"Hey," the darker-skinned boy groaned. His eyes were bandaged, but he could sense the presence beside him.

"Hey, kiddo," smiled the singer. "How're you doing?"

"A little better," Light admitted. "Still stings, and I've got a constant headache, but it's bearable now."

"I'm sorry," Opollo said, his hand on the boy's bare shoulder. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that. It was reckless of me. I'm sorry."

"No," Light muttered, reaching up and attempting to pat Opollo's cheek, which only turned into a half-hearted brush of his fingertips. "You were right, and we won because you took action."

"We won because of you, kiddo."

"You're really not that much older than me," the boy laughed softly.

"Bro, I'm almost ten years older than you."

Opollo leaned down and adjusted the bandages slightly.

"Why'd you give everything up to join Shade Academy?" the boy whispered. "Everyone's heard your voice, you were even starting to rival Ms. Schnee. You could've had such a comforting life away from all of this violence. And why Vacuo? A Mistral native joining our school?"

"Well, kid," Opollo paused for a moment. "I met a man, in a dusty tavern, while on tour. He recognized me, which isn't uncommon, but the marks on his arms were Legion marks. He stared at me for the longest time and just said three words: 'Go to Vacuo.' I don't know what compelled me to listen, but I did. One thing led to another and I ended up joining the academy. Besides, the world needs warriors right now, not singers."

"You're wrong," Light whispered. The bandages around his eyes flickered orange and darkened slightly. "The world will need its singers in the coming war…"


The black structure rose from the dunes like something out of Ozpin's nightmares. It was clearly Grimm in nature and he wondered why any Vacuan force would camp so close to such a malevolent presence. He dismounted his bike and tugged at the scarf and goggles he wore before adjusting his eyepatch.

"Don't move Isaak Ozpin, or you'll never see another sunrise." The voice was low and feminine and Ozpin cast his gaze back to see a young Faunus girl standing behind him. She bore no weapons but Ozpin could sense the power dwelling within her. In his quick glance, he saw the monkey tail wrapped around her waist and realization dawned.

"You're Sun Wukon's sister."

"Don't speak of my traitor brother." A sharp blade jabbed into his back. "In fact, don't speak at all."

"Wait, Sol," commanded a deeper voice. "We need him. He's the only one who will know how to operate it."

Ozpin turned slowly to face down Mahavira. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Howler himself," Ozpin grimaced. "I'd heard your tribe seceded from the Emirates but I'd not believed you would do something so foolish, especially with your son in line for the Emirapy."

Mahavira scowled, his thick brows furrowing and a vein sticking out of his forehead. "My son has shamed me for the last time, and I will not marry off my daughter like she is some prize to be won. No, I have given up on the Emirates for anything other than petty squabbles over different sizes of grains of sand."

"So you seek power," Ozpin stated. Mahavira sneered and placed a thick, meaty hand on the former headmaster's head.

"I have power. I seek only the right instrument to wield it. You, Ozpin, shall be my instrument. Together, we shall awaken Tarantuus."

Ozpin swallowed and his heart sank. Fool. What have I done?


"Your highness, wait!" called the armored guard.
"Oh ho, are you giving orders to me, boy?" The smaller man laughed and brushed his greying-rusty goatee.
"Of course not, majesty, but—" the guard, who was nearly as old as the king, bristled at being called 'boy.'
"Then go away. Shoo!" the tiny king cackled with mischievous laughter and continued his strides.
"But the Emira said she was not to be disturbed by anyone!" he continued. "We can't risk a diplomatic incident, not when we've already lost Mistral!"
The king ignored the protesting attaché and opened the door to the elegant guest room. "Hullo, Emira Aaliyah." The man waltzed into the room, all four feet of him, and twirled around. The young woman, who sat in front of a large, opal vanity brushing long brown tresses. She set the brush down and smiled at the tiny king.
"I'm sorry, your excellence! I begged him not to disturb you!"

"It's quite alright, guardsman. You may return to your post."

The young guard flushed and bowed crisply before glaring at the king and exiting the room. King Alistair cuckooed and laughed before hopping up on the foot of the bed and adopting a serious expression.

"You've come to persuade me not to go back," the Emira stated simply. "I can't ignore this. My home is in peril. I must go."

"You know they'll kill you, my dear."

The Emira lowered her brush and closed her eyes. "My destiny was never to rule my people, but to make way for the one who will come after. I must die so that my people will survive."

"I can send troops," the King pleaded.

Aaliyah smiled gently. "No, my lord. This is something I must do alone."


"Is there any who would challenge the Praetor of the Legion?" Janus cried, his voice haggard. "Come on!" he cried, raspily. "Are you not entertained?" Seventeen unconscious Primus bodies lay at his feet along with three dozen from other cohorts. Months had passed and the Mistral winter was in full swing. Permafrost covered the ground and snow coated the clearing and surrounding forests. The river was frozen over.

Janus' breath fogged in front of him. The Festival of Saturn was on the morrow and red banners and ribbons draped over the entire camp. Several tents had been moved to clear the area for an impromptu arena lined by standing torches.

The Praetor stood, wearing a breastplate of ancient design-hardened leather tied together in the back. A large cingulum milatare hung from his waist covering a simple white loincloth. Sandals were all else he wore. He was cut, bruised, bleeding, and battered. A black eye marred his face and blood dripped from his swollen lip.

"I will face the Praetor," a voice arose above the roaring crowd. Janus whirled around to face his challenger. From the crowd came Sienna, her rusty hair blazing orange in the firelight, her face twisted somewhere between anger and sadness. It was the first time that Janus had seen her since that day. After the incident, she had gone directly to the Empress and requested an away mission that took her far from the camp. So she had shadowed the Primal Fears on their hit-and-run missions, striking the Prismguard where they could and helping the outlying villages as much as possible. The Fears had welcomed her as one of their own and Janus had read reports of her brutality.

Janus opened his mouth to say something but the first blow came hard and fast, knocking him back off his feet and into the snowy, rocky ground. He clambered back to his feet and spat out blood. "So be it."

The Legate yelled fiercely and charged, her fist raised high. It was obviously a trap and Janus crossed his arms above his groin to catch her real strike. Instead, he took the original blow to the cheek and reeled back. A feint within a feint or else she really was just that pissed. She said nothing, only letting out grunts and shouts with each blow. Before he knew it, Janus was on the defensive. He raised his arms and blocked blows aimed for his face and twisted away from kicks aimed at his shins and groin. At the three minute mark, two swords were thrown into the arena and both contenders made a grab for them.

Sienna caught one out of the air and spun, kicking Janus' hand away from his own. The wooden sword was sharpened into an edge that would still cut, but not severely, and her sword caught him across the forearm.

He whirled back around to face her only to backpedal as she raised her sword in a stabbing arc. He tripped and fell backwards and she followed him down, thrusting the sword directly at his face. The point came only millimeters from his eye. He crossed his arms, catching her shorter limbs and strained to keep the sword away. His arms shook as he maneuvered the sword point down from his eye to his chest. The point hovered over his heart.

"Just...die..." Sienna grunted and threw her full weight against the blade. It sank into his flesh.

Janus grunted as it slid into his shoulder, right at the edge of his breastplate. He relaxed his arms and let the blade go. It didn't pierce far but the point lodged into his collarbone. Free from the struggle, he cocked a hand back and punched Sienna in the face. She fell backwards and he stood. The sword stuck in his chest. He looked at it then back to her. She scrambled for the other blade and grabbed it just as Janus bent over to grab at her. She stabbed the sword into his stomach, sliding between the breastplate and the belt. The wooden make of the blade kept it from sliding far.

The Praetor shuddered and heaved, the sword cutting deeper. Audible gasps and cries could be heard from the crowd. Sienna's eyes widened and she scuttled backwards. Janus stumbled forwards but caught himself. His steely eyes locked onto Sienna's and her one good eye stared back at him in shock. He shuffled forward and Sienna found herself scrambling back until she came to the edge of the arena. She gasped as Janus fell to his knees. She thought she glimpsed murder in his eyes.

He fell over her and raised his hand. She flinched. He pulled her to him, hugging her close.

"I missed you, cousin. I'm so sorry I hurt you," he whispered.

For a moment, Sienna was paralyzed, unable to act or think. The confusing feelings she felt for her Praetor came bursting forth and the urge to hold onto him, cry into his shoulder, hit her like a rock. She shuddered and a single tear burned its way down her cheek.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted... All of her wants faded away when she saw the teal eyes staring with horror at the arena. So, instead of doing any of those things, she simply drew her pocket knife from her belt and jammed it into Janus' armor. The ancient piece cracked and the knife sank into his chest.

"I loved you, cousin."She spat the word. "Keep your whore, Janus. I want nothing to do with you or this Legion." She shoved him off of her and he fell backwards onto his back. She tore at the Legate scarf that draped from her shoulders and let it flutter down over Janus' prostrate form. Saying nothing else, Sienna turned and kept walking. Flavus and a few of the loyal Primus members tried to grab her but a voice stayed their hands.

"Let her go," Janus coughed. He had pulled himself to his knees. His black hair was matted and hung in his eyes. "Let her go..." Flavus began shouting for a medicus. A delicate pair of arms were around him in an instant. The wooden swords tore from his skin, leaving splinters in the wounds. The dagger remained. Janus sank himself into the pain cursing his stupidity. Lia's soft voice drifted somewhere in the background. The Praetor let it lull him into oblivion.


Janus sat on the large chair that now dominated the mess hall tent. Only during the festival and only for the sake of tradition did he let the Legion elevate him so. White bandages wrapped around his figure and his black locks tumbled down to his shoulders. To his right was an equally large chair, cut from hard oak and draped in furs. It lay empty, the other Praetor missing still. In a much simpler chair to his left, Lia sat, dressed in a simple, yet oddly elegant green dress. The mess hall, normally a stark white prefab with large cafeteria tables was now bare to the dirt with fire pits and large oaken tables freshly crafted from the surrounding forest. The Praetor swished his drink and stared into the liquid while the officers drank and sang around him. Outside of the tent, the rest of the Legion was reveling the night away.

Lia, for her part, didn't say much. The recent events had silenced her normally bawdy personality. Their eyes locked for a moment and she immediately cast them downwards, avoiding his gaze. It stung, almost physically. A glance to the right showed Valentine and Duncan eating silently. Janus cursed the day they arrived in Mistral.

His thoughts were interrupted by a chant that had broken out among the centurions, legates, and generals. "Speech! Speech! Speech!"

With one more glance at his cup, Janus stood, slowly, struggling against his wounds. For several long moments he remained silent, lost in the thoughts that dwelled in the red alcohol in his mug.

"In a few months..." he began, "we will face the greatest enemy ever faced by Mistral." He paused. "Perhaps by the world." He let the thought settle until he saw the merriment die. Still, Lia avoided his gaze. "So...in this time of peril it troubles me that some of our own would so blatantly divide us." He cast his gaze around. Decimus Maximus Primus, the father of the young boy Flavus, cast a snide grin at the Praetor. It went largely unnoticed.

"This morning," Janus continued, his voice gruff, "my best officer deserted the Legion. She leveled threats at the Legion. She has gone AWOL and thus endangered the Legion." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I declare that Remus Sienna Quintilis, Legate of the Fifth Cohort and my cousin is an enemy of the state and should be killed on sight." This drew several gasps from the crowd and left Maximus stunned. "Furthermore, I have received several anonymous threats regarding my lover and our valued guest, Opaelia. It seems that some of you have a problem with our relationship." Janus paused. He began to slowly pace back and forth, swirling his drink. "The Senate agrees with you. So, despite her training with our recruits and protection under our sacred and ancient laws of hospitality, it seems I must end our affair." Finally, Lia's head snapped to the Praetor, her eyes roaming over his haggard face, the scruff covering his cheeks darkening his eyes in the orange glow of the fire pits.

"So, for the sake of safety for those I care for, I must forgo tradition, desire, and what is right and proper. I must violate not only our own codes but the codes of her people." Janus turned to her. "Opaelia of the clan Ifreann."

She nodded.

"Would you be my wife?"

The mess hall went silent. Only the crackle of the fires permeated the wall of surprised. Maximus glared daggers at Janus, but the Praetor didn't notice. His eyes, full of regret and sadness, were only on Lia. Her jaw trembled. She was the image of elegance and perfection—her cream hair bound into a beautiful updo with curls dangling down to frame her face. Her eyes welled up. Voicelessly, she nodded once more. Janus cursed the Legion, Mistral, and even the empress for suggesting this in the first place, but it was the only way to guarantee her safety beyond any doubt. Being the Praetor's wife would make her a full-fledged member of the Legion and she would have her own protection detail. Janus' throat soured as he raised his mug.

"Then, with the power vested in me by the Empress of Mistral, and the traditions of our forefathers and mothers, I declare Opaelia o'Ifreann to be my wife. Are there any here to dispute me? Speak now or forever hold your peace." For a split moment, Maximus opened his mouth before sneering and turning away. Janus eyed the blonde man for a second before downing his drink. "So be it."

He sat. It took several minutes before conversation even started again. Janus couldn't bear to look at his new wife or his friends.


Author's Note: "RWBY: Sunshine and Shadows II" is not dead. More to come. Thank you for your patience.