Embers of Autumn

Prologue

The pain had been strangely brief. It had begun as little more than a paper cut and steadily began digging deeper with a sharply pitching heat. It snatched away the ability to breathe, to speak, to react, setting every muscle rigid. And then, just like that it faded, and with it the piercing image of burning amber eyes.

And for a time, no knowing how long, there is nothing. All sensation dissipates.

Then it all comes stampeding back with a wild compulsion to breathe. It feels like sucking scorching air through a straw, lungs still restricted though she knows she gasping. The burning surges back tenfold, permeating every nerve with hooked claws that tear at her like her fingers at the sensation of a wound in her chest. Her body bows so sharply at the pain her spine threatens to snap right in half. When she finally draws enough air, just as the agony peaks, she lets a scream rip itself free.

She goes limp, limbs flopping against the hard ground and stirring up little drifts of dry soil. Her ears ring and her body throbs but now she can breathe, and she does so quickly, desperately. The air tastes of copper and ash...or is that blood in her mouth? Her mind is full of hot static, trying to comprehend everything and nothing at the same time. Fractured memories pass behind her closed lids in a flurry of color and interference and her ears pick up nothing but white noise that's far too loud. Everything then collapses into a dull ringing, her skin livid with a simmering itch that's she is too overwhelmed to scratch.

Everything suddenly focuses like the edge of a blade, jerking her focus to the center as a touch so cold it burns works around her bottom jaw. Slender fingers hook into her, the tips of talons threatening to draw blood as the grip tightens and tightens, lifting her head and angling her chin painfully upward. Her hands snap around a rigid forearm, the flesh beneath her fingers cold as well, like a corpse. She claws at it, finding no purchase. She forces her eyes open, fighting to do so just as hard as she struggles to pry that clawed hand loose.

It's a mess of crimson and shadow mixed with startling streaks of white, like some mad someone tore their hands across a wet canvas. The only thing of clarity are a set of eyes, black as pitch with haunting red irises. The first thing she feels other than pain is dread, brought on by those eyes that seem to glow in pleasure at her visible dismay. And the sensation only grows as she loses the will to fight and the rest of the face comes into focus; white skin, white hair, and the staggering angles of black veins that seem to emerge from the woman's eyes.

She says nothing, only smiles.

(II)

Winter feels colder this year, somehow. The seasonal bitterness arrived early and was threatening to stay late, the snowfall the most regular it has ever been. The air is still during the day and wails in the night, bringing more clouds across Vale. Feels like they hadn't seen the sun in days.

The four teens move from one little town to the next, hunting Grimm in exchange for room and board mostly, at the very least offered chairs by a tavern fireplace so they don't have to sleep outside. It has been like this for three weeks now, and Haven is still so far away.

They're gathered around the fireplace tonight, keeping close together and away from the commotion in the inn. Jaune is sitting on the hearth, his back to it, his chin bobbing at irregular intervals as he fights off sleep. Even in the shadows cast by the fire the dark circles hanging under his eyes are hard to miss. Ren hunches in his chair, his chest bracing the back of it and his forearms folded under his chin. His eyes are shut entirely, no evident struggle against it pulling his features. Nora is just in front of him, cross-legged on the floor, the quickly dissolving remnants of a snow ball she brought inside rolling between her hands. She's quietly watching it shrink as it wets her palms, almost amused.

Ruby waits at the counter, the tip of one boot tapping the floor. She's staring at the worn wooden surface of the bar, distracting herself in counting the stripes and spots on the grain, expression mostly vacant. Her attention snaps back to center at the clunk of full tin pints in front of her, each of them steaming with hot cider. She thanks the keeper with a little smile, pays him, and manages all the glasses into her hands.

One by one she hands them out, bumping Jaune's foot with her own until he fully wakes, and handing two to Nora -now that her hands are free- before sitting down with her own cider tucked close to her chest. She takes the first sip, savoring the warmth that washes through her as the heat works into her stomach. The dull ache in her joints and shoulders eases a little, and she begins waiting like she does almost every evening or whenever things are too still or too quiet.

Ruby waits for that look from Jaune, the one that telegraphs his need to ask her a question. In the seemingly short time they have been traveling together she has seen it so often that she starts sensing it, even when she can't see his face she knows it's there. Though his questions are often innocent enough, they're almost always inquiries to validate his choices. She feels a pang of sympathy at his regular second-guesses in regards to his actions. She's convinced it sprouted out of his shot self-confidence, his internalized sense of impotence, and frankly she finds zero surprise in the idea.

But she knows it's coming, that one question she has been dreading -sick to her stomach- for weeks. Ruby can almost hear it in his voice, echoing between her ears like somber church bells.

What happened up there?

And there's the look. There's the tucked, subdued tilt of his chin towards his chest and his lifted blue eyes, sober and quietly pleading. She can hold it, meets it evenly, but only for so long. It makes her feel heavy after a few seconds and she can't help but pull her gaze away. That's when she swears he's going to ask, when she feels so damn vulnerable because she's playing that night back in her head over and over. But, as so many times before, the words never come. If the question is on his mind, he keeps it to himself. Something she's partially grateful for.

"Ruby,"

Her body tightens like a sprung mousetrap, muscles snapping to attention for all of a split-second.

"I...um...I noticed...we're pretty close to Beacon." he stutters quietly. "I can't help but wonder...what's left of it."

She manages to look at him, finding comfort in his changed expression. His eyes are soft, no longer begging. "I think about it too." she exhales easily. "...Should we check it out?"

He turns away, brow knitting and scratching the back of his head. "I dunno." he stumbles over whatever words were to come next. "It's probably too dangerous."

Out of reflex she nods, taking another sip of her cider, but internally something tugs at her. He's playing it safe again, his uncertainty showing. She wants to tell him they should just go ahead with it, but feels like it isn't really her place. For all intents and purposes, he's team leader, not her. Though they seem to be trading the role back and forth these days. And she knows it's because he's scared. He doesn't want to lose anyone else.

Another subject Ruby feels she has no real business in discussing with him. Her team is effectively non-existent, her heart pinching hard at the thought, and if she had only been...seconds sooner...Jaune's team would still be whole. If is such an ugly word.

"Let's just sleep on it." she tries quietly.

"...You're right." he says eventually, nodding. He finishes his pint and shifts around, shoving his backpack beneath his head as he inches into the small right angle where the fireplace meets the wall. His back is to her now and she watches his body expand and contract with one big breath. "Good night, Ruby."

"Night, Jaune." and she mimics his shrug with one of her own.

For a spell she stays awake, watching the fire in the hearth and trying to let her mind wander away from missing people. Not that it works. She misses Blake and Weiss, never having been able to say good-bye or try to stop them. The memory of Yang the last time they saw each other, her lack of a response to a simple "I love you", tears at her. And Pyrrha...god, she misses Pyrrha. She misses team movie night at Beacon where all eight of them piled together in the dorm with junk food and big blankets, laughing themselves sick more times than not. Now it's just the four of them huddled together because it's just too cold to do otherwise. She even misses the scant few times they were stuck in detention with Goodwitch, whereas now they're isolated in the wild with no hopes of that liberating school bell that chimes every hour. She misses how at one time her biggest problem was whether or not her cape was clean enough to wear one more day.

When she is too tired to keep her eyes open she fishes her blanket out of her backpack and shuffles over to the same corner as Jaune. She puts her back to his and curls up under the stretch of wool, a little shiver working through her as she settles. It isn't long before Nora and Ren do the same, sandwiching the youngest hunter in the middle, Nora having a hold of Ren about the waist like he was little more than a stuffed toy.

Tomorrow they would wake up and continue heading east. Just like yesterday and the day before that.

(III)

Pain is constant, even when she manages to sleep. This place in itself is painful to inhabit. Everything is roughly hewn stone and volcanic glass that rubs her raw from head to toe, and it's cold. Though she isn't shivering, knowing in the back of her mind that she should be. Her muscles feel drawn tight, sore, overtaxed and unable. Her sternum burns with a particularly sharp pain, like a twisting blade that sends white hot sparks all through her body. She chanced a look at it once, the remains of the wound she finds appearing not at all like she expects. It's thick, raised, and jet black, and she can almost swear she sees the traces of darkening veins springing out around it.

She sits on the ground, propped against a giant stone with her head tilted back -the only comfortable position she can find. She can see the shattered moon above. The fractured celestial body nestles perfectly in the circular opening of this cavern she's found herself in, leaving no room for ideas as to the passage of time and the only source of light. Something to focus on other than the flickering despair in her heart, it's constant glow almost soothing.

"Miss Nikos...are you awake?"

Pyrrha swallows, a thick sound working through her throat. "I am, professor." she exhales, cringing at how dry her mouth feels. She turns her head, slowly, trying to push down the crackling ache in her neck. Through a natural pane of volcanic glass she can see Ozpin sitting there, his image blurred and tinted strangely purple. The glass is full of slanted and round openings, ripples that center around empty spaces, though none of them are big enough to put more than a hand through.

Ozpin leans forward, straightening from his lounged position until he can look through one of the openings. Sympathy pulls lines around his eyes as he processes the pitiful sight of her. "How are you holding up?"

Strangely, she tries to smile. "...I'm not too sure, actually. How do I look?"

"...Not your best." Something jerks in the pit of his stomach. Frankly, she looks absolutely terrible, that is, in comparison to the Pyrrha he has always seen. Is she even aware of the blood on her face?

"Ah." she nods slowly, turning her head to look up again. "How long has it been?"

"I don't know. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say time is...rather abstract here."

She's quiet for a moment, swallowing again. "Where is here?"

"A good question." he nods, his mouth a thin line. "Though, again, I can only speculate."

Something bitter bites the back of her mind, something markedly uncharacteristic. A caustic thought of do you know anything, you stupid old man? She internally balks at the idea of ever uttering such a thing. "Can you...at least tell me who she is?"

"...That's quite a long story." he eventually replies, almost too softly to hear.

"Well, it isn't like we have anywhere else to be."

He shrugs. "Fair enough."

"Do you know her?"

"I did once, yes. Feels like forever ago." he shifts, crossing his arms and lying back against the stone. "It was some time before I took over at Beacon. Her name was Salem Ashita and she was a Witch, just like her sister. The three of us attended the same combat school...made for easy friends.

"She was so talented," he shakes his head, eyes distantly fixed on something unseen, "like nothing I had ever seen. She had this uncanny ability to...I don't know how to describe it...charm a person, I suppose."

Pyrrha's brow furrows, a gentle crease in the middle. "She could control people?"

"Well...it wouldn't surprise me if she was capable, to be honest. Salem was the kind to step into a crowded room and make everything else stop."

"And I'd be willing to bet I still could."

How Ozpin hadn't felt her presence run up his back is more startling than her sudden appearance. His honey colored eyes cut to the staggering black shape he can make out through the glass, her burning irises the only thing not obscured.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

He feels the muscles in his back and jaw bunch tight, her energy raking over him in a wave of frigid static. That smile of hers has always hooked into him, but once it hadn't been such an unpleasant thing.

Pyrrha feels it too, something in the sealed wound in her chest that reacts to Salem's close proximity, almost reaching. The pain pitches hard, pulling on her ribs, but she forces herself not to visibly react as she tries to straighten. She resolutely meets Salem's eyes once the Witch turns to look at her, the volcanic glass between them appearing to open up as she steps through. For a moment she's silent, Salem only smiling in a way that reminds Pyrrha of an open wound. Then she tips her pale chin upward about an inch, allowing her to look down on the young huntress. "So how will you do it this time? Standing up," the grin widens, "or on your knees?"

That's not a question to Pyrrha, just wasted words. To her there is only one way. It takes some effort, her tired and aching body resisting, but she manages to her feet. Though the silent protest only lasts so long. Long enough for Salem's eyes to flash bright and hellish at the same time her taloned fingers curl at her side.

Salem enjoys watching the young woman suffer, the agony twisting her features stirring something in her like nothing else does. That awful smile only grows wider as Pyrrha's knees buckle, her body bending in half and her hands clawing at the black mark on her chest. She hasn't started screaming yet, but she will. She will. And when she does, that's when her eyes ease away to Ozpin. She tugs on the dark magic she's forcing through Pyrrha's body a little harder, thinking the resulting wail will garner his attention. She wants him to see this, see it while he's helpless, robbed of his cane and his aura and his allies. Ozpin brought this poor child to the chopping block and the least he could do is watch her be butchered.

Salem won't pull all the magic back when she's finished, leaving a little to nest in the young huntress like a red hot coal hidden under ash. It won't be long until she can fan it to a flame and observe what happens. As satisfied as she is watching Pyrrha twist against the floor, sputtering as blood gushes from her nose, there's a twist of frustration at the corner of her mouth. The small kink in her alabaster features opens up into a half snarl as she watches Ozpin a moment; he hasn't moved an inch, seeming not to have reacted at all. But her expressions neutralizes and a deep breath moves silently through her. It's all right. She would be back soon enough to do this all again.

(IV)

He sits alone on the bank of a half frozen lake, trying to focus on how it reminds him of home as well as ignore how his thoughts keep hanging up on the deceptively heavy ring of bronze cradled in his hands. His eyes are fixed over the water while his fingers curl and unfurl from around the soft but cold metallic edges. An emerald token on a chain rests against the pad of his thumb, constantly pulling his attention to it.

Jaune dips his chin at the behest of some invisible and incredible weight, his brow furrowing tight enough to hurt. His eyes hold a powerful mixture of contempt and longing, both emotions working a spark of pain in his heart. He doesn't want to cry again but can't help himself, already feeling the heat of tears rising into his face. The jerk of his heart bottoming out in his stomach brings the first of them down his cheeks and he chokes on a sob. She really was gone.

Maybe the last few months he had been in some sort of silent denial -Ruby still having not told him what happened- but holding this in his hands solidified the situation. They had found it in Beacon, the toppled city now days behind them, covered in a fine layer of gray dust among the rubble and in the shadow of that horrific dragon sort of Grimm that was still perched in stasis. His eyes had centered on it almost immediately, the only flicker of color in the place. He remembers that breathless feeling it brought him, how it made his body heavy and almost brought him to his knees. How it made every memory of her suddenly flash through his mind before collapsing into a solid pain in his chest. Then he hadn't had the stomach to even touch it, but now he couldn't bear to have the object too far from him. He keeps the coronet in his backpack, mostly out of sight but never out of mind.

Jaune hates himself, as one imagines most do when they lose someone. He hates himself for all the time he wasted, all the things he missed because he was just a stupid kid, all the things he should have said and done. He hates how he hadn't tried harder, knowing he could have. Most of all, he hates that he hadn't been strong enough for her to count on him.

He tries his best not to think of the last night he saw Pyrrha, that wound is still too livid to touch. But he does anyhow, it having kept him up all night on more than one occasion. He feels his stomach turn at the heavy, shattering recollection of the inside of that damn locker -it never occurred to him that something so familiar would be so sickening- and the echoes of his pleas to her. He knew Pyrrha meant to save him, but...she shouldn't have had to do that. He should've been stronger. For her. He was team leader, for heaven's sake.

And it's reminding himself of that bitter fact that only makes it all worse, makes him feel paper thin and impotent. He was the leader...yet he never felt like one. He knew nothing of leadership or what it meant to foster unity or inspire others to fight. He knew jack shit. He was no leader, not without her. Hell, all of them were lost.

That's the biggest regret that fills him. Ren and Nora still needed him, they were still here and he felt so powerless. Jaune didn't know how to be whatever it is they needed, much less if he was even able, but Pyrrha would have known and she would have shown him how. And...

"Jaune?"

His entire body flinches, equally startled as well as his senses simply abhor the disturbance. He quickly wipes his arm across his face and clears his throat, hoping his bloodshot eyes wouldn't be discernible in the fading darkness. "W-what is it, Ruby?"

"It's only a couple of hours before sunup, you should try to sleep."

"I tried." he exhales, turning to look at her. "Just couldn't."

She nods, her eyes averted for a moment. "Are...you okay?"

"Yeah." it's a knee-jerk response, practiced. "Just thinking."

Another little nod as she chances a few small steps down the bank, crossing her legs and sitting down beside him. "What about?"

He looks down at his hands and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Just a little homesick."

Ruby watches him tuck his chin and look down. For a brief second she feels a little guilty for being so nosy, but it's quickly replaced by a heavy pinch in her heart. Empathy pulls her features, knitting her brow and thinning her lips into a line. Swallowing she leans into him, hooking one arm under his. Without a question he accepts the gesture, tilting his head to feel the top of hers against his cheek.

"Me too." is all she says.

(V)

There is no way of knowing how long she has been lying here. If this place entertains the concept of day and night it feels as though they have all blurred together, distinguished only by the countless times she has passed out and regained consciousness.

Pyrrha wakes suddenly as a brief dream gives way to darkness and a charge of pain in her chest. The first breath she takes is wet, wheezing, she chokes through her exhale and dislodges something heavy and copper tasting that splatters to the floor. The crackling discomfort in her muscles forces her to move, pushing up on the heels of her palms to her knees. She feels so cold, inside and out, but in her heart there's a terrible burning, every exhale heated by it. Her mind is splintered, breaking up like a pane of glass in a hurricane being held together by a strip of tape and a prayer. She can't focus, the world seems to move around her, all her attempts to stand up fail.

"That's right, keep trying," Salem encourages, sounding strangely genuine. Her face twists from a smile to snarl like that, punctuating the fresh wave of black magic she forces through Pyrrha's body, black and red arcs of energy crackling from her fingertips. "I love it when they fight. Don't you, Ozpin?" Her burning eyes cut to him, making out his standing shape beyond the purple glass. His hands are pressed against it, knuckles white as his fingers curl into the small openings. She can feel his eyes. Finally she has his attention.

"Stop, Salem!" Ozpin pulls against the glass as if it would accomplish something. "You keep going on about how much you want me to suffer, well here I am!"

"Yes, you're right where I want you to be." the magic dissipates, Pyrrha slumping onto her stomach. With slow steps Salem moves towards him. "And there's no doubt in my mind that you are indeed suffering. You think I've forgotten how to hurt you? Please,"

Bronze and brimstone meet through the glass, both burning bright. "You, the one who always helped the helpless when we were children, who always stepped between the weak ones and destruction, who made me believe you were different. But you're not, are you, Jarreth? You're just like everyone else that ever used me for my magic."

Ozpin's eyes thin. "That is between us, Salem, leave Pyrrha out of this."

"Oh no, not when I know how much it kills you to see her pay for your mistakes. Not when it causes you so much misery to be...powerless." then her irises flux with light. "And this is only the beginning."

When she turns her back to him Ozpin begins to shout, madly spouting demands he's in no position to give, and she can't help but smirk with a smug little laugh. With casual comfort she returns her attention to the young huntress still prone on the floor.

Salem kneels down, black robes pooling around her. With the tip of one talon she pushes strands of hair from Pyrrha's face, bright red tresses curled and stuck with sweat. Her skin has a pallor much like Salem's own, but not quite. It's more gray than white. The dull red veins have spread and darkened all over her body, and those eyes were looking a little dimmer now. The mark in the middle of her chest is showing a faint glow, bright orange and yellow and red, the makings of a piercing eye. Yes, perhaps it was time to move on with this little experiment.

"You poor thing." she exhales, a grin still pulling upward on the corners of her lips. "It's so tragic that Ozpin convinced you to throw yourself away like this."

No response. Pyrrha is barely conscious.

"Salem, please!" Ozpin cries, desperation breaking his voice. "I will do anything!"

Her eyes snap to him with a quick twist of her neck. "Anything?"

"Yes!"

"Then watch."

Salem snaps to attention, her eyes still on him for all of a second before she puts her back to him again. Even he feels the hard pitch of energy in the place, Salem turning her hands inwards in front of her, fingers hooking and allowing arcs of black magic to pop between them. She wills her power to take shape between her hands, a writhing black sphere that steadily grows larger just as the infernal light in her eyes intensifies and fills the stone cell.

When she releases it the energy jumps away from her, latching onto Pyrrha and burying itself in her chest. It pushes through the relatively tiny space of the scar there, leaving it burning bright red. Pyrrha's body snaps upward in the middle and then begins jerking like a wild animal in its death throws. Initially she can't breathe, her mouth open in a silent scream and her lungs unable to work. Pyrrha has to force the scream out, her vocal chords now shot all to hell. Every other sound that leaves her is choked and hoarse, until her jaw snaps together tight enough to hurt. One more pain to layer on top of all the rest.

Simmering pleasure pulls Salem's smile wider, wide enough to reveal fangs, looking more like the onset of some madness than any form of joy -something she hasn't been able to feel in years. But there's something in there, something among the emptiness that stirs with the commingling of Ozpin's pleading and Pyrrha's suffering. A part of her holds onto it, drinking in the sensation. It's only amplified as she watches the change come over the young huntress, the veins spreading and the whites of her eyes fading into solid pitch. So dark they don't even catch the light. The green of her irises now appears toxic. Then it's quiet.

For a moment the Witch allows her to lie there, to acclimate.

At Salem's gentle beckoning the huntress rises smoothly to her feet without staggering or evidence of pain. Blood is still pouring from her nose, but the loss doesn't appear to be affecting her at all. She stands steadily and her features are stuck in neutral, eyes forward and trained on nothing. Salem steps around her, smugly scrutinizing, her eyes moving over the young woman.

Ozpin feels his body deflate, his knees buckle and he falls on his backside. "W-what have you done?" he pants.

"I'm not...entirely sure," Salem purrs, trying not to laugh as she toys her bottom lip with one talon, "but I'm dying to find out."

"...Should I come back another time?"

Salem turns her head to the open archway she had originally come through. "Ah, Cinder, welcome. Good to see you found your way."

The woman looks drawn, exhausted, but her molten amber eyes still shimmer with life. "More or less. It wasn't easy."

"I imagine not. Please," and Salem gestures with one hand, fingers curling in a beckoning gesture. "Have a look."

Cinder approaches with apparent indifference, though that shifts once she's close enough to actually see. She crosses her arms and arcs one brow, laughing softly before catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Her amusement is palpable. Letting curiosity get the better of her, Cinder chances a wave of her hand in front of Pyrrha's face, expecting some sort of reaction but receiving none.

"Her mind should come back, given a little time."

"Not entirely I would hope."

"Oh no," a soft chuckle, "not entirely, I'll see to that. So what do you think?"

Cinder takes one last look. "...Teach me?"

"Soon enough, once I've worked out the kinks. But, until then, I have a special task for you."

She gives Salem her full attention, facing her.

All the pleasure is gone from her face, her mouth and eyes thin, severe. "I want all of Ozpin's children dead. I don't care how it's done, only that it's done quickly."

"With all due respect, I had intended to do that with or without your permission."

Salem's red irises flash. "But you will do it on my timetable, not yours. I saw what happened in Beacon, you know I did, and I saw what that child was able to do. She stopped Jabberwocky."

"I know. I was there." Cinder responds flatly. "It's a minor setback, I'll take care of it."

"See that you do. I won't tolerate any loose ends. Understand?"

Cinder's eyes thin briefly, their expressions matching. Then she gently nods. "Of course."

"Good. Now go gather your allies, should you have any left."

Author's Note: All right, ladies and germs, I'm back in a new fandom. Now, I'm still actively doing research on RWBY, but I have also watched the show up until now; that being said I intend to write this fic in accordance with what the show has revealed thus far. I understand a new volume is only weeks away, but I don't intend to change this UA to incorporate the elements that are coming in the next season. Secondly, the first half of this fic is likely to focus on RWBY and RNJR with a sprinkling of OC's in there somewhere, whereas the second half will be mostly made up of team JNPR. If you're interested in a little bit of set up for the OC's and the role they'll play in the story, you can check out this two-part piece on my DA: art/Na-Selva-Pt-One-RWBY-UA-628749137

The following tumblr folks helped and inspired me to write this: rontra, weisspresso, razenix,

simplykorra/pyrrhafuckingnikos, wizthewolf,

maximalcatpossible, theivorytowercrumbles

Otherwise, hope you enjoy, and feel free to throw questions my way, most likely I'll answer.