I saw smoke, I felt fear. I smelled blood and ash, and heard screaming.

The man in front of me held a rifle, and was escorting people onto the dropship. My mother held my hand tightly with one of her own, and the other held the hand of my father, who was being supported by two local men. His breathing was heavy, and slow. His left arm was nearly separated by a horrible gash on his shoulder, and his back had horrible wounds across it. Tears were in my mother's eyes. I looked back at my former home as another wave of Grimm poured through the breached gate. Half-eaten corpses were piled in the street, and people ran screaming as the warriors struggled to fight off the monsters.

The man with the rifle shouted something at me and mother, and father was pulled to a separate dropship, with a large red plus sign on the side. We were directed to another dropship, full of people from our neighborhood. For some reason Garret wasn't there, I thought that was strange. We lived right next to each other, he should be here. I was going to ask mother about it, but suddenly the people around me disappeared, and I felt different somehow. The village was no longer on fire, and we were going towards it. My clothes had changed, I was taller. I felt three other people standing beside me, and we watched together as the Grimm ran towards our landing zone.

…

Royal

The alarm clock blared in my ears. Why the hell did I chose that song? I sat up, shutting off the alarm clock, rubbing my eyes, and then suddenly remembered something important. Shit, its orientation day, I thought, vaulting out of bed. And I forgot to set my alarm earlier! Damnit!

I ran down the hall, taking a shower quickly, and shoveling down a bowl of cereal and a mug of black tea. I began dressing, putting my long armored hauberk on over a white tee-shirt and green cargo pants. I began strapping on my armor, feeling the weight of the angled plates on my shoulders and knees and the flat plates on my shins and forearms. I made sure to grab Heliaia and her sheath, slipping the strap over my torso, resting on my right shoulder. The longsword shined; I had polished it last night. I checked the edge, which was razor sharp as always, and the bola-launcher mounted on the backside of her blade, which appeared to be in working order. I then made my way downstairs, to my family. My parents were both up, my father sitting in his wheelchair with my mother standing behind him, hand on his shoulder. "Goodbye, Roy, make sure to write" my mother said as I embraced her. "We are both very proud of you, Royal, we will always love you. Have fun at Beacon!" my father said as I hugged him for the last time in what I expected to be a long time.

"Alright, I'm going to miss the train if we keep talking. Goodbye!" I ran out of the door with my suitcase in hand, eager for the future ahead of me.

Isold

I dressed in my usual attire: my sleeveless frock coat, with a flowing shirt and baggy pants, stylish but practical, and made sure that I had everything for Beacon. My spare changes, dust to fuel GraveHarps, everything was in check. I made my way towards the kitchen, where my father was sitting, sipping his coffee. No, not my father, I thought. He will never be a father to me, no matter how much he tries.

"Good morning," I coldly wished him. "Have fun with the concert." "Isold," he called, which made me slow down. "Be careful" Why the fuck does he care, I thought, he never cared about me before. "Admittedly, I have been an atrocious father. I should have gone after your mother when she left. I should have put my work aside, I should have cared more… but I cannot change that now. What I can do, however, is let you know that I think you are an exceptional girl, and wish you the best of luck."

I didn't say anything, just turned around, walking towards the door. I almost wanted to turn around, almost wanted to let him know that I didn't completely hate him. But my mother was dead because of him, my childhood was pitiful because of him. I promised her I would never forgive him, that I would pay him back for the suffering he caused us, I thought, and I shall. I felt him watching me as I opened the door and made my way down the front walk.

Aspen

I jogged along the footpath, armed with a dagger for self-defense. I did a pretty good job of keeping this area Grimm-free, but you could never be too careful. As I approached the end of my run, the words of my uncle rang in my head. Make them count, Aspen, he had told me. Don't let The War be for nothing. Never let that horror occur again. I opened the door to the house to the smell of frying eggs. My aunt was making breakfast.

I went to my room, changing out of my jogging attire and into my combat gear. I slipped into the long shirt, putting my vest over it. I put on the combat pants of the same color as my shirt, and slipped on a pair of light black shoes with large tread. I put on my armor, buckling the wide war belt and strapping on the single pauldron and vambrace. I put on the bag containing extra bolt magazines and extra gravity dust canisters, and slung Veðrfölnir over my shoulder. The thing was massive, and very dangerous-looking, but its weight was as familiar as the feel of my bed. I exited my room, greeted my aunt, who planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Look how much you've grown! He would have been so proud to see this day!" She pulled me over to the kitchen table, where a plate of cooked eggs, ham, and toast greeted me. I quickly wolfed down the food, while my aunt looked through my suitcases. "Really, Aspie, you've gotten so good at packing." I grunted in response. "Now, look here," she irritably called, "you will never make friends if you don't talk!" "What if I don't have anything to say?" "Make something up."

I considered her words as I departed to the train station. I would be getting lots of practice talking in the weeks to come, that would be certain. Beacon awaits, I thought. This is the first day of the rest of my life.

Nickleas

I rubbed my eyes, looking at the digital clock on my wall-mounted tome. I remember when these things came out, and everybody thought they were idiotic. "It's just a big scroll," they said, "it's not that impressive". Well, they can kiss my ass, I thought. I fucking love mine.

The clock read 5:00. Shit, I forgot to sleep. I was so absorbed with the dumb schematics. Granted, not many people my age could mentally disassemble a dust-induction jet engine, but I really need to stop that shit. And I still need to FUCKING PACK GODDAMNIT, I thought as I jumped out of my swiveling chair, unhooking my tome from the wall and putting it in its carrying case, along with its wall mounts, cords, and power supply. I threw changes of cloths in a suitcase while simultaneously brushing my teeth, and gulped down an energy drink while getting dressed. I slipped on my favorite pair of jeans, threw on a v-neck and my favorite jacket, and strapped on my bandoleers, weapon holster, and my carrying cases. Finally, picking up Hostile Intent, my baby, I stuck her on my back, bolts on her frame and barrel fitting into slots on my carrying strap. Walking out of my room, my parents were watching TV. I didn't feel like saying goodbye, but out of respect, I called out a farewell. "Nicky, wait." I heard my dad call. Sighing, I turned around.

My dad was crying, what the hell. He never cries. He didn't cry when Grandma died, nor when his best friend was killed by a White Fang attack. Dawn Graham never cried, but he was crying now. "Be safe, son," he told me through sobs, "just be safe." My mom couldn't even look at me, she simply sobbed quietly. Damn, this happening never occurred to me. But I've come too far to go back now.

"I will." My dad nodded, tears still in his eyes. He watched me, his only son, open the door, stepping out into the harsh Vacuo sun. He watched his baby depart to become a man.

Alright, ready or not Vale, I thought, here I come.