The Reach was burning.
Her nose stung from the acrid stink of wood fires and spent ceruleum. Drifting smoke obscured her vision, shrouding her and her surroundings in a dense fog that prevented her from seeing more than a few fulms away from her. Despite the very real evidence of war and death all around her, she knew on an instinctive level that she was utterly alone.
Time had no meaning in this place. While she knew that time would pass and had passed, it was powerless within this dreadful place.
Hours seemed to pass, but they also felt like seconds. From within the darkness, she heard footsteps. While that sound signified that she was not alone and should have been a good omen, every instinct and nerve ending screamed that she was in mortal peril.
He emerged from the rolling smoke, the white visage of his faceplate seeming more skull-like and demonic than it had in life. He held one of his Doman swords in his right hand, the tip steadily dripping blood. His other arm rested nonchalantly on his magitek scabbard. Fully formed out of the gloom, he slowly approached her with the same inexorable pace reserved for death and marketboard taxes.
Reaching behind her for her axe, her hand slapped against her empty back. She looked down at herself to find that she wore only her sleeping clothes. For some reason, however, she had her magitek gauntlets on, already extended in their combat positions. With a practiced motion, she chambered a ceruleum round in both weapons and raised her arms, firing shot after shot of explosive rounds at the legate.
Yet ever onward he came, passing through the fusillade of explosive chemical bolts—each one potent enough to give pause to a fully-grown dragon—unharmed, the energy of the blasts dispersing before they ever reached him.
She growled in irritation to cover the growing panic crawling in her gut at her inability to harm him, twisting her arm in a specific way to chamber her panic round—an emergency-use round with four times the normal explosive charge in it. But when she moved to fire that incredibly-dangerous round into Zenos' smug face, nothing happened. She couldn't even see her arms in firing position.
Looking down, panic fully seized her in its grasp when she saw that her right arm ended just above the elbow. An uncomfortable tingle, like thousands of ants crawling beneath her skin, radiated out from the point where her arm ended. She fell to her knees, her entire body trembling, and clutched the wound in her remaining hand. Blood inexplicably began to seep through her fingers, despite the wound appearing to be days, if not weeks, old.
The scrape of dirt drew her gaze up, where she found Zenos standing before her: bloody sword raised high over his head, empty gaze of his helmet piercing her soul, body tensed in preparation to strike like a coiled spring...
Beacon Academy, The Lavender Beds, The Black Shroud
Four days after the Fall of the Reach
Bee awoke suddenly, her eyes snapping open along with a deep inhalation of air as she successfully forced herself out of her nightmare. A chill flushed its way down her body at the memory of what her subconscious had tormented her with, and her parted lips forced air out in a drawn-out huff.
A gentle pressure squeezed around her left hand, and she lifted her head and looked over to find a curtain of dark hair on the side of her bed, topped by a pair of fuzzy ears tracking in her direction like adorable little satellite dishes.
Masya groggily lifted her head from where it had been pillowed on excess bedding that Bee wasn't using. She brought up her left hand—her right being near-permanently affixed to her partner's—and blearily rubbed her face and eyes with the back of her hand in a cat-like manner that had Bee biting her tongue to hold back a squeal at the cuteness.
The miqo'te's eyes took another moment to fully come into focus, and when she noticed that Bee was awake and watching her, gave her hand another squeeze and a smile that pierced the fog of angst surrounding the roegadyn's soul. "Good morning," the shinobi said.
"It certainly is now," the warrior teased in return, earning a faint blush.
Masya leaned over and brushed a stray lock of long, blonde hair behind Bee's ear. "How are you feeling?" she asked, a warmth suffusing her tone that was reserved solely for the roegadyn. "Any pain?"
Bee gently shook her head, not wishing to disturb the other woman's delicate touch. "Just numb," she answered, her eyes shifting to the right to observe the bandaged stump as she lifted it slightly. The previously-white bandages had become a slightly reddish-yellow color overnight. "Tingly," she clarified. "Like...arm asleep? Not like pulled a muscle."
By the time she'd finished speaking, the miqo'te was already on the other side of the bed, rolling behind her a cart of medical supplies. "Let's change these bandages and see if that helps," Masya said.
Having carefully observed the chirurgeons doing so, it was with swift and steady hands that Masya removed the old dressing, gently cleaned away the dried blood and other discharge from the stump, moistened a new dressing with antibacterial salve and applied it, then wrapped it with clean new bandages.
"Is that too tight?" she asked, looking up at Bee's face for any sign of discomfort.
"No, it's fine," the roegadyn answered, her gaze resting on the stump with an odd detachment, as if looking right through it. "You can make it tighter if you need to."
With a nod, Masya tightened the bandages just a little, then tied the ends into a knot and secured it against the back of her arm. "There," the shinobi pronounced, nodding in satisfaction at her work. "How's that?"
"Better."
The tingling sensation was gone, but a ghostly sense of her missing limb was still present. She 'flexed her hand' several times, and could all but feel her fingers closing together, but her unmoving upper arm muscles told the true story: without her hand and forearm, there was nothing to force her upper arm muscles to contract and relax.
Watching Bee, Masya's ears pinned down against her head, giving away the sorrow she did an admirable job of keeping off her face. The roegadyn wasn't fooled, however; a single glance at her partner's stillness and pinned ears wrote plain the depths of the miqo'te's feelings of guilt.
"Hey..." Bee whispered, reaching up and threading her fingers through Masya's hair. "This wasn't your fault."
Masya shut her eyes and leaned against Bee's hand, her sense of guilt warring with her partner's warmth and gentle words. "This happened to you because of me," she protested. "He hurt you because of me."
"Shh..." the blonde soothed, lightly scratching her fingertips across Masya's scalp. "He hurt you to provoke me. And I fell for it. I let my anger control me, and I paid the price." She paused for a moment, the corner of her lip twitching. She struggled mightily to say with a straight face, "Though I gotta say, being as I'm willing to pay with my life for you, I think I got the hells of a discount."
Masya let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, lightly pounding a fist against Bee's leg. "That's not funny," she weakly protested.
"Sure it is," the roegadyn grinned. "One day, you'll think of that joke and have the giggles for bells. You'll probably blow some super secret stealth mission because of it."
Her mirth fading, the blonde brushed a tear from Masya's cheek with her thumb. "What happened is nobody's fault but that imperial bastard," she said softly. "Okay? Please don't blame yourself."
Nodding haltingly, Masya grit her teeth to forestall more tears. "I know," she whispered. "I know it's not my fault. But seeing what he did to you..."
"I know, Masya, I know." She gently rubbed her thumb in circles on the miqo'te's cheek. "That was how I felt when I saw you lying there, with him standing over you and staring me right in the eye as he stabbed you." Her gaze fell, and she lifted her hand from Masya's cheek, curling her fingers into a fist. "I've never felt so powerless in my life..." she whispered.
Masya lifted her arms and rested them gently around Bee's neck, leaning her forehead against the roegadyn's. "I feel like I don't know how to keep moving forward," she confessed. "I know that we have to, but it's like you said. Zenos was a threat we were wholly unprepared for."
Bee closed her eyes, willing away her anger at the memory of that night. Willing her hand to unclench, she brushed her fingers through Masya's hair again. "Together," she said firmly. "We'll go forward together, and no matter what happens, we'll always have each other."
A smile blooming on her face, the miqo'te tipped her head to touch her nose to Bee's. "I'll never leave your side," Masya swore. "I promise."
"And I'll never leave yours," Bee affirmed. There was a brief pause, just long enough for Masya to sense what was coming, and then the roegadyn quipped, "At least not all at once."
Masya promptly head-butted her. "Your jokes are dumb," she deadpanned. After a pause of her own, she added, "But I love your dumb jokes."
"Not me, though," Bee teased, grinning.
"Absolutely not," Masya replied, cupping Bee's face in her hands and leaning forward to softly kiss the other woman.
"Blake, have you ever wondered what life would've been like if you hadn't stayed with me?" Yang asked, making the foolish snap decision to voice the idle question on her mind.
The silence that followed had her cursing, once again, her impetuous nature to just say whatever was on her mind and damn the consequences. A chill crept from her fingertips—unhelpfully mimicked by the artificial sensations processor in her right arm—up to her shoulders, down her spine, and settled into an uncomfortable, icy clenching in her gut. She could all but feel the intensity of Weiss' glare from across town.
"I only know..." Blake began, her tone even, but thicker than it usually was, "that if I had given up on you, Adam would've had my head. After all the trouble he went through to get us together."
That...was probably not the worst thing that Blake could have answered. Testing the waters, Yang joked, "Puh-lease. Your brother wouldn't harm a hair on your pretty little head."
"You're absolutely right," Blake deadpanned. "He probably would've taken your other arm off instead."
The blonde winced at the unmistakable barb, her left hand automatically reaching over to hold what little naturally remained of her right arm. She'd wounded the love of her life deeply by even asking that question, and deserved the spite in return. She heard the sound of a voice user disconnecting from the channel and felt a little spike of fear in her heart, terrified that Blake didn't want to talk to her.
But when she looked at her Discord, she saw hers and Blake's were the only names in the 'Team RWBY' channel, with Ruby and Weiss up in the general voice; her sister and their German friend had obviously quietly determined to give the pair their privacy.
"I'm sorry, Blake," she apologized immediately, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against her keyboard wrist rest. "I never should've asked you that. It was mostly a stupid joke..."
"But it's not a joke," the black-haired beauty replied, her voice now wavering with emotion. "I know you're still afraid that you're a burden to us, Yang."
Closing her eyes, the blonde huffed in amusement. "I know I'm not. I try really, really hard to keep those thoughts away..."
"It's okay to have doubts, Yang," Blake said. "You had a traumatic, life-altering experience. And it's changed the lives of myself, Ruby, and even Weiss as well. We all have doubts. I can tell you honestly that sometimes it's hard for the three of us to not coddle you."
Yang lifted her head and blinked, furrowing her brow. Sure, her baby sister—not to mention their parents—had practically waited on her hand and foot in the first few months after she'd gotten discharged, but she always felt as though the entire Xiao Long/Rose clan had merely been helping her when she absolutely needed it, and were more than happy for her to take her life back into her own hands. "R-really?"
"Yes. We all have that protective drive, Yang. On some deep, instinctive level, we recognize how badly you were hurt and we feel the urge to safeguard you from all the bad things in life. But we don't, because we know better. You've always been strong, Yang, and you don't need us to protect you. You need us to walk beside you. Sometimes we'll stumble, and sometimes we'll fall. But when that happens, we're there for each other. Always."
Pressing her hand tightly to her mouth, Yang didn't trust herself to speak for several moments. She successfully managed to prevent herself from sobbing openly, but that did nothing to stop the scant few tears that dripped down onto her hand. "God, Blake, I don't deserve you..."
Unexpectedly, Blake immediately answered, "You're right, you don't." As Yang spluttered in shock, the bibliophile continued, "Nor do I deserve you. Ruby doesn't 'deserve' Weiss, and vice versa. Nobody 'deserves' anyone. We love who we love. It's as simple as that."
Yang took a deep breath, closing her eyes and smiling as she felt warmth radiate out from her chest. "Have I mentioned lately that you're the best girlfriend, Blake?"
"About an hour ago after we finished the Reach," Blake quipped. "You made the Hamilton reference a bit more specific then, though."
The blonde gave a lop-sided grin. "I mean, it's not as fun when it's explicitly spelled out," she said teasingly. "Gotta make you guys work for it."
"And if nobody gets it?"
"Well, that's a risk I take." Her smile broadened. "At least you get most of my references."
Blake chuckled in that 'I'm-humoring-you-but-that-was-actually-kind-of-funny' way of hers. "I know almost all of your reference pools. You've only got like seven or eight."
Gasping in mock indignation, being safely hidden behind a computer screen was the only reason Yang allowed herself to grin at the setup that Blake had just hand-delivered her. "Why, Blake, are you accusing me of being... shallow?"
The pause stretched for one second, and then two.
"Damn. It," Blake growled under her breath.
Yang cackled exaggeratedly, summoning up her best impersonation of Emperor Palpatine.
Blake sighed overdramatically, but the smile in her voice was evident as she said, "I have to admit, that was one of your better ones."
"Thank you, my dear," the blonde answered, sketching a seated bow for no real reason. "But give yourself due credit. I never could've pulled it off without you." She leaned back in her chair, twirling a lock of hair idly around her finger. "And that's why we're so great. We really compliment each other. You could even say you're the yin to my Yang."
"Aaaand you follow a good one immediately with a terrible one..." Blake sighed again. "But that's why I love you. Something about blondes and bad puns."
"I'm pretty sure it's actually somewhere in the genetic code for having blonde hair."
The Lavender Beds, The Black Shroud
In the farthest corner of the Lavender Beds, beyond the designated area for adventurer residences, Beacon Academy sat at the edge of the impenetrable forests. Built as a castle rather than the adventurer manses in the rest of the Lavender Beds, its central feature was a tower that rose high into the sky, its heights even rivaling Senna's Pride, the massive tree that dominated the skyline of the residential area.
Lyse shaded her eyes from the midday sun and peered up to the top of the tower. "So, this is where they live..." she murmured idly.
"When my dear brother doesn't have them questing hither and thither all across the realm," Alisaie quipped, shooting her brother a teasing smirk.
The male Leveilleur twin looked away, his face flushing red in guilt—but luckily his skin was already flushed from the heat of the midsummer sun. "Lest you forget, sister dearest, I am not the only one who has sought their aid in ventures that promised a most assured threat of bodily harm in the extreme."
This time, it was Alisaie's turn to blush, and Lyse looked between the two of them in confusion. The Ala Mhigan woman was unaware of the expedition that Alisaie and the Warriors of Light had taken into the 'Binding Coils of Bahamut' and what had become of it.
"And here we've come to drag them out on yet another wild adventure," the blonde remarked.
The disparity between her words, which easily could have been construed as accusatory, and the harmless tone in which she delivered them took the twins by surprise. Exchanging a glance, they began to wonder if Lyse had become a stealth snarker to rival Urianger when they hadn't been looking.
Her words also served as a gentle chastisement. Alphinaud glanced back at her, his ears burning in shame. "That is not why we're here," he insisted. "You both know as well as I that our friends would be quite incensed if we did not keep them appraised of ongoing developments."
Alisaie raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah, but what is the probability that they will insist on being involved?" she asked.
Her brother sighed. "Close to one," he admitted.
"Huh?" Lyse blinked, looking down at her shorter comrades. "That doesn't make sense?"
Alisaie looked at her for a moment as though she'd grown a second head, then the realization occurred to her that Lyse likely had no use for higher math. "Oh, yes. Numbers are used slightly different in statistics and probability," she explained in the simplest possible manner. "Suffice it to say, the phrase 'close to one' means that it's almost a certainty to happen."
Lyse's expression made clear that she still didn't understand, but she shrugged. "I'll take your word for it," she said. "Though, I do agree they're not going to just sit out."
The trio entered the castle's grounds, and no sooner had they crossed the threshold than a sense of ageless nobility settled over them. They trod on hallowed ground, there was no denying it. But along with that sensation came a sense of warmth, a welcoming peace.
The Ala Mhigan woman took a deep breath of the air and smiled broadly. "Gods, if I got to live here, I'd never want to leave," she remarked.
"Beacon can have that affect on people," a new voice said from behind them.
Alphinaud nearly leapt into Alisaie's arms, who nearly leapt into Lyse's arms, who nearly crawled out of her skin from the surprise of someone who had so effortlessly snuck up on them.
Behind them and to their right, standing in an area that shouldn't have offered him any place to hide from them as they approached the castle, was a middle-aged elezen man with grey-white hair. He wore a well-tailored suit of black with green accouterments, and leaned lightly upon a can with what appeared to be some sort of triggering mechanism near the top. A pair of small, circle-lens tinted spectacles rested on his nose.
"Greetings, Scions," he said with an amused smile. "And welcome to Beacon Academy. I am Ozpin, headmaster of the Academy."
Having regained his composure, Alphinaud cleared his throat and bowed toward his elder. "Well met, Headmaster. I am Alphinaud Leveilleur. Beside me is my sister, Alisaie, and on my other side is Lyse Hext."
Alisaie matched his bow, while Lyse simply gave a friendly wave.
Ozpin inclined his head. "I'm pleased to finally meet the Scions about whom I've heard so much." He looked between the twins. "By all accounts, the two of you are upholding the legacy of your grandsire superbly." His gaze tracked to Lyse, and she felt for a moment as though she were being evaluated. "And you, Miss Hext, are the spitting image of your sister."
Lyse's breath caught in her throat. "You... you knew my sister?" she asked quietly.
"Oh, yes," Ozpin answered, his posture shifting in such a way that indicated he was looking back through fond memories. "A truly astounding young woman. She had, on occasion, aided the Academy shortly after the fall of Ala Mhigo." He paused for a brief moment, closing his eyes, and then he gave Lyse a sympathetic smile. "We were sorry to hear of her passing..."
The blonde forced herself to give a smile in return. "Thank you," she said, and meant it. "Maybe you can tell me some stories about her someday."
Ozpin smiled warmly. "I would be delighted to. Now..." He looked between the three Scions. "I don't suppose the three of you have come for a mere social call. Shall I have Team RWBY informed of your arrival?"
Alphinaud blinked several times. "I'm...sorry? Team...?"
His confusion seemed to confuse Ozpin for several moments, then the older elezen laughed. "My apologies, I'm so accustomed to referring to them by our in-house name that I forget myself. Here at Beacon, when a team is assigned, normally they are given a group name that allows them to be readily identified. I, of course, am referring to Miss Rumi, Miss Saintrelmaux, Miss Molkot, and Miss Bee."
"Ah, I see..." Alphinaud said, but it was clear by his tone that he didn't.
Alisaie, on the other hand, held no qualms about asking the question they all wanted to know: "And so they are Team...Ruby, was it? Due to...?"
"Their combined color scheming," Ozpin explained. "Red, White, Black, and Yellow."
The three Scions nodded in understanding. That certainly was a measure of description for the Warriors of Light.
Alphinaud cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, if you could arrange a meeting with them, that would be very kind of you."
Nodding, Ozpin lifted his cane and gestured toward the front of the castle. "Then come, let us wait in one of the meeting rooms, and I can share some words with Miss Hext of her sister while we wait..."
Ten minutes later, Lyse was dying.
She couldn't breathe, every effort to draw in life-giving air met with unflinching failure as her lungs refused to cooperate. Tears flowed unchecked from her eyes as she struggled to avoid suffocation, her fists hammering impotently on the luxurious carpet of one of Beacon's meeting rooms.
Seated on a couch nearby, the Leveilleur twins looked on aghast. Alphinaud, in slightly better control of himself, hesitantly asked, "Surely, you jest?"
"I am afraid I do not, Mister Leveilleur," Ozpin answered, taking a moment to sip from the mug in his left hand. "Even armed as she was with a pair of fully-cooked Starlight dodos where one of her training might normally wear fist weapons, Miss Yda made for a very frightening adversary."
Lyse rolled onto her back and lay taking huge, gasping gulps of air, struggling to get her breathing back under control. She clawed at the furniture nearby in an effort to ground herself, but every time she thought she was about to stop, the mental image of her sister with a pair of cooked dodos worn on her fists sent her tumbling back into the pit of hysterics.
"Someone strangling a chocobo in here?" Rurumi's voice called from the adjacent hallway.
The Scions looked up to see the four Warriors of Light coming toward them. As ever, Rurumi led the way, but walked slowly enough so that Blanchette—still blindfolded—could use her shoulder for guidance. Masya and Bee followed closely together—that much was normal—but the miqo'te was using her body to deliberately block sight of her partner's injury.
Alphinaud and Alisaie exchanged worried looks at this behavior, wondering if the four were worse off than they had thought.
Ozpin stood and turned to face them, his gaze evaluating each of them in turn. After a moment, he lifted his mug and sipped from it. "I'm pleased to see the four of you are recovering from your experience as well as can be expected," he told them. "Remember that if you ever find yourselves in need of healing of a non-physical nature, do not hesitate to seek us out. But, in the meantime, I will excuse myself to give you and your comrades some privacy."
The older elezen quietly left the room, the Warriors of Light entering after him. Lyse jumped to her feet and met them in the center of the room, throwing her arms around the four of them. "Thank goodness the four of you made it out of there..." she said, her words muffled by Blanchette's coat. "I never got to say it in the chaos after the attack, but I don't know what I would've done if any of you had died on my account."
"Thankfully, that didn't come to pass," Masya said, her ears flattened against her head. She was keenly aware of the sensation of Bee's stump across her shoulder blades.
"Nor are we keen on having a repeat of that sort of situation," Blanchette added.
The Leveilleur twins had stood as well when the four had entered, but not wanting to intrude on the moment in front of them, now stood awkwardly by the couch, exchanging slightly-embarrassed glances. Rurumi, peeking out from beneath Lyse's arm, caught sight of them.
"Don't just stand over there, you two," the half-lalafellin leader said in her 'command' voice. "Get in here."
The twins exchanged another look, then Alisaie shrugged and moved to comply. Alphinaud, none too averse to the idea either, soon followed. Taking their place on either side of Lyse, the seven Scions hugged one another, expressing through their actions their relief at each others' safety in a way that words never could.
After a few moments, Bee cracked, "I don't think all this hugging it out is helping Alphy's manliness score stay up."
Several of them chuckled, and Alphinaud simply retorted, "You'd be hard-pressed to find whether I cared." He struggled to keep his voice even. "I vastly prefer to let my dearest friends know the depths of my concern for them."
"And just like that, it's back up again," Masya quipped.
With that moment of levity, the group hug separated. Alphinaud and Alisaie returned to the couch they had occupied, and the four Warriors of Light moved to sit on the couch opposite theirs. Lyse, her seat having been stolen by them, took the single chair that Ozpin had vacated.
With the four ladies now seated in a line, no longer could Masya obscure Bee's injury. For several moments filled with heavy silence, Alisaie and Lyse found their eyes drawn to the fresh white bandages covering the stump of the roegadyn's right arm. Alphinaud elbowed his sister discreetly, but even he found it difficult to put out of his mind the extent of the damages that Zenos yae Galvus had done to the supposedly-invincible Warriors of Light.
Lyse forced herself to avert her gaze and look Bee in the eye. Or at least, attempted to. For her part, the roegadyn sat with her gaze fixed on the table between the two couches. There was a slight distance in her gaze, but the steadying presence of Masya kept her grounded in the moment.
Alphinaud cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his seat. "I-it would be remiss of me not to inquire how you all are recovering..." he prompted.
"I still have my sight, by the grace of Halone," Blanchette offered, wanting to push past the awkward phase as swiftly as possible. She gently touched the coverings over her left eye. "Though I've been given a gift to remember the night by. It is still healing, thus the blindfold."
"I see," Alphinaud responded, prompting a snort from Bee and a giggle from Rurumi and Lyse. Beside him, Alisaie rolled her eyes.
"My wound was inflicted purposefully to a non-vital area," Masya said, laying her left hand over the spot where Zenos had stabbed her. "It's mostly healed already, thanks to the no small number of healers we have."
Rurumi looked toward the ground, tapping her fingers together in a sense of shame. "I didn't get badly injured," she admitted. "It was like he had no interest in me..."
Bee scoffed. "Consider yourself lucky..." she grumbled.
All eyes in the room turned to her.
With a sigh, the roegadyn lifted her arm, or what remained of it. "The worst of it's passed and it's mostly healed, thanks again to all our healers," she said. "The bandages are mostly there because I don't want to look at it."
Masya took her left hand, squeezing it gently. The pair exchanged looks; Masya's eyes shimmering and mournful, Bee's hesitant. She sighed again, then added, "I...may never swing an axe again." She lifted her head and looked out at the Scions, a fire burning in her eyes. "But I will not be useless," she swore. "I will fight again."
The three Scions smiled; not one had expected any less of the woman who could often literally be described as fiery.
"In short," Blanchette summarized, "you may rest assured that our ignominious defeat at the hands of Zenos has not broken our spirits."
"Quite the opposite, in fact," Masya agreed.
Rurumi looked down the row at her friends and teammates; her family. She smiled proudly. "As long as we're together, we can bounce back from anything," she concluded. "That's our strength."
There was really only one thing to say to that. "Full well glad am I to hear it," Alphinaud put voice to it. "Our concerns for your well-being have most assuredly been put to rest."
Bee leaned back, relaxing as much as she was able to. "So, what've we missed?"
The Scions exchanged looks. On some unspoken agreement, Lyse began, "The attack on the Reach has broken the Resistance's back, at least for now," she despondently explained. "Conrad was just about ready to give it all up."
"Raubahn convinced him to stay the course," Alisaie explained, "but I believe my brother's brilliant strategy had as much, if not more, to do with it."
Alphinaud colored nicely. "Oh, stop it," he protested. "'Tis a simple strategy, nothing requiring such boasts."
"What is this strategy?" Masya asked.
"To kindle the fires of revolution in Doma once more," Alphinaud explained, "thereby diverting Zenos' attentions away from Gyr Abania enough for our forces there to recover."
"And if we free Doma in the process, then so much the better," Lyse added.
Alphinaud nodded. "Quite so."
The Warriors of Light exchanged looks, their thoughts all but unreadable to the Scions.
Blanchette cleared her throat, and they could all but envision her questioningly-raised eyebrow as she inquired, "Just how much of the Alliance is committing to this lengthy expedition?"
Alisaie gave her brother a pointed look, which he pointedly ignored. "Ah, none. Such a large undertaking would leave the contingent at the Wall critically undermanned, and such a large movement by sea would doubtless be noted and contested by the Empire."
"The plan is basically to send a small group over to stir up rebellion," Lyse explained. "And secretly, it sounds like."
"It sounds like you're cutting the legs out from under your own plan," Bee remarked offhand.
"Bee..." Masya whispered, squeezing her hand to gently discourage her from being so harsh.
"No, no, by all means," Alphinaud interceded. "Please, I should like to know if some heretofore-overlooked flaw may doom the plan."
"Well, the point is to take pressure off the Resistance by forcing the enemy to fight a war on two fronts, yes?" Rurumi asked, having seen similar shortcomings as Bee.
At a nod from Alphinaud, she elaborated, "That won't work if there's not a credible threat of our forces appearing in Doma, rousing a rebellion."
"But such an action is unfeasible," Alisaie recounted. "So what do you propose?"
"It goes without saying, but the Empire has spies and informants all over Eorzea," the half-lalafell said plainly. "So we put them to work for us."
Leaning to her left, she reached into a pocket and produced a Limsan grand company coin, twirling it around her fingers. "Aside from their cannon and rifles, the Maelstrom isn't doing much in Gyr Abania, because there's nowhere for their navy to operate," she explained with a shrug. "So that's a lot of ships and men sitting around twiddling their thumbs."
A smile spread slowly across Blanchette's face. "And so they're available as a diversion," she realized.
Alphinaud, too, began to smile. "Given the flags and uniforms of the other grand companies, these ships can give the appearance of a major expedition to the Far East." He gave an emphatic nod. "I shall make this suggestion to the Admiral as soon as we've left here."
"And these ships sail out to, say, Hullbreaker or the outer islands," Bee said with a smirk. "Take down the flags, stow the uniforms, then come on back in ones and twos. Meanwhile, the Empire is hearing we just launched a major offensive."
"Coincidentally, this will tie up more resources as they search in vain for a fleet that does not exist," Alisaie pointed out. "And our actual agents can slip unnoticed through the vanguard."
"Speaking of that," Masya said, "who exactly is going on this little adventure?"
"The three of us and Tataru," Lyse answered. "Though, Tataru is more along for her information gathering skill, which Alphinaud tells me is quite extraordinary. Anyway, so the leg work will mostly be us."
Rurumi let out a short bark of laughter before she checked herself. She stated simply, "If you think you're leaving us out of it, you're nuts."
Alphinaud gave a weary sigh; he and his sister had been expecting this. "Rurumi, I understand the desire all of you must have to contribute, but—"
"But nothing," Bee interrupted. "Alphy, if you try to leave us behind, I'll pull a Gosetsu, come after you in a row boat, tie you to my axe, and dump you into the sea."
With his utter lack of swimming ability, Alphinaud was suitably cowed by this threat. His sister, on the other hand, was not. "Bee, the four of you need time to rest and recover," she protested.
The roegadyn was not having it. "It's what, three months to Doma by boat?" Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. "Sounds like lots of time to rest and recover to me."
The assorted nods and looks of agreement from the other three Warriors of Light indicated their approval of Bee's statement.
Even Lyse struggled—and mostly failed—to keep a straight face. "We might as well let them come," she said. "Better than them sneaking after us."
Alphinaud rubbed the bridge of his nose in vexation. "I suppose Lyse is right about that," he muttered. "Better the coeurl we know..." He lifted a finger and fixed the four women with his sternest gaze. "But, the four of you are to spend the entire voyage resting, and I will not hear any arguments, complaints, dissent, nor discussion on the matter."
Bee opened her mouth.
"Nor queries!" he hastily amended, pointing his finger squarely at the blonde, who simply grinned back.
"Yes, dad," Masya quipped.
"And stop calling me Alphy."
"So, just making sure, but in the interest of time, we're cool with doing some timeskips?" Yang asked.
"We've already established that's the plan," Weiss replied. "It's not like any of us have any real interest in playing out bedridden hobos."
Ruby made a sound somewhere between a snort and a giggle. "Weiss said hobo."
Five days after the Fall of the Reach
The sound of flesh striking heavy canvas arrhythmically echoed through the training room of the Academy. Having finally become fed up with the forced inactivity, Bee had headed immediately for the place where she could burn off steam. Initially, she had just begun pounding the hanging canvas bag just to vent her frustration, but she realized after a short time that she should probably begin working on adapting her style to accommodate for her missing limb.
And so for hours she had hammered on both the bag and her body without pause, until the sweat had matted her hair to her body and her eyes burned red from the physical harm to herself. Embers flicked from the ends of her hair as she glared at the red-splotched surface of the bag; she could sense the fatigue wearing her down, knew she was nearing her limits.
Positioning her feet, she drew back her left hand and formed her fingers into the tightest, flattest fist she could manage; her knuckles and other joints ached from the strain, and she felt fresh blood ooze beneath her hand wrap. Ignoring the sensation, she took in a breath and struck at the moment she exhaled, maximizing the force of her strike.
The bag rocked back on its chains from her blow, the anchor point in the ceiling above creaking in a satisfying manner. Its momentum swinging it back, the bag struck her unmoved fist and rebounded slightly. She opened her hand and let its second return deliver it to a resting position against her palm as she sank to her knees, closing her eyes and gripping the bloodied surface of the bag.
While the physical exertions of her workout were no slight matter, affecting her worse was the lashing of her own mind, constantly reminding her of how far she'd fallen and how weak she truly was. How could she be anything more than a burden to her team now? How long would it take her to 'catch up' to where she would feel comfortable standing beside them once more? Could she catch up to them?
What if she couldn't make it back to stand with her friends?
Tears of frustration and hopelessness fell from her eyes, hissing as they evaporated into steam from the intense heat her body was giving off. Her hand closed into a fist once more and she impotently struck the bag, sending it rocking gently before she was forced to drop her hand to the floor to balance herself. Above her, the bag barely moved, twisting slightly in place from the meager hit.
From out in the hall, she heard Masya call out, "Bee, visitors for you."
She shoved herself to her feet instantly, swiping her thumb across her eyes to destroy any evidence of her self-doubts. At least, evidence beyond the seven hells that she'd beaten out of the bag and her own body.
She turned toward the door in time to see Masya enter, dressed for training and carrying her blades under one arm. The miqo'te's gaze settled on the state of the bag, shifted over to study Bee's appearance, and then narrowed accusingly. Bee offered a weak smile and a shrug, drawing an exasperated huff and a roll of the eyes, before the shinobi headed off to another part of the training room.
Standing where Masya had left them were a pair of familiar miqo'te: the magitek engineer Chao, clad in a form-fitting black and white bodysuit that she knew from experience to be powered magitek; and the long-haired blonde, Myu, that was very nearly Chao's shadow, clad in a similar outfit dyed pink and white.
"Well, if it isn't the master of the magitek arts," Bee greeted as she walked across the room to them. From a crate near the door, she grabbed an ice crystal and squeezed it in her hand, 'activating' it with her aether and rolling it across her sore neck and shoulders. "How goes the hunt for Omega?"
The magitek engineer sighed and put her hands on her hips, shaking her head slowly. "Very poorly."
Myu took it upon herself to add, "Clarification: Our exhaustive search efforts have conclusively determined that the Weapon is not located on the side of the Velodyna controlled by the Eorzean Alliance. Enemy control of the river itself prevents searching on the far side."
Bee clenched her hand into a fist, ignoring the stinging sensation from her split skin. "Yeah, sorry we wound up costing you guys even more territory to work in..." she muttered bitterly.
Her inhumanly bright gaze fixed on the roegadyn, Myu blinked once. "Statement: You bear no responsibility for enemy action, particularly surprise assaults. Furthermore, timely response by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in general and the Warriors of Light in particular prevented the complete annihilation of the Ala Mhigan Resistance."
She hesitated briefly, long enough for Bee to amuse herself by watching the tiny, unreadable—to her, at least—lines of coding flicker horizontally across Myu's eyes. "Consolation: You have my sympathies for the losses you and the others suffered."
Unable to stop the smile from coming to her face—she knew firsthand that if Myu didn't mean something, she didn't say it—Bee patted the much smaller blonde's shoulder. "Thanks, Myu," she said. "I appreciate it, and I'm sure the others do, too."
Chao smiled fondly at the scene, then her face dropped to a slight frown. "Would that we had made it in time..." She shook her head. "Nevertheless, even one such as I does not have the power to change the past. All we can do is look toward the future."
From somewhere, Bee knew not where, Chao produced a slim metal case adorned with the winged hourglass emblem of her magitek company. It looked to be a weapon case, and Bee would have expected no less from the Misriah founder.
"I don't think a weapon is going to solve my problems," Bee said flatly, pressing the ice crystal against a particularly sore spot on her collarbone.
The magitek engineer gave one of her infuriatingly-smug grins, the kind that said she was ten steps ahead of everyone else and waiting for them to catch up. "This is no mere weapon, my dear," she boasted. "No mere weapon." There was a brief pause. "It's also not a Gouf."
"A what?"
"Nevermind about that."
Bee eyed the case warily. "If it's not a weapon, then what is it?"
With a dramatic flourish, Chao unsnapped hidden latches and let the front of the case fall forward. Inside, resting on padded cushioning, lay benignly a metallic right arm. Though she didn't know its exact dimensions, it seemed at a glance to be a perfect match to her missing limb.
She looked up, suspicious lilac eyes meeting observant heterochromatic ones. "What is this?" she asked.
"It's called a prosthetic," the miqo'te answered in a tone one might use to educate a child. "I know it's a big word, but try it with me—"
"I know what the hells it is," Bee snapped, her eyes flashing red for a moment. Even angered as she was, the sudden tension appearing in Myu's posture—ready to defend her maker against any threat—was not lost on her.
The roegadyn sighed, rubbing the coolness of the crystal across her forehead. "Look, I appreciate the gesture," she said, "but just having a hunk of metal to make me feel normal again isn't going to solve my problems."
Chao gave her a look she was more accustomed to seeing from Blanchette: that 'did you really just say something that stupid' look. "Knowing full well that I built Myu to my own design, and am now on my third incarnation of humanoid automata design, do you really think that it's just a hunk of metal?"
"There's a bit of a difference between working limbs for real people and working limbs for metal people," Bee remarked, then flicked her gaze to Myu. "No offense."
The magitek girl tilted her head to one side, adopting the most adorable expression of confusion. Then one of her ears flicked, and it was all Bee could do to contain herself and not squee at the cuteness.
Myu righted her head and said, "Interjection: The two fields are more similar than you may think. The difference lies primarily in creating an interface that is delicate enough for soft, fleshy bits."
Bee grinned, feeling as though she'd just been subtly insulted, but amused by it nonetheless.
"Addendum: My mistress is actually quite skilled in the creation of advanced prosthetics," Myu explained. "It was one such device that secured the funding necessary for Misriah to be formed." She tipped her head to the side again. "Conclusion, Included Wordplay: You are in the best of hands."
In the silence that followed, Chao covered her mouth with a hand to hold in her laughter, and Bee blinked slowly several times in exasperation at Myu. The artificial miqo'te looked between the two.
"Query: Was that not correct?" she asked. "I have observed that Mistress often enjoys employing subtle wordplay in conversation."
"The key there is 'subtle,'" Bee said. "It doesn't work when you tell people it's coming."
"I see." The pattern of light in her eyes shifted. "Statement: I shall endeavor to provide sufficient subtlety in the future."
Smirking, Bee turned her attention to Chao. "So... What's the damages?"
The miqo'te shook her head. "Consider it even." She held up a hand before Bee could complain. "Think of it as commission for all of the field testing you'll be doing. This is, after all, an experimental heavy-duty prosthetic for adventurers. If it can survive the Warrior of Light, it can survive anything. So don't think of it as a handout."
The roegadyn squinted at the shorter woman, but the latter kept an utterly straight face, making it impossible to determine if the pun had been intentional.
That is, until Myu piped in, "Observation: That was an example of Mistress' fondness for wordplay."
Bee glanced between the two miqo'te. "Haven't you taught her not to explain the joke?"
Chao shrugged. "With varying levels of success. So!" She clapped her hands together. "Let's talk surgery. I have a chirurgeon available experienced in installing my prosthetics."
"Please don't call it 'installing'..."
Seven days after the Fall of the Reach
Bee awoke in the infirmary of the Academy for the fifth time in recent memory. The room was as similar as ever; only the occupants were different. The rest of her team had been politely barred for the duration of the surgery and start of her recovery, enforced by Myu standing guard outside the door. Within, Chao observed as the chirurgeon—a dark-skinned Keeper male by the name of Keero Ganajai with a genial bedside manner—checked the site of the surgery.
"Good morning, Miss Bee," he said, carefully peeling away the new bandages around the stump. "Let's just see how everything is looking..."
Where before a scarred nub of flesh indicated the end of her natural arm, the site was now covered by a polished gold metal cap. Carefully lifting her arm, Keero inspected the locations where the metal and flesh were connected together.
"Everything is looking good at this end," he said. "No infections, everything has healed together nicely." Carefully lowering her arm back to rest on a pillow, he looked her in the eye. "Any nausea or dizziness?"
"No, I feel fine," she answered, shaking her head and not suffering any ill effects.
Keero nodded. "Then my work is over." He stepped back and clapped the other miqo'te on the shoulder. "Your turn, Miss Chao."
The magitek engineer grinned. "Excellent work as always, Keero." She turned away and lifted the prosthetic from where it rested in its case, gently balancing it between both hands as she turned to face Bee once more. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," the roegadyn answered with a half-shrug, raising her arm so it could be accessed. She eyeballed the new limb warily. "I gotta wear any kind of harness or anything?"
Shaking her head, Chao approached her side. "It weighs no more than a natural arm would, and its weight is borne entirely—and comfortably—by the connection point."
She held the arm at a slightly outward-twisted angle, then pressed its open end firmly against the metal cap and twisted it in, toward Bee's body. A series of metallic clicks sounded from where metal met metal, presumably latching the device in place, causing a faint tingle to race up her spine.
A final, louder click sounded as it locked fully into position, resting the way an arm normally should. As soon as the sound was made, sensation and information began to flood her brain from the connection point, a sort of chill that elicited a brief shiver from her.
"A sudden surge of sensation is normal," the miqo'te said, easing Bee's concerns slightly. "It should pass soon, and there is no concern unless it persists or a headache develops."
Bee closed her eyes to wait out the sensation. "It's fine, it's fine," she said, before Chao could be alarmed. "Just give me a second."
After a few moments, she no longer felt as though she were drowning in sensory information, and slowly opened her eyes. She met Chao's gaze to let her know she was ready.
"Well, go on," the magitek genius prompted, a sly smile on her face. "Try to move it."
Bee stared down at her new arm, concentrating intensely. She felt a curious tingle in her arm, then after several moments, her ring finger twitched. Shortly thereafter, the other digits began to twitch as well, until slowly she curled her fingers into a loose fist.
"Amazing," Chao said, the warmth of her smile showcasing her pride in the blonde's efforts. "Any pain or odd sensation?"
Shaking her head, Bee stared with rapt attention at the mechanical hand as she moved her prosthetic fingers in random sequence. "No, it's just... unused to it."
The miqo'te nodded. "That will pass in time as you become accustomed to it." She clapped her hands together. "Now, ideally, we would spend several moons working you through physical therapy until the prosthetic is as comfortable to you as your own body. Unfortunately, I must needs return tot he hunt for Omega, and you certainly have your own adventures to tend to as well."
She turned away and beckoned forward the one person who had been sitting idly and silently in the corner of the room the entire time: a red haired hyuran woman with pale skin and freckles, wearing a plain cream dress with green trim and black thighboots.
A bright smile forming on her face, the woman skipped—literally skipped—to Bee's bedside and gave a a wide, friendly wave. "Sal-u-tations!" she greeted exuberantly. "My name is Penelope Poleman, and I will be assisting you with your physical therapy. I look forward to working with you, and I hope that we can be friends!"
Chao patted the ginger on the back and smiled fondly at her bright personality. "I'll be able to monitor your progress through Penelope, but she's more than capable of handling matters on her own," the miqo'te explained. "And she can also repair nearly any inevitable catastrophic damage you inflict on it."
Laughing nervously at the all-too-accurate prediction, Bee paused when she realized that Chao had said she'd be able to monitor through Penelope. She look a closer look at the hyur's green eyes and realized that, sure enough, she possessed the exceptionally bright—nearly glowing—eyes that were a hallmark of the engineer's robotic creations.
Bee smiled at Penelope. "Well, take good care of me and we'll be fast friends in no time."
The sheer joy that lit up the ginger automata's face could have rivaled the very sun.
Mealvaan's Gate, Limsa Lominsa
Ten days after the Fall of the Reach
As requested by Alphinaud, the Scions gathered at Limsa's ferry docks, ready for their long voyage to the Far East. Tataru, they had been told, had procured them passage on a pirate vessel known as the Misery, flagship of the Kraken's Arms pirate fleet, captained by an elezen who may or may not have been the missing heir of House Durendaire, who may or may not have been threatened with Tataru's silence on said matter in exchange for their passage. All in all, the Warriors of Light regretted not having been present for that particular meeting.
The four of them carried only a single shapeless bag filled primarily with spare clothes and absolute essentials; even Blanchette had learned the value of traveling light from the years spent with her comrades. In addition to their carry-alls, Rurumi and Blanchette both also had with them long, thin crates that strongly suggested 'weapon', adorned with the symbol of the Skysteel Manufactory.
The streets of the city were packed, far more than usual, due to the celebratory atmosphere in place as a result of the imminent launch of the 'Eorzean Expeditionary Fleet.' Flags and banners of all four city-states decorated every conceivable location, and citizens from throughout Eorzea lined the docks and streets, cheering for their nation's soldiers as they boarded the Maelstrom's ships to take the fight to the Empire in the Far East.
Under the cover of the festivities, the Warriors of Light were met in a quiet corner of the ferry docks by Lyse, Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Tataru. The four Scions took in the sight of their oncoming companions, mentally comparing their appearance to the injuries they knew that the four were still nursing. Masya's wound was hidden by her clothing, and Bee wore a cloak to cover her right arm and shoulder, but Blanchette did not bother to hide her injury; in fact, it seemed as though she wore it as a mark of pride: a perfectly-vertical scar over her left eye that extended from her hairline to just below her eye.
As they watched her, it became clear that the near-miss to her life—and the 'gift' it had left behind—did nothing to hinder the Ishgardian woman in the slightest. Her gaze flicked between them, noticing they were all staring at her, and she pinched the bridge of her nose in slight irritation.
"As you can see, I am none the worse for wear for nearly having my head taken off by that ogre," she said, deciding to take the proverbial bull by the horns. She gestured toward her roegadyn comrade and tipped her head in the blonde's direction. "Thank you, once again, Bee, for ensuring that he didn't take my head. And if he thinks I'll be the same helpless summoner he faced before, he'll be in for quite a rude awakening."
"Might that have something to do with that strange case you're carrying?" Alphinaud asked.
"It might," Blanchette answered with a smirk, but offered no further explanation.
Just then, Penelope finally managed to free herself from the crowds in the streets and make her way to join the others. She, too, carried a single carry-all, though hers was smaller than the others'. "It is quite a spectacle here!" she proclaimed as she stopped beside them. "For a moment, I was afraid I would miss the ship."
Tataru looked up curiously at the newcomer. "Am I to presume this is that mystery extra traveler?" she asked. At Rurumi's nod, she added, "Well, you told me to ensure an extra berthing, but you've yet to properly introduce us!"
Bee chuckled nervously and adjusted her bag's strap with her left hand.
Smiling happily, Penelope gave the wide, sweeping wave that was apparently her trademark. "Sal-u-tations, Scions of the Seventh Dawn!" she greeted them. "My name is Penelope Poleman, and I have been tasked by Mistress Lingshen to aid Friend Bee in her physical therapy." She looked about between the other Scions. "There is no need for introductions on your parts, for I have been thoroughly informed about the Scions from the stories that the Warriors of Light have told."
Alisaie looked to the aforementioned Warriors and narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. "All glowing tales of our daring and skill, I would imagine," she joked.
"Try the most embarrassing stories we could remember or make up," Masaya remarked.
Penelope nodded vigorously. "Many of them were quite humorous," she agreed.
Alphinaud cleared his throat emphatically. "You know, I had heard a rumor that Miss Lingshen had created some sort of prosthesis for Bee," he said, hoping to divert attention away from any of the mentioned stories.
"Has she?" Alisaie allowed, turning a grin on the roegadyn. "Well, don't keep us in suspense."
With an overdramatic sigh—and a clearly-practiced motion—Bee flipped the cloak over her shoulder and displayed her arm for them to see. The previously-unadorned plain metal had been painted yellow and black, with a matte coating so it did not gleam in the sunlight. The fact was missed on absolutely no one that the colors of her arm matched the traditional colors of herself and Masya.
Predictably, the Scions crowded in around her to get a better look at the device, all but knocking aside the other three Warriors of Light as they 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the prosthetic. Bee allowed it carry on for a few moments, turning her arm back and forth to allow them to get a good look at it. After a few more moments, however, she irritably shooed them away.
"Alright, alright, let me breath, you rowdy pack of children," she griped.
Alphinaud coughed lightly, embarrassed by his lack of composure. "Forgive me, but that is quite the extraordinary example of craftsmanship," he said, to which the others nodded in agreement. "Miss Lingshen is truly a master of her craft. In any event, now is most certainly the best time to proceed aboard the Misery given the distraction provided by the Admiral's launching parade."
The young elezen tipped his head toward a roegadyn sailor standing conspicuously nearby. "Our 'spice-trading' friends have completed their preparations," he said. "Assuming that you all have completed yours—and it most certainly looks as such—you may inform the deckhand that we are ready to depart."
Rurumi turned on her heel at once—nearly taking out Tataru with the length of her nonspecified case—and strode up to the sailor, waving up at him.
The roegadyn, having been listening in on the Scions' conversation, gave her a friendly smirk and a half-wave back. "All set, lass? I'll see the lot of you to the ship if so."
"We sure are!" the half-lalafell answered, giving him a thumbs-up gesture.
Laughing at her exuberance, the sailor stood up from where he'd been leaning on a gate post and beckoned the Scions after him. "Right this way, then, ladies and gents. And mind the gap."
Following after the sailor, the Scions departed through the ferry gate. Beyond, taking up a large portion of dock space, was the four-masted galleon vessel Misery, made notable as the flagship of the Kraken's Arms fleet by way of the multi-limbed bowsprit dominating the fore of the vessel. Standing at the entrance ramp, the blue-garbed duskwight captain, Captain Carvallain, lifted a hand in greeting.
"Well met, honored guests, and good timing," he said. "A fair wind blows, and I mean to follow it."
"Good afternoon to you as well, Captain," Alphinaud responded. "I trust that we are in good readiness, then?"
"Indeed, we are," the captain said, nodding. As if in afterthought, he snapped his fingers and then raised his index finger. "Ah, before I forget, I feel obligated to inform you that the journey may be a slight bit more crowded than anticipated."
Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"It seems as though everyone would like to go to the Far East, these days," Carvallain said with a touch of annoyance, shrugging his shoulders. "Shortly after our..." His gaze slipped sideways and down to Tataru. "...amicable arrangement, some half-dozen Domans bartered passage to the East as well. What was it they called themselves? Sam...ray? Sam..."
"Samurai?" Lyse helpfully supplied. At the looks of surprise from her comrades, she hastily defended herself, "What? I listen, sometimes."
"Yes, that one," Carvallain nodded. "Mayhaps the war of revolution in Gyr Abania has rekindled the hopes of freedom for their own distant home." The elezen shrugged again. "Who knows? I merely see the potential for profit in the matter."
Bee glanced behind her to see that Alisaie, Rurumi, and Blanchette had stopped to talk to Urianger. She looked at Masya beside her. "Who do you think they are?" she asked quietly.
The miqo'te shook her head. "There's no telling. Far too many refugee groups have made the crossing to know who might be going back, and why."
Nodding in agreement, Bee said, "Let's go check them out."
Alphinaud tapped the roegadyn lightly on her elbow, catching her attention. "Consider it only a suggestion," he began, "but it may be best for us to remain belowdecks until we are out at sea. After all, I would rather not have Zenos learn we've set out and have three or more moons to ready a welcoming party for us. Far better for him to learn after the fact and have to rush to react to us."
"No problem here," Bee answered, clapping him on the shoulder. "Unless we start a fight in there. Then all bets are off."
Carvallain frowned. "Do not blow holes in my ship."
"We'll try," Bee said in a manner that did not engender confidence, as she and Masya passed between the captain and the deckhand that had brought them there.
Once within the darkened confines of the ship's lower decks, the shinobi passed her bag to Bee and vanished into the shadows, creeping toward the sounds coming from the quarters. Trusting her to her work, the roegadyn spent a minute or two searching for an out-of-the-way looking section of ship to stow their bags away.
No sooner had she done so, a muffled thump came from further within the ship. Raising an eyebrow, and noting the utter lack of any of Masya's traditional alert sounds, Bee clenched her fists and stalked down the narrow corridors.
Turning a corner, she came upon one of the last scenes she expected to find: Masya pinned to an interior wall of the ship by a petite hyuran woman in dark clothing, the point of the woman's elbow pressed to the top of Masya's spine and a short-bladed Eastern sword threateningly pointed at her liver. The woman's hand, curved around Masya's head and clamped over her mouth, had prevented her from calling out.
Before Bee could step forward to engage the unknown woman, she felt another sword's tip touch her spine. A man's voice said, "I wouldn't."
Opening her hands, Bee raised them calmly away from her sides, her eyes darting about the corridor as she considered her options. None immediately presenting themselves, she decided to resort to the tried and true method of buying time. "Who are you people?" she asked pointedly. "Imperial assassins?"
The hyuran woman snorted humorously. The man was not so subtle in his open laughter. "If I had a gil for every time I've been accused of that..." he said between laughter. His sword arm, Bee noticed, remained completely still. After a long pause, he concluded, "...I'd have a gil."
A door several paces behind the man opened, and a woman's voice demanded, "What is going on out here?" There was a choked-off sound, as though the woman had done a double-take at what she saw, and then she hissed, "Seno! Do you know who you have at swordpoint?"
After a pause, the man—Seno—answered, "Someone who could break me in half over her knee if I hadn't gotten the drop on her?"
The woman made a sound of strangled anger—that was a sound that Bee would recognize anywhere—and said, "Put that away. She is a Warrior of Light. You as well, Kazue."
Bee felt the sword leave its threatening position, and she saw the other woman step away from Masya and sheathe her blade. That woman smirked in amusement and remarked, "Not every day I get the drop on one of the saviors of Eorzea, de gozaru."
Taking her moment, Bee stepped forward, spun, and immediately sent a left hook at her former captor's face. He either saw it coming or was exceedingly fast, ducking under the strike and letting it splinter the wall at the height of his head.
The man glanced at the hole in the wood and let out a whistle of appreciation. "Yeah, I definitely called that," he said, tipping his head in recognition of Bee's power. "Any straight fight I got into with you would consist of two hits: you hit me, I hit the floor."
Bee smirked and cracked her knuckles, ever appreciative of any such recognition of her strength. "Damn right," she said. "Now you didn't answer my question. Who in the seven hells are you?"
Before the man could answer, the second woman stepped forward. She was a tall woman, only a head shorter than Bee herself, her features marking her as obviously of Eastern descent. Her long black hair was pulled into a loose tail, leaving two forelocks that hung down to her shoulders. She wore a simple white gi and red hakama, suitable for travel and looking well-worn. Her olive eyes were sharp and observing; it was clear that she was the leader of these people. Bee was stricken with the sudden thought that if Yugiri were a hyur rather than Auri, then she would be identical to the woman standing before her.
Beside her, the man spun his blade—a shorter Eastern sword meant for use in these sort of close confines—with a flourish and sheathed it above his main blade, then crossed his arms. Like the woman, he also wore a gi and hakama, though his were dark blue and black, respectively. His short, shaggy hair was several shades lighter, into the brown registers. His eyes, no less sharp than the woman's, were a bright green color.
"Forgive our offense," the woman said, casting a sideways glance at the man. "I am Aoyama Motoko." She gestured to the man and the dark-clothed woman in turn. "This is my husband, Nakagami Seno, and his shinobi, Kazue. We are of the Shinmei-ryu."
Masya stepped forward to join the others, flanked by Kazue, and raised an eyebrow. "The Shinmei-ryu?" she asked. "Yugiri-sensei had said your order was wiped out during the uprising."
Seno chuckled. "Reports of our demise were...exaggerated," he said.
Though his expression didn't change, he reached out to lay a hand on Motoko's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly as she looked away. Neither Bee nor Masya were exactly empathetic, but even they could read the sorrow coming off of her in waves.
"Most of us were killed fighting the Garlean armies," he explained. "We lived, but only because our mistress ordered us to flee. After we made it to Eorzea, we started to rebuild. There's about six or so of us."
"They've made a small name for themselves as expert voidsent slayers," Masya explained to Bee.
"Ah, so they're why we haven't been getting those kinds of jobs as much in the past few years," the roegadyn said, placing her hands on her hips and nodding thoughtfully.
"Guilty as charged," Seno grinned. He squeezed his wife's shoulder again, seemingly drawing her from whatever sorrowful memories she had been lost in.
Motoko looked up from the wooden floor, standing tall and proud as she said, "And now, Doma calls her children home. With the war in Gyr Abania, and the word we received that Yugiri has returned to Doma, the time may be right to free our home from the shackles of Garlemald."
Bee and Masya exchanged glances, the roegadyn struggling to keep amusement off her face. She turned back to the two Domans. "Okay, keep this on the down low, but we're headed to Doma to stir up revolution and force the Empire to fight two wars at once," she said.
Motoko and Seno exchanged surprised looks. Even Kazue raised an eyebrow. "Truly?" Motoko asked.
Masya nodded.
"Looks like we picked a damn good time to head home," Seno mused.
"Indeed, we have," his wife agreed, then bowed toward the two Scions. "If your goal is the freedom of Doma, then the blades of the Shinmei-ryu are at your disposal."
"We're glad to have you with us," Masya said, bowing in return to Motoko.
"Ah, you guys are being way too formal for my liking," Bee grumbled, stepping forward and thrusting her prosthetic hand out toward the couple.
Motoko smiled, then reached out to shake Bee's hand. "I sense that you and my husband will get along fabulously," she joked.
Seno reached out and laid his hand over top of theirs. "Two irreverent, incorrigible asses cooped up on a boat for three moons and then unleashed on the Empire?" he posited. "Sucks for the Empire."
"Hear, hear," Kazue added, laying her hand on her master's.
Rolling her eyes humorously, Masya completed the stack of hands and remarked, "What are we getting ourselves into..."
With the size of the false flag fleet being launched by the Maelstrom to sell the deception of a large Eorzean force sailing to the Far East, it was some bells before the Misery could make for the open seas. In that intervening time, the Scions were introduced to the samurai of the Shinmei-ryu, a camaraderie forming swiftly between the freedom fighters of Eorzea and the displaced Domans returning to their home so far away.
Behind on the docks of Limsa Lominsa, Urianger kept a watchful vigil on the departing galleon until it was little more than a speck on the horizon. He mused on the parting words he had left Alisaie, praying that his friends and comrades weren't sailing forth to their demise...
Look ye where the sun doth rise,
See crimson embers, dark'ning skies...
Look ye where the sun doth fall,
See azure lost amidst the squall
- Doman proverb
Alongside newfound allies, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn journey to the Far East. As they sail the seas, the war continues in Gyr Abania in their absence. Holding the line against flagging morale and emboldened enemies, the other half of the Warriors of Light struggle to ensure that their comrades will have a front to return to. New weapons and new tactics are brought forth to face the might of the Garlean Empire.
Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Interlude 1: Weapons of War.
A/N: Also known as the "twenty thousand new characters" chapter.
But seriously, I spent half of this chapter going "I'm pushing events way too fast" but that's sort of the point. RWBY's had to shove all this shit out in a couple hours to keep on the MSQ track, calling in their RP contacts from doing their own MSQ to squeeze in some RP to keep their stuff flowing. Also I'm lazy, so that's why this took as long as it did, way longer than it should've.
As an aside, if you stop and look at the lyrics to the volume 5 opening, they work exceptionally well for where Team RWBY is at right now in the story.