Chapter One: As Good as Gold

Golden eyes gazed out into the morning horizon.

In the distance, the dawn sun rose slowly, casting gentle rays of soft pinks, purples, and oranges.

Tan eyelids crested over yellow hues. Brand sighed quietly, feeling tender warmth kiss his skin. A hand traveled to his chest, grasping the red crystal hanging from a leather necklace. A passing breeze swept by, rustling coffee-brown hair with wispy fingers. Minutes passed as he stood there wordlessly, feeling the rising sun's heat bathe him, filling his body with vigor. Finally, his golden eyes opened as he turned around, turning his back to the morning as he slid open the door from the balcony to his room. He stepped inside, the wood floor cold beneath him as he looked around his room. The sparse space was now even more empty. Once-filled shelves were now empty and his desk was almost completely bare. All of it was now collected in the few boxes that were stacked neatly against the doorway.

He inhaled, eyes drawing close. Today is the day… The breath escaped him. Shining eyes opened and settled on the pole-arm that rested against the wall. He felt his feet carry him over to the weapon. Brand brought up a hand and traced it across the head, following the heavy blade on one side and the armor-piercing hammer on the other. Moving to the grip of the weapon, his fingers ran along the ornate craftsmanship that he had toiled endlessly on. His hand brushed over its name, Dryhtenweard, that was engraved in gold. How long has it been since he first came here? How long has it been since he arrived on this doorstep, afraid, hunger, and alone? How long since that little boy made that promise?

The rain was heavy. Thick droplets fell from the sky as the dreary gray overcast rolled above. His overgrown hair had been matted down and water was seeping through his clothes, biting his skin with cold teeth. Despite this, his tiny fists were clenched tight at his sides. Golden eyes glowed in the downpour, unshakable conviction rooted inside them.

"Nobody should have to live in fear!"

His hand dropped, coming to rest at his side as the memory faded back into memory.

"Today I begin my journey to become a huntsman," he murmured, quiet once again taking its reign.

The sound of the coffee machine starting broke through the silence, rousing Brand from his thoughts. Tearing away his gaze from his beloved weapon, he made his way downstairs as the aroma of the caffeinated drink drifted throughout the air. The boy entered the kitchen to see a rather well-built man huddled over the coffee machine, a cup of the hot liquid steaming in his hand.

Andre.

Andre Drummond was a big, burly man with thick muscles born out of years of working in the mechanic shop. He had no hair on the top of his head to speak of, but the man was proud of the reddish-brown bush hanging from his face that he called a beard. He first arrived in Vale twenty-five years ago after a dispute with a gang drove him from his home city. Too young to retire, and too old to learn a new craft, the man started a small mechanic shop. His skill in craftsmanship and mechanical engineering quickly spread through word of mouth, bringing him great popularity, especially with the hundreds of prospective-huntsman staying at the nearby Beacon Academy. Yet, throughout the twenty-five years of success, Andre proudly remained the sole owner of the shop.

He was also Brand's kind-of-pseudo-dad.

Fifteen years ago, a young huntsman couple walked into the mechanic's shop. They were both regulars and Andre had formed close bonds with the two of them. However, instead of a routine checkup or upgrade, they had only come with a question for the man. They asked a favor of him: would the mechanic be willing to take care of something of theirs? Andre, confused but respectful of others' privacy, agreed to the terms of his old friends and did not push further. The couple had smiled, seemingly relieved by his answer, thanked him, and left. Andre had only mumbled himself in confusion as he watched them leave, one of them fondling with the leather pendant around their neck.

Months later, the man was awoken in the middle of the night by heavy beating on his door. Now, while his shop was not exactly in the slums of the city, it also was not in a place where robberies were unheard of, even though the visiting huntsmen-in-training had drop the number of break-ins drastically. So it was perfectly understandable when the mechanic approached the door with a massive hammer. Except, when the man flung open the door, he was not greeted with the sight of potential burglars; instead, he was met with a terrified two-year-old with glowing golden eyes. Confused, the man demanded to know why a two-year-old boy had visited his shop, and in the middle of the night no less. Shakily, the boy had offered one of two possessions he had on his person: a slip of paper. Andre quickly begun to read through the writing, his eyes widening in realization as he processed the words. Remember the favor. Care for and teach him as your own. His name is Brand. Thank you old friend. The man's eyes traveled to the simple leather necklace that boy was wearing, the only other thing that the two-year-old had left. With a muted sigh but a resolute will, the mechanic let the poor boy inside and the shop took on another inhabitant.

Thus, began Brand's life under Andre Drummond.

In the passing fifteen years, the boy learned much under the burly mechanic. He learned how to write, how to fight, how to use his hands. He learned (somewhat) proper etiquette, humility, and tact. Not only that, but Brand learned the little quirks and mannerisms of his mentor. Like how he always started the day with a pinch of sugar in his coffee, or how he never completely turns his back to an open door, or how he traces a scare on his hand every time he becomes agitated. More than that, fifteen years under the man had given Brand more than enough time to learn that Andre Drummond is not, in any way, a sappy or emotional person.

That is why when Brand went into the kitchen saw the mechanic's shoulder trembling, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sniffle, he understandably assumed that something was very wrong.

"Andre!" he exclaimed, panicked. The man jumped and cursed loudly at his voice. He spun around faster than the brunette had ever seen the muscled man move before.

"Oh! Ah, Brandy, my…my boy!," he stuttered out, wiping his face quickly, "good, uh, good morning to you too this…this fine day!" Brand's eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

"Andre, are you—"

"Yes! Completely fine!" the man interrupted hastily, "I was definitely not crying or, uh, showing emotion whatsoever. Yep. Mhm. Definitely," Brand could only blink confusedly at the unusual display of behavior. What?… A snort came from behind him.

"I always knew you were a softy under all that muscle, old man." Brand turned to see a tall young man leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. The mop of dirty-blond on his head shook as he snickered, a smirk across his face and teal eyes taking on the scene before him with mirth. Next to him, a black-haired woman smiled, amused. Don fixed them with a glare which, while usually pretty intimidating, was completely ruined by the man's puffy eyes and the tiny bit of snot trickling out of his right nostril.

"I'm not soft," he growled, "I'm just happy that Brand is," he paused for a second, his voice becoming weaker, "growing up, and is," the man's body trembled as he sniffed, "becoming the great and wonderful," Don's voice cracked, "man that I always—" The statement went unfinished as he broke down. The man covered his face with his hands and began to sob. "I'M JUST SO PROUD," he cried loudly. From the doorway, the young man laughed, his body shaking as he cracked up.

"Yeah right, not soft my—Ow! Kasumi! What the hell?" he glared down at the woman next to him, who only rolled her maroon eyes as she removed her elbow from the man's stomach.

"Aaron," she sighed, the word carrying all the exasperation she felt. Kasumi Hara and Aaron Brown. The only two workers currently employed under Andre, hired right out of Beacon. They were loyal and hard working staff members. They were also Brand's two closest friends.

The pair had taught Brand pretty much everything he knew about fighting. While Andre could draw up a dozen different ways to design an airship engine from memory alone, and could make machines out of the most basic of materials, he would be hard pressed to know about the dozens of different ways to incapacitate an opponent only using their left arm, or that if you hit a Deathstalker in just the right position, you could paralyze its stinger along with most of its legs. Kasumi and Aaron, however, had both the knowledge and experience to teach Brand this and more. They had been the ones who helped Brand to pick and design Dryhtenweard to fit his fighting style. They had been the ones who, at his request, took him to fight against his first Grimm.

Sure, they still could and would kick his ass without breaking much of a sweat, but Brand had still made leaps and bounds in skill, becoming a formidable opponent in his own right.

They were also only part-time, balancing their job at the mechanic shop with various Huntsman missions. However, today was Sunday, which meant—

"Kasumi? Aaron? What are you guys doing here?" he asked. "I thought the shop was closed today." Aaron gave him a look of false disappointment.

"You didn't think we'd not see our little prodigy off, did you? Just what kinds of barbarians do you think us?" he said, an exaggerated look of offense on his face.

Brand leveled a gaze at the man that told him exactly what kind of barbarian he thought he was.

Aaron put a hand over his heart, eyes full of mock hurt. "Ouch!" he tilted back melodramatically, as if shot, "you wound me my young protege, truly." Brand stuck his tongue out at the man but quickly broke down chuckling. Kasumi only rolled her eyes again at the boys' antics. However, it was offset by the smile on her face. She hummed as she took out two pieces of bread and stuck them in the toaster.

"You still haven't answered by question Brand. Do you think you're ready for Beacon?" she asked as her finger pressed down on the timer.

Brand's mirthful grin quirked into a small frown as he thought about it. "I don't know, really. I'm anxious, for sure, but.." he trailed off, eyebrows creasing together. "I mean, how did you guys feel?" Aaron snorted as he made his way to the coffee pot that Don, who had excused himself at this point to 'get the dust out of his eyes', had abandoned.

"My mom was just like the old man," the blond said, pouring coffee into two mugs he had taken from the cupboard, "she was crying all about how she was so proud and how her 'little baby boy' was now all grown up." Aaron mixed in some cream and milk as he continued, "as for me, I was excited as hell. Dad was a huntsman and he was my ultimate role model as a kid." The man picked up the two steaming cups and crossed back over the kitchen.

"I was excited as well," Kasumi started. "but I pretty much knew what I wanted to do at that point." She nodded gratefully to Aaron as she accepted a cup and offered the man one of the pieces of toast. "I knew that I wanted to be part of the support department before I even arrived," she took a sip of the caffeinated beverage, "though I do admit that it felt terrifying to be alone for the first time." Aaron made a noise of agreement as he bit into his breakfast.

"Yeah, you'll feel kinda overwhelmed at first. I mean, Beacon only accepts the best of the best. Knowing that you're among the elite puts a lot of pressure on you," the blond said while chewing.

Brand frowned. Beacon did have a pretty selective program… He had never really considered himself as someone at the bottom of the barrel, but in a place as prestigious as Beacon, everyone was bound to be beyond excellent. Self-doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

"I guess I'll see when I get there. A van's supposed to pick me up at 9:15, so I got a little time." He stretched his arms, working out the nervousness creeping through his body.

Somewhere outside the shop, a car horn blared. Brand winced slightly at the loud sound. A little early for honking, but then again, people's moods were always a little testy in the morning. Brand's attention was quickly brought back to Aaron as he began recounting a story about his roommates at Beacon, with Kasumi throwing in a comment every once in a while.

Brand watched with a mirthful smile as Aaron threw his arms dramatically in the air. "There was gravy everywhere! And I mean everywhere! And then—"

Again, a car horn interrupted the blond's story.

Kasumi's smile quirked into a frown at the now unusual amount of horns. "What is going on out there?"

She unlocked her scroll, and her forehead crinkled a little as she stared at the screen. She eyed Brand oddly.

"Brand, what time did you say that you're supposed to leave?" she asked suddenly. Aaron was now peering over the woman's shoulder.

"I think they said a van was coming at 9:15."

Silence.

Brand looked up, confused by the lack of response. Kasumi and Aaron were looking at him strangely. Brand shifted, uncomfortable under their stares. Kasumi finally broke the silence, sighing with exasperation as her hand met her face.

"Uh.. what? Did I do something?" he asked in confusion. The dark-haired woman only sighed again —she was doing that a lot lately— and began muttering under her breath. He caught the words "irresponsible", "Oum save me", and "just like Aaron" somewhere in her ramblings. Brand's eyes went to the blond next to her. He watched as the man's eyes flicked down to the scroll and back to Brand. With a sigh, Brand unlocked his own scroll. Like always, the first thing that came up on the screen was the time.

9:32 —wait, now 9:33.

A sudden feeling not unlike nausea overcame Brand.

Another honk came from outside.

The three scrambled to the window. Outside, a van, the words "Beacon Transportation" printed on its sides, was parked in front of the shop.

Brand cursed.

Brand again thanked Oum for the natural kindness in people as he placed another box into back of the van. Instead of being irritated, annoyed, or even just leaving, the drivers had accepted his stammered excuses with an understanding smile.

With a heave, he thrust the last box into the van. He let out a quick exhale and clapped his hands together, ridding them of the accumulated dust.

"Well, I guess this is it." he started, drawing his eyes from the van. He turned to Andre and the others. "You guys will be okay without me, right?" he asked.

Aaron waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, it's all good, we'll manage without our little genius."

Brand's eyebrows creased.

"Are you sure you guys will be fine?" He asked again, his gaze pointedly flicking to Andre, who was now hunched over, sniffling pitifully as Kasumi awkwardly attempted to comfort the man. Aaron rolled his eyes in response and pushed Brand forward.

"Don't worry about us kid, just get out of here you rascal," he said with a grin. Brand shook his head, a smirk across his face, and took a few steps toward the van. However, as he approached the door, his confidence slipped away. Anxiety, slowly but steadily, crawled through his body as doubts festered in his mind. This was a momentous decision. Life-changing. He knew that his life would no longer be the same as soon as he opened this door. HIs fingers grabbed the door handle. The metal felt cold underneath his skin. This was the point of no return. No coming back.

Could he risk that?

Could he accept that?

Brand looked back at what had been his life, his family, for the past fifteen years. Aaron was making a 'shoo' motion with his hand, but was grinning from ear to ear, Kasumi was smiling warmly at him as she patted Don's back, who was still sobbing loudly about 'How they grow up so fast!' and 'I remember when he couldn't even use welder!' A tender warmth blossomed in his chest, dispersing the dark feelings that had plagued him. Brand felt his own smile, genuine and shining, stretch widely across his face. Turning around, he tugged the door open and didn't look back.

The van ride was uneventful other than the whole being-late debacle. Brand could still feel the heat of embarrassment when he thought of his mistake.

Fortunately, the van had quickly arrived at the Vale docks, where a massive airship was awaiting for the accepted students. Tagging and checking in his belongings had been easy enough, and now he was trying to relax as the airship flew towards Beacon. Brand hummed softly as he sat against the wall of the airship. His knee bounced up and down excitedly —a nervous tick that Andre had never successfully beaten out of him. He took a breath as he leaned his head back. Slowly, lulled by the constant rumble of the engine, Brand fell back into his thoughts. He reminisced about the times when Beacon, when becoming a Hunstman had seemed like a distant dream, a fantasy that lay far out of reach. But now he was here, on his way to be trained at the prestigious academy and arguably the best one out of the four kingdoms. It was surreal, really. His hand traveled to his chest, fiddling his necklace as he fell into his thoughts. Would he fit in? How would he compare to others? What would training be like? Aaron and Kasumi had been unusually tight-lipped about their experience at Beacon, offering their own stories about teammates; however, keeping relatively quiet about their journeys as huntsman-in-training. The dark-haired woman had expressed something along the lines of 'not spoiling it for him' and 'giving him the genuine experience.'

That would have been fine, even touching, had Aaron not immediately followed it up with 'if we had to suffer it blind, so do you kiddo.' Kasumi had only smiled guiltily.

What a bunch of traitors.

He was broken out of his reverie when the airship's monitors, which had been displaying the recent acts of Roman Torchwick and White Fang, suddenly switched to a young, blond-haired woman. She looked slightly familiar, though the boy could not remember from where.

"Hello," she started, "my name is Glynda Goodwitch."

The deputy headmistress, Brand finally recognized, recalling her face from Aaron and Kasumi's graduation pictures.

"You are among a privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy."

Aaron's words rang inside Brand's head. The best of the best…

"Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it."

A young boy stood in the rain, golden eyes glowing under brown hair.

"You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."

"Nobody should have to live in fear!"

"Finally, welcome to Beacon." With that final greeting, the screen went black.

Brand sat back, mulling over Ms. Goodwitch's words.

His attention was suddenly caught by the sound of someone groaning uneasily. Brand turned his head to see a lanky blond boy cover his mouth with one hand and hold his stomach with the other as his cheeks puffed out almost comically. He rushed towards the back of the ship, face green. Oh no. Brand's eyes widened as some vomit escaped the blond's hand and sailed through the air…

… and right onto the shoes of another student. Poor guy. The mocha-haired boy shook his head in pity as disgusted shrieks filled the air. He watched as people gave the blond a wide berth, regarding the boy with wary looks. Not exactly the best first impression. Now roused from his thoughts, he let his eyes wander to the other occupants of the lobby. So many different types of people were present. A dark haired boy with a magenta streak who was being peppered by questions from the energetic redhead next to him, a thin boy with a pronounced green mohawk playing some game on his scroll, a short girl wearing a black and red outfit. His gaze went to the many students gathered around the sides of the airship, peering out to see the campus of Beacon that came ever closer.

Welcome to Beacon, Brand repeated in his head as he rose from his seat. He walked to a window and looked out, golden hues gazing at the growing towers of Beacon. He gripped his necklace.

Mom, dad, I hope you're proud.