8-1: Responsibility

Winter stood in a familiar room.

Marble tiles covered the floor, pristine and white as they stretched from one end of the room to the other, a uniform grid that quickly set the tone for her meeting. Stone pillars stood in the center of the room, leading from the oak doors to the large desk at the center, as intimidating for her now as they had been all those years ago. But, unlike before, she had grown, and though the office still caused her some unease, she was easily able to mask it behind a professional expression.

"It has been a while since you've last visited."

A voice echoed from the large desk, tone both firm and cold as the man began to speak. The man was as implacable as she had remembered, his stern expression practically unchanged by the passage of time... at first glance. Now that she had a chance to stand here, face to face with the man from her past, she saw the marks of fatigue in his expression for the first time. His brow was wrinkled into a permanent frown, and the vibrant white hue of his distinctive mustache seemed a bit more faded, things she never would've noticed all those years ago.

Even more striking than his physical features, however, were his tone. The man's eyes had a steely gaze to them, an expression that she had—once upon a time—been scared of. But now? Either the man's edge had long frayed away, or they were never meant to be so sharp in the first place, as all she saw now was a weary man, still powerful in his own right, but equally vulnerable.

"Indeed it has, father." The Huntress spoke, her tone level as she mirrored the man's expression. "I trust you have been well?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Her father, head of the Schnee Dust Company, gave her a single nod, his icy blue eyes not leaving her own as he calmly regarded her. "... But, I imagine you are not here for simple pleasantries."

It was obvious, both to herself and to her father, that her arrival had been anything but a courtesy call. While she was ambivalent to the idea of visiting her father, the Atlesian operative had a more pressing matter to address first, and after giving the man a simple nod, stepped forward to place a single document onto his desk. The symbol of Atlas was prominently displayed on the top of the page, and Winter made no attempt to hide the reason why she was here.

"I see."

Her father reached for the document, his eyes immediately settling on the paper as he skimmed through the words. A strange silence filled the room as he read over the terms, giving Winter a moment's respite to take in her surroundings. As before, her father's office was utilitarian, decorated with nothing more than what was expected of a man in his station. It was... different now, compared to how she viewed it before. Now, she viewed unbroken hue of the walls as bare rather than oppressive, and the single painting that hung on the back wall was less judgemental and more... isolated than before.

"Tell me..." The voice of her father snapped her out of her thoughts, and she immediately turned back to the man. His face remained stoic as he looked up from the paper, his eyes staring through her. "Did you hear of the news?"

She stayed silent. "News" was vague at best, and she knew that his words had been deliberately ambiguous so as to gauge her response. A few moments passed, and Winter remained still as she stared back at the man.

"I suppose not."

The huntress stopped, slight confusion filling her as she stared at her father. For the first time she had seen, he was the one to break the silence, his eyes tearing away from her as he forced his vision back the paper. "... Silas is missing."

That confusion turned to alarm, and Winter's eyes widened as her mind supplied a face to that name. Silas had been one of the many administrative members of SDC, and a bit more influential than most in the company, as he was the one who managed the SDC's eastern quarries in Atlas. More than that, however, he was a man that her father... tolerated. Enjoyed. Invited over to their abode for more than just business.

A memory appeared in her mind, short and fleeting as she recalled the man's hearty chuckle, accompanied with a simple scowl from her father.

When she had been younger, she had thought it was simply anger, but looking back... Well, looking back didn't matter anymore. What mattered was what her father's current reaction to the man was, and Winter could hear the frustration in his voice. Her brow furrowed as she slowly turned her gaze back to her father, her own words level as she tried to suppress the worry in her tone. "... Missing?"

"No. Missing."

Her father, on the other hand, did no such thing, his emotions bleeding into his words as she saw the man clench his teeth. The sound of crumpled paper echoed from his hand, and almost immediately, he loosened himself, closing his eyes as he took in a heavy sigh. Her father set the document down, pausing for just a moment before he reached his desk drawer, taking out a different parchment entirely. With an unexpected degree of care, he handed the parchment to Winter.

"Airship accident. Survivors found and safe."

The huntress's eyes narrowed as she read the paper's title. It was a section clipped from the newspaper, and her concern only growing deeper as she spotted saw a picture of men and women with weary smiles plastered on their faces. By all accounts, the image painted was a heartwarming one... but Winter knew that that wasn't the entire story. Rather than the title, which were written for the express purpose of comforting the masses, the huntress read between the lines, her lips curling into a frown as she carefully went over the report.

"An accident, they called it. Machinery malfunction during a routine flight to one of the mining villages." Her father's voice was quiet, but it carried an unmistakable edge to it as he settled his gaze to the office window. "Three days later, they found the crash site, but no trace of the people on board. Five days after that, they found them fortified in a cave, the remains of their security fending off against a tide of grimm. The rescue team came in, retrieved everyone they could find, and returned to Atlas..."

"... But Silas was not among them." Winter finished the man's thoughts, settling the paper aside as she turned back to her father.

Without warning, her father's hand met the wooden desk, a single, terrifying sound that tore through the air. His face tense, strained as he tried and failed to mask his frustration. "No one from our company was among them! Only security staff and a few of the passengers managed to survive that incident. How could they even think it was an accident?"

The outburst stunned Winter, and she found herself staring at the man in the desk, his anger slowly burning away as he sunk back into his seat. There were only a few times in the past where she had witnessed her father growing angry, but none of them were as pronounced as what he had just displayed. Yet, even that died away, the room falling silent once again as the man turned his gaze away from her, carefully taking back the piece of paper.

After a few moments, his voice sounded out, far more subdued than anything she had heard before. "... I'll forward my response to your superior. You may leave."

And with that, he put the documents away, fitting the request from Atlas into one of his clipboards, while placing the newspaper article into a drawer filled with similar parchments.

The huntress's eyes lingered at the desk for a few seconds, before finally turning back to the head of SDC. There was... no longer anything for them to discuss. And even if there was, she knew that neither of them were in the appropriate mindset to conduct any sort of business. So, without saying another word, Winter nodded to her father, before making her way out of his office.

As she stepped out of the office, the woman was greeted by the blinding sight of the morning light, piercing through the windows of the manor as she finally took note of the time. Surprisingly enough, despite how drained she felt, the actual meeting had barely lasted for ten minutes, and the Atlesian Operative was left with nothing to do. Perhaps she should leave early? She did have a few reports she needed to catch up on, after all.

Yes. It's decided. Now that she had no more official business back home, she was free to report back at her discretion.

"... Winter?"

And "at her discretion" meant at her leisure. The huntress smiled as she heard a soft, familiar voice, but quickly pushed that particular expression aside. Instead, she settled on a more neutral face, deliberately slow in her motions as she finally turned around to face the person who had spoken.

"Weiss."

Winter's tone was firm, and she couldn't help but feel a little a bit bad when she saw her sister flinch. Perhaps she over did it with the face? Still, she kept her expression controlled, her eyes settled on the girl as she slowly approached, the heels of her boots clattering against the tiled floor. Then, when she was a few feet away from her sister, she stopped, her face implacable as she stared down.

Minutes pass. Slowly, her sister's tension began to fade, as the warm, blue eyes of little Weiss Schnee peered up at her, the worry on her face replaced by a wary confusion.

And in that moment of weakness, the huntress struck, her hands reaching down to pinch at her sister's cheeks, her stoic expression immediately breaking into a light-hearted smile.

"H-Hey!"

The pout she received was one unbefitting of the heiress to the Kingdoms' largest Dust Company, but Winter paid that particular thought no mind as she playfully ruffled her sister's hair. A bit unexpected of her, perhaps, but even she was allowed a few moments like these, right? With a smile on her face, Winter Schnee gave a soft look to her sister, finally pulling away as she turned her gaze to one of the other rooms.

"If I recall correctly... didn't someone promise me a song the next time I was around?"

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the pout on her sister's face melt into a smile.

It was one thing to merely see a town through the eyes of a tool, to flutter his Noxines through countless alleyways and rooftops all to find scraps of information... But, as the Xelor had come to realize, it was another thing entirely to walk through that same town with his own two feet.

Yes, as counter-intuitive as it was, Noximilien Coxen's first formal decision after his declaration had been to directly interact with the local settlement. Under any other circumstances, he would've preferred to stay hidden, as direct involvement was inherently riskier than simple remote operation... doubly so if you considered the events that had transpired prior.

Unfortunately, the Xelor had not been given the luxury of choice. His depleted reserves had made it painstakingly clear that Nox was ill-suited for even short-term survival, let alone something that required long-term sustainability. And while the cave he had found provided him an exceptional location for overseeing the local region, Nox had neither the workforce nor the resources to properly capitalize on this advantage, which narrowed his his list of prospective options considerably.

That list dwindled further when a survey of his immediate area revealed that, despite the extensive coverage of his Noxines, Nox found absolutely no natural resources he could exploit. Mineral resources were non-existent, having been completely depleted by the local populace, and he lacked the workforce required to attempt prospecting for deeper reserves.

And frankly, a lack of potential resources had been the least of his problems. His immediate resources had been nonexistent at the time, a problem that had been exacerbated by his deteriorated Wakfu harness. In order to stave off the corrosion of Stasis within his suit, Nox had been forced to scrap most of his Noxine swarm for spare parts, just so he could perform the requisite emergency repairs on his equipment. All these issues meant that, at the time, the Xelor had been stuck in a very disadvantageous situation.

But that was three months ago.

While his position was bleak at the time, the Xelor had long since quelled those insignificant problems. His resource situation had been resolved, unexpectedly enough, by the very locals who had put him into such dire straits in the first place.

It had only taken a day of observation for him to identify an education complex, and only a few weeks more to pick up on the local language. From there, he had learned about the existence of this world's equivalent to meddling adventurers, a curious role that went by the title of "Huntsman", and a role that consisted of unique individuals who constantly fought against the shadow beasts. Combat was a skill he had no small amount of experience in, and their irregular nature meant that there was no real visual standard they had to adhere to, both of which contributed heavily in his decision to slip incognito into the locals' system.

The rest fell into place after that. He had gotten into the city with surprising ease, and after a brief series of interaction with the locals, as well as a few trivial elimination tasks, the Xelor had not only earned, but cemented his position in the local community.

"Hey, Mills! Good to see ya! Here for some more dust?"

Case in point: the local weaponsmith of the town enthusiastically greeted him. On one hand, some level of interaction was to be expected, given his alleged profession of being a huntsman. On the other hand, however, the man went out of his way to greet him, even going so far as to turn away from his task over the forge, just to give Nox a wave. Fortunately for the man's mysterious project, he returned his attention to the device soon enough. "I'll be with you in a second. Gotta work out the impurities this latest batch first."

"No rush, Monsieur Greenfield."

The Xelor's response was short, accompanied by a simple nod as he turned his attention away from the man, offering the artisan some silence as he fixed his attention away from the forge. Instead, he made use of the opportunity, his eyes focusing on each of the weapons that decorated the shop. It was intriguing, really, how weapons seemed to be made in this world.

Or rather, it was intriguing how little it differed from the World of Twelve.

The art of metalworking was apparently a consistent one, and though there were some slight discrepancies in how alloys were formed in this world compared to his old one, the overall processes remained mostly unchanged... But he wasn't here to compare notes about obsolete methods he no longer employed. Instead, Nox was more interested in the actual weapons themselves, as they provided him with a great deal of insight as to how this world made use of Powder F-... No, the name is Dust. An odd name, but one he'll have to get used to using.

Carefully, the Xelor took one of the weapons into his hand, one of the newer longswords that had been put on the display. Except, the reason why it caught his interest was that it wasn't simply a longsword.

Advertised as a huntsman's weapon, this particular item had caught the Xelor's attention, not because of its particular form of marketing, but rather because of the unique design philosophy that went into the blade's construction. Slowly drawing the weapon from its sheath, Nox kept his eyes fixed on the more intricate pieces of the weapon, examining each edge along the metallic frame, his lens magnifying and focusing on the weapon's hilt.

For some reason, this world enjoyed its firearms moreso than anything else, and this longsword he carried in his grasp was testament to that particular fact. Through a means not yet fully understood by the Xelor, the weapon was apparently capable of shifting its structure from that of a blade, to that of a small pistol. He hadn't actually been able to replicate the functionality yet, but his Noxines have witnessed plenty of demonstrations where the local guards made use of such a feature.

What was so strange about this particular weapon was not its transformative properties, but rather, the explicit focus on firearms. After all, in the World of Twelve, only Rogues made use of firearms to any reasonable degree, and that was due to their affinity with gunpowder, as well as the devices they could produce from the compound, rather than any particular merit with the weapon. Nearly all other adventurers made use of their signature weapon or skill, such as Cra using their bows or Sadida and their connection with Nature. To say nothing about himself; Nox saw absolutely no need to utilize such a primitive fighting method, as pure Wakfu and Stasis were capable of feats far exceeding simple elemental compounds.

Then again, this world did not have the luxury of Wakfu. Instead, it had the benefit of using Dust in place of gunpowder, and from what the Xelor had seen... Well, one could do a lot worse than Dust.

He'll have to commit this design to memory. Perhaps he'll be able to incorporate it into some constructs in the future, once he'd re-established his manufacturing capabilities. Or perhaps he'll just come up with some new designs, built specifically to take advantage of these new weapons.

"... You thinking about buying that too?"

But, that was for later. For now, it seemed that the weaponsmith had finished with his task, and was now currently manning the shop desk proper. Nox shook head, sheathing the longsword as he set it aside, before turning his attention back to his arms supplier. "No, I don't believe I will."

"Heh, didn't think so. You've already got your own blade, right?" The man's eyes fell to Nox's side, giving a single look to the weapon he had attached to his leather coat, one of many prop that the Xelor had to fashion purely for his disguise. "And as much as I'd appreciate the business, I can't in good conscience tell you to replace your current weapon with one of those things. At least, not until you've snapped it in half or something like that... So, just the usual, Mills?"

This time, the Xelor nodded, returning to a familiar routine as he took out a handful of the local currency. Lien... He paused for a split second, his vision focused less on the scraps of coin and parchment, and more on the words that resonated through his mind. Was this just another method of mockery that fate had decided to throw at him? Surely it couldn't be simple coincidence that this world's currency was called Lien, could it?

...No. Whether it was or wasn't, it simply didn't matter. What mattered was that he was in the middle of purchasing the final batch of Powder Fuel he needed. So, pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Noximilien handed the money to the weaponsmith, before retrieving the small case of Dust in return, slowly fitting it into his pouch as he turned towards the exit.

"Oh, hey, before I forget... You talk to the mayor yet? He's been looking for you, apparently."

"No, not yet." Nox stopped in his tracks, mere steps away from the door as he slowly turned back around to face the smith. Sufficed to say, the elder in charge of the town was usually busy with all manner of things, so the fact that he had actively been sought out worried the Xelor. There were few reasons he could think that required direct communications with the person in charge of this town, and unfortunately, none of those reasons were good. "Why?"

"Not sure. Just said he needed one of the town's best huntsman for something." Oh. Was that all. The concern the Xelor had quickly faded away, replaced by idle curiosity. After all, being sought out based on merit just meant that his disguise was working as intended. "Think he said something about wanting you to show someone around the area? You should probably head over when you have the time"

Or not. Nox was at a loss for words now. Technically, it was still maintaining cover, but... Of all the reasons he had thought up, spontaneous tour guide was certainly not one of them. And unlike the simplistic task of quelling Shadow Beasts, playing the role of guide required a great deal of effort and concentration, for no real gain. Still, it was a request from the mayor, and his station required that he comply. "... Very well, I'll head out and meet him."

"Good luck!"

And with that, Nox stepped out of the blacksmith, before sending a single glance upwards. Thankfully, it was still morning, so even if he did have the ridiculous task of explaining the general area to someone, he'd at least have a chance to set up the preliminary phase in his latest experiment first, right?

"It Mills! Heylo!"

A tiny voice dashed all hopes of that thought. But try as he might, couldn't even summon up the urge to be irritated. Instead, he slowly turned to the source of the voice, a familiar sight that had long accompanied him since his first arrival into this town two months ago.

"Hello!"

"Hi..."

Three children stepped into view, tiny and fragile as they slowly approached him. At the front of the trio stood the oldest, a little boy who with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Beside him were his two siblings, a younger sister and a youngest brother, all standing with a smile as they greeted him. Each of the three had their own silly way of waving at him, a hand shot up, two arms outstretched, and a tiny palm slowly waving, and the man couldn't help but wave back, slowly squatting down until he was at their eye level.

"Hello, you three. What are you all doing here?" Noximilien's tone was soft, a stark contrast from his usual speech that he was all too aware of. Yet, as different as it was, he couldn't respond any other way, his mind struggling with itself as it fell into a long-forgotten routine. That's why he tried not to focus on the silhouettes behind the children, but on the children themselves.

"We're catching beetles!" The tallest child spoke first, his hand quickly shooting out, palm outstretched as he showed off a tiny, blue-shelled insect. He had always been the most energetic. "See?"

"Nu uh! We were chasing butterflies!" The middle child came next, a pout on her face as she stared at her brother, her arms wrapped around her toy bear. At times, she could be even more stubborn than her brother. "Have you seen any?"

"Y-you aren't busy... are you?" The young child spoke last, hidden beneath his cap as he looked away. The quietest, but no less expressive than the rest of his siblings. "If you don't have time, we-"

"Of course not. Let me see if I have something that can help. I know I have something in here." The voice of Noximilien came before the thoughts of Nox, as the man smiled at the three children, slowly slipping his hand into his pouch, eager to pull out his next invention. Yet, all he found were a few pieces of metallic scrap, something that could've, at one point, been something else.

Nox's voice fell, a bit quieter than before. It was harder to push these thoughts away, but eventually, he found the strength to step back, if only for a moment. "Oh... It seems I've... forgotten it."

Yes. He did.

"But do not worry. We'll find a solution." He was quick to add. After all, it was just a mistake, and one he could fix. Given the time, energy, and will, he was certain he could eventually come up with a way to-

"Find one? So we'll all go together?" A child's voice broke his thoughts. He wasn't sure whose it was, whether it was the energetic voice of the eldest, the quiet murmurs of the youngest, or the vibrant voice of the one between, but a voice broke through his thoughts, and Nox remembered where he was.

He gave the three children a look, letting silence hang in the air for a few moments before the Xelor slowly nodded.

"Yes. What a wonderful idea. I wish I'd thought of it."

The maiden's eyes fell on her Scroll, gripping the device in one hand as she slowly poured over a rough map of the coastal settlement, carefully trying to orientate herself as she stepped out of the dispatch office.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to think so, but the woman had honestly been surprised by the fact that Ozpin's influence had managed to reach this far. Everblue Port was a hub of activity that lay on the edge of Vale's borders, after all, and its position particular had allowed it remain mostly self-sufficient. Acting both as a major checkpoint for mining operations within the outskirts of the Kingdom and a key point of contact for trade with Vacuo, the coastal town had a surprising amount of independence in its interactions, which was why Amber had been so surprised that the mayor was so cordial with his assistance.

Then again, it was Ozpin, and given his elusive nature, she wouldn't be surprised if that man had ties and connections with every major organization inside Vale's borders.

So, rather than dwell on the implications of that subject, Amber turned her attention back to her Scroll. Everblue Port was a region she wasn't quite familiar with, which only made her task that much more difficult, so she was thankful that she had acquired some help in the form of a local huntsman. Not that she expected much from her guide, since this area was relatively tame compared to other parts of the world, but having someone who knew the lay of the land would certainly help her in her search.

Her brow furrowed at that particular thought. Search.

Honestly, that was a very generous term. At this point, her job was less of a search, and more of a request to conduct some miracle. Qrow, in his usual drunken glib, failed to provide any reasonable description of the man they were searching for. At best, he kept referring to the Stranger as an armoured mummy, an individual who had been completely incapable of speaking their language. His sole identifying feature was that he was garbed in a mysterious outfit that could, in some lights, be referred to as metallic armour.

Understandably, her search thus far had resulted in a great number of false positives. Given the nature of the area, almost everyone who dwelt in the Kingdom's outskirts wore armour in some form, and it wasn't like bandages were a rare commodity either. Sure, none ever reached the level of "mummy", but she had couldn't help but question whether the man had been serious, or had only been using some alcohol-infused hyperbole. Regardless, she had the unenviable task of searching for such a person with absolutely no real direction.

At first, she had tried to search based on rumours, seeking out information on new, mysterious huntsmen with unexplained backgrounds. That plan quickly fell apart when it had turned out that, perhaps unsurprisingly, most of the rumours led to disgruntled faunus or ex-sympathizers who could no longer believed in the White Fang. Others were more of the usual stuff, energetic people who came from obscure villages in the outskirts, hoping to be recognized as huntsmen with their self-taught or informal skill. Some were even mercenaries from that whole corporate coalition thing a few months back, having deserted during the engagement with the flaming Ursa thing.

Either way, she had gotten nowhere with her searches, and due to Ozpin's request for thoroughness, her past month had been spent verifying each and every silly rumour she had encountered. And now, her job brought her here.

With a sigh, Amber settled her gaze back onto her Scroll, reading the little notes she had written on the map. While she could appreciate the mayor helping her out, she found it hard to appreciate the man's description of her would-be guide. 'Wears a leather coat', 'has a well-made hat', and 'refreshingly friendly' were hardly terms you'd consider useful when looking for someone. At least she got a name, though the maiden had absolutely no intention of asking every person with a hat if their name was 'Mills'.

Perhaps she could cheat?

She never really thought about it before, at least not in this context, but her abilities were magic, right? Surely she had something she could use to find someone. Wasn't wind supposed to carry sound well? She'd just have to-

"Yay! I found one!"

The laughter of children tore her away from her thoughts. Well, not tear, since they were hardly that disruptive, but the cheerful voices distracted her all the same, and the woman couldn't help but turn to the source. And did you blame her? The only thing she really enjoyed about her current task was that it brought her to all sorts of places in Vale. It was a chance to meet new people, to see how they were doing, and to see if she could assist them in some way.

"Nu uh! I found one first!"

So, whenever she stumbled onto a town with children as energetic as the three before her, the Maiden had to smile. With idle curiosity, she watched them as they played their little game, scrambling about the grassy field for a few moments, before scampering over to one of the benches. A bench where a man with a unique hat, an elaborate coat, and a single blade sat.

"Miiillls! Do I win?"

"Tsk tsk." The man held up a gloved finger, wagging it at the child as he turned his head towards the field. "You know the rules. All of you have to find one, remember?"

"Aww..." And with that, the child returned to the field.

Amber blinked at the sudden exchange. To say that her discovery was fortunate was putting it lightly... This wasn't really coincidence, was it? Maybe she had actually figured out some new way to use her magic. After all, her luck recently hadn't been good enough to warrant such fortune.

But, either way, she had apparently found her guide. So, without wasting another moment, the maiden made her way to the bench, her steps light as she watched the huntsman with curiosity clear on her face. Surprisingly enough, he noticed her approach, as the man turned his head towards her the moment she drew close. She froze, and the man sat in silence, apparently content with letting her start the conversation.

"Excuse me... Are you Mills?"

He seemed to flinch at that question. At least, she thought he did, but honestly, she wasn't able to see much of the man at all given his particular choice of headgear. At least the mayor had been accurate about the hat comment.

"... Yes?" The next thing she noticed about the man was the odd echo in his voice, a slight metallic tinge that reverberated from beneath his hat. Was he... Was he wearing a helmet underneath that or something? She couldn't really think of any other explanation, given the fact that it sounded more tinny than muffled. Part of her wanted to ask, but she quickly quelled that thought.

After all, she had a job to do, and unfortunately, it wasn't to question people's choice in outfits. Which was probably for the best, considering the comments Qrow gave her about her cloak. So, pushing that thought aside, she gave the man a simple nod, before speaking out. "Yes, actually. I was told by the mayor to find you. He informed me that you were the most capable huntsman in the area, and that you would be able to assist me during my time here."

"I see..." The man's voice trailed off, and Amber raised an eyebrow in concern. From what she could tell of the man's tone and posture, Amber was beginning to suspect that the man hadn't entirely been aware of this arrangement. Almost immediately, she felt a tinge of empathy towards the huntsman, as that particular feeling of confusion was one she had grown quite used to, given how often Ozpin did the same to her. "If that is the case, then-"

"Mill-! Oh, hello! Miiillls! Do we win now?"

Three childish voices interrupted their little discussion, cutting off the huntsman's words as the clamouring sound of three rushing bodies made their way to the bench. The huntsman immediately turned to face the source, and Amber soon followed suit, her own head snapping towards the trio of children. And the first thing she noticed about them were the prideful smiles on their face, grinning from ear to ear as each of them held some disgusting beetle thing in the palm of their hands, outstretched and presented to the huntsman.

A chuckle sounded out from the man beside her, much lighter than the tone he had used before, and from the corner of her eyes, Amber saw the huntsman nod. That particular action garnered no small amount of cheering from the children, a gesture that the maiden found confusing moreso than anything else. Before she could ask, however, one of the children set the insect aside, only to bring up a small notebook with childish scribbles on the page. "Help me first!"

"Is... is that homework?" The maiden blinked, her eyes focusing on the book for a few seconds, before turning over towards the other huntsman. Amber threw the man a questioning glance, only to be filled with more questions as she watched the person named Mills pull out a textbook of some kind.

Mills, for his part, slowly turned his head back towards her, his voice lighter this time as he spoke up. "Apologies, but it seems I am unable to help you at the moment. I've made prior arrangements, as you can see."

Amber was at a loss. Her vision slowly shifted from the huntsman to the children, the three kids all seated down on another bench as they took out their notebooks, each of them eagerly peering up at the man. This was the first time she had been snubbed by a person, just because he had to help some kids study.

But... all things considered? Helping out kids wasn't the worst excuse she'd heard. So, with a shrug, she too took a seat, her eyes settling on the textbook that the huntsman held in his hand.

"In that case, mind if I listen in as well?"