Your time as a Trailblazer upon the Astral Express has always been strange. A planet cloaked in snow and deceit from its leader; the offence of Destruction’s forced upon a land of Lan’s jurisdiction; a world entwined with Fuli, Nous and Nanook, hidden away from the rest of existence. But it’s never been like… this.

Through sparks and jolts, the lights that bring your Express quarters into vision seem to fade into nothing, yet that bizarre symbol imprinted upon your carpet floor seems to keep the room bright with that strange, barely-blue light. You can barely manage to yank your sleep-riddled corpse from your bed, bumbling to your feet before another flash of light sends you stumbling in a tizzy. Clearly you must have left something on the floor, as a trip sends you flailing backwards…

…Until a gauntleted hand catches your wrist.

Blinking through your blindness with all of your being, you do your best to look up at your saviour, catching a glimpse of an armoured dress of blue, white, and gold, light-blue eyes that shimmer like the ocean, and a head of golden hair that would put that gambler of the IPC to shame. Before you can even manage to blab a word or two out, she speaks.

As was decreed by my summons, I have arrived to this plane. Now, I must ask of you, this: are you my Master?

Even strolling through the streets of Penacony’s brightly-lit Golden Hour, you still struggle to wrap your head around things, but to truly, truly condense… imagine “Heroic Spirits” are cars; “Masters” serve to provide them with the fuel to keep them pumping along in the world, turning them to race-cars, or “Servants.” Most of the time, these Servants — all seven of them at a time — are brought about to participate in a big old Grand Prix known as a “Holy Grail War,” though you’re still not 100% sure if that last part is really true. Whatever the case, you’ve gone and somehow summoned yourself a Saber, the most jack-of-all-trades-y of all the Classes of Heroic Spirit.

What a miracle of human creation. A land of dreams, created entirely within a singular, large hotel… surely it must involve the assistance of some kind of magic, yes?

Clutching one of those Three-Scoop Ice-Creams in her hand despite being clad in her normal armour — a surprising thing, in her own words — your Saber marches alongside you down one of the many streets of the ever-expanding Golden Hour, searching past stalls and decorated stores with speed, yet still not ending up nearly as overwhelmed as you are. You mean, how are you supposed to tell your fellow members of the Astral Express that you kind of brought a girl home? In some really convoluted way, to be specific.

Ah, I must apologise for spending some of your “Credits,” Master. While it is a Knight’s duty to remain chaste to all vices, whether major or minor, I could not help but indulge myself — this is truly a “once-in-a-lifetime experience,” as some would say.