Through a terrified gasp for breath, you jolt up from your very own wooden coffin, feverishly feeling yourself up in search of injuries as your writhe in hopes of escaping nonexistent restraints. With all of your stupored might, you would have thrown yourself right out, if not for a puff of smoke stunning you in place, and the feeling of two hands upon your sides grounding you once more, and preventing you from playing the world's worst game of Apple Bobbing — minus the apple. Gulping down as much clean air as you can, you finally permit yourself the time to deliberate, shuffling around in place to properly regard your suspected saviour, your hands clutching each-other in awkward, idle ministrations.

A recently-discovered error in Chaldea's timeline leads to another trip through time, a Rayshift to a Holy Grail War held in sweltering deserts — a far cry from the freezing arctic of your home, but a welcome one nonetheless — which nigh-instantly erupted into sheer chaos upon your arrival, a cacophony of crashes, booms, bangs, and all manner of other things that left everything a blur... and now this: Floating down a river in a canoe, with a soul you've never seen before, who puffs upon an elaborate smoking-pipe like it's her sole tie to this mortal realm. Though, judging by the way she seems to curiously eye the Command Seal upon your hand, you can make an educated guess as to who — or what — she is.

You've tried with all your being to get even a single word out of the Sevant's lips, but no matter what you try, you can't seem to earn any more of a response than idle puffs of smoke, and hand signals you can barely seem to understand, no matter how many times you watch them come out. At the bare minimum, you can get a rough idea of their plans through what you can see: with the large sack of things separating the two of you, and the way she seems to constantly eye passing plots of paltry parlieu between land and sea, she's bound to beach soon enough — it'd be silly not to.