Golden Leaves

by bandiits

Having fulfilled a promise made a lifetime before, Yang - years beyond Beacon - has let the world move forwards without her. But a little girl with the power of fire, a spirit to match, and a name as familiar as the sparks of her semblance convinces her to live in it once more. Or, Summer returns to Yang, the blonde becomes a mentor, and age is just a part of the equation.

4. Spring

Today is Weiss's birthday. She is thirty-seven. The room around them is lively, loud, and filled with friends – a situation uncommon for the grand hall of the Schnee Dust Company. The enormous room, built with glass and white marble – it isn't very hard to see where Weiss inherited her colour scheme from – is filled to the brim with people, all milling about in expensive clothes and accessories, making polite small talk amongst one another. Well, everyone, that is, except for a small group standing nearby the buffet table.

A group that sticks out like a sore thumb, worn clothing and polished weapons mismatched against the typical suits and leather handbags. They are, of course, the Beacon graduates – all of whom are aware they aren't really supposed to be there, but Weiss insisted upon it, so here they are. They ignore the strange looks sent their way, and do their best to answer the odd questions directed towards them – although, most people started ignoring them altogether once Nora and Yang began answering them with painfully pretend posh accents.

Speaking of the lively redhead, Nora is a frequent customer at the buffet table – she has made it her own personal mission to see how many Schnee delicacies she can stuff in her mouth at once. Judging by the horrified looks the crowd around her isn't even attempting to cover up anymore, it's quite a few. The man who would usually be keeping her from offending the higher class is nowhere to be found near his partner, the young man instead bonding with his team leader. Weiss had given Ren specific instructions not to try and reign in Nora during the event – her words had been something along the lines of 'the more traumatic, the better.'

While Nora gives her best impersonation of a meat grinder with the small hors d'ouevres from a circulating waiter's plate, Ren and Jaune talk quietly off to the side, bonding in the same awkward ways they have since Beacon. It's mostly Jaune who talks, the team leader keeping the conversation flowing as Ren nods his head to his statements. Jaune's appearance never fails to startle Yang – the clumsy young man from their school years had faded, baby fat replaced by lean muscle, soft features replaced by harder ones. It had been the addition of the stubble and thin beard that had been the tipping point of their teasing – the kiddish nicknames had turned to older ones, with 'Grandpa Arc' being the main one. His hair starting to turn gray early didn't help Jaune's case any.

Regardless, the man had become a reliable, strong hunter, leading his team to many victories. Alongside Pyrrha, the living legend, and Ren and Nora – who had picked up fame of their own, as well – Jaune and his teammates had become one of Beacon's most well-known teams. The four stand beside several other faces, Pyrrha sharing an animated conversation with one of them. Velvet had agreed to come to the event, having – somehow – become close friends with Weiss during their time at Beacon. No one mentions their huntressing careers to the woman, not daring to dredge up painful memories for her. Velvet, for her part, seems to appreciate the gesture – though there really isn't much anyone can do to fill the gap the rest of her team usually occupied.

Beside the redhead and rabbit Faunus stands the loudest group of all – two Faunus and three humans, the lines on their faces the only indication that they have aged at all since their Beacon years. Yang and Sun laugh the loudest, their grins bright enough to live up to their namesakes. Ruby and Blake stand beside them, conversing with Neptune, whose hair is still the radiant blue it was years ago. Their laughter mingles with the muted conversations around them, cutting through the room and turning several heads towards them. Their conversation falls into its usual banter, mocking each other playfully as their eyes twinkle with mirth.

All of their appearances have changed – younger outfits exchanged for older, more practical ones, though several elements hadn't changed. Fingerless gloves are still a common sight, as are the infamous asscapes – even Neptune kept his 'nerdy' goggles, as Sun had dubbed him. The monkey Faunus still hated wearing his shirt done up, though Weiss had threatened to shove her rapier down his throat if he didn't for this specific event. But while their outfits had changed, their laughter had not, and neither had their personalities. Laughter lines were evident in several of their faces, taking stock of their jovial lives. This will not remain forever, but they don't know that quite yet.

There is a clanking sound from across the room, the unmistakeable sound of a door being opened. Heads turn to face the doorway, and seconds later the heavy wooden door opens, the final member of team RWBY striding through. Weiss Schnee's presence changes the room immediately, people stepping aside as the woman strides purposefully through the gathered crowd, towards her friends gathered awkwardly beside the food tables.

Out of all of them, Weiss still looks the youngest – her face hasn't taken on lines or signs of age, a fact Yang justifies through the explanation that 'age wouldn't dare challenge the great Weiss Schnee.' Of course, the blonde doesn't hesitate to also point out that her young features, combined with her short stature, would allow her to still pass as a student in Beacon (this joke often ends with Yang frozen to the ceiling).

Any doubt of Weiss's age, however, is lost in the way she holds herself. Shoulders squared and head held high, the white-themed woman walks with purpose and might, power radiating from every step. For all her protests against the nickname, Weiss had grown into the title of 'ice queen,' particularly the latter bit. And while that might scare the pants off of the stray politician that attempts to challenge her, her teammates have had many years to grow up alongside the woman and get used to her antics, as well as the fact that underneath, Weiss Schnee is just as dorky as the rest of them.

And so, as the crowd shrinks away from Weiss as she passes through them like Moses through the Red Sea, the group of huntresses and huntsman move to meet her. Ruby races forwards, her semblance kicking off in a burst of rose petals. The redhead crashes into her partner, who was expecting the tackle of a hug, only stumbling slightly in her heels. Yang and Blake are just as thrilled as they move to greet their friend, though they don't race around in rose petals the same. As Velvet and the rest join the group, Weiss straightens, Ruby letting go of her and backing away.

There is silence for a moment, the group staring at Weiss, before Ruby tentatively breaks the quiet.

"Is it finished?"

A pause, before Weiss smiles softly and nods in reply. Ruby squeals, laughing and launching at her partner again, hugging her even tighter than before. A second later Nora does the same, nearly knocking the white-haired woman over in her happiness. Yang lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and Blake beside her grins up at the blonde, relief clear on her face as well. The rest of them offer up their congratulations, smiling and laughing as they crowd around.

They draw the attention of the other guests, curiousity and confusion crossing the faces of those around them as they laugh and cheer. None of them care, continuing to make noise in celebration. Someone clears his throat loudly nearby, throwing them a dark glance. Yang catches his eye, and maintains the contact for a moment, before turning and lightly pushing Blake towards their teammates. Ruby still hasn't let go of Weiss, though Nora has backed away, talking excitedly to Ren.

The dark-haired Faunus, her ears dutifully done up in a familiar black ribbon – something Yang hasn't seen her do for a while – stumbles slightly, then shoots her blonde partner a glare before moving the remaining steps towards the red and white duo. Weiss catches her eye as she nears, disentangling an arm from Ruby's embrace to stretch towards Blake. The Faunus accepts it with a warm smile, before she is suddenly yanked into the hug as well – both women ignore her sputters of protest, Ruby reaching out an arm to pull her even closer.

Yang's laughter echoes off the walls, and the blonde herself steps forwards to join the mass of limbs her teammates has become. Strong, sturdy arms wrap around the three people she holds dearest to her heart, and for a moment, time is suspended.

It doesn't last for long. A minute later, the crash of the doors resounds through the room, signaling the entrance of another Schnee. Weiss's father strides through the doors, his presence even more overbearing than his eldest daughter's. The crowd instantly quiets, and even the group of Beacon graduates fall silent at his entrance. The man walks without a word to the front of the room, where a podium sits erected, waiting for him. Behind him trails Weiss's younger sister, Winter Schnee, her poise just as elegant as her elder sibling.

The leader of Remnant's largest corporation begins to speak, his voice clear and sharp in the quiet of the room. There is no need for a microphone – his words carry through the air with the same power he walks with, reaching to those standing in the furthest corners of the hall.

"As of three minutes ago," he announces, "Weiss Schnee signed off her inheritance to the Schnee Dust Corporation, severing any ties from the company and forfeiting the president's position."

He paused to gesture to his younger daughter, who stood behind him in silence.

"Her sister, Winter Schnee, will be stepping forwards in her place."

He glanced towards the back of the room, his eyes falling on the young woman surrounded by her friends, held by the partner she'd stuck with for many years.

"Weiss is no longer the inheritor of the Schnee Dust Company."

He stepped away then, signifying the end of his announcment. Immediately, the guests of the room swarmed around him and Winter, offering congratulations and handshakes. Attention drawn away from the group in the back, the Beacon graduates offer more words of their own, their laughter and congratulations kept amongst themselves.

Weiss, for her part, looks relieved, the final tie to her family's legacy severed at last. Ruby looks thrilled – her partner is finally only obligated to her huntressing career, eridacating the rules they'd had to work around for years. Blake and Yang are much the same, the latter watching the former heiress carefully, taking stock of her reactions.

"Wait a minute."

They all turn to Nora, whose hands and mouth are filled with Schnee delicacies, her face horror-stricken by a sudden thought. At Ren's meaningful glance, the redhead chews and swallows before speaking.

"If you no longer have any ties to the SDC," she questions fearfully, glancing down at the snacks in her hands before staring back up at Weiss, "Does this mean I can't eat these anymore?"

The laughter at Nora's comment is almost loud enough to pull the guests' attention back to them. Amongst giggles and snorts (mainly the latter from Neptune), Yang feels a weight lift from her shoulders – a weight she'd been waiting to feel lift for many years. Because in that room, filled with snobbish upper class folk, and the friends she'd fought alongside for years, Yang finally sees the last of the ice queen's façade melt away.

In the room, laughing at Nora's worry and the comments that arose from it, standing alongside her partner and teammates, Weiss smiles. It is a smile different from the rest, one free of worry and stress, free of the obligations she'd been dealing with all her life. It is a smile of pure, unrestricted happiness, of true emotion.

It's there, surrounded by friends and family, that Yang sees Weiss smile fully, freely, for the first time.

---

Summer had learned to form flames. They were small, little wisps that tickled her skin and flickered at her fingertips, but they were tangible nonetheless. The young girl was thrilled with them, laughing as she summoned them up, letting them dance across her palms. It had taken her a long time to get to that point, but over the span of two seasons, Summer had come a long way.

The temperature issue was now well under control, alongside the triggers – and while she'd never admit it aloud to the young girl; Yang was impressed by her student's progress. Going from instant engagement of one's semblance to having it controlled to the point of tangible signs was no small feat for anyone, least of all a girl whose semblance shouldn't have been engaged for a long while yet.

For Yang, the flames held more meaning than just a visible representation of progress – they were also a sign. A sign that meant that once the flames were under control, able to be summoned and extinguished at will, Summer would only have one lesson remaining. And after that, her training with Yang would be over.

But before that came, something had to be said: a lesson that was taught to everyone with an active semblance, that Yang learned young, and Ruby learned later, and that Summer had to learn now. And so, on one spring afternoon as Summer let flames chase one another across her open palms – the heat not doing much to help the already melting snow – Yang decided to teach it to her.

"Hey, Summer," she called from her perch on the swings, a seat that she had become well accustomed to over the past months. The playground they had first met in had been their training ground, aside from the odd occasions in one another's homes.

The young girl perked up at the sound of her name, glancing to her mentor in curiosity. Yang jerked her head slightly, signaling her to come sit with her. Summer shook her hands rapidly to extinguish the flames – she didn't quite yet have complete control over her flames, and as such had no other way to get rid of them. Still flailing her arms, the girl bounded over towards the elderly woman, who rolled her eyes at the antics she was well acquainted with.

Summer took a leap as she neared the swings, landing on the one beside Yang and swinging wildly back and forth for a moment before she grinned up at her.

"Yeah, Yang?" she asked, turning to sit properly on the swing.

Yang wasn't quite sure when they'd changed to a first name basis – over the past couple of months, the nicknames of 'kiddo' and 'grandma' had gradually faded away in use, replaced by their actual names. There were, of course, times that the nicknames resurfaced with a vengeance – especially when Summer made an age related joke – but for the most part, they stuck to the names others called them.

For Yang, she wasn't sure if it was a great thing – while she appreciated not being called 'Grandma,' she wasn't entirely on board with the fact Summer had gotten so close to her. It was nice to be on the same length as someone again, even if they were her age divided by ten, but it wasn't what she'd intended for when she'd first offered her help all those months ago.

Yang shook her head from her thoughts at a poke from Summer – the girl had grown impatient with her silence, waiting for the reason Yang had called her over in the first place. She glanced down at Summer, who looked up at her expectantly.

"You know fire can hurt people, right?" Yang began, raising an eyebrow with her question.

Summer's expression turned to one of annoyance, her eyes narrowing and her mouth crinkling in displeasure.

"Of course I do!" she replied, glaring at Yang indignantly, apparently offended that she'd been asked something so obvious.

"And that your flames can hurt people? Especially those around you?"

At this, Summer looked both thoughtful and offended, but she nodded before speaking again.

"Of course I know that," she repeated, though much less hurt than before, "what are you getting at?"

Yang smiled, raising her hands in mock surrender.

"I don't mean anything bad by it," she clarified, "It's just something that's told to everyone with an active semblance, when they're first learning how to control it."

"That their semblance can hurt people?"

"Exactly."

Yang paused, looking at the melting snow before speaking again.

"Everyone's semblances do different things. And while some are similar, like how both of ours involve flame, it's hard to find two that are exactly the same. We're all kind of like snowflakes, in that manner."

"No two are alike!" Summer interjected, having caught on easily, "my mom taught Autumn and I that. We made a whole bunch of paper snowflakes one day."

Yang smiled at the comment, remembering the time her teammates had decorated their dorm room with their own snowflakes, cut in the shape of Weiss's insignia – that had been the first time they'd celebrated the heiress' birthday.

"Just like snowflakes," she continued, "no two look the same – and no two semblances do the same things, either. Because of that, some people can hurt others easier, which is why I'm telling you this."

"My sister's semblance was based off of speed. She could move really quickly, and scattered rose petals around whenever she engaged it – and while she could use it to harm people if she wanted to, it wasn't a semblance that was necessarily always harmful. Lots of people are like that – they aren't a danger unless they choose to be. But people like us? We're a little different."

Yang glanced down at her hands, summoning up sparks to dance across her fingertips.

"Fire is often an element of harm," she said, Summer listening intently, "so we have to be extra careful with it. When I was first learning to control my semblance, I almost lit my house on fire – and while it was scary, it also taught me the importance of making sure I didn't use my semblance to harm others. I kept it under control, and even used it to help people sometimes."

"How?" Summer asked at the last word, looking confused. Yang smiled warmly at her.

"Fire is dangerous," she explained softly, "but it also provides warmth, and light. You'll find you can always be a source of light in the darkness, literally – and can warm up the space around you in the coldest of places."

She paused, caught on a memory.

"In fact," she said, with a impish grin, "people always try to cuddle up next to you on cold winter nights."

Summer laughed at this.

"Autumn does that!" she exclaimed amongst giggles, "My mom's always going to wake her up and finding out that she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night."

Yang laughed with her, remembering how Ruby and Blake had both done the same, at different times in her life. Weiss had even done it once or twice, though that was probably more due to the fact they didn't have enough sleeping bags to go around, and had to share on a couple of missions.

"Anyways," Yang continued, "our semblances can both help and harm people. And that's why I'm telling you this – so that you know to be careful, and always use your semblance for good. The only things you're ever allowed to hurt with it are monsters, like Grimm."

She smiled at Summer, then frowned as an afterthought came to her mind.

"And bad people," she added.

"Bad people?"

Yang glanced at Summer, who was now looking at her mentor with an expression that vaguely resembled worry. The elderly woman froze, realizing that Summer probably had no idea what she meant – and that Yang wasn't exactly sure how to explain it. How does one even go about telling a child about the dangers of those who lurk in the alleyways of the city?

"What do you mean?" Summer asked, still looking at Yang in confusion.

"Like… bad guys," Yang answered lamely, wincing at her own answer.

"Like the ones the cops catch?"

She nodded in reply.

"But if the cops are around, then why do you hurt them instead?"

Yang sighed, knowing she had to explain it a little more fully.

"You don't have to," she said, "But I used to. Part of my job was stopping monsters, but once in a while I also helped to stop bad guys, too."

"Back when you were a huntress?"

Yang shot a look at Summer in confusion, that having been the last thing she'd expected to hear as a reply.

"How'd you know that?"

"Mom told me," Summer explained, looking slightly sheepish, "she said you used to be a really strong huntress, which means you used to stop the Grimm and stuff. She told me if I wanted to find out more about it, I could ask you, but…"

Yang raised an eyebrow as the young girl trailed off, waiting for her to finish.

"I wasn't sure when was a good time to ask," she continued, "especially not with how you reacted when I went into your remnant room. I just didn't think you really wanted to talk about it, so I never asked."

Yang winced – while she was glad she'd explained what the room was to Summer, she hadn't meant for it to turn the young girl away from being curious.

"Well," Yang began, Summer looking up at her, "Did you still want to hear about it?"

The expression on Summer's face was the only answer she needed, the rapid affirmations more of an accompaniment than anything else. Yang sighed, then stood up, stretching as she did so.

"Well then, let's go to your place," she said, seeing the look of confusion Summer shot her, "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm not freezing my ass out here telling it to you. I know it's spring, but there's still snow outside, and I'm getting cold."

She shot a look at Summer.

"And no, it has nothing to do with the 'chill in my bones,' before you ask."

The thwarted look on Summer's face was satisfaction enough.

---

Summer's home was always warm – Yang always had to laugh at that fact, wondering if there was some way it had influenced the eldest daughter into forming a heat-based semblance. That, and it seemed almost ironic that they spent so much on heating, when they had a small child who could do it for them, free of charge. Either way, the chill of the cool spring air dissipated the moment they stepped through the doorway's threshold, entering the cozy home Yang had become well acquainted with.

"Summer! Yangy!"

The cry bounced off the walls in time with the footsteps that pounded down the hall towards them, Autumn running to greet her sister and the mentor. Yang laughed at her arrival, reaching down to accept the young Faunus' hug, instead of letting Autumn become well acquainted with her kneecaps. Scarla stepped out of the kitchen into the hall, smiling at the sight.

"Why, hello, Yang!" she said, her face in a wide grin, "I was wondering when we'd see you next!"

"Well, Summer here wanted to hear all about my days of glory," Yang said, letting go of Autumn and standing back up, "So I figured I might as well do it someplace warm."

There was a moment of hesitance – Yang stared at Scarla, waiting to see how the younger woman would react to her comment. Sharing her life's history hadn't gone over too well before, after all. After a moment, Scarla smiled even wider.

"That sounds like a great idea," she said, "I'll go put on some tea."

That was all the permission Yang needed – the last tangible reason she'd had not to tell Summer about her life was gone, and now all that remained were Yang's own uncertainties. And while she would have loved to be able to say that she was ready to tell Summer everything, Yang wasn't quite sure if that were the case.

It had been a long time since she'd told someone about her life – her reasons to discuss the past had died with Pyrrha, and since then she could count on one hand the amount of times someone had asked her to tell them stories of years gone by. Once in a while, Yang would tease Junior with stories, but that was of her own decision – the young man had never asked, not exactly jumping at the chance to hear about his relative's criminal activity.

But now, Yang had the chance to bring it all back up again. The chance to explain to someone the life she'd once led and left behind, the world that had died with the last of her friends, leaving her behind in one she no longer recognized, and that no longer recognized her. A chance to explain it to someone of a generation far below hers, no less – a girl who could have been her great-granddaughter, if not even further than that.

And doing so meant making the connection between herself and Summer even stronger – something that Yang still wasn't sure was a good idea or not. She had accepted years ago that she was no longer a part of this world, only there until death finally came for her as well, taking away the last remnant of a time long forgotten. To change that, and build connections in a world she no longer called her own, meant so much more – it meant that she, once again, was trying to live in the present. It meant truly moving on, something Yang had always felt was wrong, as if she was letting go of the people she'd once loved, something she'd always considered a sin of sorts.

And yet, for all her hesitations, there was a pull to do just that. To tell someone of her life, to pass her legacy onto someone else – to tell stories that would remain long after she did. After all, while Yang knew so much about Summer, the young girl hardly knew anything about her – and somewhere from deep within, there as a voice that told her that it had to change. It was as if there was an old wound that had healed long ago, leaving only a scar that remained, and bandages that were supposed to come off a long time ago.

It was this feeling that drove Yang to sit down at the table across from Summer, her hands playing nervously with one another. The young girl seemed ecstatic – her sister did as well, though Autumn probably didn't really get what was going on. Even Scarla seemed interested, doing a poor job of hiding her curiosity.

There was a moment of silence, Yang staring at the anticipating faces before her – then she reached into her worn leather jacket, rummaging around in the pockets until she finally found what she was looking for. She withdrew her hand, several thin pieces of paper held gently in her grasp. She lay them down on the table, spreading them out and turning them so that Summer could see the images in them clearly.

Faces of her friends and family stood out before her, their smiles frozen in the faded colours of each photograph. Ruby, Blake, Yang, JNPR, Sun and Neptune, Qrow and Tai Yang – the only person missing was Summer, the first one Yang had come to know, nowhere be found.

The younger Summer stared at the photos for a moment, a tentative hand reaching towards them – then she glanced up at Yang nervously, silently asking for permission. Yang nodded wordlessly, the corners of her mouth perking up slightly as Summer eagerly drew the photographs closer. The young girl studied them, taking in the appearances of the people she'd never met, and would never come to know in anything but stories. After several minutes of silent study, Summer smiled and pointed to a laughing blonde in the center photo.

"She's pretty," she said, before she startled at Yang's sudden peal of laughter.

Scarla and Autumn joined their relative in looks of confusion as Yang settled into snickers, clearly in on a joke the rest of them knew nothing about.

"I hope you realize you can't take that comment back," Yang began, grinning wickedly at the confused girl before her, "because that pretty girl is me."

Yang frowned a moment after she said it.

"Well, was."

Summer's jaw opened in obvious shock, eyes widening as she looked down hurriedly at the photo again. Her gaze snapped back and forth between Yang in the photograph and the aged Yang that sat before her. Her clear astonishment sent Yang into giggles again, Scarla joining in.

"That's you?!" Summer exclaimed, still in disbelief.

"The one and only," Yang replied, grinning, "That photo was back in my years at Beacon, where I learned to be a huntress. That's me and my team."

Summer turned back to the photo, her finger slowly moving the paper back and forth.

"Do you always carry these photos around with you?"

The question was quiet, almost enough for Yang to miss it. But she didn't, and instead looked at the girl in wonder, not having expected that kind of question from the girl.

"Well, yeah," Yang said, caught off guard slightly, "All of those people are gone now, so this is all I have left of them."

Summer looked up at her sadly – Yang felt her own heart squeeze painfully at the admittance.

"But they were amazing when they were around," Yang continued reassuringly, before reaching out and pointing to the first photograph. The smiling faces of her father, Ruby, and a very young version of herself grinned back at her – Summer wasn't anywhere to be found, instead, presumably, taking the photograph herself.

"This was my family," Yang began, swallowing the lump in her throat, "My dad and me, and my younger sister…"

She couldn't help the look she gave Autumn, who sat beside Summer, also engrossed in the pictures.

"Ruby."

Yang shook her head slightly, moving on.

"We didn't have the same mom, so her last name was different from mine, but we shared our dad. I took his last name, Xiao Long, and she took her mom's – Rose. Ruby was two years younger than me, and we grew up on Patch, an island a little bit off the coast. For a while, it was just us – my own mom disappeared when I was born, and Ruby's mom died when she was really little, so my dad raised us both."

She pointed to the second photo, one that held Qrow and an awkward teenage Ruby, both holding their scythes – Ruby had just made Crescent Rose at the time, her grin revealing how thrilled she was over it.

"My uncle Qrow came around a lot when we were little, and taught us how to fight. Ruby really idolized him a lot, and she learned how to use her weapon from him, a giant scythe. Our dad used to call it the 'oversized gardening tool.'"

Autumn giggled at this, Summer and Scarla both smiling in amusement.

"We went to a school called Signal, where we first learned how to fight Grimm. Because I was two years older than Ruby, I graduated before her – but that didn't matter, because right before I was supposed to go off to another school, she ended up going with me. Ruby stopped some pretty mean bad guys from robbing a store, and the headmaster of the school I was going to ended up talking to her and asking her to skip two years and go with me."

"That's awesome!"

"It was pretty great," Yang admitted, looking warmly at the photo again, "I was really proud of her for it."

She paused, feeling the warm pangs of pride light up inside her again – the entire time they'd fought together, Yang had never stopped being amazed by her sister. Even when they'd both retired, she'd always been proud of Ruby – and it appeared that not even death could stop that.

"Anyways, we ended up in the same year at our next school – a famous school called Beacon. It's one of the schools that train huntsmen and huntresses – and if you ask me, it's the best of them all. Not a biased opinion or anything. But when Ruby and I went there, we ended up in the same team – and we both had partners."

"Them?" Summer asked, pointing to a photo of JNPR. Yang smiled warmly at the mistake, reaching out and taking hold of Summer's hand, dragging her finger to rest on a different photo, one of her team in its entirety.

"Those two," she said, "Blake Belladonna and Weiss Schnee."

"Schnee? Like the big dust company?"

"That's the one. Weiss was even in line to take over that company, but she changed her mind and became a full-time huntress instead."

Yang glanced at Autumn, catching the little girl's eye and pointing to Blake.

"This is Blake, Autumn. She was a Faunus, just like you. She fought for a lot of their rights, and even ended up teaching history at Beacon about all the Faunus rights movements. She was my partner – Weiss was Ruby's."

Yang pointed back to the photo of JNPR, then at ones of CFVY and SSSN.

"We had a lot of friends at Beacon," she said, "These guys were team JNPR – their dorm was across from us at school, so we got to know them really well. Jaune Arc, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, and Pyrrha Nikos."

"The Pyrrha Nikos?"

"The Pyrrha Nikos," Yang affirmed with a laugh – it appeared that even the youngest generation knew the fame of her friend, "She was famous even back in her school days. Jaune was her partner – and the leader of their team. The dorky looking boy band was team SSSN. We didn't know all of them too well, because they were from a different school, but we got to know Sun and Neptune really well – they were always getting caught up in our schemes. And this last group is group CFVY – they were a year above us, but we grew close to them. We knew Velvet the best, the rabbit Faunus."

She stopped, slightly worn out from the sudden amount of talking. It was a good place to stop – Scarla set down a steaming mug of tea before her a moment later. Yang nodded in appreciation before she took it, blowing on it slightly before she took a sip. Summer continued to study the photos, before she pointed at the one of Yang's own team again.

"You have a photo of them," she said simply, "in the front of your house."

Yang's breath hitched – she hadn't realized Summer had clued in on that. She took a moment to reply, setting her mug down as she gathered her thoughts.

"Well, yes… they were my team, after all. I spent most of my life with them."

Summer hummed thoughtfully, still studying the picture.

"And you fought monsters with them?"

"The Grimm? Yup."

"Were they big?"

"Most of them, yeah, but a couple types weren't so large."

"Were they mean?"

"Their breath certainly was."

Summer giggled at that. Silence fell again, until she asked one last question.

"Were they scary?"

The words hung in the air, Yang taking her time over how to reply. Deciding that words weren't really going to cut it, she chose to nod instead.

Summer leaned back, dropping her hands into her lap and staring at them. Knowing when the young girl had something to say, Yang waited patiently. Eventually, Summer spoke, in a voice so quiet the elderly woman almost missed it.

"I'm scared of the Grimm."

It wasn't something Yang was surprised to hear – after all, the Grimm were monsters of nightmares, literally created from darkness itself. But regardless, it was still a comment that held a lot of weight, especially from a girl who Yang knew hated admitting her fears aloud. And so, Yang chose not to say anything, instead reaching behind her and untying the belt around her middle.

Summer watched in puzzlement as her teacher slowly untied the white length of fabric around her middle, placing it on the table in front of her. Next to go was the worn black ribbon, wrapped around her bicep. Lastly, Yang reached up and took hold of the red scarf around her neck, hesitating momentarily before she pulled it off and placed it on the table beside the other two fabrics.

Catching Summer's eye, Yang pointed to each of the fabrics, saying a name aloud as she did so.

"Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Ruby Rose."

She then pointed to the photo of her team, continuing to talk as she did so.

"My sister, my partner, and one of my closest friends."

Summer listened intently; Autumn had lost interest a while ago and was now staring off into space, and Scarla stood in the kitchen, though Yang knew her words were carrying across to the woman.

"I fought alongside them for years. We faced so many things together – monsters the sizes of buildings, monsters with fangs, monsters with claws and venom and many other terrible things. We faced scary things that weren't Grimm, too; parents, discrimination, and once in a while, even one another. We didn't always see eye to eye at first, so sometimes, we fought amongst ourselves."

"Myself, along with these three incredible women, saved a lot of people in our lifetimes. We all had different reasons for doing it, but at the end of the day, we worked together to fight monsters. Summer, I've fought many, many battles in my lifetime. I fought against people sometimes, but mostly, I fought Grimm. For years on end, I faced off against the monsters of the darkness."

Yang looked at her pupil, catching her eye and keeping it on her.

"And you know what?"

She paused, before she broke into a wide, warm smile.

"I'm still scared of them."

Summer looked at her for a good minute, before she returned the smile tentatively. Then Autumn broke the silence, her jovial voice changing the atmosphere completely.

"Me too!"

Summer and Yang both laughed at that, the innocent comment completely eradicating the stress of the previous minutes. Summer looked to the photos, then back at Yang.

"Hey, Yang?"

"Yes, kiddo?"

"Will you tell me more?"

And Yang will. She'll talk and talk, telling the eager girl before her stories of her lifetime, the days of her prime and even past then. Her tea will go cold long before she finishes talking, and Autumn and Scarla will both wander away to do their own things, interest in old heroic tales eventually forgotten. But Summer won't – she'll sit there, listening to Yang in awe, listening to the stories of her mentor's life, the trials and tasks the brawler went through long before she met her pupil. She'll hear stories of people she'll never have the chance to meet, but will listen and respect them just the same. She'll ask questions occasionally, but for the most part, she'll just let Yang talk, listening and learning.

And Yang, on her part, will tell the girl everything she wants to hear. She'll leave some things out, of course – she doesn't exactly want to traumatize the girl – but for the most part she'll talk about everything, of the days she shone like the sun. She'll laugh as she remembers things, move past the heartache, let the worry and guilt go as she teaches another generation of the world that once was, that used to be.

And as she talks, the daylight slipping away as the world turns, afternoon replaced by evening, Yang will start to feel something change. She'll feel something similar to what she felt before – the sense that her life is an old wound, long healed and scarred, but still wrapped in bandages. But this time, unlike before, it will feel like she is finally taking of the bandages, finally exposing the scar to the world, finally letting things go. And while it does hurt in some ways, pulling away something that had been a part of her for so long, Yang finds it doesn't hurt as much as she thought it would – that in some ways, it's almost cathartic, passing on the stories to the girl who sits before her. And while it still hurts, it's the sort of pain Yang knows to mean something good – a pain that says it's okay to let go, that she'll be okay anyways.

---

Yang dropped by the Xiong mechanics shop on her way home, the sun having set long before she left Summer's home. Her stories had carried her far into the evening, only coming to an end when Scarla informed her they would be having dinner soon, and asking her if she'd like to stay. Yang declined politely – she'd taken to eating meals alone, finding the quiet more comfortable in some ways than others. But on her way home she had the sudden thought to swing by the mechanic's, stopping in to say hello to Junior.

She ducked her head under the heavy garage door, rattling the chains slightly as she did so. It appeared that the garage was empty, the workers having gone home for the evening, even Junior himself. Yang turned to leave, halfway under the garage door before a voice called out to her.

"Well, hey, look who the cat dragged in!"

She swung her head up at the comment, nearly cracking it on the metal door. A tall bear of a man was walking towards her, wiping his hands on a grease streaked rag. She scowled at the approaching man, unamused by his comment.

"You know, there are a lot of Faunus who wouldn't exactly like that kind of comment."

The man smiled sheepishly, lowering his head slightly in lieu of an apology. Yang had made it a point of her to call people out on their discriminatory remarks years ago – and while she knew the man hadn't meant any offense by his comment, old habits died hard.

"It's good to see you, Xiao Long. It's been a while."

"Sure has, Junior. How've you been?"

Junior grimaced at the nickname, though he knew that by now it was pointless to try and deter the elderly woman from calling him by it.

"Not bad, I'd say. Had a couple of large weaponry orders come in lately, so the boys have been keeping busy."

"That's good to hear. How are the twins doing?"

"They're just fine. They love building stuff, by the way. I'm willing to be they'll have their own weapons made by the time they're five."

"Just don't give them exploding dust. I've heard that stuff can lead to accidents."

"Just a couple of them."

"Yup."

They grinned at one another, well accustomed to trading jokes. Yang wasn't sure if she'd ever get over the fact that the original Junior's descendant had ended up having twin girls for children – it was eerily reminiscent of the henchmen the original bar owner had once hired.

"Well, I was just stopping by to say hi, since I was in the neighborhood. You look like you're busy cleaning up the shop for the evening, so I'll leave you to it."

"You should stop by some more, Xiao Long. It's good to have you around, even if you're just cracking jokes about the past."

"Aw, Junior, did you miss me?"

"The boys did, not me. They were wondering where their favorite fossil had gone – I think they actually started up a betting pool on what had caused your absence. If I'm not mistaken, the highest bet right now is on death, due to 'old age.'"

Yang laughed at this.

"Well, you can tell the boys that if any of them guessed 'teaching' as the reason, then you'll give them a raise."

"Hey, wait a minute, why am I paying for this?"

She clapped a hand on his broad shoulder, grinning wickedly at the man.

"Just call it 'owed expenses.'"

Junior shot her a glance, suspiciously peering at the elderly woman.

"You know, it seems like an awful lot of things get claimed as 'owed expenses.' Did my ancestor really fuck up that badly, or are you just being greedy?"

"You really want to find out? I'll happily tell you all my stories. I mean, for starters, there was that time he–"

"Alright, geez, I give," the man said, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. He glanced at Yang, his suspicious expression turning thoughtful.

"So, teaching, huh?" he said, "Gotta admit, never really saw you as the mentoring type."

"Yeah, me neither," Yang admitted, "But certain circumstances called for it, so, teaching it is. It's a little weird though – the kid reminds me of a lot of people I used to know."

"Doesn't everyone and everything remind you of what you used to know?"

"Hardy har, Junior. Hilarious."

She glanced at the clock mounted on the nearby wall, sighing softly.

"Guess I'll get going. I'll try and swing by the garage more often, at least to say hi to the boys. See ya round, Junior."

She walked towards the door, and was about to duck under it when he called to her again.

"Hey, Xiao Long."

Yang looked up at the sound of his voice, a warm but serious tone on his words.

"I don't know much about this whole teaching thing, but…. you should keep doing it. You seem, I don't know, happier? Or, like, sunnier. Kind of living up to your whole namesake or something."

Yang snorted, before raising a hand in farewell.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better," he said sarcastically, before he returned the gesture, "You just seem to smile more than you used to. It's nice, I guess. Seems like you're opening up a lot more – like the whole cold side of you is melting away."

He laughed then, seemingly reminded of something.

"Which is great," he continued, "After all, a couple of the boys around here had started calling you 'ice queen.'"

Yang froze – it had been a long time since she'd heard the nickname, even longer still since she herself had used it. Immediately Weiss returned to mind, and Yang squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the sudden flow of memories that came to her.

"Ice queen, huh?" she said after a moment, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice, "Those assholes."

Junior laughed, mock saluting her in lieu of a goodbye. Letting that comment be her last, Yang ducked under the heavy metal door, her eyes adjusting to the darkness outside. She stopped just outside the garage, watching the last remanants of colour fade from the evening sky. The hues of red and orange mixed with the glow of the streetlights, reminding Yang on her semblance, or what it used to be.

It had been a long day for memories – first, with Summer and regaling her years in (and, in some ways, as) the sun, then with Junior, and his revival of an old nickname she'd left behind. 'Ice queen,' of course, had never been her nickname, but rather Weiss's, a joke that stuck with them in years beyond Beacon. For the most part, Yang had called her by it for her entire life. And so to hear it, years after Weiss had passed away, addressed to her? It wasn't something Yang had even expected. She'd always been the heat, leaving the cold to Weiss – making the pair literally characterizations of fire and ice.

But the name ice queen hadn't always referred to Weiss's fondness for the winter dust, Yang mused, but rather the cold personality the heiress had had since the very beginning. From when they'd first met, Weiss had always been cold and abrasive, her relationships with her teammates tentative at best. But over the years, as the four girls got into even more shenanigans, and their group of troublemakers opened up to let even more in, Weiss too had begun to open up as well. She'd softened in personality, and while she still had the social tact of a sledgehammer when it came to delicate situations, it was undeniable that Weiss had finally begun to melt.

And when that happened, the name 'ice queen' slowly became less and less relevant, slipping away until it was only used in Yang's jokes, never in seriousness. Well, unless Weiss froze people to the ceiling. Then it was serious. But beyond that, the ice queen façade had started to melt away – and only traces of it would remain by the time Weiss reached her end.

Yang thought about this, the air temperature around her falling with the spring evenings, the chill setting in. When the last vestiges of colour had faded from the sky, leaving her with only the faded orange glow of the streetlamps, and the shadows cast from the white light of the shattered moon, Yang finally began to head home, pulling herself from fond memories.

But there was something that remained with her, even as her thoughts drifted from past nicknames to new techniques to teach Summer – the knowledge that the true 'ice queen' was the one who hid their emotions away, pulling back from the world and keeping things hidden away. For years, that had been Weiss, of course – but now, Yang realized, it had become her. Junior's comment hadn't been far off, after all. In the years since Weiss and Pyrrha had passed, Yang had done her best to let go and move on from the world she once knew, by forcing her memories inside of herself and keeping them locked away. And while she'd always thought of that as the right way to do things, if not the only way, she knew now that all it had done was hurt her, in the same way Weiss had hurt herself by keeping things hidden.

Yang sighed, the sound echoing through the empty street, bouncing off the fronts of the houses that lined the road. It was a lot to think about, a lot to remember, and a lot to come to terms with. After all, she'd been keeping her memories stored away for years now – literally locked in a room, out of sight but never out of mind – and to acknowledge that it had probably been hurting her all along wasn't the greatest thing to suddenly come to terms with. And yet, despite her hesitancy to admit it, Yang was aware that it was true – that much was clear from her sharing with Summer. It had hurt to remember things, to tell the young girl so many things she'd fought for years to repress, to not remember. But at the same time, it had felt cathartic, and almost even healing.

She could recall the way Summer had awefully reached out to touch the remnants Yang wore of her team, consistently glancing at Yang to make sure it was alright. She'd held the length of Weiss' belt, as if marveling over the fact that even after years of use, it was still a pristine white. She and Autumn had spoken in excited, muted mutters over Blake's bow, with the elder sister telling her younger sibling that a 'Faunus hero' had once worn it. And even Scarla had held the scrap of Ruby's cloak, a piece Yang had had left over once she'd sewn it back up, albeit a few inches shorter, marveling over its softness that still remained after a lifetime of wear.

It had been as if, for a moment, her team was actually still around her – a fleeting feeling, brought on by Summer's awe and careful handling of each artifact. And when Yang had finally tied them back on, slowly and carefully, as she had for years, Summer had thanked her. It had been a genuine thank you, one Yang heard the sincerity laced deep within – a gratitude for sharing the stories of people Summer would never come to know, but respected all the same.

Yang shook her head, coming up to her front door. She paused for a moment out front of her house, taking a breath before letting it go, as if she could do the same with the stress of the day. Yang shook her head, pushing open the door and striding through it, leaving behind her thoughts and worries on the doorstep, refusing to think about the past any longer, at least for today. But still, at the back of her mind a voice lingered, one that whispered it was time to let go, it was time to move on, it was time for her cold façade to melt away.

Yang ignored it as best she could. She still didn't feel ready.

---

Today is Weiss's birthday. She is eighty-five. It's midday, light streaming in fully through the windows. Yet despite the warmth of the noon sun, the snow on the ground outside refuses to melt away, casting the world in an endless blanket of white. Yang teases Weiss every time they go outside, the same way she has since the pair became especially close after Ruby's injury, telling her to hold the brawler's hand so as not to become lost in the winter wonderland. Weiss, in her response, casts a glyph behind the former blonde, making it propel her across the icy sidewalks, straight into the tall snowbanks.

Now, though, the pair sits inside Weiss's home, enjoying the warmth that both Yang and the house's heating system have to offer. It had always surprised Yang how the inside of the former heiress' home looked – she never would have guess that Weiss, out of all of them, had the most mismatched interior. Even Yang, with her complete lack of disregard, had more synchronization of the colours in her home. Yet Weiss's colour scheme of white and blue had been overcome by the many splashes of red thrown about her home, as well as the odd appearances of black and yellow. But it seemed to make Weiss happy, so Yang never really commented on it – more for the fear of having everything of her colour thrown out.

A light tap sounds as Weiss places a cup of tea in front of her teammate, pulling Yang's attention back to the current scene. The white-haired woman – no one was pleased over the fact that Weiss's hair colour never changed with age – quirks an eyebrow at her friend, a silent question posed. Yang answers it with a sheepish smile, and a quick answer.

"Sorry," she says softly, reaching out and pulling her cup towards her, "Just lost in thought."

"Over?"

"Beacon."

Weiss smiles against the rim of her own teacup, before placing it down and glancing out the window beside them, as Yang had been doing before.

"It certainly was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she muses, voice filled with nostalgia, "I haven't really thought of it for a while."

"Oh, come on, Weiss," Yang counters with a laugh, "You and I both know that's a lie."

Another eyebrow rises at her comment.

"I mean, we all think about Beacon," Yang continues, "I do, Pyrrha does – there's no way you don't, too. It's kind of hard to forget about."

Weiss rolls her eyes, but nods in response.

"Alright, fine," she says, snarky as ever, "You caught me. Do I owe you a prize for your brilliant detective skills, or do I get away free on this one?"

"A kiss, and we'll call it even."

"Don't kid yourself, Xiao Long."

Yang laughs, the usual response shooting down her joke, one she really only makes out of habit anymore. Over the years, Weiss became something of family to the brawler, and jokes of anything beyond that kind of relationship were really only done to annoy the woman.

"But yes," Weiss continues, moving their conversation back to the prior topic, "I did think of Beacon recently. I stumbled across one of Blake's old books – you know how her volumes always seemed to make their way into our own collections."

"More like you borrowed it from her, and forgot to return it. After all, I've never found one of her books in my own personal library."

"That's because your personal library is approximately seven books, and half of them are on weapon maintenance. The other half, I presume, are written about hair care."

"Hilarious, Schnee. But that point aside, I'm pretty sure the book you found wasn't one of Blake's historical classics – I'm willing to bet it was a 'romance novella,' or whatever fancy term you two used to call your bad fanfiction."

Yang laughs at the red that rises to Weiss's cheeks, dodging the sugar cube thrown in her direction.

"Don't be vulgar," Weiss growls, picking up her tea in an attempt to disguise the blush.

"Hey, I'm not judging you. I'm just stating the truth."

There is silence for a moment, a temporary truce from their usually sardonic remarks. While Yang's comments had never been quite as snarky as Blake's – everyone who ever spent more than five minutes with the monochromatic pair knew of their tendency to spike insults back and forth at one another – she'd gotten on par with Weiss's verbal jousting over the years.

It didn't hurt to discuss their past partners – not yet, anyways. Neither of them usually brought up the past around Pyrrha, who had done well in moving on from the loss of her entire team, but Yang and Weiss were fine to bring up their own passed partners. It was healing, in some ways, easy to forget that the red and black women were gone completely, not just hanging out in another room. But having someone to talk with who also lived their lives with Ruby and Blake was something neither Weiss or Yang was looking forward to giving up. Of course, Yang will be the one left to shoulder all the memories, but neither of them know that yet.

Weiss puts down her tea after a long drink, looking out the window beside their table at the snow that refuses to melt, eyes revealing the fact she is lost in a memory.

"Do you remember," she says eventually, voice soft, "That time Ruby tried to have a snowman building competition?"

Yang hums against the rim of her own mug, swallowing before she answers.

"You mean the time we ended up having the largest snowball fight in Beacon's history, and racked up a damage cost that Glynda made us work to pay back for over three months?"

Weiss smirks in reply, before Yang remembers a very significant detail.

"Hey, wait a minute…. You were the only one who didn't get stuck on chore duty!"

"A Schnee must know how to find her way out of tricky situations."

"… You bribed the headmaster, didn't you?"

"That was a rumour, and you can't prove anything."

Yang raises her hands in mock surrender, laughing as she does so.

"While, in any case," she says, "I do remember that 'competition,' as you called it. I think every time snow fell at Beacon, the janitors repaired for extra cleaning duty – remember the time we tried to go tobogganing, and smashed right through the cafeteria windows?"

"If you will recall, that was because you had the brilliant idea of riding the sled down a rooftop, and using one of my glyphs to give you a soft landing."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault you messed up your glyph, and made us ricochet off in a different direction."

"Are you implying it was my fault you nearly beheaded Cardin when you flew straight through the cafeteria hall?"

"Well, I can't think of anyone else to blame for the fact that Jaune was too traumatized to ever go near a sled again."

"He really did scream loudly during that ride, didn't he?"

"Nora recorded it, remember? It was her ringtone for like a month."

They both laugh at the fond memories, and continue on that path for a while. Eventually, conversation topics drift from old school times to later ones, shifting from years of just starting out to ones of familiarity and fame.

"Remember that time you were too lazy to build a full barrier around a town to keep out the Grimm, and instead just decided to freeze a ring of ice around it?"

Weiss nods, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Yang's sudden laugh.

"Well, about a week after you finished that mission, I got called out to one of my own – to melt a hole in that ice."

Weiss groans as Yang's laughter escalates, her face the perfect picture of irritancy.

"I didn't intend to freeze them in their town, as you're making it seem like it was. At the time, it seemed like a perfectly viable option. I just… forgot to leave a hole to let them pass through."

Yang rolls her eyes at the 'admittance,' her chuckles fading away.

"Well, in any case, Pyrrha was telling me about that very town. Your ice is stil there, you know – it seems the climate was enough to keep it from melting. It's solidified with a lot of other things now, of course, but it's become a tourist attraction of its own, even if the ice is pretty much gone."

Weiss sighs, shaking her head.

"And Ruby always wondered why the 'ice queen' nickname never seemed to fade… there's no way it would when people continued to hold onto pieces that contributed to the title."

"Uh, if you've forgotten, you're the one who put them there in the first place."

"Well, I didn't intend for them to stay there that long, now did I?"

"How should I know? I'm the one who always has to go melt through them, but I don't create them in the first place."

"No, that's right, you just leave scorch marks the size of a Nevermore."

Yang laughs, knowing she can't exactly counter the statement.

"Well, whatever," she says with a grin, "at least they lead to some interesting nicknames over the years. Firecracker, inferno, smoldering temptress…"

"Overgrown matchbox," Weiss interjects, smirking behind her hand in a very Blake-esque manner.

"Trailblazer," Yang continues, pointedly ignoring the former heiress's remark, "Pyromancer… Help me out here, I can't remember them all. What were the other nicknames?"

"Snow angel."

Yang jerks at that, her cheeky reply half formed on the tip of her tongue before she remembers where the name is from, and opts instead to just stare at Weiss in shock.

"Ice queen," Weiss continues, now looking out the window, her hand idly tracing the rim of her now-empty mug. Yang sits and waits, knowing by now when the white-haired woman has something to say, and knowing just as well that it can't be forced out of her.

There's silence for a moment, neither woman interrupting the still atmosphere. Then, eventually, Weiss speaks again, a small smile gracing her lips.

"I always thought it was ridiculous," she says slowly, eyes lost in nostalgia, "That everyone always seemed to call me by the same nickname, just for different reasons, no matter how old I became. You always called me ice queen because of my personality, but those who didn't know me that well just kept it because of my preference for the dust."

She glances down at her thin, pianist hands, wrinkled and thin with age.

"Even Roman said it that one time, remember? Way back when we first started fighting them. I honestly thought you'd told it to him, somehow."

Yang bites back a snicker at that.

"But, I suppose it is rather funny," Weiss continues, glancing out the window once more, "That the elements our nicknames were based from eventually became the metaphors for our legacies."

Yang perks an eyebrow at that, not entirely sure what her companion means. Weiss smirks at this, evidently having expected such a reaction from the former brawler.

"Ice queen, Firecracker – names from our semblances and weapons, remember?" Weiss queries, tilting her head to the side and letting the strands of white shift along with it, "Ruby always commented on how people said our lives were like our elements – ice and fire. Even Pyrrha says it sometimes, how your 'flame' has never gone out, or how my 'ice' has never melted."

Yang chuckles at that, nodding as she catches Weiss's drift.

"Right," she says, "I get what you mean. So long as our elements live on, so do we."

"It's probably more the other way around," Weiss mutters, "But yes, that is the premise."

"… What a stupid idea."

"My thoughts exactly."

They laughed then, the sound echoing softly in the room. It faded, leaving a silence that lingered only for a moment before Yang breaks it.

"Speaking of icy, cold things – how's the SDC doing?"

"Better than it was before," Weiss replies, choosing not to rise to Yang's teasing, "The new head of the board is a Faunus, so a lot of regulations are being passed with less resistance, now."

Yang nods at the news, unsurprised. While Weiss had officially dropped her title as an heiress back in her huntressing days, she'd become an advisor for the company in the late years of her life, helping to fix the messes that her sister had caused.

"Is there still a lot of things to fix?"

Weiss sighs, nodding in reply.

"We've come a long way, but there are still many things we have to change that Winter put in place. Many of her rules completely destroyed the inner workings of the SDC, so we're starting to rebuild company regulations from scratch. It's almost starting to be a brand new company."

"That's not a bad thing, is it?"

Weiss shakes her head, frowning slightly.

"No, actually, I don't think it could have been a better situation for us," she explains, "While it certainly did put the company in jeopardy for a while, it's given us the chance to start anew, which we've needed for a long time. Winter may have practically wrecked the company single-handedly, but it gave us the chance to rebuild things from the bottom up, fixing a lot of the Faunus rights and helping a lot of other cases, as well."

Weiss pauses, smiling softly.

"It might be odd, but it gave me a chance to help my family's name, something I always wanted to do."

Yang knows that – Weiss had told them long ago, on a field trip back in Beacon, that she strove to be a huntress partly to bring honour back to the Schnee name.

"I guess it's the only gift I ever really got from my sister, in a way."

Yang looks up that this, before the heiress's last words are spoken soft enough that Yang almost misses them.

"Because beyond that, Winter took everything I ever really cared about."

And Yang, noting the season that refuses to leave – the season that shared the name of a family member who never offered anything; the season that related strongest to the heiress's namesake; the season that had taken away the partner she'd taken so long to trust, but had eventually come to see as family – knows Weiss isn't just talking about her sister anymore.

---

Yang left Summer at her house, dropping her off after training and sitting down to talk a bit with Scarla – the woman herself enjoyed hearing tales from Yang's life. She enjoyed history; not particularly the stories of Yang beating the crap out of nightmarish creatures, but more along the lines of past leaders and events. Summer generally ran off to play with Autumn, though once in a while she stayed behind to listen with her mother.

Today had run later than Yang had meant for it to, getting caught up in some long story about a war general she'd once met and had the misfortune of accidentally challenging. Pyrrha had lost to him years before, so it was no surprise that Yang had as well – though she left out the details of just how humiliating her defeat was, knowing Summer would all too happily exploit the facts.

The story cause Yang to leave later in the evening, and as she pulled on her heavy boots by the doorway, the wooden door swung open. Rowan, Summer's father, stood in the doorway, standing in contrast against the dim light of the evening behind him.

"Good evening, Yang," he greeted, striding through and shutting the door behind him, "It's good to see you."

"Same to you," Yang answered, an easy grin passing her features as she shook his had.

She didn't get to see Rowan much – the young man was often off at work, and came home later in the evenings, often when Yang had already left. She saw him on the rare occasions she dropped by the house after training on weekends, but for the most part, those were the days she saw Junior. When she did see Rowan, however, she always enjoyed their interactions – the man had an easygoing personality, one that made him easy to talk to, regardless of their rare conversations.

"How's Summer's training going?" Rowan asked, hanging up his coat on a hook Yang stood beside.

She stepped aside, answering the question with a laugh as she did so.

"I'll let her tell you that for herself," she grinned, "Seeing as how she did some pretty impressive feats today, I doubt she'd want me spoiling her fun of telling you her 'tales of glory.'"

Rowan laughed, the sound rich and full.

"Well, alright then. I'm glad to hear it's going well."

Yang nodded, smiling as she raised a hand in farewell, starting her way over to the door.

"Yang."

She stopped at the sound of her name, turning to see Rowan facing her with a serious expression on his features. The man paused, raising a hand to awkwardly rest on the nape of his neck.

"I know we say this a lot…" he said, looking almost uncomfortable, "But thank you."

Yang waved her hand in response; she was thanked by Scarla or Rowan nearly every week, and while she knew they genuinely meant it, she tended just to brush off their gratitude. She hadn't been in it to gain anything, after all – it was just more to help out Summer. Before she could leave, however, Rowan continued speaking.

"No," he said, catching Yang's curiosity and confusion, "I mean… for me, your teaching Summer means much more to me than you could realize."

Yang raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, letting the man continue.

"Yang," Rowan repeated, "Have you ever taught anyone before?"

At this, both of Yang's eyebrows raised – then settled, creating an expression of embarrassment mixed with guilt.

"Not exactly," she admitted quietly, "I've never really been the teaching type. My friends often taught, and my teammates as well – Blake at Beacon, and Ruby at Signal. Even Weiss taught classes on Dust technique once in a while. But out of all of us, I've never been the sort to teach."

Rowan laughed at this, bringing back Yang's confusion.

"Sorry," he apologized, waving his hand as his mirth died down, "But despite that fact, I'd say you make an excellent teacher."

Yang scuffed her boot against the floor, trying to come up with a reply when Rowan continued.

"Ozpin would have been very proud."

Yang's head snapped up at this, eyes focusing on Rowan as emotions flashed through them – a myriad of confusion, shock, and many others.

"Wha… what?"

Rowan smiled gently, understanding her reaction.

"I guess we never told you," he said – had Yang still been her cheeky younger self, her response probably would have been 'no duh.'

"Ozipin was my father's great-grandfather," Rowan clarified, smiling wider at the way Yang's mouth dropped.

For the former blonde, it was a huge bombshell – all this time, she'd been teaching Ozpin's descendant? His long descended daughter… his great, great, great… Yeah, she couldn't figure out that lineage; trying to do so was only making her head hurt. Either way, it was still astonishing that Summer was even slightly related to Ozpin – what were the odds that of all the children Yang could have ended up teaching, it was the descendant of her old headmaster?

"I…" Yang trailed off, clearing her throat before starting again, "I wasn't even aware that Ozpin had had children."

Rowan laughed, shrugging in response.

"He always was a private man," he said, before he frowned in realization, "Well, so I've heard. Unsurprisingly, I've never met him."

Yang chuckled at this.

"Well, I can confirm it – he was quite the enigma. Never really knew what he was thinking. He was a good headmaster, though."

Rowan nodded, smiling.

"So I'd heard. I'm sure he'd have been proud to hear about his graduates teaching – especially about you teaching Summer."

"Honestly, I'd never really though I'd end up teaching, much less a relative of Ozpin, but here I am. I suppose it's kind of amusing, though – this way Glynda's comment that I'd never be a good teacher is all kinds of incorrect."

"Glynda Goodwitch?" Rowan asked, laughing loudly, "I remember her. I met her once or twice. Never really a woman of strong emotions, was she?"

"There's a reason I always called her 'Goodbitch,'" Yang replied, smirking as she recalled the name.

Rowan laughed, the sound petering out before he smiled at the elderly woman, nodding slightly.

"I just wanted to share that with you," he said, "I realized you should probably learn at some point you were teaching Ozpin's descendant."

He raised his hand in farewell and began to make his way down the hallway towards the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder.

"Have a good night, Yang."

Yang waved in response, though she knew he couldn't see her. For a moment she stood in the hall, not entirely finished processing the information she'd been given. 'Small world' didn't really cover it – it felt more like fate, or something of the sort, like she'd been destined to run into Summer that day. Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on it too much, instead simply forcing herself to accept she was teaching Ozpin's relative and leave it at that. Of course, it didn't really happen that way, but Yang was content to pretend that it had.

In reality, even she couldn't ignore the thoughts that surfaced in the corners of her mind, whispering about coincidences and fate. It really was a kind of miracle, that the one woman who'd never been much of a teacher was the one to teach her headmaster's descendant, and the one who left behind the last of the lessons from her generation. It was, honestly, a little unnerving – and Yang had no idea what to do about it.

---

Yang slammed the door behind her, the dust in the frame lifting into the air as she did so, lit aglow by the light in the hallway. She stamped her feet on the mat, shaking the melting snow off of her boots before beginning the task of unlacing them, fingers shaking slightly as she did so. She hung up the old leather jacket, hanging up in its usual spot, inhaling the scent of smoke and gunpower, imbued in the worn fabric.

As her hands fall away, her gaze shifts to a shelf beside the hooks on which her jacket hangs – a shelf void of anything but an old photograph in a dusty frame, several smiling faces grinning back at the elderly woman. Upon seeing it, Yang feels her heart drop, a sudden realization hitting her like a train.

Today was the first time in years, ever since Weiss had passed away, that Yang had forgotten to say goodbye to the photograph as she left her home.

A mixture of emotions comes with the realization, each of them strong and unstoppable, nearly bringing the former brawler to her knees. Instead, she focuses on her hands, on the innumerable number of lines crossing her palms and mingling with old scars. It isn't memories that flow, this time, but rather thoughts – thoughts that feel like a burden, that are unfortunate truths, and mean so many things that she can no longer ignore.

The first emotion is guilt – as though in some way, she is betraying her teammates; her sister, partner, and friend, by not saying goodbye to them. As if she has somehow left them behind, no longer caring about them – and while Yang knows this isn't true (the very fact she's feeling guilt over the thought is proof enough), she can't shake the feeling that she is in the wrong. It's been a habit for years, to say goodbye to the photograph, and she'd broken the tradition without even realizing it.

More emotions come as a result of this – shame, anger, sadness – but nothing grows quite like the fear inside her chest, the emotion steadily growing stronger, like a chill running from her heart. It feels like a flower blooming inside her chest, its roots tangling with her veins the more she thinks about the implications of her forgetfulness – because the fear isn't a worry that something bad will come as a result, like an omen or curse. No, the reason for the fear is much, much worse.

Because no matter how much she tries to admit it, Yang knows exactly what her moment of blunder means – it means that the woman, despite her best efforts, is moving on.

Yang had always known that, no matter what, life goes on. The world spins, the pages turn, and the chapters of one's life continue to write themselves, no matter what anyone does to change it. There is no way to stop time, to go back and rewrite it – time, after all, waits for no one. The former blonde has known that throughout her entire life, tragedies and memories only serving to solidify this knowledge. And, armed with the understanding, Yang had always done her best to keep moving, hand in hand with time.

Even when the first Summer died, she kept going. When her father passed on, Qrow following his teammate, she continued. When her friends fell in the line of duty, and later from life itself, she'd moved forwards. When Blake was gone, and even when Ruby passed way, Yang had always kept living. When Weiss died, Pyrrha helped her keep going – and when even she was gone, Yang had finally, finally stopped trying to live in the moment.

For the first time in her life, the former brawler had let time pass over her, like waves washing on the shores. She'd let the world pass her by, watching as times changed and the people around her left and came – but she'd stopped trying to stay in the current time, instead letting life move on without her. She didn't try and live in the past either, for it hurt too much – instead, she found herself in what could almost be defined as a limbo, a state where she wasn't in the past, nor the present.

And it was in that state she'd resigned herself to, feeling as if at last, she could let life move on without her. And she had been content to live like that, up until she died. It was why she hadn't passed on her stories, why she'd hidden everything away, and why she'd only made contact with the few people she still knew from the past.

Summer had changed all of that.

Without ever really knowing it, Yang had slowly been brought back into life by her student, the young girl introducing her to the world again, letting her live once more. Through sharing her stories, Yang built bridges with those in the youngest generations, letting her lessons and memories pass on. Through teaching, talking, and just living, Yang had slowly become wrapped up in the current life she lead, once again moving with the flow of time.

Had she realized it more, she might have fought it, might have dug her heels in and cut herself off again, trying to live in the limbo once more. As it was, she'd still tried her hardest not to move on – despite all the voices inside that told her to let go, to move forwards, she'd tried to keep herself as she was.

And now, she knew, she'd lost that battle. Time didn't just move around her – it dragged her along, lost in the waves. It didn't just wash against her as though she were the shore; it pulled her back in with the tide, bringing the isolated woman back to the world. And Yang knew, as she had always known, that there was no way of stopping it.

Time kept going. And whether she was ready or not, whether she wanted to, Yang was moving on.

That was where the fear came from – from the idea that no matter how much she struggled, she would leave the past behind, and it would be forever lost to the confines of her room. She knew there was only one way around it – and that was to carry the past with her into the future, to share it with Summer and everyone else, so that it would live on long after she did.

Yang was, simply put, terrified of either outcome. She'd lived so long trying to disconnect herself from both the past and the present that suddenly knowing she had to return to both caused fear and anxiety, and sadness as well. But she knew she had little choice – and the moment she forgot to say goodbye proved it. It was time for Yang to move forwards; time to let go.

She wasn't ready. And, Yang realized, she would probably never be ready.

The elderly woman reached out a trembling hand to the photograph, her fingers gently touching the glass, leaving streaks on the dusty surface. Cleared away by her fingertips, the faces smiled back at her, unhindered by the dirt. Herself, her sister, her partner, and her friend. Yang's team smiled at her – and for the first time in a large number of years, Yang found herself smiling back.

Her hand fell slowly, then rested on the white belt around her waist, moving up to touch the black ribbon on her arm, and at last, the red scarf around her neck. She stood there in silence, letting the thoughts run through her mind, the fear slowly dissipating; replaced by an emotion she hadn't felt in many years – hope.

It was time to move on, whether she wanted to or not. Time to move forwards, time to let go.

And for the first time since the last of her friends had passed away, Yang knew she didn't have to do it alone.

---

Today is Yang's birthday. She is eighty-six. The air is warm, the wind surprisingly gentle. The sun shines clearly, occasionally hampered by one of the occasional clouds that appear, drifting aimlessly across the sky. It could almost be considered a perfect day, one that is only hampered by the mood of the woman sitting in a patch of sunlight, letting time pass slowly by.

Yang sits in silence in the open field, eyes scanning the sky pointlessly, not really focusing on anything in particular. There is nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no sound of anything but the wind in the grass and the surrounding trees, no voices to keep her attention occupied.

It's a quiet birthday, one that doesn't particularly stand out from any of the other days of the year. Pyrrha promised to pass by in the evening, when she had finished her last lesson with her last student, but that isn't for many hours yet. It's still early in the day, the sun not yet having reached its peak point in the sky. Truthfully, Yang normally wouldn't have already left her house by this time, but today is different.

Today she sits in the open field, amongst the stakes of engraved wood that are scattered in rows around her, varying in their ages. She herself sits in front of a set of three planks of wood, each of them worn by different periods of time – one is withered slightly from years of sitting there; another slightly less worn, but still showing age; and the third looks almost brand new, clearly a recent addition. In front of each marker sits a small stone placard – and at the right end of the row is a blank one, a space not yet filled.

Yang leans back, resting her weight on her arms as she watches the sky. It isn't the first time she's been here, not by a long shot – but this time doesn't feel like the rest, as thought the day stands apart from the others. It isn't just because it's her birthday – no, Yang knows exactly the reason it feels different. Every other time she's visited the Beacon Memorial field, there had been snow.

The field had existed long before Yang ever arrived at the school, and would probably remain to do so indefinitely. It wasn't a cemetery, but rather, simply a place for monuments. In it was a grave marker for each of the hunters or huntresses who graduated from Beacon, and had passed on since. There were no bodies in the field – the very nature of the work didn't often leave a body to bury, if the deceased had fallen in the line of duty – but wooden markers with individual symbols on them lay in place of them, stone placards below them listing off the names of the fallen.

Many of the markers were coloured – denoting death in the line of duty – but some of them weren't, including the three Yang sat in front of. On her left was a row of four, all in colour; on the right was one of three, two coloured, one plain wood. A space between the second and third lay empty, designated for Pyrrha Nikos. The coloured row was all that remained of Cardin's team – and Yang knew if she went several rows back, she'd find a set of four; three coloured, one plain: Velvet's own team.

She didn't know many of the markers, but there were a couple handcrafted ones place between JNPR and RWBY – one plain, one coloured. Sun and Neptune had never gotten their own grave markers, being from a different school, but that had never stopped their friends from adding monuments of their own.

It might not have been a particularly cheery way of spending the day, but Yang hadn't felt right sitting at home – she'd almost been drawn to the field, as if pulled by external forces. That, and she missed her friends. No large celebrations existed for Yang anymore – grave markers couldn't fill the silence her friends left behind – but it was comforting to spend time there, almost as if her friends themselves were in the field with her, just hidden from view.

Yang, however, had never visited Beacon's Memorial field alone before. She'd been there many times with friends to either mourn the loss of someone who'd fallen in battle, or with others just to leave flowers for all those who were gone. Each and every time, however, there'd been company, and that had made the silence bearable.

Yang tilts her head back, lids sliding closed over lilac eyes, the warm breeze ruffling her hair and the grass around her. The short gray strands tickle her wrinkled cheeks, but she keeps her eyes closed, as if saying a silent prayer. Then she opens them slowly, sitting back up straight and looking at the most recent grave marker before her.

A snowflake design, branded into the wood, stared back at her. Beside it was the slightly worn decal of a rose, and on its right sat the weathered wood of Blake's own symbol. Yang sighs, shaking her head and letting gray bangs fall over her eyes, shadowing her face. The sky copies her a moment afterwards, a cloud passing over the sun and throwing the field into shadow for a moment. Then it's gone, and the sunlight returns.

Yang looks around her, still not over the fact that there isn't any snow. Every other time she's visited her team, there had been a white blanket over everything in the field. Then again, she'd never visited her team with a third marker before. When Weiss had been buried, the snow had still lain around them – but then it had melted, and no more had fallen since.

Yang sighs, glancing at her worn hands and snapping her fingers. A spark; then a small, wavering flame appears, dancing across her fingertips. The warm breeze blows it out a moment later, but Yang doesn't notice, her attention already back to the sky. Yang laughs softly, the sound carrying across the empty field. Then she speaks, commenting to no one in particular.

"Looks like my flame is still going, huh?"

Yang pauses and smiles, sadness deep in her eyes, lines around the lilac pupils crinkling.

"But your ice has finally melted… Weiss."