A/N: This is what happens when my mind decides to do something other than study for exams. I'm totally going to fail. On the bright side, you get another extra long chapter. Yay! Read, review, enjoy.

-ElysiaDreaming

Black Dragon

Chapter 16: The Little Things

"Duty calls, and we obey./Over the hills and far away…" -Atlean Army marching song

Her

He kneels there, downcast and defeated. A blade is resting on his shoulder, my blade. His own is lying on the ground, scant metres away. He makes no move to retrieve it.

"I'm sorry."

His words sound alien to my ears. In better times long gone, I might have understood them.

"You don't have the right to be sorry."

My own turn to ashes in my mouth. I'm dying inside, my heart breaking as I speak.

"You don't have the right to apologize. You lost that right when you turned."

"I did what I had to do, sister."

A jet of pain shoots through my chest, nearly bringing me to my knees.

"I. Am not. Your sister."

I bring back my sword, prepared to swing it before my resolve falters. I can't let my emotions get the better of me.

"Pah. It doesn't matter. You and I are of the same blood; anything else is irrelevant."

He coughs up blood. The others must have injured him fatally. Not that it matters. He'll be dead in a minute. I narrow my eyes even as my blade starts moving.

"I'm glad you're safe, Say'ri."

The blade bites into him, cleaving flesh and parting bone. A shower of crimson anoints my sword, but I steady my hand.

"Don't say my name."

"Hey, Blake. How much fuel did you say we had, again?"

"AAH! Nora! Beowolves! Nora riding Beowolves! Wait. What?"

Pyrrha's voice jolts me out of my daydreaming, forcing me back to unwelcome reality. I had set the plane to autopilot an hour ago, two hours after our somewhat-narrow escape from VFB Cold Lake. After that, I suppose I had gotten a little sidetracked and dreamt about this book that I've been reading. I chase the thoughts of swords and sorcery out of my mind, checking the plane's instrument panel.

"About ten more hours nonstop at cruising speed. We're still good. How's the leg, by the way?"

She gives a small grunt in lieu of a verbal response, a bit of pain clearly showing through. It's less than earlier, though, so I suppose it's a good thing. Pyrrha had removed the bullet herself via her semblance, and I had sprinkled on a bit of green regenerative Dust as soon as I had the chance.

Without our Auras, though, healing is going to take quite a bit longer for her than normally. All the more reason to find us a place to lie low for a little while. Hmm…it'd have to be far away from civilization, so we'd be harder to find and attack. It'd have to be close enough to trouble spots so we can respond, though. Plus if we carry through with the other crazy plan that Ren had briefed me on earlier, it needs to be within range of much of the world.

I'm glad that the Harasser has such large fuel tanks, seeing as we had over twelve hours' worth of fuel when we started, and it had about thirty percent left. Still, Remnant's a big place. I don't know how long we'd have to stay over each target, whatever those are, and we'd still need enough fuel for both a dogfight (or ten) and the trip back to base. As well, we'd need a serviceable airfield for the Harassers and enough Dust to fill up our tanks several times over.

Yeah. Given the stringent requirements…a suitable base is rather difficult to find. That doesn't mean it's impossible, but...it's still rare. Thankfully we've got about three hours to figure it out before we have to decide on a destination. As it is, we're currently circling around in the middle of the ocean, just north of Valian territory. I'm fairly certain that nobody can hear us this far out, but in the interests of security I've continued to enforce callsigns. Though, given that I have to listen to 'Black Lotus' over and over again, it might not have been the best idea I've had.

Oh, well. Might as well ask them. I toggle the mic after a final check of Pyrrha's leg. The wound is covered up with a makeshift bloodsoaked cloth bandage, though thankfully most of the crimson has faded and dried.

"Nightshade to Venator flight. Anyone got ideas for a landing site?"

The radio is silent for a moment, and it's clear to see that nobody has a clue. I sigh loudly, hoping to elicit a reply from someone. And I do, just not one that I was hoping for.

"Why not at White Castle? I'm sure that my father's company would be able to protect us from those wretched White Fang Faunus. Or maybe even back to Beacon? All the uproar must have died down by now. Professor Ozpin would never let the school turn to chaos!"

Meanwhile, at Beacon Academy for the Martially Talented…

Professor Ozpin sat at his desk, a dozen empty mugs of varying shapes and sizes adorning the table. He had not moved from his office since yesterday evening, though this in itself was not a rare occurrence for him. The professor often worked late, indeed sometimes staying in his office almost indefinitely. So long as he received a daily coffee ration, he cared little about minor events such as an insurrection or civil war.

And, while his platoons of interns feared the students in this prestigious academy, they feared the wrath of a coffee-deprived headmaster even more so. As such, about once an hour, a new coffee pot and mug was brought up to his office on the topmost floor of Beacon Tower. If he noticed the unpaid and unhired help when they invariably arrived, he gave no sign of it.

Ozpin's seat and desk faced away from the windows and towards the door, giving a rather intimidating view to whatever unfortunate next opened the door. Not that he cared for it, really. The only thing that the multitude of interns saw when they arrived was the black steel of the back of a computer monitor and a slightly ragged and shaggy tuft of whitish-grey hair. The headmaster always seemed grossly involved in his work and whatever it was on his screen, almost to the point of obsession.

Of course, it was this obsession of his that kept him going when all other, saner people might simply give up and die. The coffee certainly helped, without a doubt. As did the company of Miss Goodwitch, whenever he deigned to acknowledge her presence. But those were merely minor aides to his preferred coping method, paling in comparison to his favourite and oft-indulged-in habit.

Whenever a particularly loud explosion echoed throughout the grounds, he paid it no attention. Whenever a volley of energy and Dust-based rounds impacted the tower, he paid it no heed. The remainder of his staff most definitely did, having some sense of self-preservation, however vestigial. But the ever-working headmaster of Beacon? None at all.

Far behind and below Ozpin, a fierce battle raged for control over the Academy's front lawn. Three fireteams on one side faced off against four on the other, tracer rounds and explosives flickering between the two. After one side managed to storm a set of pillars and mount a machinegun on it, the majority of the other disengaged in a hurry. This in turn allowed the first to move up and establish a thin line of shooters along the paths and ditches.

However, a particularly stirring charge by massed cavalry had succeeded in overrunning one flank and then proceeded to roll up the entire line before being stopped by an unfortunately (for the cavalry) placed and fortuitously (for their opponents) concealed pond. The now-soaked horsemen and women had retreated in a hurry, bolts of energy streaking by with equal enthusiasm and abandon.

All this had gone unnoticed by Ozpin, still concentrated on his screen. He was so intent on whatever it was being displayed that a casual observer might be fooled into thinking that the headmaster was for once being productive and attempting to manage and run the school into the ground. (This would be widely considered better than its current position, which is somewhere beneath the surface of Remnant and just shy of breaching the mantle into a realm of fiery tax evasion charges and lawsuits.) Someone more used to the professor, on the other hand, would know otherwise.

*Click* *Click* *Click*

"…tell me again how that was a mine? I swear, the higher the number the safer the area is. How was I vanquished? Obviously there was a glitch in the system. Time to try again. Wonderful. Now, let's start in the middle and work my way in a counterclockwise direction…"

*Click* *Click* *Click*

"OH BY KING MATTHIAS' LEFT BOLLOCK I SWEAR I HAD IT THIS TIME!"

A more observant connoisseur of fate and art would have noticed that the targets of Ozpin's ire were somehow arranged in a stylized depiction of a Belladonna flower, just like the last two hundred rounds that the coffee addict had blundered through. Professor Ozpin was anything but an observant connoisseur.

Grumbling, Ozpin set about to restarting his little escapade. After a painful five minutes of clicking and attempting to get his computer to do something other than repeat 'Please turn left in RECALCULATING' over and over again, he crushed the mouse in a fit of rage and slammed its desecrated mechanical carcass against his equally abused keyboard. He required a further ten minutes of deep breathing and three mugs of coffee to cool his anger.

Even the most single-minded of people can be sidetracked eventually, either through the precise application of overwhelming force or simple attrition. Ozpin generally was attracted by the latter, although said attrition could often last hours on end. In this case, thankfully, his lapse time only took around twenty minutes.

"Oh. The phone's ringing? Well, I suppose anything is better than this damned machine…"

He depressed the speaker button, allowing him to converse with whomever was on the other line while taking another sip from his mug.

"Ozpin's office. How may I help you?"

In hindsight, he thought as Glynda Goodwitch's voice screeched out of the device, it was a good idea to put her on speakerphone.

"Professor Ozpin. Would you care to explain to me why there is a GODS-DAMNED CIVIL WAR GOING ON IN THE SCHOOL?! I have barely set foot on campus, and already I have been subjected to bullets, grenades, spears, and what I suspect is heavy artillery fire. I have detained at the very least a score of students attempting to cause bodily harm both to me and each other, and was nearly crushed by a collapsing statue of Angela Nikos. I suspect at least thirty odd students have been killed, injured, or otherwise incapacitated in the five minutes since I arrived, and seeing as we cannot survive another lawsuit nor can we retain order while the Blood Moon is still in the sky…please, sir. Tell me why this…this…this HERESY has been allowed to continue?!"

Although she could not see him, Ozpin automatically put on a rather condescending smile before speaking. It was a habit that had seen him through his own years as a student here, and one that he simply could not stop. Not that he wanted to stop. Such a knowing and yet infuriating look was something that could irreversibly alter the course of conversations between the esteemed headmaster and somewhat-valiant Valian Revenues agents, and not to be taken lightly.

"Oh, Miss Goodwitch, I wouldn't exactly use such…harsh words for it. It's simply our students expressing their political opinions in turbulent times, finding a productive outlet for the boundless energy of youth and practicing their martial training. In fact, I do believe that I was able to witness a full-blown cavalry charge a bit earlier. Quite a brilliant strategic move, that, only to be bogged down by sustained fire and an unfortunately placed decorative koi pond. In any case, I take it you do not have the first years heeled and in tow?"

He allowed her no time to answer, continuing with his monologue as if she was not there.

"No? Well, no surprise there. Rose and that Arc fellow are immensely resourceful, along with Mr. Winchester and his compatriots. Well, seeing as it's Sunday night and they have not returned, I think it's safe to say that all first year classes can be cancelled for the week. In fact, why stop there? Be a dear, won't you, and suspend all classes indefinitely until the furor has died down. Do do that, please. Do run along now, Miss Goodwitch. Oh, and send up another sacrificial intern with my coffee pot!"

His speech complete, Ozpin cut the connection and returned to his earlier entertainment. A quick sprinkle of Dust was enough to repair his computer, a slight spark indicating the repairing circuitry.

"Now," he thought as the word MINESWEEPER became emblazoned on his screen, "Where was I?"

Her

"For some reason," I remark drily, "I doubt that very much. In any case, there's a chance that both of those locations would be targeted by either the Fang or Eastern forces. All that would happen is that we'd get confused by either side and fired upon. Dying won't help us end this war. Oh by the way, please use a callsign. Anyone with a decent dish and receiver can hear us, you know."

Nor, I note to myself, does fleeing to a remote island. But it does help keep us alive…

Weiss takes a deep breath for an angry retort, but Jaune beats her to the punch.

"Ahem. What Snow Angel meant to say was that she has no clue, and neither do the rest of us," he says while raising his voice over Weiss' indignant spluttering, "Still, I agree with the idea. We need somewhere where nobody can find us, including governments and the Fang."

Huh. Loathe as I am to say it, Weiss and Jaune's comments about the White Fang hit a nerve with me. I'm not sure why, but…wait. I've got it!

I push aside my emotions for now, focussed on trying to remember the location and figure out a plausible backstory for it that wouldn't expose me in front of the others.

…Ren did say he had military training, right? Being pressed into service early can be rather believable…I hope. Well, only one way to find out. Here goes nothing.

"Nightshade here. I just remembered: Lotus, I think I remember you once telling me about a mission you were sent on while still in secondary school. Something about striking a White Fang base out in the Western Dragon Wings (A/N: Look on the map of Remnant, you'll get what I mean) and forcing them to abandon it, right?"

Ren is silent for a moment, and I'm afraid he won't get what I'm trying to say. I pray silently to whatever assholes in the sky run Remnant, hoping that his lack of speech simply indicates him thinking rather than hesitating. I love him, I really do. But if he doesn't feel the same, and wants to cast out the truth right now…

"Black Lotus here. Yeah, I remember. I don't recall the exact location, but I'm pretty sure I told you. It's been abandoned by the White Fang now, but it's got everything we need. Nightshade, lead the way."

I can practically feel the smirk on his face as he ends the transmission, and I give a little smile of my own. Another reason why I love him, I suppose. I finish the Harasser's bank and level it out facing the north, turning up the engine another few hundred knots and triggering the afterburners. It's time we put some space between us and Vale.

"Wilco. Everyone follow me, and get comfortable. It's going to be a long flight. Nightshade, out."

Him, five hours later

I have no clue where the hell Blake found this place, but I hate it. In all honesty, when she asked me that question, I was a little surprised as to how she knew that I was involved in the raid on this White Fang base. It took me a second to review all of our past conversations that I had filed away in my mind, and I ended up drawing a blank. It then occurred to me that Blake never knew I was a part of it, but that she had been to the place before and needed an alibi.

Being a part of the Xi'Anese military is far more respectable and less questionable than being a terrorist, after all, even if said terrorist was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

On the other hand, I'd very much like to forget my memories of that raid. Don't get me wrong, I don't have PTSD or anything. It's just that…old scars take a long time to fade, that's all. Sometimes they never fade completely, or at all.

It's a little scary to consider, honestly. If there was a chance that I could have hurt her during the raid, however small…I never would have met her. I never would have had the chance to bring this beautiful, intelligent girl into my life, and the world would have been a worse place for it.

Not words I'd openly speak, obviously, but it's the thought that counts. And right now, my thoughts are utterly incomprehensible.

"Hey Ren. You seem…quiet. You okay?"

A soft hand descends on my shoulder, its black-clad owner slipping onto the cold concrete bench beside me. She's wearing that Yukata that I love seeing her in, a small smile on her face and a slight blush on mine. It's near midnight, and the others have gone to bed early. We've got the whole place practically to ourselves.

It didn't take long for us to find the base, secluded and surrounded by forest as it is. It's a series of low concrete buildings, sparsely furnished but enough to support eight teenagers. There's a small airstrip and a hangar in the middle, with enough supplies to keep our aircraft running for a long while. There's the occasional bullet hole in the walls, but thankfully the cleanup team had wiped away the bloodstains.

I chuckle a little, flashing her a smile of my own.

"Says the quiet little bookworm. And I'm fine, thanks. I just can't sleep, that's all."

She gives me a light smack upside the head, and I'm about to protest until she slips her hand into mine. Her hand is warm and delicate, as opposed to my cold and callused one. The difference is astounding, and a strange feeling overtakes me.

I need her in my life, regardless of anything that happens. She's like my other half, one that I never knew existed.

My cheeks heat up at the close contact, something that hopefully goes unnoticed. We just sit there for a moment, admiring the stars high in the night sky. Only the crimson moon mars the tranquility, a flagrant reminder of our world's past and the mistakes of our ancestors.

"You don't seem okay…is anything wrong?"

It's not only our ancestors that made mistakes, you know. If only we hadn't escalated this mess in Forever Fall, then we'd be safe back at Beacon. …Blake would be safe back at Beacon. But instead no, we're stuck in an abandoned terrorist airbase in the middle of the night.

So no, I'm not okay. Quite a few things have gone wrong, and in all honesty only I am to blame for them. I still want to get something off my shoulders, though. The past may stay in the past, but it can still rear its head from time to time.

"Blake…do you think I'd ever do anything to hurt you? Do you trust me?"

She looks troubled, but answers quickly and without hesitation. A worried half-smile adorns her, and I can tell she's worried. I can't back down now, though. Not without an answer.

"Were you here when the Xi'Anese stormed this place?"

She nods slowly, her eyes gradually widening as she attempts to understand what I'm talking about. I give her no chance to figure it out, moving forward relentlessly.

"I'll take that as a yes. Well, when you were trying to convince them that I was part of the raid…you unwittingly stumbled upon the truth. I was one of the Hunter Cadets sent out by Lantern and Xi'An to neutralize the White Fang base that we're sheltering in right now…"

Hyperion Base, late December, one year ago…

A trio of searchlights stabbed through the darkness, illuminating a virgin field of snow. In the not-so-far-off distance, an array of low concrete barracks and hangars sat. It was lit blue with harsh lighting, glowing dimly like a fallen star.

The three searchlights descended with a low hum, revealing the darkened silhouettes of Phantom gunships. They touched down silently, hovering just a few feet off the ground before disgorging their cargo. Twelve figures stepped out onto the ice, weapons held low and at the ready.

"Squad Huangdi in position. Report, over."

"Squad Guang Yu in position, over."

"Fireteam Chang'e in overwatch position. Proceed at own discretion, over."

"All teams reporting in. Engage at will, out."

Another twelve were on the other side of Hyperion, with a final six disembarking on a low ridge that ran a kilometre away. As the final transmission was ended, twenty-four of them started moving at a light run. The others held position, high-powered rifles at the ready.

"Chang'e here. Sighted…twelve, make that thirteen tangoes. Marking on HUD's, and lining up the shots. Just say the word."

"Copy, Chang'e. Take out the sentries first, over."

"Wilco, Huangdi. Taking the shots."

Six shots from three rifles echoed throughout the forest, large-calibre bullets cracking through the air. The sentries' deaths came before the reports, such was the distance. The survivors scrambled into action even as their bodies crashed into the snow, staining it crimson with spilled lifeblood.

"Sentries neutralized, over. Reloading."

"Copy, Chang'e. Huangdi moving in. Guan Yu, wait for my signal."

Ren nodded at his squad leader as he relayed the orders, StormFlower in his hands and a 'borrowed' V7-R on his back. He wore a white and black military parka, with a Kevlar vest underneath and a power pack to heat it inside one pocket. The rest of his compatriots were outfitted similarly, only a single streak of colour denoting their identities.

There was a stylized owl sigil on his shoulder, three dulled chevrons sitting underneath it. The same was on all of his compatriots, nothing on their bodies indicating their true nationality. The orders from Xi'An were clear: leave no sign that the East was involved, hence the foreign rifles and uniforms. With Menagerie sitting rather close by, geographically speaking, antagonizing the Faunus was always a bad idea.

The Fang was becoming far too active and violent in recent years, though, and rather sloppy in concealing their lairs. It was decided that they had to be discouraged; an otherwise inconsequential base had to be neutralized. Vale and Mistral had grievance enough against the Faunus. As such, it would take little imagination to implicate the Valian League.

Normally this would be a task reserved for the Xi'Anese Liberation Army, or perhaps even the Kay'Dyans. However, some bright spark in the Ministry of Spirituality (Aura Control, in other words) must have tried to go for a pay raise, because the fourth-year class of Lantern Academy was 'volunteered' for the mission. The reasoning was sound, if a little deranged. Why not kill two birds with one stone, and provide the cadets with some much-needed training? Think of it as a live fire exercise, they were told. They were still serving their country, and this time without accidentally demolishing half a mountain in the process.

Never mind the fact that the Valian Parliament could never even agree on the colour of the sky, let alone a strike against the Fang. Perhaps it was under a rogue general's orders, or the command of one of the large corporations such as Fruitcup or the SDC. Everybody knew that the West was run by them, the capitalists that is.

'Ours is not to reason why,' he thought. No matter the reason, he still had to carry through with the mission.

Ren vaulted over a low concrete barrier, snow crunching under his heavy boots as he ran. He was spotted a hundred metres out by an attentive marksman, and shots soon started flying all around him. The rest of his team had returned fire with their V7's, trying to imitate an attack by Valian commandoes.

They had been briefed on Western tactics before the mission, though filled as it was with more meaningless propaganda about the superiority of the Xi'Anese method of waging war. Still, he had found some of it useful.

Of course, given the adrenaline rush that results from a live-fire mission, the Hunter Cadet had proceeded to throw all that indoctrination and training out the window and revert to his basic instincts. Given the fact that said instincts were to run up into CQB range before unleashing StormFlower on the closest living object, it was fairly obvious to the White Fang members that they were most assuredly NOT being attacked by Valian Special Forces. No, it was something far worse.

An assailant dropped to the snow, clutching his now-perforated throat. Another soon followed, body twitching as a dozen bullets coursed their way through him. Ren leaped over the corpses, StormFlower spraying death at yet another Faunus attempting to set up a machinegun. His comrade attempted to defend him with an axe, only to have his windpipe crushed by an Aura-fuelled punch.

They aren't Human. Kill them all. Leave no survivors to tell the tale.

"Huangdi here. West side cleared, Guan Yu start moving in, over. Mind the blood."

"Wilco, Huangdi. Chang'e, keep an eye out for reinforcements from the barracks. Keep those snipers safe, too. Guan Yu moving in, over."

"Copy, Guan Yu. Squad Huangdi moving in to the barracks. Out."

Having heard all that in his earpiece, Ren drew his rifle and brought it up to his shoulder. The base was small enough, but there was a rather glaring lack of cover. If he charged in with his machine-pistols, he'd be cut down in an instant. It'd be safer to go for the long-ranged option, in this case.

"Lie! Three on your left, all armed," yelled his leader. Ren spun around, dropping on one knee to provide both a smaller target and a better firing position. His opponents were firing from the hip, resulting in an obvious drop in accuracy. He had no such problems, dropping one after another with short precise bursts.

One collapsed instantly, half his head blown off by 7.62 rounds. The second was no better off, losing a chunk from his upper chest and shoulder. The final Fang member fared a little better, the burst of bullets mostly missing and only just clipping his hip. He too fell, but his shouts of pain and cries for help gradually filtered through the air.

"Lie. Finish him off."

Ren sighted along his rifle's barrel, centering the fluorescent tritium sights on the man's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger, and his breathing slowed. Squeeze it once, gently now. Careful, aim, just squeeze it…

"Lie. Take the shot."

He has a family. We all do. That's what he's fighting for.

"Lie, that was an order. Take. The. Shot!"

His grip tightened, his knuckles turning white from the cold. He shivered involuntarily, even as he tried to will himself to end this farce.

"He's not a Human, Lie. He's a terrorist, no better than the Grimm. End his miserable life, or I'll do it myself!"

Who am I to be the reason for his family's misery? He probably has a mother, a father, brothers, sisters, a girlfriend. Why should they have to suffer for his mistakes?

"I…I…I can't, sergeant."

Ren lowered his rifle, turning to face his leader. The other man was silent for a moment, raising his hand to open up his mic onto the open channel.

"Chk…Huangdi Actual here. Cadet-Corporal Lie is hereby charged with insubordination. All present are witnesses. Fireteam Chang'e…execute the hostile. Lie, you will go in front of a tribunal when this mission is complete. …I'm disappointed in you. Cadet-Sergeant Shi out."

The wounded man cried for one last time.

A single shot rang out.

Crimson spilled out onto the snow.

A family mourned.

There was silence.

A/N: …That was sad to write.

The only reference here is in the beginning; the dream sequence and Blake's shouted exclamation of Nora riding Beowolves was from Fire Emblem: Awakening (GET IT. IT'S AWESOME.)

As always, feel free to leave a review. Questions, comments, concerns, dirty jokes? Bring it. Even flames are welcomed, as there's usually a tiny nugget of constructive criticism in there. :D

Until next time,

ElysiaDreaming, out.