In hindsight, Hazel should really have seen the call coming. The string of sunny, warm days in Vale had suddenly been broken by a dark, rainy storm overshadowing the city. Such an omen should have raised a few red flags in his mind.
Of course, back then, Hazel hadn't been one to believe in superstitions.
Only a few seconds after he heard the words: "I'm sorry for your loss but...", Hazel's scroll suddenly stopped working. Those words were all he needed to hear before his hand instinctively began crushing the device in his hand, an act he barely noticed as he immediately stopped what he was doing and stormed his way towards Beacon, tearing through the door on his way out as the rain soaked into him.
He had known this would happen.
Of course it would happen. What had happened to their parents? The same thing that had happened to every Huntsman and Huntress to sign up. But even so. She'd just enrolled the day before. Surely there was no way that she had perished on the first day of schooling, especially under the caring supervision one of the most powerful men in Remnant?
The situation was so absurd that for a brief moment Hazel almost felt like laughing.
At Beacon Academy he learned, it was custom that a newly-enlisted teenager who barely qualified as an adult was thrown of a cliff into a forest well known to be swarming with some of the worst types of Grimm yet discovered, expected to make up a perfect landing strategy even as they were being flung through the air, and then traverse the forest in some kind of mad treasure hunt, all while surrounded by demons and devils out for nothing but blood.
And Professor Ozpin, the supervisor of this exercise, watched all this happen every single year from the safety of the cliff he'd just thrown several children from.
While drinking coffee.
Something he was doing even as Hazel stared at him, feeling as if he was about to throw up.
Something he continued to do even as Hazel was dragged cursing and screaming out of his office by several staff members.
The next few days, Hazel wondered around the city in a light daze. Trying to wrap his head around the logic that drove Beacon, that drove Ozpin. How could anyone, the people of Vale, the staff at the school, the Kingdom, Ozpin... how could any of them justify taking children, not young adults, children... and putting them through a Hell that most adults were illequiped to deal with. An "old" Huntsman was the merger age of 35. Hazel himself was 25, and he was at an age where he was generally considered "too old" to enroll.
It was shocking.
It was disgusting.
As Hazel wandered the streets, the more he heard people speak of the heroism of the Huntsmen, the more furious he grew. These people supported a child-killing system, a system overseen by Ozpin, a man who sat back and watched children die like it was nothing, having the nerve to look him in the eye and tell him that such deaths were "regular occurrences".
Such a world was abhorrent.
Such a world deserved to perish.
The first few times Hazel tried to kill Ozpin were overlooked by the authorities, mostly at the professor's own request. He had dealt with these grieving types before, people who held him responsible for the deaths of their children or siblings. Eventually they had learnt to accept their losses and move on. Besides, Hazel didn't really have much of a strategy, just running up to him and trying to punch him, so it's not like he posed any significant threat.
It took the sixth assassination attempt to get Ozpin to realize what he was actually dealing with. A crate of dust crystals meant for lessons had mysteriously gone missing a few months earlier, but at the time, Ozpin's main concern was finding a replacement for the rather expensive shipment. So it was quite surprising when, as he was supervising the new students relic-hunting exercise by himself, Hazel appeared out of nowhere, screaming bloody insults with four fire dust crystals jammed into his arms. He actually got a decent hit on the headmaster, who was distracted wondering how Hazel could handle injecting an absurd amount of dust into his body without collapsing in pain. It was only after noticing how Hazel didn't seem to really react to his blows that he got his answer: the man was able to block out pain, most likely a result of his semblance.
To Hazel's credit, he did manage to hold his own for awhile, at least until Ozpin allowed the tide to turn in his own favour. Even so, it wasn't until Goodwitch appeared did Hazel finally cut his losses and flee, leaping off the cliff into the forest. It was at that point where Ozpin finally contacted the authorities, and encouraged them to track down Hazel, expecting to have the man in chains and in a cell ready for a talk by nightfall.
To his surprise, Hazel wasn't found by nightfall. In fact, after a year with no leads or evidence, the police abandoned the search and declared Hazel "presumably deceased". After all, he was last seen fleeing into a forest filled with deadly Grimm. Even with his dust trick, it's unlikely he would survive for very long.
Hazel glanced at the clock.
9 o'clock.
It was about that time.
Leaving his chair, Hazel cracked his neck, before making his way to the door of the small wooden shack. As he opened the door, he was mildly surprised to hear no demented snarls and screams from the Hellspawn he shared the woods with. Nonetheless, he took his nightly post outside his house, and waited for his guests to arrive. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the snouts six beowolves poked through the dark shadows of the trees, and the beasts made their way into the clearing. Hazel stood up, prepared to once again establish his territory, however, his brow furrowed when he noticed that the Grimm were just... sitting there. They remained where they were, simply staring down Hazel without making a sound. It was a known fact that Grimm grew more intelligent with age, but this behaviour was out of place even for older Grimm, these beasts not even snarling at him. As Hazel stared in confusion, the Grimm suddenly began arranging themselves in an ark, three on each side of a spot in front of him on the edge of the clearing. The tall man furrowed his brow. He'd never seen Grimm behave like this.
Then she appeared.
Hazel's breath left him as she approached, seeming to glide across the earth. Her beautiful features and figure clashed horribly with her deathly pale skin, downright bizarre hair and black eyes that captured his attention and refused to let go. This violation, this unholy fusion of beauty and disgusting, of man and Grimm, gave him one of the warmest, most inviting smiles he'd ever seen in his life. Yet the eyes told a different story. Hazel couldn't stop staring at her eyes, partly out of fascination with their owner, and partly out of a fear that the second he looked away, she'd leap forth and devour him. Finally, she came to a stop less than a foot away and looked up at the man before her, still smiling.
"Hazel Rainart, I presume?" She asked in a soothing, motherly voice. Hazel narrowed his eyes and stood slightly taller, flexing his arms in preparation to grab the dust crystals in his pouches.
"Who's asking?"
"I've heard about your displays of strength," the woman continued, unfazed by the intimidation tactics. "To survive for a decade in Grimm-infested woodland is no small feat, especially by oneself."
"... What are you getting at?" Hazel asked cautiously.
"I have come to offer you a proposition, Hazel," the woman replied. "I want to enlist your services to help me achieve my dream."
Raising one eyebrow, Hazel asked, "And what do I get out of it?"
The woman pretended to think for a moment. "I understand you have some troubled history with a man named... Ozpin, is it?"
Hazel's reaction was enough for her soothing smile to morph into a cold smirk.
"Who... are you?" Hazel asked, leaning in slightly.
"My name is Salem... and my dream... is to watch Ozpin burn."