Amnesia Chapter 1, a rwby fanfic

Amnesia

She woke up shivering with the bitter taste of sand in her mouth. Icy wind whipped fiercely across her face, like an angry spirit slapping her rudely into wakefulness. Off in the distance, the faint sound of waves rushing to the land could be heard. Her eyes slowly drifted open. Long, white hair messily covered her face that directly contrasted the dark, overcast clouds overhead. Light droplets of rain fell from the sky. Instinctively, she raised her hand over her face to shield her eyes from the cold drizzle.

Where was she?

Tall, dark plants and mounds of fine, white sand surrounded where she lay. The sound of waves lapping the shore became clearer. She was on...a beach? She sat up groggily. Immediately, a sharp pain attacked the back of her head. Surprised, she nearly fell back down but her hand caught the ground just in time to support her body weight.

The sand was sticky where her hand had landed. It was also colored in a dark red hue. She winced and gently brought her other hand to the spot of hurt. Something warm and wet met her hand where she touched her head—blood. Fresh blood. A fresh wound. The area around the wound on her head was also sticky, likely staining the white hair around it much like the once-white sand she now sat in. Looking at the blood on her fingertips made her feel slightly dizzy.

It was then when she became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in her mouth. Something hard and gritty—there actually was sand in her mouth. She spat it out hastily, wiping her tongue against the back of her hand in order to rid her mouth of all the foul little particles. As she cleaned her tongue, she looked up and attempted to take stock of her surroundings.

Why was she on a beach? How did she get here? Confused, she stood up to get a better look around, doing her best to ignore the grueling pain eating away at her head. As soon as she was fully upright, she was met by a wind that was so strong that it almost battered her back down on the bloodied sand beneath her feet. Gritting her teeth and shaking off the bitter cold, she stood her ground against the wind. Thunder boomed heavily overhead. She wasn't far from the shore. From where she was standing, she could see streaks of lightning paint themselves across the sky over the waters, indicating the incoming storm that was headed rapidly in her direction.

But that didn't explain anything at all to her. How did she even get here? The last thing she could remember…

…

What could she remember?

…

Nothing.

She couldn't remember anything.

Not her name. Not how she got there. Not why she was standing in a circle of sand that was soaked with her own blood.

She had nothing.

Overwhelmed, she sat back down hard on the ground. Maybe in the past she might have cared about the way that the blood-soaked sand was staining the back of her pure white dress. But that matter was of little concern to her.

Who was she?

Unsure of what to do, she sat still watched the storm that outlined the horizon move closer and closer to her location. Thunder shook the earth. The wind lashed out maliciously against her face, making her hair flare out behind her. She turned away to keep the sand out of her eyes.

A twinkle of light in the grass a few feet away nearby caught her attention.

Curiously, she pushed herself off of the ground and slowly peered over to see what it was. Lying hidden in the shrubbery and half-covered by the sand was an elegant looking rapier. It had a blade that was thin and white, and a circular hilt that was elegantly adorned with stones of various colors. She stared at it for a while, admiring the craftsmanship in which it was created. Then, leaning over, she grabbed the hilt. A sense of comfort and familiarity enveloped her as she lifted it out of the sand.

Myrtenaster.

That was its name. Myrtenaster. She didn't know how she knew it, but she was certain that it was true. It was as if the sword itself had whispered its name into the back of her mind.

Myrtenaster.

She tightened her grip on the sword. It was a clue. A remnant of who she was. Knowing that she at least had something from her past to hang on to calmed her down. Just a little bit.

A droplet of water larger than the light drizzle around her hit her square in the eye. The rain was getting heavier. She needed to move quickly lest she wanted to be caught in the middle of the storm. Standing up fully, she turned her back to the shoreline and fled into the thickening shrubbery that surrounded her.

She huddled under the large leaf as rain fell heavily from the sky. The wind howled as it raced freely through the trees, changing the course of the rainwater from simply down to everywhere. Despite the crude shelter she'd found under the leaf, she was soaked from head to toe. She hugged her legs tighter with her arms and lowered her head between her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible and ignoring the scratches and cuts she'd gained from running through the forest blindly. Thunder rolled above her loudly. The dark clouds blocked out anything that resembled light, anything that might have even reminded it of light, making it black as night. Or maybe it really was night. She couldn't tell.

She was scared.

Scared that she would never remember who she was. Scared that she didn't know where she was. Scared that she had nowhere to go. Scared that she might die by drowning in the unbelievable amount of water brought about by this godforsaken storm. Hot tears of helplessness began to run down her face, mixing together with the cold rainwater to make her already-soaked face even wetter. What was she going to do?

Through her tears, she could see a large puddle that had formed in a depression in the ground in front of her. Her reflection made a weak attempt to shine back at her, but the heavy barrage of rain that caused the endless ripples in the water prevented her from seeing the image clearly.

That was how she felt about herself right now. She was merely a blurred image—something that should have been exceptionally familiar to her but was instead an incomprehensible mess of clashing colors and emotions. One that was huddled pitifully under a leaf as a storm of uncertainty rained down on top of her. She was a stranger to herself.

And she didn't need a mirror to tell her who the loneliest of all really was.

As her tears continued to roll down her beautiful pale cheeks, her thoughts only worsened. What if there was nobody in the world that actually recognized her? What if she was alone even before she lost her memory? Helplessness turned to panic. Her breathing became faster. Her heart pounded quicker. She shut her eyes tight and lowered her head deeper into her knees.

"Stop it," she told herself. "Just… just…" She couldn't finish her thought. She didn't know what to just.

Feeling a sudden wave of fatigue roll over her body, she realized just how exhausted she was. She couldn't guess the amount of time that she'd been out cold on the shore—literally—but it didn't feel long enough to be considered a proper rest. She still felt dizzy and disoriented. The freezing cold weather and occasional bursts of pain brought about by her head injury were not helping her fare any better either.

However, despite these things, she could feel her mind slowly slipping into the darkness of sleep.

She didn't try to fight it. In fact, she welcomed it. She hoped that sleep would grant her shelter from her troubled thoughts. It wasn't a solution to her situation by any means, but at least she hoped it would alleviate the fear she felt in wakefulness.

Her thoughts began slipping away from her as she fell further down into the darkness. Time began slowing down. The world around her dimmed from her consciousness. She was helpless to resist. Finally, a few minutes later, she was asleep.

In her dream, she was running desperately down a crumbling road. Debrislined the street and the smell of sea salt and gunpowder filled her senses. Her legs ached from the strain of her running. Around her, the remnants of formerly grand houses, now reduced to piles of rubble and ash, were illuminated by the full moon that ruled high over the night sky. The sounds of explosions shook the ground around her, and mixed yelling could be heard from various directions surrounding her.

Though the air was warm, she felt an inexplicable chill run down her body starting from the top of her head down to the small of her back. She started to run faster. From what? She didn't know. The overwhelming sense of dread that was rooted deep in her chest prevented her from wanting to stop and find out. More explosions rocked the earth. The sound of her heavy breathing mixed together with the crunching of the gravel under her feet as she urged herself to move farther down the half-demolished street.

Off to her left, one of the few houses that was still relatively unscathed was suddenly hit by a fast moving metal object that plowed straight through two of its walls. The house let out a loud groaning sound as it teetered perilously, then collapsed in slow motion with a deafening CRASH. A scream rang from the wreckage, then silence. She ignored it and continued to run.

She recognized the area yet… she didn't. Everything about her surroundings seemed hauntingly familiar, but she was unable to place a finger on where exactly she was.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up, making her tense. She saw the cannonball sailing through the air towards her body, but her dream self was too slow to react.

…

Her ears rang. Her vision swam. Her body ached.

What happened?

She was sprawled painfully on her side and covered from head to toe with dirt. She shook her head to clear her mind. As the fog dancing around her vision began to dissipate, she slowly began to make out the large, smoking hole in the road directly in front of her body. In its center was a crudely smelted iron ball. Steam curled around its surface like greedy children grabbing at a toy.

She closed her eyes. She needed to rest. She'd been running for what seemed like hours.

The sound of rough yelling behind her made her open her eyes.

She was out of time. She painfully began to push herself off of the ground, but a large muddy boot forcefully drove her shoulder back down onto the ground hard. She heard the sound of a flintlock clicking above her.

"End o'the line, missy." Came a harsh voice above her.

She looked up into the barrel of the loaded gun that was pointed right at her head.

It fired loudly.

She woke with a start, her breaths coming out in short, panicky rasps. The man with the gun—where was he? The street—the houses—where did they all go? Blinking the confusion out of her eyes, her vision focused on the large leaf that was hanging over her head. It drooped down lowly, almost as if it had submitted to the authority of the storm and was bowing down low.

She'd been dreaming.

She blinked again and sat up, ignoring the sharp sting of pain from her wound along with the stiff pain in her joints from falling asleep in such a crude position. Sometime during the night she'd either fallen down or laid herself onto the ground, covering the side of her face with sand and wet vegetation. She wiped the dirt off of her face and shivered. Though the storm had already passed and the sun was high above her in the sky, her clothes were still sopping wet with cold rainwater and she was freezing.

Her stomach growled loudly. And she was hungry. She couldn't even imagine how long it'd been since she'd last eaten. It could have been days. Weeks.

Pushing herself painfully off of the floor, she began taking a look at her surroundings clearly for the first time since she'd arrived. Tall trees and dense shrubbery filled her vision. The sound of chirping birds and humming insects surrounded her. She inhaled deeply through her nose. The air smelled metallic—likely due to the rainwater of the storm that had mingled with the sand and dirt that she stood on.

She looked around uncertainly. Now what? She didn't know where to go. What to do. Who to look for. As far as she knew, she was lost and alone in the world.

Her stomach growled again, urging her to move from her spot and look for something edible to satisfy it. She sighed and told her legs to start moving.

She'd been walking aimlessly through the woods for hours before finally spotting the faint wisp of smoke floating freely over the horizon a few hundred yards away. Multiple cuts and scratches decorated her body from the thorns and branches she'd walked through, and she had so many bites and stings from bugs that she hoped to never see a forest again in her life. Stumbling weakly towards the spot she imagined it originated from, she prayed that whoever was responsible for it would take pity on her and help her before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Her vision swam. She was completely and utterly worn out.

Her knees buckled, but she caught her balance before she fell.

"Just keep moving," she urged herself. If she collapsed here, she wasn't sure that she would be able to find the strength to pull herself back up onto her feet. "Just… a little… further…"

She trudged on, doing her best to ignore how much every part of her body cried out at her to stop. The spot where the smoke came from wasn't that much farther. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination in her near-delirious state, but she swore that she could smell food cooking over a fire. Even more of an incentive to keep moving.

Several more times her legs nearly gave out, but she caught herself from falling on her face in time. The smell of food became stronger. The thought of getting something into her stomach pushed her to keep on walking. Even better, she savored the thought of seeing another person. Somebody to keep her company. To remind her that maybe she wasn't completely alone in the world.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, a small, wooden cottage appeared in the horizon. It was still quite a distance from where she currently was, but a visual confirmation of its existence renewed her vigor to keep moving. She slugged forward, throwing everything into just reaching the small building. So close. She was so close.

At last, she reached the door of the cottage. Using the last of her strength, she reared her arm back and knocked weakly on the door before collapsing onto the dirt. That was all she had. If whoever was inside didn't let her in, she didn't know what she was going to do. She had no more strength to continue from her spot.

…

Silence.

She waited some more for an answer.

…

Nothing.

Minutes had passed. Nobody answered her knock. Maybe she hadn't knocked hard enough? It didn't matter. She was too weak to even lift her arm up to try again. Even if she had knocked hard enough, there was also the chance that there was nobody inside. She'd first seen the smoke about an hour earlier, which was plenty of time for whoever was inside to leave, for whatever reason.

Her vision blurred suddenly, making her lose focus of the door directly in front of her face.

"I guess that's it then," she thought to herself weakly. "I really am going to die alone in this forest… In this world."

She sighed and closed her eyes, resigned to finally being able to rest. She was so tired. Nothing else seemed important anymore, she just wanted to sleep. Through the fog of her tiredness, she heard the sound of something shifting around inside of the cottage. Like furniture rubbing against the floor.

Could it have been her imagination?

She heard the sound of feet shuffling near the door. It creaked open softly. Her eyes slowly peeked open. Filling her failing sight was a balding old man with white hair on the sides and back of his head. He held a shotgun cautiously with both of his hands, as if he was afraid she would jump up and try to force her way into the building.

Her vision blurred again. She couldn't hold onto her consciousness for much longer. She opened her mouth to speak, bringing fresh pain to her cracked lips, but found no strength to ask for the help she needed. She gave up and flopped her head back down onto the ground. Hopefully he would understand the position that she was in. Her vision blurring for the final time, she finally slipped away from reality, not a clue about what was to be her fate.

Her hands were bound tightly together behind her back by a thick, brown rope. The cold tip of a flintlock was pressed painfully against her neck. She was being forced to walk forward—but to where? She felt somebody shove her forward hard. She stumbled, barely keeping her balance and saving her face from the hard kiss of the gravel below.

"Get a move-on!" A rough voice came from behind her. "I aint got all day to be babysittin' you, missy!" She turned her head to get a look at the man forcing her to move forward. He was tall—in fact he towered over her by an entire head. Her eyes ran parallel to his neck, which was caked with varying amount of dirt, giving off the appearance of multi-colored skin. He wore an elegant, long black coat, trimmed with silver that ran down to the back of his calves. Large, steel shoulder pauldrons matched his spiky gray hair that parted in multiple areas on his head. In his belt was a wickedly jagged cutlass, with notches cut into the front of the blade indicating that it had been used in heavy battles in the past. Her eyes took notice of a heavy looking pair of iron boots that crushed the gravel beneath his feet as he marched her forward.

He shoved her forward again mercilessly. "Wot are you lookin' at missy? I told you, I ain't got all day y'know!" She glared back at him before turning away. Seeing him made her blood boil. She wasn't quite sure why, but she was filled with an unexplainable hatred towards the man who was pushing her forward.

"Don't lookit me that way," He said with a scowl. "Maybe if you'd cooperated justa little bit better, nobody woulda had t'die."

Die? People had died because of her?

Her dream-self seemed to be well acquainted with the information. She turned again and spat on his boots. "Sea scum," she hissed, continuing to glower at him.

She was helpless to stop the hand that savagely struck her across the face.

"Pretty little bitch," he muttered, prodding her back again with the tip of his pistol. "Just had these cleaned yesterday."

The dream began to evaporate as she thought about how his priorities regarding what he needed to keep clean seriously needed to be reorganized.

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the low lighting of the room she was in. A fire crackled comfortably nearby, casting an orangey red ambience over the entire room. A heavy blanket was draped over her body and a small bowl of stew had been set on the table next to her bed.

She sat up slowly. There was something tied around her forehead. She reached her hand up and touched it—it felt smooth and silky in her hands. She traced it around her head. As she guessed, it was tied securely around the wound on the back of her head. She breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly pulling her legs out of the thick blanket, she looked around slowly at the room she was in. It was quite simple, with wooden walls and a low ceiling. There were a few tables placed neatly against the walls, and the fireplace stood at the center of the room with the stuffed head of a bear hanging proudly over it. It was a comfortable setting. It felt… safe.

Suddenly, she realized that Myrtenaster wasn't with her. Eyes widening, she began to frantically look around the room in order to locate the sword which served as a piece of her memory. Where was it? It couldn't be gone. Did she drop it on the way here?

She realized that her hands were shaking.

"Take a deep breath", she instructed herself, closing her eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

A sound at the door made her eyes fly open. Instinctively, she reached towards the spot that she kept her sword. Then she remembered that her sword wasn't there. She looked up.

It was the old man—and in his hand was Myrtenaster.

"Don't fret, young one," he said coarsely. "I was just cleaning this off for you. You seemed to have dirtied it up quite the bit on your way here." He chuckled slowly.

Another person. Another voice. Another human voice. His voice was the first voice that she'd heard in… a long time. She fought back tears of relief, swallowing hard.

He strode over and set her sword down in a basket near the bed. "Now, I don't know if you're hungry or not, but my son made some stew today and there's a bowl in front of your bed if you'd like some. Fine quality food there, I do say so myself." She nodded thankfully.

"Well there are a few things I need to get done before the sun goes completely down, so give me a holler if you need me. Also my son should be back in a few minutes, so don't be surprised to see somebody knocking on the door."

She nodded again. "Th…thank you," she managed to croak out, using her voice the first time in… she didn't know. It wasn't as pretty as she'd wanted it to sound.

The man smiled at her, then stepped outside and shut the door. She listened to the faint sounds of his footsteps growing softer and farther away from the cottage. That had been awfully nice of him. She smiled and looked at the still-steaming bowl of food in front of her. Her stomach growled, as if anticipating the meal already. She grabbed the spoon near the bowl and took a tentative bite.

Delicious.

The stew had done her wonders; she was feeling better already. Maybe it was her imagination, but she swore that she felt stronger than she had half an hour ago. She heard the door open. She turned, seeing the old man once again. He looked worried and was panting heavily.

"Has my son come back to the house yet?" He asked breathlessly. She shook her head no. It had just been her and the stew. He walked towards her and plopped down on a seat that was facing the fire.

"Strange," he said, looking concerned. "Ah, he's a grown boy. I'm sure he knows how to care for himself." She watched him stare into the fireplace. "Well, while we're waiting here, why don't I tell you a bit about myself and my family?"

He reached down and unstrapped his boots, setting them off to the side.

"As you can see, I live out here in the woods, just my son and me. My wife, Amelia, used to live here with us too but… well, time catches up with us old 'uns."

"I… I'm terribly sorry to hear that," she said, looking down at the floor respectfully.

"Bah, that's all right," he said, waving her off. "Can't stop death, right?"

There was a pause. Then he continued. "You know, we used to live back on the port like most people. It was a nice life. Very busy. One day, just got fed up with everything. Corrupt government. Taxes. Pirates. The whole lot'a them. My wife'n I decided to just move away from it all and live out here quietly by ourselves."

"Pirates?" She thought to herself curiously. The old man went on.

"Wasn't easy at first, hoo-no. Slept a few nights outside in the rain before our son came to help us get ole missy here built." He stroked the wooden wall with his hand. "Some people think we're crazy. They's probably right. But the peace out here—it grows on you. Now my son usually don't stay out here with me, but he visits often and brings me the supplies I need to keep on runnin'. Don't plan on kickin the bucket just yet, hoo-no," he said, chuckling again softly.

She smiled. She liked the old man. He seemed to have a carefree sort of attitude that spread to those around him, dampening the worries that she had.

"Now how's about you?" He asked. "I reckon a young pretty miss like yourself must have a nice story to tell about ending up in these woods all by herself."

Yes. She was sure she did. Too bad she didn't know it herself. There was an awkward silence as she tried to think of what to say.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening suddenly. A young man with dark, brown hair appeared in the doorway. His clothes were disheveled, and he was breathing heavily.

"Pa!" He exclaimed. "We need to leave. Now."

The old man stood up, concern immediately flashing in his eyes. "What's happened?"

"Pa, we need to go! There's no time to explain. They're right outside, followi—" he suddenly stopped when he spotted her. "You!" He exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Y-you're the one that they're looking for! The girl with the white—"

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting CRACK from outside of the cottage. She felt a droplet of something warm and wet land softly against her cheek.

The young man looked down incredulously at the gaping hole that had appeared in the middle of his chest. He looked back up at his father, surprise etched cruelly onto his face. Then, he fell down heavily onto the floor below. She covered her mouth with her hands.

"NO!" The old man exclaimed, leaping to his feet and rushing towards the body of his son. He kneeled over in disbelief., grabbing his son's hands. "How… How could this…?" Tears began pooling up in his eyes as he struggled to find words.

"Not… so… fast," came a gruff voice from outside the door. Two burly, dirty looking men entered the room. They smelled strongly of alcohol and sea salt—not the most pleasant mixture of aromas.

"P… Pirates," The old man snarled, backing up slowly from his fallen son's body. He reluctantly let go his son's hand.

"Aye, it appears the old one recognizes what we are. I suppose he should get'a prize," came the same voice from outside. She recognized the voice. Why did she recognize the voice? The two men chuckled as the man of whom the voice belonged to strode into the building.

He was tall. He wore a long, black coat. Silver shoulder pauldrons. Spiky, gray hair. With a start, she realized that he was the man that she had just been dreaming about. But that couldn't have been possible. It had only been a dream… right? He noticed her staring.

"Oi, so we meet again, little missy," he said. A chill ran down her spine. The way he said it—so gently, yet so… evilly. Like a serpent disguised as a mouse. "Didn't think I'd let you go after… the way we left things, eh?"

It was then that she noticed the long, white bandage was tied firmly over his left eye. It looked like it had been wrapped around his head multiple times, and different shades of red stained the different layers of the bandage surrounding the eye. She didn't recall seeing that on his face in her dream.

His voice turned bitter. "Oh, I see the way yer lookin at me, missy. Truss me, you ain't gonna be so proud about wot ye did to me for much longer."

The old man spoke next to her suddenly. "Y-you pirate! What is it that you want! You come into my home and kill my son!" He shouted. "I have nothing of value in my home. You've gained nothing here! If you kill us, you'll still be left with nothing!"

"Ah, but see, that's where you're wrong!" He exclaimed lightly. "I can see one thing riiiiiiiiiight in front of me that has quite a large sum floa'in above her head. Alive, I might add, so don't be tryin' anything funny."

Her? But… why her? Confused and afraid, she shrank backwards on the bed that she was sitting on.

The old man turned and looked at her. "The girl? You came here… for the girl?"

The pirate rolled his eyes. "Well how obvious did yew want me to make it? Yes, I came here for the girl! Oh, m'apologies about this young man over here by the way." He kicked the body lightly. "Couldn't have him ruinin' our surprise little visit, now could we?"

There was a price over her head? But… for what reason?

"B—but, how did you find us?" The old man cried, shaking. With rage. With fear. In despair for his son. Likely all of the above. "I built this house as far from society as possible!"

"Well twasn't very hard. She left'a trail that a blind toad coulda followed." He scoffed at his own joke. "Now lookie here mister, you can juss hand over the little missy o'er to us and we'll do ye the favor of not killing ye."

This was her fault. This was all her fault. A man was lying dead on the floor in front of her. And it was her fault. She caught glimpse of the old man staring at her. She matched his gaze reluctantly, guilt scribbled all over her face. However, the look that the man gave her was not the one that she had expected at all. Rather than anger, it reflected… she didn't know. Pity?

"Y'know," the gray haired man said, drawing a flintlock slowly out of his belt. "I'm not what ye might call a… patient man. Hand'er over. Now."

There was a pause. The pirate's gun made a click as the flint was cocked backwards, priming the gun to fire.

"Alright, alright," the old man finally said, looking down. "Take her. I want no part in this."

"That's a good man," the pirate said, smiling. He whistled to one of the men on his side, who began moving towards her.

Well, this was it. She deserved it, she supposed. She looked back up at the old man who had been so kind to her, bitterly regretting causing him such a loss for all he had done for her. He looked tired. Burdened. He'd just lost his son. There wasn't anything in the world that compared to the feeling of losing a loved one. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she knew that it was true.

A subtle flash of gold caught her attention and brought her out of her thoughts. The old man—he was holding something behind his back. It was long and gleamed subtly, reflecting the fire flickering in the fireplace behind him.

"A fire iron," she realized. "When did he grab that?" The large man reached her and clamped a meaty hand on her shoulder, roughly pulling her out of her thoughts once again.

"Come on, you," the man growled at her, shoving her onto her feet. His back was turned to the old man, who had risen and had begun approaching them. Her eyes widened.

Then, two things happened at once. A loud CLANG was heard as the old man swung the iron fire poker against the pirate's head, followed by an even louder CRACK as the leader of the pirates fired his flintlock, sending a small lead ball sailing into the chest of the old man. Both the old man and the pirate in front of her collapsed heavily onto the floor.

She covered her mouth and gasped as the old man looked up feebly at her with dying eyes. Disbelief shone in her eyes. Another man had just died… this time defending her. He hadn't even known her. With the last of his strength, he motioned his head towards the basket near her bed. The one that held Myrtenaster. Then, sighing deeply, he let his head drop against the floor, never to move again.

"A shame really," came the gray haired man's gentle voice from across the room. "How does it make ye feel knowing that yer the reason two innocent men have just died?"

Her face twisted in anger. Leaping up suddenly, she grabbed the hilt of Myrtenaster and brandished it in front of the man. He simply smiled.

"Oh come'on now, lassie. Ye really think it's wise to wave yer sword around at two armed men, both twice yer size?"

She spat at his boots in reply. "You shouldn't call yourself a man. That right is only reserved for those who don't require a magnifying glass to see their own members." His smile faded.

"Fine, missie. Have it your way."

He signaled to the other pirate next to him, who drew his cutlass out of his belt. Tension hung heavily in the air as she and the other pirate held their positions, waiting for somebody to make the first move.

Tired of waiting, he lunged at her.

Her instincts took over. Block. Block. Parry. Sidestep. Duck. Thrust. Thrust. Parry. Jump. How did she know how to do all of these things? It wasn't the time to question it. She needed to survive. She leapt aside once again as her opponent's heavy cutlass cleaved down towards the spot she was standing.

"Stand still, would yer?" He growled. This wasn't going to work. She didn't know if she would be able to keep this up for very long. She needed a plan.

"Always have a plan for attack, my dear", she suddenly recalled. The voice that she imagined in her head brought comfort to her, but she didn't have time to think about where the thought came from. The pirate swung again heavily towards her face. She parried and ducked.

"Great positioning exceeds great strength," the same voice echoed in the back of her mind. Positioning. How could she possibly position herself in this situation? The room wasn't very large to begin with, and gray-hair was watching passively from the doorway. Not much place for positioning to begin with.

Out of the corner of her eye, the flicker of fire caught her attention. The fireplace. Could she use that, maybe? She felt wind pass over her face as the pirate narrowly missed her face with his blade. She needed to focus.

If she was going to do this, she would need to position herself perfectly. The fireplace was only a few feet high.

"Oi, would you hurry up there?" The gray-haired man called out to his subordinate. "The Cap'n aint gonna be to happy 'bout long we've been taken, ey?"

"Tell'er to stand still then!" He grunted back, missing her again as she leaped nimbly backwards.

"Hey, would'ye mind standin still for my pal o'er there?" He called out to her. " 'pparently he wasn't trained to hit movin' targets."

She ignored him and prepared herself to follow through with her plan. The next time he swung at her, she dove across the room, putting the man between herself and the fireplace.

"Too far," she thought to herself. She needed the man to be closer to the fire. That means she would need to take the offense. She took a deep breath and positioned her feet accordingly. Then, she launched into a flurry of coordinated aggressive attacks at the man.

Surprised at the sudden burst of power and speed that he was facing, the pirate grunted and took three steps backwards.

"Too close now," she thought, gritting her teeth. She let up her attack, taking a step back and hoping the man would mirror her.

He did.

Sweat beaded her forehead as she concentrated on her next move. The pirate, seeing that she had ended her furious assault on him, took the opportunity to take back the offensive. He grinned maliciously at her and swung fiercely at her face.

Looking up and taking a deep breath, she parried the blade away with her own as hard as she could. The man, surprised and off balance, flinched backwards. Without no time to spare, she dove forward and rammed her shoulder into his chest as hard as she possibly could.

The force knocked him backwards—straight into the fireplace.

He roared in agony as the fire engulfed the upper-half of his body. She turned aside, shutting her eyes. It was painful to watch.

"Useless, every last one'o them," Gray-hair grumbled. He pulled out his own cutlass from his belt, the same one that she recognized from her dream. "If ye want somethin' done right," he growled, advancing towards her. "Ye need't do it yerself!" He lashed out swiftly.

Unlike the first pirate that she had fought, her new opponent's attack were precise, quick, and coordinated. Each swing, every thrust, all of his actions—none of them were random or accidental. It was like she was fighting against a machine. Sweat rolled down the side of her face as she struggled to keep up with his lightning-fast movements. She knew that she wouldn't be able to keep this up forever.

A sudden sharp flash of heat burned the side of her neck. Wincing heavily, she turned. The fire—it had begun to spread from the pirate's body that had been rolling around on the wooden floor moments before. The sudden pain had been caused by one of the many stray sparks that were now dancing around in the air.

This was bad. She hadn't thought this far ahead. She was now caught between a deadly man wielding a sword and a growing fire that was inevitably inching towards her with each passing moment.

What could she do? Sharpening her focus, she tried to quickly think of any advantages that she had over the situation. She failed to block an unexpected lunge, landing her a square cut across the arm.

"Juss give it up, missy!" He called, sensing her helplessness. "Juss come with ole Mercury here and you won't hafta' get hurt anymore."

Mercury? Was that his name? Another lunge came dangerously close to her face.

"Not now," she chastised herself. "Survival first. Names later."

He laughed heartily as he took a step closer to her. "Come on now, missy. Wouldn't wanta bang yer pretty li'l face up anymore. Might make ye worth less yer value."

That was it. He had to bring her back alive. Could she use that to her advantage? A heavy wave of heat rolled across her back. She heard the walls around her beginning to crack. The building wasn't going to hold for much longer.

She parried another one of his swings weakly. Her movements were becoming sluggish. The man—Mercury noticed. "Can't keep this up forever, missy," he said menacingly.

She stopped fighting. "You're right," she said, lowering her rapier. "I can't."

He paused too, surprised. "I am?" He asked, a grin appearing on his face. "Oh goodie, I love it when that happens."

A large piece of timber fell from the ceiling, landing with a CRASH near her foot. She glanced up. A large crack had started to form in the wood directly on top of her. She needed to act quickly.

"Maybe you're better than me at a sword, but I'd rather be dead than to be captured by the likes of you," she said. She dropped her sword. She had to be convincing.

His smile began to fade. "…Wot are you trying to get to, missy?" he asked, suddenly looking concerned.

"I'm saying," she said, beginning to turn away from him slowly. "That I'd rather burn alive than let you drag me away alive."

Without waiting for a reply, she took her first step into the fire that was directly in front of her. Pain immediately seared her entire leg. She cried out in anguish as tendrils of flame cruelly began to lap at her skin.

"NO!" She heard Mercury yell behind her. She heard him run towards her. A hand grabbed at her arm. Now was her chance. Turning swiftly, she brought her knee up as hard as she could into his groin. He collapsed stiffly with a pained groan onto the floor near the fire.

"B…Bitch," He stammered out as she wretched her hand out of his grasp. She reached down and scooped up Myrtenaster. As her hand wrapped over the hilt of her sword, she heard the sound of wood splitting directly above her. She glanced up. The ceiling had finally reached its limit. She dove swiftly out of the way as half of the building's ceiling crashed to the floor on top of Mercury. There was a cry as the timber landed on top of him.

She kept her face against the warm floor as a wave of hot debris and dust flew across the room. Then, coughing, she stood up shakily. She turned towards the spot that the ceiling had landed on. As the dust cleared, she realized that, miraculously, Mercury was still alive. The wood had landed squarely on top of the lower half of his body, trapping him onto the floor. He screamed in rage as he struggled to free himself.

She coughed again. "Send my regards to your friends when you get to Hell," she said coarsely.

He screamed curses at her as she began to walk towards the door. She stopped before she reached it and glanced down at the body of the old man and his son lying on the floor of their home. She sighed heavily. The burden of their deaths now weighed heavily on her shoulders.

"H—hey!" She heard Mercury's voice from across the room. Stupidly, she turned. Somehow, he had managed to free a knife out of his belt—and it was held in such a position that could only mean that he was about to throw it.

She was too slow to move out of the way. The knife was already in the air. Instinctively, she flinched backwards and thrust her hand in front of her to block the spinning projectile that was aimed at her head. The hilt of the knife bounced off one of her fingers, changing the course of the blade slightly higher than its original path. However, not high enough. A fierce pain exploded in her head as the tip of the knife nicked the side of her face right over her left eye.

She cried out and cupped her face as the knife embedded itself in the doorframe above her. Blood instantly began pouring out of the cut over her face, stinging her eyes and blinding her. Mercury laughed. "Damn, looks like I missed ye. Ironic, ain't it?"

She glared at him with her other eye. Then turning away, she fled swiftly out of the door, running as fast as she could away from the shouts and curses of Mercury who had been doomed to the fiery fate that would soon end his life.

She continued to run as she heard the sound of the rest of the cottage collapsing on top of itself. She shut her eyes. She had just witnessed the death of five men. Two of them had been innocent. She hadn't even known their names. The old man appeared in her head—the sweet old man that had given his life for an utter stranger. She thought of his smile. Such a kind smile.

Her steps began to slow down as she began to cry again. The moonlight illuminated her tears that mixed with the blood that was flowing down the left side of her face. Once again, she was alone in the world.

She sank to her knees. Was this all she had to look forward to? Once again, she didn't know what to do. Where to go. Why… to go. Did she even have a reason to continue? She felt tired. She was losing a lot of blood. The bandage she was using for the wound on the back of her head—maybe she could use that. It was already tied around her forehead, after all.

She slipped the bandage down slightly so it was covering the cut that went over her eye. It wasn't a professional treatment by any means, but it would have to do for now. Exhausted, she slumped against a nearby tree. She felt overwhelmed.

"Tomorrow…" she decided weakly. "I'll figure it out tomorrow…"

And with that, she passed out and fell back into the outstretched hand of sleep.

This time, her dream was different. Rather than actually being part of the dream, she was watching herself like a spectator to her own life. In the dream, the version of herself that she was watching was younger—maybe seven or eight years old. She was on a beach, running up and down the warm sand as cold water rushed over her feet. Running next to her was another girl that looked strikingly similar to her.

The girl turned and smiled at her younger self.

Her sister. It was her sister.

She looked so happy. "Betcha can't catch me!" Her sister exclaimed, laughing and running on ahead of her younger self.

She heard herself laugh and run faster. "Come back here Winter! Oh, I'm gonna getchu for splashing me like that!"

Winter. That was her name. She smiled as she remembered her. Winter. She loved her sister so much. She watched on happily as her younger self and Winter ran around the beach playfully. So carefree. So joyful. So happy.

Then her dream shifted.

Now, she was watching herself kneeling down in a large, lavish mansion. The walls were white, matching the cold marble that she was kneeling down on. There were several gaping holes in the ceiling and walls, allowing the cold drizzle to fall freely into the building. She was clutching something closely to her body. What was it?

The atmosphere turned colder as she realized what was in the hands of her dream self: It was a body. Winter's body. A trickle of blood ran out of the side of her mouth. Though she wasn't actually touching her sister, she knew that her skin felt cold. Blood stained the center of the white dress that she was wearing, flowing down to her dream self's own white dress. She realized with horror that part of Winter's side was missing—the type of wound that could only have been a result of a cannonball.

"No…" she thought to herself. "Please, no."

"No!" She heard her dream self scream. "Please, no! Winter, stay with me! You can't leave me here by myself!" Tears filled her eyes—both herself and her dream self. She watched in anguish as Winter's eyes slowly fluttered open. Her sister's eyes locked onto hers.

"W….w…" she stammered out, trying to form words.

"Don't talk, Winter. Please… help is arriving soon," she heard her dream self say. Her head turned around. "WHERE IS THE DOCTOR?!" She screamed desperately. "WE NEED HIM HERE, NOW!"

Winter's hand slowly reached up and touched her dream self's face, directing her focus back towards her. "It…it's… okay." She managed to stutter out. "Y… you know… sis….. I… r—really l…love you."

"I know, Winter. I know." Her dream self said, tears flowing out of her eyes like two small waterfalls. "J-just stay with me, okay?"

Winter didn't reply. Instead, she sighed slowly and closed her eyes.

"Winter?" She heard herself ask. "Winter!"

Winter still didn't reply.

"WINTER!" Her dream self screamed. "NO, YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!" She watched herself begin to sob in despair. "WINTER!" She cried out heartbrokenly. "WINTER! WINTER! WINTER!"

A nearby servant placed his hand on her arm. She shook him off savagely. "DON'T TOUCH ME! GET ME THE DOCTOR! WHERE IS THE DOCTOR?!" She threw her head over Winter's stomach and began to cry even harder. "NO! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME WINTER! YOU CAN'T! YOU C… CAN….T.." She choked on her words as she wept openly into her sister's broken body.

Winter. Her loving sister.

Winter.

She remembered.

Winter… was dead.

…

"Weiss!"

…

"Weiss!"

…

"Weiss!"

…

"Weiss!"

She felt a gloved hand gently grab her shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open. Before she was even fully awake, she was standing upright with her rapier pointed level to the intruder's throat. It was still dark outside. The sun had not risen yet. Her eyes were wet—she had been crying in her sleep.

"Woah, easy there!" came the nervous voice of the boy who was standing at the other end of her sword.

She blinked.

The boy wore a hood that covered most of his face and was attached to a dark brown tunic that ended after his shoulders, revealing a pair of well-built arms. Covering his forearms was a set of matching orange leather vambraces which cut off into a pair of brown, fingerless gloves.

Her eyes moved down.

He wore a pair of plain, dark blue trousers, but what caught her attention was the white, double-edged longsword that was sheathed in one of his two belts. Seeing it triggered a response within her mind. She knew that sword.

Was she still dreaming?

"Hey, hey, it's just me okay?" the boy said again, snapping her out of her thoughts. He began to move his arms. She tightened her grip on her sword. However, all he did was reach up and push the hood off of his head.

Long blond hair tumbled out over a pair of bright, blue eyes. Her eyes refocused and her gaze settled on his face. His face. She knew that face. Did she know that face? It seemed to bring about the same sense of foreign familiarity as when she had seen his sword earlier…. Like a memory that was scratching the back of her mind but couldn't quite break free to the surface.

Did she know this boy? She studied his face closely. His eyes shone back brightly at her. He blinked. Then he took a step closer to her. Her sword—where was her sword? It was no longer pointing at his throat. She realized that she had lowered it to the ground without even knowing it.

"I've been looking everywhere for—uhhp!" He started but stopped when she moved the point of her sword back up so it was touching his chin. "Weiss—what are you doing? It's me, Jaune!"

Weiss? Jaune? She didn't recognize either of the names. They were foreign to her—like hearing somebody speak in an unfamiliar language. She paused as she stared into his confused eyes.

There was a moment of silence.

…

"I… do not know you." She spoke, hearing her voice once again. Just as yesterday, her own voice sounded foreign to her.

"W-what are you talking about Weiss?" He sputtered back, confused as she was. "It's me… Jaune!"

There was another pause.

"Who is Weiss?" She asked, the grip on her sword faltering slightly. Weiss? The word sounded strange in her mouth.

The boy's eyes widened. "Weiss…" He said, seemingly at a loss for words. "You're Weiss… It's me, Jaune."

More silence.

She didn't recognize this… Jaune. Did she? She stared harder.

Blond hair. Blue eyes.

Jaune.

…

Jaune.

Short, sweet… Ladies loved it.

Jaune.

Jaune… Arc.

She slowly lowered her sword.

She… knew him. She knew him. She knew the name. She knew the face. She knew him.

"J-Jaune?" She asked slowly, her brow tightening as she let the name roll slowly off of her tongue. It felt like a she'd said it a million times before.

Jaune Arc. Jauney boy.

He nodded, a smile forming uncertainly on his mouth.

Tears began to form in her eyes. She dropped her sword and ran forward, burrowing her face into his chest and starting to sob loudly. She was so lost. So confused. So scared. So overwhelmed.

She felt a pair of arms tightly wrap around her body, instilling in her a sense of warmth and comfort that she didn't feel like she'd felt in a very long time. She started to cry even harder. In anguish. In relief. In fear and sadness and happiness and many more emotions that shouldn't have been possible to experience at the same time.

"Hey hey, it's going to be okay Weiss," Jaune said, continuing to hold her tightly against his chest. He smelled pleasantly of cedar wood, and his body was warm.

She stood there for a few more minutes, emptying all of her bundled up fears and anxieties in the form of her tears and into his chest.

Maybe she was lost. Maybe she was confused. Maybe she was scared and overwhelmed.

But now… maybe she wasn't so alone in the world.