~~AAAND START!~~ (Search and Termination)

Deep beneath the grand church, there is said to be a room of secrets collected over the years so vast that the archive alone could tear the modern world apart. Few have seen the inside, and fewer still are allowed to take the materials home for further study. Only the closest friends of the king and the highest members of the church were allowed such privileges. Emerald was neither of these, but as the former head of Intelligence, forging the correct documents was an easy task.

"Hello, Master," a demure old man greeted from behind the desk outside the archive. In all his years, he'd never seen the inside of the room he'd sworn to protect. "How may I service you?"

Emerald smiled innocently. "I'm looking for a few books… perhaps you could tell me which sections they're in?"

"Of course… which volumes do you request?"

She slid a list to him. "Everything on this."

His bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. "I must say, Master… the materials you've requested have become quite popular recently."

"Have they?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, they are not currently within the archive."

Emerald narrowed her eyes. Had she been discovered? "Might I ask who has them?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot disclose that information to you. We uphold the highest level of secrecy here, you understand."

"No, I totally get it. I just… I really want to read them. There's so much I have to learn."

"I completely understand. I will send a messenger to retrieve you the moment the materials have been returned to the archives."

"Thank you... Have a good day."

"Same to you, Master. May the Goddess keep you in the light."

Emerald turned her back on him. Her smile twisted into a scowl. She would have to do this the hard way. Taking a deep breath, she activated her semblance, creating the illusion that she was walking away while she actually went to read the logbook.

Glancing at the entries, her features darkened. Every last book on her list was checked out to Bartholomew Oobleck. He was a rebel and a historian, but not very close with Neptune. Emerald figured the chance she'd been discovered, and that measures had been taken to prevent her from obtaining the books was low. It was more likely an interest in the same subject that drove Oobleck to the archive.

Flipping through the logbook, Emerald confirmed that he was the only person to come in contact with the books within the last few months. When the old archivist said the books were "popular," he probably meant they had been dusted off once or twice in the last year.

Through all of this, he focused his gaze on the desk. He was staring at an illusion Emerald had crafted—to him, the logbook hadn't moved a millimeter, and she was already halfway up the next flight of stairs.

Emerald sighed and flipped the real book back to its original position. Though they aided her now, her illusions had cost Cinder her life. If Emerald hadn't used up all of her strength to stab Sun… If she hadn't tricked him into letting his guard down… she would have been able to continue fighting, and Cinder would still be…

Instead, Emerald woke up on the roof of the castle with a splitting headache, a bloody nose, and a piece of her soul torn out.

She made her way up the stairs and cancelled the illusion. Why was she so weak? When Cinder needed her most, she failed her. She had to fake her body being buried while right next to her, the person she'd sworn her life to was given a mockery of a ceremony! Emerald had no one to mourn with. When the final shovel full of dirt was cast, the officials—the only audience—applauded. As if not Burning her body wasn't enough…

Emerald shook her head. It wasn't over yet. She still had a chance, she just needed to find those books. She would do anything it took. If it was necessary, she would give her own life to accomplish her task.

Her pulse stabilized when she deactivated her aura. Its appearance had changed since the rebellion. Now, her aura was an uneasy, ghostly wisp. Emerald thought that was fitting. She may well have been a specter haunting Vale; she felt like a hollow shell. Deep down, guilt and shame and grief had gnawed a vacancy in her being. Her current mission was the only thing keeping it from devouring her.

As she stepped out of the grand church, she sank into the shadows. Bartholomew Oobleck…

In time, Emerald mused, even historians became history.

/-/-/-/

The dungeon beneath the castle was surprisingly expansive. Yang wasn't aware it had more than one level, but she hadn't exactly had time to explore the place the last time she was here. Her and Blake's current escort, a royal guard, led them quietly along maze-like corridors.

The sound of rushing water echoed through the hallway. Blake's ears flicked. She glanced at Yang, who furrowed her brow in bitter remembrance.

"The waterfall ahead connects to the witch rooms. Which prisoner would you like to see first?" the royal guard asked.

"Torchwick," Blake answered.

"Then, please follow me to the end of the hall."

Roman Torchwick sat on his bunk near the waterfall, which had broken into the dungeon long ago. His cell was half taken by it and plagued by an interminable wetness. He would do almost anything for fresh air.

At times, he considered throwing himself into the wall of seawater and ending it all, but he would always stop at the edge. Droplets of water would hit his face, he would shiver and grumble, then he would return to his bunk. When the water's temperature no longer affected him, he would begin to contemplate his fate anew. What had his life become? Condemned for as long as he lived to some damp cell in obscurity… These days, he envied those who were only six feet under. The only thing keeping him going was that somewhere beneath him, Mercury was chained above a sewage grate. Roman had never valued not having an aura quite like he did now.

"Torchwick. Visitors," the royal guard announced.

Yang and Blake walked into his cell and asked the guard to give them some time. They were allotted ten minutes. Roman could hardly believe his eyes. He'd almost forgotten that not everyone wore a full suit of armor and barked when they wanted things done. Then again, he would rather be alone than be at these two's disposal.

"Blazing Blondie! Kitty Cat! I was beginning to think you guys had forgotten about me! Let me guess… miss me so much you just couldn't stay away?" Roman welcomed with facetious warmth.

"I wouldn't say 'miss' is the correct word," Blake returned.

"Oh, I would," Yang smirked. "We've got a lot of catching up to do, don't we?"

"Do we? Well, you could have written."

"Tell us who else Cinder was working with," Blake ordered.

Roman shrugged and threw up his hands. "My, my. Straight to the point. Aren't you going to ask me how I've been all this time?"

Blake unsheathed her sword and held the tip to his throat. "Talk."

"And… what if I don't want to? I mean, at least offer me a nice place to sit and some tea first."

"We're not leaving without the information."

"What, you think you can come into my cell, rough me up a little, and I'll spill all the beans? Give me a little more credit than that, will you?"

Yang raised her eyebrows. After a moment of silence, she gestured towards the waterfall. "You've got a pretty nice room in here. A little damp, though, don't you think?"

"No, no, I specifically requested the interior designer make it this way. You of all people should know the wonders salt water works on the skin, eh, Blondie?"

Yang abruptly turned to face him. "You sure you want to go there?" She inspected him. "You know, Roman, you don't look very clean. I think you could use a shower…"

"I can assure you I'm very clean." A bead of sweat formed under the brim of Roman's hat. He could tell she wasn't bluffing. The thought of facing that water… She wouldn't kill him, she would just push his head in until he inhaled it. He wouldn't be surprised if her friend shocked him in the process. The itchiness from the salt alone...

"Oh, really? Then maybe you should start talking," Yang said through gritted teeth.

"Well, what do you want to know, Blondie? I'm an open book! But before I say anything, maybe you could tell your kitty here to lose the claws?"

Blake narrowed her eyes and her ears fell back against her head. "I'm not anyone's pet."

Yang picked Roman up by the collar. "Gee, Blakey, maybe we ought to wash out his mouth first."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay! I get it! Touchy subject! Put me down, will you? I'll talk!" Roman shouted.

Yang dropped him. "Go ahead, then. We're listening."

Blake returned the blade to his throat. "Make it quick."

If that blade wasn't against his throat, Roman decided he'd be throttling her. Now that the blade was moving closer, though, he'd just have to become helpful. "Look, Cinder was working with all kinds of people! You two are going to have to give me a little more direction than that!"

"Just the Faunus, then," Blake said.

Roman laughed. "Are you serious? You killed the only Faunus she allowed within fifty feet of her! Besides Adam, any other Faunus working for her probably folded her towels or did her dishes. But, what would I know? Good ol' Cinder kept me locked up in the castle." When he put it that way, he realized that he'd spent considerable amount of his life as a prisoner.

Yang looked at Blake and shrugged.

Roman sneezed. "Goddess… I think I'm allergic to cats." He glared at Blake. "Can't you go play with a ball of yarn outside somewhere?"

Blake frowned and kicked him unconscious.

"You sure know how to handle them," Yang noted with a smirk. "One prisoner down, one to go."

Conveniently, the royal guard reappeared in that moment. When she saw Roman on the floor, she didn't address it. Instead, she showed the way to the witch's rooms.

Mercury Black was chained to the walls in much the same fashion as Yang had been, though he was given adequate food and water, and his room was well lit. Aura was no longer illegal, so there would be no witch trial for him. He would be chained here for rest of his days.

"Hmph, what do you want?" His arrogance and mocking tone had been sharpened by spite. Resentment radiated from him. He looked like a caged animal watching for the perfect opportunity to make its bloody, vengeful escape.

"We want to know the names of the Faunus who worked for Cinder," Yang said.

"Do I look like a registry book to you?"

"You were Cinder's left hand," Blake pointed out.

"And now I'm just a prisoner. You're not learning anything."

After a while, it was clear he would reveal nothing no matter what Yang and Blake tried. In the end, they left the dungeon hardly more informed than when they entered it. The only new piece of information was that there weren't a whole lot of Faunus working for Cinder. Any Faunus working for her was probably a low-level servant. That narrowed their search in theory, but it gave them no real direction.

In the end, the only thing they gained was the irritating notion that this quest was going to take longer than they had hoped.

/-/-/-/

Jaune strummed his lute and leaned back against his chair with a sigh. The bard's guild's headquarters was sweet luxury. After the rebellion, he'd finally been allowed in. He could finally sit in the Arc's family room, look at his emblem on the wall, warm himself by the fire, and chat with his family like equals…

It wasn't fulfilling.

Deep down, Jaune knew that the only reason he was here—the only reason he had been let into the bard's guild—was because he was a friend of the king. He held a sword and a shield, he didn't sing his way in. His own talent hadn't gotten him anywhere. He was still only a mediocre lute player. He was still tone deaf. He couldn't stand it.

"Jaune! Are you ready to go home?" one of his younger sisters asked, all smiles. She was an expert drummer, songwriter, piccolo player, and was even emerging as a playwright.

Jaune felt the air pressure around him intensify. His shoulders buckled under it. "Yeah… just give me a second to pack up."

"Okay, I'll be downstairs with the other six." She disappeared to reunite with their other equally successful sisters.

Jaune sighed again. He felt like a failure. His mom told him he could be a soldier if he wanted. He didn't want to be one. Pyrrha had told him he didn't need to sing, he could just say the words, but it wasn't the same. Real bards were supposed to sing. Sliding the lute over his back, he walked down the stairs. A messenger stopped him on the way.

"You Jaune Arc?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Got a note for you. From Bartholomew Oobleck."

"Really?" Jaune took the note and opened it. Five words were hastily scrawled on it.

Rose's Runes tomorrow evening. Urgent.

Oobleck hadn't been seen for months, and this was the first thing he sent? Jaune wondered what the urgent message could be; knowing Oobleck, it would probably be related to his work, but the only way to know for sure was to meet up with him and the others tomorrow.

Jaune met his sisters in the lobby, and the group headed towards home, cutting through the kingdom roads until they turned to dirt. Their family owned a large house near the countryside—their parents always said nature offered better inspiration.

There was a fork in the road at the outskirts of the kingdom. If Jaune followed the path left, he would reach Oobleck's house. He turned right. Whatever the news was, he could wait another day to hear it. As he passed the fork, a figure caught his eyes.

Red eyes, mint green hair, dark cloak. She looked familiar. Enough for Jaune to do a double take. Emerald Sustrai…?

No, she was dead. It had been a long day. Jaune needed sleep.

He continued down the dirt path towards home. His sisters started a tune on the way and, despite his feelings of discontent, he pulled out his lute to strum along.

/-/-/-/

When Port received Oobleck's note, he was on his fifth drink. With his spirits boosted considerably, he asked for two more. Nora poured him the first while she tucked her own copy of the note into her pocket. Much to Sir Port's disappointment, she declined him the second drink. Not to be let down after hearing from Oobleck, he downed the last drink, splashed some money onto the counter, and wobbled out into the street.

Before the rebellion, he and Oobleck had become fast friends, discussing the past, politics, the Grimm, and pretty much anything else Port could dream up while intoxicated. When Oobleck had locked himself in the archives, Port felt a certain absence. Truth was, he was lonely. Everyone else always seemed to be busy... and though the company of ale was nice, there was nothing like a hearty brew of conversation. Since Oobleck had sent the note, however, he must have returned home with glorious new discoveries. Port couldn't wait to engage him on the subject.

Humming a tavern song as he sloshed about the streets, he found the dirt road to Oobleck's house and traveled along it without much hassle from the guards.

"You get home before you pass out in some ditch," one of them warned him.

Port laughed. "Worry not, guardsmen, for this is a happy night indeed!"

"Yeah, yeah," the guard said, and waved him off. "On your way, then."

As Port neared Oobleck's house, he tripped on a stone in the path and crashed up the steps. His head nearly collided with the door. After taking a moment to regain his bearings, he was about to stand when he heard glass shatter inside.

"Tell me!" a woman demanded.

"As long as you remain so narrow-minded, you will only see the impossible!" Oobleck returned. A moment later, he cried out in agony.

Finally registering imminent danger, Port staggered to his feet and bashed down the door with his battle axe ready. Oobleck lay on the ground, a gash marring his torso. There was no one else in sight. Port ran towards him. "Bartholomew!"

"Peter! Behind you!"

Port turned immediately to see a sight he thought impossible. Emerald Sustrai, Cinder's right hand, was standing in the doorway holding a bloody sickle. "You… apparition of my drunkenness… be gone!" he yelled.

"I can assure you she is of the material world," Oobleck said with a pained groan.

Port squinted and turned his gaze back to her, but she was gone. Suddenly sensing something behind him again, he wheeled around and narrowly blocked an otherwise fatal slash. However, his intoxicated state caused him to lose his balance. He fell into the desk. A candle dropped.

Fire easily caught on to scattered papers.

Emerald took one look at the flames, gathered as many books and papers as she could, and fled. Port slung an unsteady arm around Oobleck for support. As he stood, a nearby flame singed him. He activated his aura to shield himself, swearing to drink responsibly for the rest of his life.

The flames ate the house's wooden frame, and quickly ascended to the ceiling. A fiery beam weakened and dropped onto them. Oobleck's aura, already strained from healing his wound, was instantly negated. "You must escape on your own!" he shouted above the blaze.

"Nonsense! We're both leaving here alive," Port asserted. He shoved aside the beam, his fire aura invigorated.

"Peter, listen to me! I have Dust barrels stored in my closet. They're highly reactive. Once the fire reaches them, it's over, and it will reach them shortly. You have to make it out of here, do you understand?"

Port furrowed his brow and assessed the situation. Even though his mind was still swimming, he knew the chances of them surviving a run through the flames and to the window were near nil. Port needed help and he needed to hurry. If he could get someone to carry Oobleck—someone steady on their legs—he'd have a much better shot. Resolve built within him. Port vowed to get help quickly, and ran for the windo—

A Dust explosion consumed the estate.

~~AAAND END!~~

I'd express my appreciation for everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed so far. Shout out to: Cloy552, orca3553, Mpopl2, DefyDestiny021, Athkore, Aqua X, TabathaEvans, LastOrder, Lord Kipper, SerketLily, and Yin Ombre!

NEXT: Broken Dreams