When she was initially summoned in Chaldea, she knew she would be out of place. After all, she was a Saint corrupted by a single wish, corrupted by her hatred, corrupted by All The Evils Of The World. She did not see her original self due to the quiet nature of Chaldea, along with avoiding her like the plague. Most Servants summoned by the Master stayed in their rooms, coming out only to socialise with friends from their past lives. The Master himself was usually busy with clearing Singularities, to prevent Humanity from being extinguished, bringing along a few trusted Servants with him.

Jeanne D'Arc Alter had never been considered. She knew that no one in Chaldea trusted her, and decided that they were wise to do so. After all, she was the exact opposite of a saint, tainted by evil. She spent her days wandering the snowy, freezing world around the building, enjoying herself in the screeching winds and piercing cold. The Arctic held nothing but cold and silence, something she could appreciate thoroughly.

It was thus a surprise to her when she found someone else outside. Clothed in the familiar white attire of the Maguses working in Chaldea, his messy black hair with some specks of white that resembled a mushroom from afar was an obvious contrast from the almost blinding white. Upon getting closer, she could see a metal platform below him coated with snow, spanning about fifty meters wide and slowly turning white from the snow accumulating on it. A pair of metal gauntlets sat on his forearms, each with a dull surface. She stood a distance away, keeping her golden eyes on him as he seemed to mutter something into his palms.

A blue glow filled the platform for a second, before revealing four azure constructs made of Prana. The Magus lifted his arms, before the gauntlets whirred up a deafening screech. Light purple light danced around his forearms, before he punched at the constructs. The blue block of magic closest to him shattered into motes of light, before the dots of luminosity faded away.

Another punch, but this time the block further from the first held. His black brows furrowed, and the purple light adorning the gauntlets started gaining in intensity. A third punch, this one decimating the remaining three blocks.

He sighed, his warm breath instantly misting up in the air before dissipating. He turned, and saw her. Her black attire would be blindingly obvious to anyone, and she didn't bother to hide her form.

She expected him to ignore her, or at least walk away quickly. Rumors in Chaldea called her the Dragon Witch, so it would be normal for him to get away. Instead, he gave her a nod, before walking up to her.

Why would he approach her? What did he have to gain from coming towards her?

Those questions plagued her, just before he paused. His frail silhouette gave her a bow, before he turned towards the building.

A feeling of satisfaction welled up in her as her expected outcome came true. But when she looked down at her feet, a footprint was beside her left foot.

She had taken a step back.

A growl emanated from her throat as she stomped back to the building.

Who did this mere Magus think he was, making her afraid?

She visualized his face in her mind, engraving it with hate.

Being a psychiatrist in Chaldea was basically being just a mouth to feed, and he knew it. Hired by Lord Animusphere, he joined the organization to assess potential Master candidates, and see if they had the potential to summon Heroic Spirits, beings who transcended time and space through legends alone. Then, Lord Animusphere found a doctor who could do that too, and hired him mainly as a medical doctor. He knew that his job wouldn't be affected, but Doctor Roman was a nicer, more cheerful man, and more suited to be Chaldea's psychiatrist, even if he held the position as the psychiatrist.

He stayed mostly in his room, which was also labelled as the psychiatrist's room. But months after he was hired, the incident happened, where a few dozen Masters died in their Rayshift capsules after an explosion obliterated half of the facility.

He knew that it was his time to do his job, to help any staff who would have been going through mental hardships and guide them through the trauma. But they all flocked to Doctor Roman.

He knew it was instinctual of them, to go to someone they knew, someone they were familiar and comfortable with to seek help, but no one even knew he existed. No one knew that Chaldea already had a designated psychiatrist they could go to. Jealousy and rage was the first response, before he rationalized their actions and took to going to outside the facility to experience the frosty winds. The cold pierced through his anger and envy, and logical thought took the reins once more.

He had been going through depression before Lord Animusphere's death, and it had hit him hard when his only friend in the organization died. He tried treating himself by flooding his schedule with much needed socialization and tinkering, but the separate departments in Chaldea didn't bother with responding to his attempts at socializing. After all, they didn't know him, and idle chat with a stranger did not make any Magus comfortable.

Thus, he took to scavenging parts of robots that had been destroyed by the rubble, and built his own projects. A robot companion was his first idea, but he did not have the knowledge to build one. So, he started building combat related armaments capable of amplifying magecraft in hopes that someone would use them. After a few weeks, he overheard that the only Master left on site was someone from the normal world, a normal human incapable of magecraft.

His armaments couldn't be used by the only one who had the opportunity to use them.

That had caused his emotions to crash again, and the emotional thoughts once more flooded through him.

Why was he working so hard, when no one would benefit from it? When no one knew about it? When no one knew him?

Why was he still there? He was just leeching off their already low supplies.

Why couldn't he just leave and die in the cold? That would ease up rations for the rest of the staff.

It wasn't as if anyone would miss him. His only friend was long dead, he had a job that was stolen by someone else, and he didn't have any purpose there.

It was only his rationalization and forced valuation of himself that kept him from leaving the facility. After all, he couldn't trust his own emotional thoughts.

He forced more work on himself, often working through consecutive nights to build items that had potential use for the Chaldeans. Tinkering with sprinklers, enhancing the efficiency of several doors, repairing any broken systems he saw and cleaning up storerooms were some of the things he did to stop himself from feeling.

He was toying around with an armament, when he saw someone he didn't recognize. Her black attire was obvious in the blinding white plains that surrounded the facility. Curious as to why she was outside, he approached her. When he did, she took a step back.

He thought that she had some prior trauma with being alone with men, or any similar experiences, and respectfully bowed in apology before returning to the facility himself.

The whisper in the back of his head perked up, and scorned him for making the poor girl relieve those undoubtedly painful memories.

'She was just taking a walk, and you made her go through the mental turmoil again. What a nice psychiatrist you are. No wonder no one came to you, because you're untrustworthy, you're disgusting, you're-'

He dropped the Bounded Field around him that kept him warm, and the spine stabbing cold that he was familiar with but not yet used to stopped his mental outburst. His teeth chattered, and the snow mercilessly pelted his face. His lips turned numb, and it was only then did he turn the Bounded Field back on.

He needed to do work.

Water dripped from his cheek.

Just the snow melting, he told himself.

She had been following him around, which was easy in her spiritual form. He had a busy routine, although it seemed that he was very quiet. He never spoke with anyone, often working in a storeroom by himself, frequently humming some irksome tune. He was either working or eating, and he had a monotonous life. Even when eating at the cafeteria, his eyes were glued to a notebook containing notes or to his plate. His dull eyes would never flinch if something happened around him, and he would walk pass people without a regard of them.

It was only when he went to his room two days after she watched him that she realized that he was the psychiatrist. The silver plaque on the traditional wooden door was rusted, dusty and dull, unlike the polished metal automated doors she was used to, but he paid it no heed as he pushed it open. She decided to go into his room, and saw a very plain but homely room with a warm orange wallpaper. A plush sofa sat opposite a desk on the left side of the room, and the right had a bookshelf filled with mundane books. Another door was located beside the bookshelf, which lead to his bedroom. It had white walls and a single bed at the corner of the room. She left shortly after as he went to bed.

She knew that all the other Servants could sense her presence, and were puzzled with why she was spiritualized. Their opinions and curiosity didn't bother her, and she continued watching him for a week.

He was nothing special, she surmised, just another employee.

So why did she step back from him? Why was she wary of him?

Her conclusion did not match her response, which pissed her off. The bastard had to have done something to get such a reaction from her.

If she could not find her own conclusion, she would confront him directly.

The echoing knocks from his door made him look up from his table. No one would have come to him, so he determined it to be a prank. Reaffirming his thoughts, he continued reading his book.

The knocks returned, this time impatiently louder and at a higher frequency.

So he was wrong.

Straightening his shirt, he called for the person at the door to come in.

The oak door swung open instantly, revealing a Servant in black armor. With silver blonde hair cut short, her golden eyes looked around his room before glaring at him. A scowl was adorned on her face as she slammed the door behind her. The loud sound was not enough to make him jump, but his nerves fluttered. If she was looking for a fight, he would have zero chance of winning.

"Who are you?" A very blunt question, one with anger woven into it. He had not seen her around, and his mind could not recall scorning her. Perhaps she was always this angry, he determined.

"I'm Hans Weinstein. And you are?" He asked politely for her identity. Her scorn seemed fixed, but he did not miss the blink when he had asked for her name.

She was unused to giving out her name. Ergo, she had to be a famous Servant around Chaldea.

"Jeanne D'Arc Alter." An Alter? He had read through files describing them as total opposites of their original identities, so she had to be a Jeanne that had turned evil, or something similar.

"Hello Jeanne-"

"Do not call me that." She spat in intensified fury. She had problems with her original counterpart then, he assumed.

"Alright then, would Joan be more comfortable for you?" At this, she growled. "I have to address you somehow, and I doubt you want me to call you by any other names." He made sure to maintain a soft voice whilst asking for her permission. It took her a few moments, but she nodded reluctantly.

"So how may I help you today?"

"Who the fuck are you?" The rage returned once more.

"Well, if you want my position, I would be the psychiatrist tasked with taking care of the population of Chaldea, although Roman seems to be taking charge of that aspect now." He forced back any bitterness that rose within him. This was not the time to feel bad for himself.

"Then why the fuck haven't I heard of you before?" Her voice rose in volume, but confusion was evidently hidden beneath the anger.

"Well, like I said, Doctor Roman is taking charge of the welfare of everyone in Chaldea. My role here is obsolete for the time being." He explained calmly, unperturbed by the rage she was exuding. He was familiar with anger, and familiar with dealing with it. "Unless you want my credentials or my family history, I assume that my explanation is sufficient."

She seemed to be further irritated by his words, and slammed a fist onto his table. The cracks that formed on the wooden surface informed him of the potential C ranked Strength he was dealing with, unless she held back from destroying his table.

"Don't fuck with me." A ball of flames engulfed her fist, scorching his table. "Who the fuck are you?!" She roared, and the smoke that rose from the burning wood tickled his nostrils. Just as he was about to sneeze, the sprinklers activated, and a light drizzle rained from above. She remained unflinching, and her glare was unmoving.

"I have already introduced myself, and if I have offended you in any way before today, I apologize, but I do not believe that we have met prior to today." A trickle of his bitterness leaked out, but he was confident in holding himself together in front of her. Her glare held for a moment more, before a smirk made its way up her face. She leaned back, the water from the sprinklers dripped down from her hair as she gave him a condescending smirk. It was right then when the sprinklers stopped.

"That's bullshit, but I'll find out myself." Her figure dissolved into golden motes of light, just as his door swung open to revealing a panting and sweating young man carrying a fire extinguisher. Their eyes met, and the young man with red hair was obviously surprised to see him.

"I'm so sorry, but the alert said that there was a fire here…" The poor boy's voice trailed off as he saw the fist sized char on his desk.

"Jeanne Alter was here, and she had some issues with me that she needed to work out." He explained, forcing the annoyance of having to talk with someone who didn't even know his name out of his voice. "She just left."

The younger male sighed exasperatedly, and set the fire extinguisher by the door as he took out a device and started typing on it.

"I told her not to get into any trouble." The mutter did not go unheard, and his own curiosity spiked. Upon closer inspection, the person in front of him had a strange, almost shield like red tattoo on the back of his right hand.

So this was the last Master of Chaldea.

The boy suddenly jerked up in surprise, and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry about that, um…" His voice trailed off.

"I'm Hans Weinstein. And you are?"

"Gudao Fujimaru, sir." His reply was stiff, but it was understandable given his Japanese culture, and how seniors were meant to be respected.

"Just Hans or Weinstein is fine. May I address you as Gudao?" A gesture of courtesy, one that politely asked for mutual respect in Japanese culture, if he remembered correctly.

"That's fine…" His voice trailed off again when he saw the soaking sofa. It was likely ruined, and irreplaceable given that no department in Chaldea specialized in repairing furniture.

"This is nothing, I was going to throw it out anyway." Hans felt the urge to reassure the Master, given that he had the fate of Humanity on his shoulders.

"But if it's no problem, we could find another one to replace it during one of our supply runs." He offered generously, although the terminology was lost on him.

"Sorry, but what do you mean by supply runs?" A rare opportunity to learn about the roles of a Master presented itself, and his curious nature of a Magus could not stop itself from manifesting.

Gudao seemed surprised that he did not know, but complied nonetheless.

"We can go back into the singularities we solved just moments before we do to take any supplies we might need. It lets us get food, building material and other stuff we might find along the way that would have been lost anyways after the singularity ends. Anyone can send in requests for anything, and we find those items if they are reasonable or convenient for us to bring back." The explanation was simple, and if he didn't know that Gudao was not a proper Magus, he would have assumed that the boy in front of him was taking lessons in the Clock Tower. The term singularities escaped him, and he pushed back the urge to ask again. It would not do to drag the boy away from any duties he may have at the current moment.

"I see. But that would not be necessary, there is no need to lug a sofa back just for me." He tried to reassure the boy again, who in turned laughed and shook his head.

"Bigger items are usually carried by the Berserkers with their crazy A ranked Strength, so it's no problem at all." The boy offered again.

It did not seem like the boy would relent, so he took the offer with a small smile to thank him.

Apologizing for Joan's actions again, Gudao left the room with the fire extinguisher.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he realized that all his books were now ruined, as they were soaking wet with diluted ink.

He had a scorned Servant who might be out to get him, his few sources of entertainment were ruined, and he was troubling a kid to replace a sofa that no one used.

Another sigh escaped his lips as he calculated the time it would take to fix his books. Leaning on his desk, he wondered how his life had gotten so chaotic from the previous simple yet depressing routine. A glance over at the scorched portion of his desk revealed that the cracks had only continued to grow, before his entire table shattered into splinters.

A third sigh rushed out in annoyance as he began clearing up the shards of wood.

A small hint of gladness made itself known in the back of his head as he looked forward to interacting with Gudao again. The boy was courteous and was nice enough to indulge his curiosity. A wondering thought turned to Joan, and what happened to her to make her so angry.

All computers on Chaldea were linked to a single network that held files and recorded histories of each Servant, so it was only a matter of time before he could find hers. The silence of the library was punctured by a soft 'aha!' as he located her file.

Jeanne D'Arc Alter

Aliases: Dragon Witch

Class: Avenger

Although a designated "Alter", it does not mean that she is a different side of Jeanne d'Arc.

She is instead a Jeanne of vengeance that Gilles de Rais, the French Army's marshal who grieved for Jeanne d'Arc's death, fabricated by means of the Holy Grail.

As a Heroic Spirit that is an exact opposite of the proper Jeanne, she is manifesting in the Avenger Class.

The file was short, and showed how much she had interacted with her peers and fellow Servants. The file was open to anyone, and allowed anyone to edit it anonymously.

He clicked the mouse once, and typed for a few seconds. Looking at what he typed, he wondered if it was alright, before nodding. He had changed the alias of Dragon Witch to Joan.

It was a small gesture, but he hoped that no one would continue to call her by that alias anymore, since it seemed demeaning. It would certainly allow the few who viewed this file to strike a conversation with her more humanely than just addressing her as the Dragon Witch.

"Ah." A soft exclamation behind him grasped his attention, and he strained his neck to see who it was.

Her face was close to his, and identical to Joan's, but instead of the piercing golden irises filled with hate, a pair of soft warm azure eyes turned to him. The familiar designs on Joan's armor were also on this Servant's armor, but it was made of a polished steel armor unlike the black ebony armor Joan wore.

"Thank you." She gave him a small bow. "For helping me."

So this was the original Jeanne. She was much nicer than her Alter counterpart, he silently mused.

"It's not a problem, it's my job anyways." Well, his official capacity was one that required him to help those that came to him, and he was technically filling out his role. She pulled back, and gave him a small smile.

"I don't believe I have seen you around, may I know your name?" She was polite, and reserved. A complete opposite of Joan's loud and rude personality. So far.

"I'm Hans Weinstein, resident psychiatrist, pleased to meet you Jeanne." Her hand rose, as if expecting a handshake, but it returned to her side when she did not see him offer his hand.

"I suppose my Alter has talked to you?" Her question was a lot softer now, and he had to strain his ears to hear her.

"Yes, she came into my office yesterday." He offered nothing else, and hoped that the Ruler class Servant in front of him would understand the confidentiality.

A wider smile worked its way up her lips, and a relieved sigh escaped them.

"Thank you for not pushing her away. She has been... difficult to deal with." The Ruler confided.

"How so?" He inquired further.

"Since her summoning, she has not talked with anyone besides Master Gudao, me and you. She was very aggressive towards him, saying how she did not recognize him as her Master and she would not follow a 'weakling'." A tired sigh let itself loose. "She later told me that I was worthless and that she would ignore as I would her. I've been trying to talk to her, but I can never find her. I felt her magical signature here earlier, but she left just as I arrived."

Joan had a superiority complex that covered her vulnerabilities and insecurities of being ignored then. The simplest way to get her to interact with people would be to find someone who cared about her enough to bring her insecure side out, and confront and listen to her. A support is needed to heal her emotional scars, although it would be very difficult both for her and the one acting as support.

He did not fail to catch Jeanne's concerned gaze, but Hans paid it no heed as he continued to muse. An idea occurred to him, and he looked at Jeanne.

"Jeanne, is it alright if you helped me?"

At that, her curiosity peaked.

'She's coming.' Jeanne's astralised voice whispered in my head. I gave a slight nod, just as Joan slammed the door to my office open.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her rage seethed through her teeth, as her golden eyes glared at me before glaring at the air beside me. Jeanne remained astralised, and kept quiet.

"That is my confession."

In her tight furious grasp, a letter crackled with embers before turning into ash. Her incredulous anger focused back to me.

"Why?" Her scream was loud, and left my ears ringing for a second.

"Because I needed you to come here." An honest answer.

"Why?" This time, her voice was just subdued, and her eyes turned back to her invisible counterpart.

"Because you two need to talk this out." I gestured to the tatami mat in front of me. Jeanne appeared, and sat down on the mat, quiet and contemplative as Joan's furious glare pointed at me.

"Don't try to leave, I have a Bounded Field set up in this room so you cannot leave."

"You can't do this!" Her anger soared, and with good reason.

"I actually can, and I'm willing to accept the consequences as long as you hear me out."

The fire that crackled with magic in her palm grew momentarily, before it sputtered and died out. With a huff, Joan sat down opposite Jeanne.

"Fine, but I have nothing to say to this useless Saint." She spat the word out as if it were poison.

"Then let me do the talking." I assured her. Her glared levelled itself at me.

"I need you two to introduce yourselves first, seeing as how you're both different people."

Jeanne complied almost immediately, and gave her counterpart a smile that hid her sadness.

"I'm Jeanne D'Arc, Ruler."

The glare did not waver, but my expectant gaze made her comply.

"Joan D'Arc, Avenger." It was short and clipped, but it was something.

"So, now I need the two of you to forget whatever past conflicts you may have, and just listen to me for a while, is that alright?"

The two nods were almost in sync.

"So, from what I understand, Jeanne is the one who died believing that what she did was right, and Joan is the one who died believing God betrayed her, am I right so far?"

Joan's nod was hesitant, but her anger returned in the form of a clenched fist.

"That's alright, I just need to clarify this so that the two of you understand. Now, this is the hard part to swallow for both of you." I took a breath, and gave the two a moment to think.

"You're both not wrong."

At this, both Jeanne and Joan turned to me, lips parted and ready to protest, but my raised palm silence them both with magecraft. Applying a silence spell on them would be impossible given their high magic resistance, but the air around them was easy enough.

"I meant what I said, and this is the part where you two need to listen to me, so I will not allow you to interrupt me. I need both of you to listen with an open mind."

I waited for their nods, and surprisingly Jeanne's was more delayed than Joan's.

"Alright then. Now, Jeanne is not wrong to think that what she did was right, because she saved people. The same people you saved Joan. Now, I need you to remember each time you saved those soldiers, those farmhands and innocents. Remember how you felt, and recall their smiles, and their thanks they showered you with."

I allowed Joan a moment of contemplation, as I turned to Jeanne.

"And Joan is not wrong to think that God abandoned her, because the two of you had been ostracized and hated by the people you saved, without any thanks or reward from the one you claimed to have done it for. Think of it from her perspective, she did everything you did in the name of God, but God did not save you or reward you for your efforts, instead it seemed like he condemned you for doing what was right, what he should have done."

The two were silent and unmoving, each lost in thought. I allowed them a few minutes to think it through, and they each turned to me with a different look in their eyes. I recognized one as understanding, and the other as confusion.

"You two may leave now, but I want you to think about it more. Come back to me in a week if you wish. All I want to do is help you two understand the other's position, alright?" I kept my voice low and soft, wary of breaking their train of thought.

Jeanne returned a small smile in thanks, and hesitantly reached out to touch her counterpart's hand. Joan's hand flinched, but allowed Jeanne to pat it once before Jeanne left.

The golden eyes were lost in thought, staring at where Jeanne had touched her.

"Why did you do this?" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, which was understandable given that I essentially made her relive the memories of her hated past.

"Because you needed to hear it. You hated God because you were not saved, but you forgot how it felt to save." My words seemed to strike a chord in her as her eyes closed tightly. "I want you to understand how Jeanne felt, and why she felt that way. You may not want to be her, but you cannot deny that you two had the same past."

She took a shaky breath, and glanced at the pile of ash at the door.

"There was never a Bounded Field, was there?" Her quiet revelation was met with a soft smile.

"No, there wasn't. You knew that instinctively when you came here, but you stayed because a part of you wanted to tell Jeanne something." A very minute look of surprise made its way onto her face, one that I would have missed if I wasn't looking for it. "You can come back and tell me, so I can tell her. Or you can tell her yourself." I gave her shoulder a light pat. "Take your time and think it through first."

She stood up after a few more minutes, eyes dazed. She muttered an apology about my desk and sofa before she left.

I sighed in relief when I was confident she was not in earshot.

The best case scenario had occurred. I glanced at the two fire extinguishers hidden behind the bookshelf, glad that I did not have to use them.

The two never did return, but rumors in the cafeteria spoke of the two acting more like sisters in the days following the intervention. Hans never did see the two again, but he didn't mind. He finally fulfilled his capacity as a psychiatrist, even if he used unorthodox means to do so, and helped the two solve their misgivings towards each other.

A small sense of pride and joy sprouted in his chest for the first time in years.