In the world of Remnant, a land haunted by the creatures of Grimm, there is one thing for certain: there is safety in numbers, but only if you trust those numbers. That was the way we grew up, my sister and I. We were the children of our tribe's Chieftain, the Branwen twins heirs to the most feared tribe of thieves in all of Mistral. Raven and Qrow. We were born together and for the first few years of our lives we did everything together.
Our play was that of warriors, because our family was made of soldiers. Soon swords made of sticks became metal and our games became far more dangerous. At twelve years old, our father told us to come with him on a raid.
I was a little scrap of a thing, twigs had more to them than I did and I was admittedly shorter than my sister, but not shorter in range on the battlefield. We were flashes of shadow, the black spots that soared across the sky, a murder of crows, descending on the land. We had done all we could to help the family. Raven was alight with the fire of battle, I was trailing behind when we happened upon an old man wandering past a farm. He was hoary haired, dressed all in green and walked with a cane. We thought he was an easy target, but we were grievously mistaken.
Father told us to make short work of him. Always the first one to jump the gun, Raven went after him first, all her might on display. Her red blade slashed against him with the fury of a thousand years of perfection behind our ancient ways, but the old fellow matched her stroke for stroke. Raven's long hair soon became drenched with sweat and she was showing clear signs of fatigue but the old man looked as if he would rather have been drinking tea.
It was a disgrace for a Branwen to show such inelegance, such struggle in the fight. Though I had not yet mastered my own weapon, it was me that my father pushed into the fray next.
When the old man knocked Raven back, I charged. As my blade slashed downward, I almost caught a glimpse of surprise in the old man's eyes, but he parried me as if I were nothing. I launched a second attack, and this time the old man dodged, but he was not prepared for the Branwen twins to fight together.
The two of us gave him hell, but in the end he wore out our fire, at the cost of my blade. It struck his cane just below his hand when the old steel made its last slash, the closest either of us came to wounding the stranger, and the blade shattered into fragments. I leapt back in retreat but my battle was not done yet. As we had been raiding a farm there was a discarded scythe on the ground, though not equipped for battle, it was something and I was desperate. I made several unsuccessful swipes at him, but he beat me back every time, he was clearly toying with us. In the end, both Raven and I fell on the ground before him.
When the whole tribe emerged and surrounded us, only then did I see a hint of seriousness from him. He tapped his cane against the ground and the energy from his bright green aura surrounded everyone.
"You must all be very excellent warriors for even your children to fight with such vigor." He adjusted his glasses as he spoke, deep green eyes staring into me. As Raven and I knelt before him I felt as if he could read my thoughts, if I had hackles they would have raised.
"You haven't seen anything from the Branwen tribe yet," Our father stepped forward, death in his eyes, I knew the stranger wasn't going to last very long against his might, but he still looked unconcerned.
"I'm sure of it. That's why I would hate to have to kill you all." He grinned.
Father and the rest of the clan roiled with anger, but the strange man's green aura only bloomed stronger, as if he held them back with the might of his very soul.
"I propose an alternative course of action." He tapped his cane in front of us to get our attention, "My name is Professor Ozpin, I run a combat school in Vale called Beacon Academy. If you two would like to learn to fight as I do, when you are of age I will gladly have you both as students."
"You would teach our children your ways? At what cost to the Branwen tribe?" Father asked him.
"I would make them even stronger than they are now, but I assure you, what they learned would be a reflection of who they are, I would not want to take away from your tribe. I only hope to offer guidance to those whom may be its strongest leaders." Ozpin said.
"I want to learn." Raven struggled to her feet, "I want you to teach me everything. Then I want to kill you."
"Raven-" I tugged on her arm.
"I encourage you to strive to your fullest potential, but be warned, little bandit, it would take a lot of potential to kill me."
I wobbled beside her and Ozpin glanced between us, then back at our father and family gathered around us. His aura retreated within himself, "I will be back in five years."
Then with that, Ozpin was gone.
Five years until we would be sent off to a strange land and a strange school.
I glanced at the fragments of my weapon and the scythe in my hand.
Five years to make my weapon, and myself stronger.