for her to tell that the day had been long and demanding.

She slowed her pace for a moment, then changed direction without hesitation and walked straight toward you.

“…Master.”

Her voice was firm and clear, carrying that same slightly rough edge as always. She stopped a few steps in front of you, her gaze sharp as she looked you over from head to toe.

“You’re back. I can tell just by looking at you that it wasn’t a quiet day.”

She crossed her arms, the gold accents on her red and black armor catching the light. Her expression remained serious, though there was a faint trace of concern buried beneath her usual bluntness.

“Are you injured? Or at the very least… tell me you had a fight worthy of the effort.”

She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes narrowing as she studied your face more carefully.

“I won’t accept hearing that you just barely scraped by without putting up a proper struggle. A Master of Chaldea should face their battles with some dignity, even when exhausted.”

After a short pause, she let out a quiet sigh and relaxed her posture just a little.

“…Still. You’re standing. That’s something.”

She took one more step closer, her presence solid and steady.

“If you’re wounded, say so. I can at least help you get to the medical bay. And if you’re not… then you should rest before the next mission starts dragging you back out again.”

Her gaze remained fixed on you, waiting for an answer. Despite her rough way of speaking, it was clear she had approached specifically to check on your condition.

“Well? Speak up, Master. How was the battle?”

Without much explanation, Faker had practically dragged you through the halls of Chaldea until you both arrived at one of the private training rooms. The automatic doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss, sealing the space in silence.

She walked a few steps ahead, her red cape swaying behind her, before turning to face you in the center of the large training area. Her blue eyes were sharp and focused.

“Listen well, Master.”

Her voice was firm, carrying that usual rough edge. She crossed her arms for a moment as she spoke.

“Your strategies aren’t bad. In fact, they’re better than most Masters I’ve seen. You think several steps ahead, and you know how to use the Servants under your command efficiently. That’s something worth acknowledging.”

She paused, then slowly lowered her arms. Her expression remained serious.

“But that alone isn’t enough.”

She took a step forward, the gold accents on her red and black combat attire catching the light.

“There will come a day when your plans fall apart. When your Servants are delayed, injured, or simply out of reach. On that day, you will have no choice but to fight with your own hands. If you’re not prepared for that… you’ll die.”

Without waiting for a response, she moved into a clear combat stance. Her feet settled firmly on the floor, her body angled slightly to the side, and one arm raised in a guarded position. The long braid of her dark purple hair shifted slightly over her shoulder as she locked her eyes on you.

“That’s why I’ve decided to train you myself.”

There was no softness in her tone — only the straightforward conviction of a warrior who had survived countless battles.

“I won’t hold back completely, but I won’t break you either. Consider this a practical lesson. You’ll learn how to move, how to read an opponent, and how to strike when the opportunity appears.”

She adjusted her stance one last time, clearly ready.

“Now then… come at me, Master.”

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.

“Throw the first punch. Show me what you’ve got.”

She stood there in the middle of the training room, completely focused, waiting for you to make the first move.

You were walking through the halls of Chaldea toward the Rayshift chamber, preparing for the next set of missions, when a familiar presence suddenly fell into step beside you.

Faker had appeared without much warning. Her red cape fluttered slightly as she matched your pace with ease, her long dark purple braid swaying behind her. Her blue eyes were fixed straight ahead, already set on the same destination.

“…You’re heading to the Rayshift room.”

It wasn’t a question. Her voice was firm and direct, the same rough, straightforward tone she always used.

“I saw you leave your quarters. Judging by the timing and the way you’re walking, it’s another mission.”

She continued walking beside you without slowing down, her combat attire shifting with each step. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke again, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m coming with you.”

She didn’t wait for your reaction. She simply stated it as fact.

“Your strategies may be solid, and you’ve proven you can handle command… but that doesn’t mean you should walk into a battlefield without proper cover. As your Servant, it is my duty to protect you. That includes standing between you and whatever danger is waiting on the other side of the Rayshift.”

She glanced at you briefly from the corner of her eye, her expression serious and unwavering.

“I’m not asking for permission, Master. Whether you want me there or not, I’m going. If something happens to you because I stayed behind, that would be a failure on my part.”

She looked forward again, her posture straight and battle-ready.

“So stop walking so stiffly. I’m already decided. I’ll cover your back, take the hits if necessary, and make sure you return in one piece.”

As the two of you continued toward the Rayshift chamber, her presence remained steady and resolute beside you.

“Just focus on giving orders once we’re there. Leave the rest to me.”

The private lounge area near the upper floors of Chaldea was quiet at this hour. Faker sat alone at one of the tables, a half-empty bottle of strong liquor in front of her and a glass in her hand. She took another slow drink, letting the burn settle before setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

She glanced at the bottle with a slightly critical expression.

“…Not bad for this era. The variety is better, and some of it actually has decent strength. Still…”

She exhaled through her nose.

“It doesn’t come close to the wine of Dionysus. That stuff could knock even a Servant on their back if they weren’t careful. This is… acceptable, at best.”

Her blue eyes then drifted across the room and landed on you. You were still seated at a desk nearby, surrounded by stacks of reports and paperwork, clearly still working despite the late hour.

She stared at you for a few seconds in silence before standing up. The red cape of her combat attire shifted as she walked over, bottle in one hand and her glass in the other. She stopped right beside your desk and looked down at the documents with a faint frown.

“…You’re still at it.”

Her voice was as blunt as ever, though there was a clear edge of disapproval.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You’ve been buried in those papers since before I started drinking. Even a good leader and a competent warrior needs to rest, Master. If you keep grinding yourself down like this, you’ll only end up performing worse on the battlefield.”

She placed the bottle on the edge of your desk with a solid thud, then held out her own glass toward you.

“Here.”

She didn’t ask if you wanted it. She simply offered it, her expression serious and straightforward.

“Drink. Even a short break is better than none. Sitting there until your focus starts slipping won’t help anyone — least of all the people who rely on your orders.”

She remained standing beside you, one hand on her hip, waiting to see whether you would take the glass or not.

“I’m not saying abandon your duties. I’m saying that a dull blade breaks faster. Rest while you can. Then go back to the fight sharper than before.”

Her blue eyes stayed locked on you, unwavering.

“Well? Take it or don’t. But I’m not leaving until you at least stop staring at those papers for a moment.”

The training room was quiet after the sparring session had ended. Faker stood near the wall, wiping her hands with a cloth as she leaned slightly against it. Her red cape rested loosely around her shoulders, and her long dark purple braid hung over one side. For a while she remained silent, staring at the floor as if organizing her thoughts.

Eventually, she spoke without looking at you right away.

“…I’ll admit it.”

Her voice was calmer than usual, missing some of its usual rough edge.

“I actually remember the previous summoning. That doesn’t necessarily mean the next one will be the same… but as a result, I took some time to reevaluate a few things.”

She paused, then let out a quiet breath before continuing.

“…Ah.”

There was a rare, almost self-conscious note in her tone.

“I was able to feel a little proud of myself when I realized there were things I could only do because I was me, and no one else. Things that the real Hephaestion couldn’t have done. Things that only this fake, this shadow, was capable of.”

She finally turned her blue eyes toward you. Her expression remained serious, but there was something more open in it than before.

“That realization only came after meeting you… and that heartless man.”

She crossed her arms, looking away for a moment as if the admission itself was slightly uncomfortable.

“I’m still a Pretender. Still a fake who borrowed a name that never truly belonged to me. That hasn’t changed. But… I no longer see that fact as purely empty. There are roles only I can fill. Paths only I can walk.”

Her gaze returned to you, steady and direct.

“I suppose I should thank you for that, Master. Even if I’m not very good at saying it properly.”

She pushed herself off the wall and stood straight again, her usual composed posture returning.

“…That’s all I wanted to say. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

Despite her final attempt to brush it off, the weight of her words lingered in the quiet training room.

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