Smoke still rose from the city in the distance, substantially less than there was just two days ago. The sun shone down as the citizens of Vale went about their days, fixing that which was broken, helping those in need, banding together in solidarity from the hell they had all gone through. Humans and faunus working side by side to repair the lives that they had lived before the Breach. The safety they had felt, living in one of the world's largest, most protected cities, had been shattered. A city, that even with the might of Atlas watching from above, was almost annihilated. A reminder that the Grimm might not be the worst threat to humanity, that there were those willing to doom themselves in an effort to be treated as equals.
And it was on this bright day, so full of sunshine and the happiness (apathy?) of nature, that the students of Beacon Academy gathered. Dressed in their black formal uniforms, they stood in the auditorium of their training ground, memorials to the fallen spread against the walls, each composed of the weapon or body of the owner. The invasion had been stopped, but every victory came with a cost. Nothing was ever gained without losing something of equal value. The lives of the innocent were paid for with the lives of their comrades. The casualties had been kept to a minimum thanks to the robotic forces of Atlas and the intervention of the fully trained hunters and huntresses of Beacon, yet they were still there. A reminder that despite their best efforts, everyone was still prey to Death. Some had died defending humans, others faunus, even a few that had hadn't cared what they were protecting as long as it had been someone worth the cost.
It was at one such memorial that she sat, teary-eyed and still refusing to accept her loss. The pieces of the blade had been arranged to look as if they were still one, but the breaks in the weapon mimicked the breaks in her heart. Numbly, she knelt in front of the display of Jaune's sword, Crocea Mors, barely registering the speech given by the country's officials. Something about the nobility of the fallen, how their sacrifice had brought about the capture of one of the greatest criminals Remnant had seen. How they had given their lives for something larger than themselves, being the beacon in the darkness that refused to go out. The greater good. The progress of society, a monument to the stubbornness of men in the darkest of times. The ability to do what was necessary to move forward, even as they stared Death in the face. The words words words that did nothing but sound pretty to those personally involved. The words that wouldn't bring him back. The words that didn't bring closure, leaving her feeling as empty as the coffin she knelt beside.
As the speeches wrapped up, mass eulogies concluded, the audience began moving throughout the room, paying their final respects to the fallen. Team RWBY approached first, leader unusually quiet, tear streaks visible under her hood as she placed her hand on the coffin. Unable to speak, she turned and hugged Pyrrha, both attempting to be the pillars of strength that their teams leaned upon. Yang followed suit, slightly unsteady, faint smell of alcohol on her breath as she offered her condolences. Blake was next, the girl unsure of what to do. Following the lead of her team, she had placed a hand on the coffin before turning away. Last was the ever-composed Weiss, image of perfection faltering as she stood there, pale hands turning whiter as she gripped the empty box. She might not have been friends with Jaune, but he had been closer to her than most, and his parting still hurt, chipping away at the ice inside. Turning away, she stopped next to Pyrrha, dabbing at the Spartan's eyes with a pristine handkerchief, smudges of eyeliner cleaned away expertly. As team RWBY left, others took their place. Team CFVY had arrived, Velvet being the only one to step forward, ears hanging low as she said her goodbyes. Next had been the teachers and staff, each saying the same comforting words, all melting together in her mind. The most surprising was when team CRDL had approached, leader being the only one to gingerly step forward. Arrogance gone, he placed a hand on the coffin and looked at the remnants of JNPR, speaking only the phrase "We're sorry," before turning and walking away. As the groups stopped approaching, Ren and Nora, stood next to Pyrrha, a hand on each shoulder.
Ren and Nora hadn't left her side since finding her in the engine room, catatonic as she rocked back and forth with the broken weapon in her arms. A love lost, never spoken, the weight of which had held her shoulders down. The individual that had accepted her as Pyrrha, the person; kind, caring, doing her best to prepare for her role as humanity's salvation (as the news anchors had called her upon learning that she would be training as a huntress). She had never needed their recognition, not when she won the tournaments and not when they had tried to pry into her life inside school grounds (thankfully Ozpin had kept the press out of Beacon and allowed her to breathe again). She had had the one thing she wanted most within her reach, and now she was about to watch as it was lowered into the ground. The body had never been recovered, but the broken weapon was enough for her. She didn't know the company that stood around him as he fought for his last breaths, but she knew that the origin of those next to him hadn't mattered to him at the end. That he had done everything to he could to keep everyone alive, human or faunus, ally or enemy, even in the face of defeat. He was truly a man who didn't care where someone had come from, but a man who only cared about who they were and where they were going. A true team leader, adapting to whatever situation was thrown at him, gauging the situations around him quickly and making the best decision at the time.
And as the coffin was lowered into the ground, burying only the pieces of his recovered weapon, she felt her throat tighten. She hadn't cried (outwardly) up to this point, and refused to do so now. As the new leader of team JNPR, she felt that such displays had no place. Focusing on the tasks at hand, she watched as the last pieces of her salvation were buried, one shovel full on top of another. Even as Nora broke down, the constantly happy demeanor broken, shoving herself into the arms of Ren, her stoic guardian. Even as she felt herself closing herself to the world around her. Even as the headmaster's words droned on and on, she felt something begin to fill in the void. Something bittersweet. Something that would hopefully one day make her feel like just a normal person again. Something that made her want to give up on being a huntress. A new focus. A different goal. One that would make a difference in the lives of others, much as his did to her. And it was with this feeling in heart that she finally looked up from his tombstone ('Tombstone? How much time had passed?'), that she realized what it was that she felt.
No longer was she the girl that pursued her parents' desire. No longer did she care about the fame and fortune that came with being one of Remnant's best huntresses. Unification of the people was no longer the thought on her mind, in her heart. No, only one emotion dwelled there now. The one that would give her closure. The one that could allow her to sleep at night (how many nights had it been since she started waking in a sweat, unable to rest?). The last thing he would have pursued, but the only thing that would keep her going.
Vengeance. The tearing down of everything that had ripped him away. The utter destruction of the organization that had wrecked her world. The end of the once-peaceful group of protestors turned terrorist. The White Fang would burn and she would be there, the first to light the pyre and the last to leave as the ashes burnt out.
