My name is Gray Dustweaver. My family lives on the coast of Patch, in fact we own a section of three houses with walls in between. We've been around since Vale's beginnings, and were left that area in appreciation of our help.
I, like the rest of my family, never attended an actual school until I was 16. My parents worked most of the day, and my grandparents were my teachers until I was 13. I learned at least enough to keep myself at an equal standing with other kids my age. But like I said, that only lasted until I was 13, then on my birthday, family tradition came up. That meant that I was going to encounter a massive change and be set apart from just about every other person in Remnant, allowing for some inevitable exceptions whose names we simply didn't know.
They told me I needed to go out to our yard at 11:30, so that they could finish preparations by noon. The yard was a simple place, but had a clearing in the center surrounded by trees, shielding it from prying eyes. It was mostly empty except for a large stone with carvings on it. They had me lay on the stone, and cast a spell that put me to sleep. While I was out, they went about the typically dangerous, though we had made it safe enough, process of infusing my body with dust. I had no idea how they did it, and was only given minimal explanation after I woke up.
I was given the ability to control fire and water, from movement to changing their forms and even creating them, but I had to spend the next two years mastering those abilities. After the first year, they told me about my semblance, which was a brutal ability I had only ever used accidentally until that point. I could use blood just like how I could use water, with the exception of its creation. They even explained that this was the reason for the heart-shaped infusion that had been the subject of my questions for the entire year. I could only use it if my target had an open wound, but combined with my infusions, that wasn't going to be a problem.
After I knew what abilities I had, training intensified and moved from examples and dummy targets to Grimm. They always kept the difficulty appropriate, never matching me against something I couldn't handle. For my own good, and lack of their presence, I never fought a Nevermore or Deathstalker.
Soon, I was 16. My parents sent me to Signal, even if only for one year, but just like with all kids on their first days of school, they were upset to see me leave. I hadn't understood quite why since I had shown myself to be quite capable, but I soon had the answers, realizing that I hadn't seen very much of the world outside of my home.
You always hope to get the best out of people, but being the new kid doesn't always draw that kind of attention. I walked in wearing my black, dust-infused cloak along with my other normal clothing. The scrutiny started what felt like immediately. Some guy picking on a Faunus boy turned around and started mocking my "tattoos", and his friends quickly joined. The Faunus ran as soon as the hand holding him in place loosened its grip. I walked past them, carefully hiding my annoyance. I had learned that my infusions glowed not only when I fought, but when I felt the emotions most closely represented by the shape of each infusion, in this case: anger.
I went about my first week feeling the scrutiny that came with being who I was. By the end of the week, I was exhausted and just wanted to run from school, never return. As soon as I could, I ran home at a full sprint, emotions a blindingly bright mix of anger and sadness. I went to the one person I assumed would understand my situation the most, my grandfather. We were very similar people. We were both quick learners and he said he saw other aspects of himself in me, both good and bad. I told him between sobs what had happened during the week, emphasizing the worst of it all, Weiss. Nothing escaped that girl's eye, and she scrutinized every single detail, not just my infusions, but my clothing as well. It was ridiculous. He listened patiently, and told me that he understood it perfectly because he had been through the same thing. I asked what I could do about it, specifically ruling out the possibly of waiting through it. He said he was proud of me for lasting as long as I had, but that he wasn't entirely sure how to solve my problem, only that he could at least change some of it. He took me back to that circle of trees, but asked me to only place my cloak on the strange stone.
He said that with some dust in the container next to the stone he could make the hood of my cloak hide my face. I agreed to let him do it, realizing that this was currently my only option, and trying to come up with another would mean potentially waiting through another day of mockery. He finished quickly, and the new infusion was two intertwined gold and black lines that would cast a black mist in the gap of the hood, blocking my face from vision, but allowing me to see through it. I was satisfied, at least now they couldn't see my infusions.
I went back to school happy because the worst was over. I had finally picked myself up, albeit with help. My grandfather was right though, my problem hadn't been solved entirely, I still heard their judgmental voices and several out-loud comments, but I just smiled and shook my head lightly, glad that they could barely see my reaction.
