Second part of a twofer and final chapter of Giant-Slayer.

Stay tuned for an important Author's Note.

*GIANT-SLAYER*

It was just-past breakfast, and classes had begun all across Beacon. Students of the school's various vocations began to weather a harrowing battery of first-day scenarios, while the teachers all scrambled to get the week's lesson plans ready so they could enjoy the first weekend of the new term without a hitch.

As the whole of Beacon Academy bustled, students and teachers alike buzzing about after the week-long lull in activity, one of the most influential men in the kindgom of Vale sat in his office, the expanse of Beacon Academy and the city of Vale visible in the distance through the panoramic-view window. The man was figuratively, and literally, on the top of the world, a benevolent if not somewhat enigmatic figure watching the populous below, observing the goings-on of the kingdom under his purview and what happened in the shadows via proxy.

Suffice it to say, with all the man was responsible for, Ozpin Greene's time was valuable. Politicians, governors, CEOs, and celebrities alike had to wait weeks, sometimes months in order to be granted a personal meeting with the man who oversaw the Vale branch of the Hunter Union that spanned nearly the whole of Remnant.

That's why it came as such a surprise to the man's secretarial staff when he himself requested that two figures above all others be given unequivocal priority in being able to meet him. They were neither celebrities, politicians, rich CEOs, or anything of the sort. Instead, they appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary pair of pink-collar individuals with eight-to-four jobs like so many others that worked minimum wage jobs all across the kingdom of Vale, one a young man with platinum blond hair, the other an old man who looked old enough to be a grandfather twice-over.

Still, nothing Ozpin did was ever without reason. There was a method to the man's madness, regardless of how eccentric his methods could sometimes be. So, ultimately, it was the veteran members of his staff who let the two through to the express elevator, despite the presence of high-rollers who even now were being made to wait for a one-on-one meeting with The Man Atop the Clockwork Tower.

The elevator door directly across from the man himself sounding out a small *Ding* through the din of meshing gears and turning cogs, the first to enter his expansive office was an elderly grey-haired man with bushy eyebrows and a myriad of wrinkles around his eyes, of which appeared to be perpetually closed. His attire consisted of a green collared shirt, a red apron, gray pants, and brown shoes.

Walking alongside him was a young man considerably the elder's junior wearing similar attire, appearing around eighteen years of age. His shoulder-length mop of stark white hair stood out rather prominently compared to the older man's balding grey, his mismatched eyes of crimson and indigo standing out even among Beacon's more-colorful attendees. The teen had a vertical scar running down the left side of his sun-tanned face over the lid of his indigo-colored eye, while his right arm from fingertips to sleeve was completely covered in bandages with nary an inch to be seen.

The elder of the two walked forward with a slightly-hunched back, but not to the point he needed a cane. The younger of the two on the other hand carried himself with a sort of… openness that you'd rarely find in the modern world. A type of openness that made you feel like he had nothing to hide, or at the least, wasn't thinking anything untoward of anybody, really.

"Wok. It's good to see you again, old friend," Ozpin greeted with a smile. "And who might this be? A grandson perhaps?" he asked turning his attention to the younger of the two.

The older of the two, Wok, coughed into his hand before answering in a wizened old voice- "It's been a long time. And no, this is not my grandson. He's simply someone I've taken in. Someone who needed my help at the time."

"I see," Ozpin said with a nod before turning to the younger of the two. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"Nope. Can't say I have the foggiest," the white-haired teen admitted as he scratched the back of his head.

"Oh?" Ozpin said aloud with a raised brow, having honestly never heard that response before. "I see," the man hummed as he scrutinized the young man before him with a critical eye. His honest expression from his tone to his eyes did nothing to betray his words, the man sensing no ill intent whatsoever from the young man in front of him. In short, the young man before him honestly did not know who he was. "Perhaps introductions are in order. My name is Ozpin Greene, the headmaster of this fine institution. And who might you be?"

"Vincent, sir. Vincent Val… Vale…" he trailed off as he scrunched his brow in concentration. "Something with a V," he finished, irritably raking his fingers through his mop of shock white hair.

"Do you not know?" Ozpin asked with a raised brow.

"Sorry, sir. Memory isn't quite what it used to be," he said scratching at the top of his head, the jagged line of a scar briefly visible beneath his bangs before he raked them back into place.

"I see," Ozpin replied. Once more, nothing the young man before him said or did hinted at any kind of lie or duplicity, so for all intents and purposes, he'd take the teen's loss of memory as something genuine. Amnesia wasn't necessarily something unheard of after all.

*Ding*

"Ozpin, what is this I heard about you pushing back the day's meetings?" Glynda asked sternly as she stepped out of the elevator.

"Ah, Glynda, you couldn't have come at a better moment," Ozpin replied turning his attention to the woman striding towards him. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, might I ask you to entertain Vincent in the lounge for a little while? An old friend of mine is here and we have some things to discuss. It's rather urgent, you see, so-"

"An old friend?" Glynda yelped as a shudder went up her spine. Eyeing the room's other occupants, a moment later the woman let out a relieved sigh upon discovering neither of them were a certain blunt-and-arrogant so-and-so; dealing with him was among the last of the eccentricities she could stand to swallow that day. "I see…" she said before turning to the younger of the two. "Vincent, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," the teen replied.

"Please come with me," the woman requested, segments of the floor off to the side of the office descending into a staircase towards the lounge below. The white-haired teen dutifully following behind her, it wasn't until the lounge door had closed that the remaining two began to converse once more.

"So…" Ozpin said taking a sip from his mug. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? If I recall correctly, it has been a great many years since we last spoke like this."

"It's about the boy," Wok answered, a serious look on his wrinkled face.

"Ah, yes, the white-haired boy from Ms. Rose' mission report," Ozpin remembered, thinking back to what had happened in the weeks prior.

While the girl's own efforts on the necessary paperwork regarding the Ruby of Grief was admirable, the second set of handwriting showed that not everyone on the team was satisfied with the amount of detail given. Still, that was another reason he saw fit to cluster together so many contrasting personality types seemingly at random; so that everyone would be able to grow together and help one another grow in turn, in ways that people too-much like themselves could not.

"Yes. Really had to stretch the old muscles when the negative energy inside the Crimson Orb took that other boy over," Wok said rolling his shoulder.

"Sending Team Ruby to investigate the Crimson Orb was a gamble. A gamble I rather unfortunately, lost," Ozpin admitted. "I apologize for any destruction of personal property you may have had to endure in your retired years."

"Yes, well, that was then, and this is now," Wok replied. "As for why I came here today, there's something I'd like to ask you first. What do you think of the boy?"

"Vincent?" Ozpin asked with a raised brow. "He seemed rather… odd," he said after finding the right word.

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black, you know," the old man chuckled.

"Nothing wrong with being a little odd as you age," Ozpin said with a chuckle. "Still, I assume you refer to what lies just below the surface."

"Of course. Don't tell me your eyes are failing you already, Oz," the old man jabbed playfully.

"I should hope not," Ozpin said with a hearty chuckle as he adjusted his glasses. "As for my first impression of the boy, well… He seems a very upfront young man, honest and without ego to an extreme I've rarely seen in someone his age. He certainly doesn't seem the sort who'd have the same bias or meme as his peers," the man summarized. "As for what lies beneath the surface, I wouldn't lie by saying it isn't a little… unsettling," he said cautiously, a tense silence surrounding the two before he spoke again. "You wouldn't have brought him here before me without a good reason. Might I ask why that is?"

"I was hoping you might have a place for him here, at Beacon," Wok said suddenly.

"Really?" Ozpin asked with a raised brow. "For what reason are you asking?"

"That boy… I believe…" Wok stated, pausing for a few moments before looking across the table once more. "I believe he can become a hero," he said firmly.

"A hero?" Ozpin asked stopping mid-sip at the resolute look dominating the old man's wrinkled visage.

Cue Boku no Hero Academia OST – You Can Become a Hero

"It's only for a few fleeting moments, but when he's lending a helping hand to others, regardless of whether they are Humans or Faunus… Even if it's only for a little while, the brightest part of his soul is able to shine through the haze of his lost memories," Wok said with a fond smile. "The boy may be young, and inexperienced in the ways of our world, but I believe he can do so much for Remnant. Having him sweep floors and work the register would only do disservice to the potential lying just beneath the surface."

"A hero, hm…?" Ozpin repeated slowly, contemplating how the meaning of the word had changed in recent decades, and why the old man before him appeared to be using the word's more aged denotation. "Would your wording have anything to do with… this?" he asked pushing a Datapad forward, allowing the content of a video/audio file to play.

"I WILL DEFEND IT!"

"Remember… Remember… Remember who you are…"

"I don't remember much… but I do know…"

"This fake wind… is really… PISSING ME OFF!"

After a couple minutes, Ozpin paused the clip, on it a still of Vincent with his hair standing on end, his fingers splayed as a column of wind surged forward. However, most-notably, he had ribbons of silver light spilling out the corners of his eyes.

"I was actually referring to something earlier during his time under my care," Wok stated, looking down at the still. "What happened recently, only served to reinforce that particular sentiment."

"And what sentiment might that be?" Ozpin asked as he withdrew his Datapad.

"It was a couple weeks after I'd taken him in, and I'd been able to ingrain a basic understanding of how the world around him worked. Not enough to dye him in my own image, just enough so he could run errands without being taken advantage of in his current state," Wok hummed as he thought back. "I'd sent the boy out to the farmer's market on the other side of town, with explicit instructions not to take any detours or side-trips; a precaution in case there were any gaps in his education I had yet to address. When he'd acquired half the items on his list, I noticed a crying Faunus child dressed in patched-up hand-me-downs off to the side of the thoroughfare, all passerby willfully ignoring her, trying to pretend she didn't exist or even avoided making eye contact with her altogether… treating her like she was invisible…" Wok said morosely. "Yet Vincent… he did neither of those things. Instead he took a knee in front of her, asking what was wrong without a moment's hesitation, regardless of the consternation that passerby around him felt," he said adopting the smile of a proud parent. "After hearing her words and wiping her tears, he told her that everything would be okay before offering his hand to her, promising to help her find her mother. It took an hour for the mother and child to be reunited, but once they were, the gratitude I felt from the two of them was extremely heartfelt. They seemed to be on the poor side, able only to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves with little in the way of luxury, but even then the mother wanted to reward him with what little they did have after all others had forsaken them. And do you know what he asked of them in return?"

"Hold on," Ozpin interrupted. "How did you know about the parts you weren't there for?"

"I followed behind him at a respectable distance. Far enough away that he wouldn't immediately spot me, but close enough that I could help the boy if he got into a bind," Wok answered. When Ozpin nodded in satisfaction at the answer given, Wok continued his story. "As I was saying… He declined all attempt at receiving compensation. Instead he turned his attention to the girl with a kind smile on his face, and he told her… "Grow up to be strong, and kind, and pay this kindness forward someday. Even if you've forgotten all about me by that time, as long as you're able to show someone else the same kindness I've shown you, I'll be happy. That's all I need in return."

"That definitely seems like something Vincent would say," Ozpin said with a smile. He may've only met the boy today, but Vincent seemed to present himself in a very clear and consistent matter, much like another young student he'd chosen to sponsor

"The hope that shone in the mother and child's eyes as they parted ways… That hope was real. They both had every reason to feel that the world was against them, that it didn't care about their happiness. But the kindness that Vincent went out of his way to show him, even if it didn't mean receiving any praise or reward in turn… That kindness has the power to inspire hope in others, and that hope in turn has the power to ignite change, no matter how small the spark or how deep the darkness," Wok said wrapping up his tale. "That is why I believe he can become a hero. It isn't because he can magically strike a Grimm low with a single look. It's because he has an almost limitless capacity to show kindness to those that need it most, and even if he had the whole of his memories… I don't doubt he would've done the exact same thing in that situation."

OST END

"Speaking of killing Grimm with a single glance, I feel like the next question I have is the most-obvious," Ozpin said as he turned his attention back to the still image on his Datapad, tapping the screen and allowing the footage to run. "Is the boy a Silver-Eyed Warrior? Is that another reason you chose to use the word hero?"

"No. The boy isn't a Silver-Eyed Warrior," the man said with a shake of his head. "At least… not one like me," he amended, the slightest crinkling of his eyes revealing twin pools of silver before his eyes closed once more. "His eyes might glow with a silver light, but there's something… different about the boy's power."

"Different… like a Maiden, perhaps?" Ozpin wondered with a tilt of his head.

It was no secret within the Brotherhood that at their advent, the Seasonal Maidens were hunted down for their power; either to be manipulated, or to be taken. And while most Maidens' power transferred early on in their lives for one reason or another, there were occasions where the Maiden lived long enough to bear offspring, raise a family. Even in the cases where a Maiden's power didn't transfer to immediate family upon their death, it didn't change the fact that the progeny of a Maiden possessed considerably more power than the ordinary person.

Most-often displayed by a Maiden's progeny was a greater affinity for Nature's Wrath; the ability to wield the very elements themselves.

"I can understand why you'd come to that conclusion. Admittedly, I initially came to the same one myself," Wok said watching the video before him, the evidence extremely compelling to those aware of the Maidens as fact instead of fable. "But no, I do not believe the boy has any ties to the Seasonal Maidens," he said with a shake of his head. "His power being what it is appears to be coincidence and nothing more."

"I see," Ozpin replied as he interlaced his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. Semblance could be just about anything, so glowing silver eyes and nature-manipulation could easily be purely coincidental in nature. "It was fortunate I caught this footage before it hit the CCT's archives. Despite the fact that his eyes are crimson and indigo, a single screenshot from this footage alone might give… certain parties, the wrong idea."

"The fact that the boy doesn't possess a Grigori Soul should've been obvious-enough that he wasn't a Silver-Eyed Warrior. Though I do realize that not all who have a Grigori Soul will have silver eyes," he said before clasping his hands in his lap. "Why did you do it, Ozpin? Why did you send those three and their partners after her the way you did?"

"I thought they could get the jump on her while she was in Remnant. End this long war before it escalated into a full conflict."

"And because of that arrogance, three innocent souls might very well be lost to us forever," the old man sighed, the wrinkles around his eyes becoming briefly more prominent. "I would hope that leaving the boy in your care, assuming you do decide to take him in at this old man's request, won't be a mistake."

"It won't be, I promise," Ozpin said resolutely, the mention of one of his many mistakes stinging more than any wound of the flesh, before he turned his attention back to the present. "So… Do you want him to take an aptitude test and join the Freshman HITs, or-"

"I was hoping he could start out with something more… humble than that," Wok interrupted. "Work in the kitchens. The school store. A groundskeeper perhaps," the old man listed off, causing the bespectacled man to raise a brow. "The boy doesn't call himself a hero, not in the declarative sense at least, but if he's to be more than a local deterrent for thugs and the like, Vincent becoming a hero needs to be a choice that he makes, not a role that is trust upon him."

"I suppose that's for the best. It would be rather suspicious if someone with no background were to suddenly be inducted into the freshman class. And when I say someone with no background, I mean no background," Ozpin elaborated as he turned his eyes to his console. "I've tried all the usual and even unusual sources, but none of my contacts have been able to turn anything up on Vincent. It's as though… he appeared out of thin air, or fell from the sky while no-one was looking."

"Well… You wouldn't be too far off," Wok admitted with a nervous chuckle.

"And just what do you mean by that?" Ozpin wondered curiously.

"For the time being… I'd rather not say," Wok replied. "Or rather… I don't think I need to say."

"Hmmm… I see," Ozpin hummed. If Wok didn't feel the need to divulge the circumstances under which Vincent came to come under his care, then there probably wasn't any danger in not knowing. At least… for the time being. "Moving back to the topic at hand…" he said interlacing his fingers. "Am I correct in assuming that the more pertinent reason for your visit, is in regards to the boy's soul?"

When he'd first appraised the boy presented to him, he'd done a very thorough analysis of the boy. Not just his words, his actions, and how he carried itself, but down to the boy's very soul itself. Something only a few people were able to perceive.

Under normal circumstances, actual damage to the soul itself almost never happened. At least, not within the confines of the conventional world.

Sure, a person could have their Aura depleted and their Auric Guard broken, but that always returned after a day of rest at the latest, or a few hours of deep meditation at the earliest. However, while Aura could be explained to some degree scientifically, even quantified, the Soul on the other hand was completely immaterial, the very wellspring of life itself still beyond science's grasp to appraise or even explain. So for something that was usually so… elusive to come to harm the way it had, that was a matter of grave concern.

"You would be correct," Wok replied. "The damage that had been done to him before he came under my care… it horrified me," the man shuddered unconsciously. "The boy's affliction… It isn't something any ordinary doctor can remedy, and I doubt taking him to the Country of Healing would serve him any benefit either."

"What about the Revival Institute?" Ozpin pondered.

"Especially not the Revival Institute," Wok shuddered. "Despite the man's many accomplishments in the field, Yosaku's bedside manner is utterly atrocious. At least in my opinion."

"On that, I suppose we can both agree," Ozpin returned. "It doesn't really help when the first step you take into the Revival Institute feels like happening upon the aftermath of a mass murder."

"Getting back to the point at hand…" Wok said before the conversation could go too much further off the rails. "I could close up my shop at any time, even pass it on to someone else… But I don't have many years left in me, so even if I wanted to, even if I did decide to take the boy on a pilgrimage to get him the help he needs myself… The odds are high I'd be unable to see that journey through to its conclusion," he said clasping his hands together in his lap. "That's why, in light of all other alternatives, I've concluded that the best course of action to save the boy's soul… is to place him under your care while I'm still able. Because if I don't take measures while I'm still able… I fear I may leave him alone in a cruel, unforgiving world, and I can't stand the thought of doing that to such a small, more honest soul."

"While I can understand your reluctance to leave unfinished business behind…" Ozpin hummed as he drummed his finger on his desk. "You do realize that by placing Vincent under my care, his condition might draw the attention of that man," he said with a visible shudder.

Between him and Yosaku, he wasn't sure who was worse.

"That's just a risk I'm going to have to take," Wok said tiredly, letting out a shudder of his own. "I don't know what kind of person Vincent was before he lost his memories, there isn't enough of his Soul left to say for certain… But I want to believe that the person I saw that day, back at the farmer's market, is a reflection of his truest, innermost self."

"I see… In the end, we just have to have faith," Ozpin hummed.

"So… Will you be able to take him in?" Wok asked as he wrung his hands. "There's only so much I'm able to do for him on my own, and with the way he is now…"

" . . . You feel like Beacon would be the safest place for him to be until he can regain his own sense of self?" Ozpin postulated.

"You'd be correct in your assumption," Wok replied. "Beacon is the closest place to a neutral ground I can think of. The other kingdoms as of late are a little too biased for my liking, and as he is now, Vincent is simply too-vulnerable to be allowed to let wander. Too many people willing to take advantage of a blank slate."

"So you believe the best place for him to be is here, with me?" Ozpin asked.

"You're the lesser of many evils," Wok admitted.

"Well… Who am I to refuse a favor from an old friend?"

*GIANT-SLAYER*

Elsewhere, Glynda had just shut the lounge door behind the guest whom Ozpin had asked she entertain (read: distract). The lounge itself was slightly smaller in radius than the room above it, the sometimes grating noise from oversized clockwork gears completely silenced as the door to Ozpin's office closed. Compared to the mechanical cacophony of the room above, the tranquil silence granted by the sub-room beneath Ozpin's office made the lounge feel like it were a world away from the somewhat tumultuous world outside.

Cylindrical in shape, the room's singular wall featured a continuous, utterly breathtaking landscape mural depicting the steady gradation of the four seasons. The brushstrokes that illustrated spring, summer, fall, winter, and its full-circle transition back to string were so masterfully done that those witnessing it for the first time often swore they could walk into the world portrayed.

"Whoa…" Vincent awed as he twirled in place. "It's… It's beautiful," he said as he raised his arm, slowly reaching out to touch the falling crimson leaves of autumn.

"Please don't touch the mural," Glynda chided sharply.

"S-Sorry!" he apologized as he drew back his hand. "I just… couldn't help myself," he admitted bashfully as he stepped away from the wall, nervously wringing his hands.

" . . . I suppose it is a beautiful mural," Glynda conceded as she appraised the splendor of the seasonal illustration. "Which season is your favorite?"

"My favorite?" Vincent asked with a flinch. "I… I don't really know," he said morosely. "I don't know, and yet… I can't take my eyes off it."

"I suppose I can understand the sentiment. When the monarchies fell at the end of the Dark Ages, the mural before you was considered the very pinnacle of artistic expression," Glynda hummed as she crossed her arms behind her back. "It's only because this room was so well-hidden that it was able to escape the looting that followed the civil upheaval following the Great War."

"I thought the royal families didn't like art."

"They didn't like the serfs having art. They weren't above hoarding it all for themselves."

"Wow… What jerks!" Vincent bit out angrily.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Glynda said in response to the teen's rather… inarticulate choice of vernacular. "Would you like to take a seat?" she asked gesturing to the center of the room.

"Thank you. I'd like that very much," he said as he stepped away from the mural.

So as not to detract from the beauty of said mural, all the furniture in the room was oriented away from the room's singular wall. The room's furnishings consisted of a curved sofa, a similarly-curved bookshelf, and a cabinet atop which sat an instant coffee maker and a spinning coffee pod carousel; featured most-prominently were packets of hot chocolate. In the very center of the room was a circular hardwood table with two cushioned seats situated across from one another, a bowl of crushed scented jasmine giving the room a relaxing scent. Underneath all of this was a circular rug depicting the whole of Remnant.

All in all, it was a welcomed departure from the somewhat overbearing clockwork theme of the office above.

"Can I get your chair for you?" the teen suddenly offered.

"Why… Thank you very much," Glynda replied, a little surprised by the genuine politeness from people the teen's age. The apron-clad teen pulling the woman's chair out, Glynda took her seat, allowing Ozpin's guest to nudge it forward behind her. "You're certainly very polite, young man."

"Thank you. Old Man Wok always told me to be polite to a lady," Vincent replied as he took his own seat.

"He sounds like a very wise parent."

"O-Oh, he's not my parent or anything," Vincent clarified. "He was just the only one willing to help me out after my… accident."

"What accident?" Glynda asked.

"Well… When I woke up, Wok told me that someone probably threw me out of an airship or something, because on the way down I busted my head open before landing in the dumpster behind his shop and started bleeding all over his garbage," he said nervously raising his bangs, revealing the jagged scar marring his forehead.

"Probably?" Glynda asked incredulously.

"The thing I busted my head open on was the lip of his roof, so we couldn't come up with any other explanation," the teen admitted as he raked his bangs back into place, hiding the scar from view.

"I see," Glynda hummed. "Have you tried to recollect any past memories?"

"I've tried. A lot. It didn't turn out very well."

"Can you try harder for me?" the woman answered, seeking out any sort of duplicity from the teen Ozpin had asked her to occupy. The whole memory loss thing was a hard pill to swallow, so she was curious how far he was willing to commit to the lie; whether or not it was one had yet to be seen.

"I… I can try," Vincent answered as he laced his fingers together on the table in front of him. Scrunching his brows in concentration, his eyes clamped shut and he grit his teeth, the knuckles of his grip whitening as his face began to redden. "Nn… Nnngh…! My head…" the teen grunted as he pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, Glynda's eyes widening as a trail of blood began to leak out of his nostril, the color in the teen's face rapidly draining away.

"Stop, that's enough!" Glynda said as the trail of red slid past his lip and rolled down his chin. The glow of her Telekinesis was all that stopped the teen's lifeblood from irrevocably staining the hardwood table between them, the teen swaggering a little as he tilted his head back and brought his finger to his nose.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am. This… always happens when I think about my past too hard," the teen apologized.

"This is no fault of your own," Glynda said levitating a box of tissues into her hand, swiping the droplets of blood out of mid-air before leaning forward and wiping the teen's face. "I should've realized that trying to remember was something you may have already done. It was wrong of me to force you like that," she apologized, finding herself doting on someone she hardly knew. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said taking the tissue from her hands, leaning his head back. "I should've given you a heads up that this might happen."

"Do you always bleed through your nasal passages when you try to recall any memories of your past?" Glynda asked, now feeling bad that she'd doubted him when he hadn't done anything to warrant that doubt.

"It isn't always my nose," Vincent said as he bunched up the tissue and dabbed his nose. Satisfied it was no longer bleeding, he walked over to the trash receptacle and dropped the soiled tissue in before returning to his seat. "Sometimes I'll bleed through my eyes, or my ears," he answered, causing Glynda's eyes to widen in shock. "One time I completely blacked out, woke up with the mother of all migraines afterwards."

"I see…" Glynda said cupping her hands together. "What caused your memory loss must have been extremely traumatic."

"Yeah. And ironically… or maybe un-ironically enough," he amended with a shrug. "I don't even remember why, or how I lost my memory. Only that everything right before the old man found me is a huge blank."

"What do you remember?" Glynda asked. "Are all your memories gone, or-"

"Most-everything is gone," Vincent clarified. "Sometimes I'll get flashes, but I can't hold onto them long-enough to get any idea of where I might be from. I still remember things like how to put on my clothes, how to eat, how to do chores," he said before pausing. " . . . How to fight," he trailed off.

"How to fight?" Glynda repeated. That seemed like a rather odd thing for an amnesiac to recall.

"Yeah. I mean-I don't go out of my way to pick fights," he said waving his hands, "but with the way that Wicktorch guy's been running around all helter skelter, and then that robot attack the other day… things have been getting a little… dicey, around town, and-"

"Torchwick. His name is Torchwick," Glynda corrected.

"Right. That guy," Vincent nodded. "I don't know why I remember, or even who taught me. It's just… sometimes my body moves on its own. Like I've been doing it my whole life… or at least for a very long time," he amended.

"Do you think you could show me?" Glynda asked. "I've been around the world one or two times. Maybe there's some kind of clue as to your nationality in how you fight."

"The old man and I already tried that. It's there when I need it, gone when I don't."

"I see," Glynda hummed. "Well, how much memory do you have?"

"Maybe a month, give or take a week," Vincent answered. "I didn't remember anything about your interweb or your CCT, or even the kingdoms for that matter," he said, Glynda's eyes widening. "For all intents and purposes, Old Man Wok, and his shop… they're my whole world. And…" he paused. "Not knowing anything… about this country or even the world I live in… That scares me. It scares me a lot," he sad hugging himself.

"There, there," Glnda said coming around to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. "It'll be okay, I promise," she said soothingly as she stroked his hair, gently rocking him back and forth. Most of the teenagers she dealt with were so self-assured, sometimes too self-assured, that it was difficult for her to be anything other than the stern-and-strict Goodwitch that had people sitting straight in their chairs and going quiet whenever she entered the room. So encountering one that was so… vulnerable, seemed to awaken some kind of maternal instinct she rarely utilized.

"…Thank you," Vincent said patting her arm. "I… I feel much better."

"You're welcome," Glynda said moving back to sit across from him. "I've only seen memory loss a few times, but I think yours might be the worst case I've ever seen. I've come across people who've forgotten their name, their hometown, or even a trauma, but never… everything. I guess I never thought about how scary not knowing anything could be, until I met you."

"Yeah… When Wok found me, he said I was in pretty bad shape before he bandaged me up. That when he found me, I was covered head to toe in wounds."

"What happened to your arm?" Glynda asked pointing to the teen's bandaged arm.

"Oh, my arm's not injured, it's just… different."

"Different?"

"People… They look at me weird when they see it. That's why I cover it up," he said nervously clutching at his right arm.

" . . . Can I see it?"

"See what?"

"Your arm. Can I see it?"

"I… Well…" he hesitated. "Will you help me bandage it back up when you're done looking? It's a little hard to cover up by myself."

"Of course," Glynda replied. "I'm having you go through all the trouble to take them off. Helping you is the least I can do."

The white-haired teen across from her giving a small nod, he reached up into his sleeve, undoing a clip before he began stripping away layers of bandages. Glynda's eyes widened as more and more chrome-colored metal came into view, revealing the teen's arm to be a prosthetic all the way up to the shoulder.

Then again, this wasn't really all that surprising, since the installation of an Automail limb often required further amputation to accommodate the installation of the permanent Housing System which would delineate flesh from machine. You couldn't simply give yourself an Automail hand or forearm and be done with it; not unless you wanted the thing to fall off because it wasn't properly mounted.

"It's… beautiful," the woman awed at the sight of concentric bands of chrome acting in place of his skin, each one seeming to stretch or flex like a real flesh-and-blood arm. "Where did you get something like this?" she asked as she grabbed his hand and looked it over. Even to someone like her who wasn't really a fan of biomechanics, the degree of articulation in this piece was simply breathtaking.

"I don't… really remember…" Vincent said with a small flush on his face as the woman's delicate fingers roved over every part of his hand, slender digits ghosting over his own as she flexed them every which way.

"How do you maintain this?" she asked, not seeing any of the break-away plates or hinges one would associate with Automail maintenance.

"I don't know… I mean… I guess I never really needed to," the teen answered as he pulled some bandages out through his collar. "I tried oiling it, but all it'd do was slide off, and I can't really take it off, so I guess it's attached to me."

'Permanent attachment? To Automail?' Glynda asked as she leaned forward and tugged on the teen's collar. Her eyes then went wide as, instead of a very clear delineation, what she saw was instead closer to a melding of flesh and machine. Instead of the Housing System that very clearly defined where the flesh began and the machine ended, at the teen's shoulder there was no such delineation; only an off-colored expanse of flesh dominating his right pectoral. As opposed to the lightly-tanned skin on the rest of his body, where the prosthetic limb was attached to the body actually created a gradient, the living flesh seemingly metalized into a mix of chrome and tan.

"C-Could you back up a little please? You're tugging on my shirt," Vincent stammered, Glynda's eyes realizing how deeply she was intruding on his personal space. Hastily straightening his collar and his clothes, the woman sat back down, cupping her chin in thought as the teen across from her looked down at his Automail limb with the same if not more curiosity than she herself.

'His Automail… I've never seen something of this level before,' Glynda mused as she thought back to every other example of automotive armored prosthesis she could recall.

A few of her colleagues, or at least the retired ones, had one or more Automail limbs grafted to their bodies at one point or another. Most-often a replacement was installed after the original limb had been lost to a Grimm or an attack by their fellow man; such a thing was merely the occupational hazard of becoming a Huntsman. However, in a few isolated cases, her peers had gained a hobbyistic interest in Automail, sacrificing normal limb functionality in order to acquire weaponized Automail. Comparing the Automail she'd seen in the past next to the example right in front of her, it was like the difference between night and day.

'It's true that Atlas has made significant advancements with cybernetics in recent years, but even within the top-of-the-line gear given to their highest-ranking officers or councilmen, there was always a very clear delineation between man and machine. What I'm seeing herethis flawless melding… should only exist within the realm of science fiction,' she thought as she continued to look the arm over. "Vincent, are you sure you don't remember anything about this? The progenitor of this Automail could be a very definitive clue as to your original identity."

"I'm sorry, but just like the rest of my memories, where I got it, from whom, and why are all lost on me," he said looking between his two palms, articulating both without any real difference other than aesthetic.

"Well… At the very least, it doesn't appear to be combat-oriented, so I guess we can rule out child soldier," the woman hummed as she looked the limb over. There were no mountings for firearms or slots for retractable blades, and no fold-away crevices meant to hide concealed weapons. For all intents and purposes, it was simply a prosthetic limb without any auxiliary attachment or secondary functionality. "What do you know about Automail?"

"All I know is what Wok told me," Vincent answered. "If you lose a limb and want something more-functionable than a regular prosthesis, you need to have a bio-mechanical engineering specialist surgically install a Housing System onto your body before the actual replacement limb can be installed. I've poured over magazines and catalogues, but nothing on the market matches what I have here."

'Then the possibility exists he could have ties to the black market,' Glynda hummed before shaking her head. 'No. No. Those two don't add up. Even if this were a custom job, there's no way something like this could've leaked without raising a huge fuss in the cybernetics community. Not to mention Atlas has an undeniable lead in Automail research and development, and nothing I've seen in General Ironwood's possession comes anywhere close to the Automail I'm looking at right now. If anyone were to be given access to top-of-the-line prostheses, it'd be him.'

Glynda's relationship with General James Ironwood was tenuous at best, one she didn't like to think about. It was only because he was a long-time acquaintance of Ozpin that she put up with the man at all. For this reason, she'd been acquainted with him both before and after the accident which had cost him half his body.

The exact nature of what had transpired was "classified", a closely-guarded secret within the Atlas military, and the most she'd been able to get out of Ozpin was that what happened to James was a result of hubris in Atlas' pursuit of Spirit Bone. She understood that such a precious resource was something heavily coveted by the Four Kingdoms, some of which would even go as far as to acquire it through less-than-reputable avenues. However what she could not understand was what the pursuit of it had to do with a man losing half of his body.

Normally, Automail was made with a full skeletal frame layered with steel armor-plating to protect the various wires and intricate machinery inside; however, contemporary technological advancements have allowed the development of Automail made from materials such as carbon fiber, fiberglass, chrome, copper-nickel and aluminum alloys, so as to make them less cumbersome and more durable than steel in abnormal conditions. While what James Ironwood had grafted to his body was most-assuredly top-of-the-line using next-generation manufacturing techniques, what he had didn't come anywhere close to the example in front of her.

Once again, what she saw before her existed only within the realms of science fiction. Only it didn't because it was real. This only served to create more questions than it answered.

'Why does Ozpin always attract the strangest people to himself?' Glynda asked raking a hand through her hair before pinioning the teen across from her with an upset look.

"Did I do something to upset you?" Vincent asked worriedly. "You've been quiet for an awfully long time."

"What? No, no, it's not you I'm angry at," Glynda replied as she softened her expression. "I just thought maybe we had some kind of clue as to your identity, but it seems like we're back at square one."

"The scary square?" Vincent asked.

"Sure. The scary square," Glynda sighed. Thinking back on it, having no memories, but knowing you didn't have any memories, must've been incredibly terrifying. For that reason, "square one" being "the scary square" was actually a really apt metaphor for it. "I'm sorry I've seemed inconsiderate to your plight."

"No need to apologize. It's not like saying sorry will change anything upstairs," Vincent said tapping the side of his head. "And it's not like you're the first person to doubt I've lost my memories anyway, so I doubt you'll be the last. Maybe I should just make something up? So people will stop asking?"

"…No, you shouldn't," Glynda said shaking her head. "Maybe it isn't really my place to chime in, since I've never been in the situation you're in now, but… there isn't anything wrong with the person you are now. Yes, you might be different from others, but when was there anything wrong with being different?"

"There's always been something wrong with being different," Vincent answered bitterly, the ire in his eyes a stark contrast to the happy-go-lucky teen she'd gotten to know thus-far. "Every day, I see Faunus getting treated like garbage just because they look different from Humans. Every day, I see the police turn a blind eye to crimes perpetrated against Faunus because of some imaginary line drawn in the sand. So don't pretend like there's nothing wrong with being different from everyone else," he said angrily clenching his right fist, the slight groan of metal an indicator of just how dangerous any form of Automail could become.

"Having to witness something like that… even when you don't fully understand the way the world works around you… I can see how infuriating that must be," Glynda conceded. "What's happening to the Faunus… that needs to change, otherwise mankind has no future. And the fact that someone without any memories can see, can understand how wrong that is… I guess that's pretty telling of how transparent us Humans can be, huh?"

"Yeah… It is," Vincent said interlacing his fingers. "I just… I just don't get it. So what if someone has horns or a tail or even a second set of ears? That shouldn't make any difference. Humans with different skin colors can get along, so why can't Humans and Faunus get along the same way?"

"Because ultimately… Humans are incapable of seeing the bigger picture… They're incapable of seeing the common enemy," Glynda answered. "Maybe these walls, the ones keeping the monsters out… Maybe they just aren't doing anything to stop the real monsters already inside. That's why… That's why I think what you have… or maybe what you don't have, might actually be a blessing in disguise," she said as she laced her fingers together. "You can see what's wrong with the world with an unclouded worldview. That you can so-freely think along these lines, and so-willfully articulate these thoughts without fear of reprisal… I think you might be able to do great things for the world."

"You give me too much credit. All I do is work behind a counter at a convenience store that sells Dust and magazines. I'm no world-changing hero like you and the other Huntsman and Huntresses. I'm only me."

"Maybe. But there isn't anything that says that can't change," Glynda stated.

"Glynda, could you bring Vincent back up please? My friend and I have finished deliberating," Ozpin's voice came over the PA.

"It seems like our time is up," Glynda stated. "Take off your shirt, we'll get your bandages back on before heading up."

"Th-Thank you," the white-haired teen replied as he looked at the pile of bandages on the table before him.

Without another person helping you, covering an entire arm was a really time-intensive chore.

Especially because you had to wrap across your own torso so everything wouldn't slide off.

*GIANT-SLAYER*

"Glynda. Vincent. Welcome back," Ozpin greeted as the two ascended the stairs from the lounge.

"Ozpin, might I inquire the purpose of this meeting?" the blond asked as she adjusted her glasses.

"Wok and I were simply discussing… alternative employment opportunities for the boy," Ozpin replied.

" . . . You mean me, right?" Vincent asked pointing to himself.

"Yes, we mean you," Ozpin replied with a good-natured chuckle. "You start tomorrow morning. I'm sure an able-bodied young man such as yourself can fill whatever holes there are in our employee roster."

" . . . Glynda?"

"Yes, Vincent?"

"Did that sound weird just now, or is that just me?" the teen asked as he picked at his ear.

"No… No, I heard it too," Glynda sighed tiredly. "Don't think about it," she added, realizing the amnesiac didn't know what innuendo was. And probably didn't need to know it right now.

"Hey wait, what about the shop?" Vincent asked worriedly toward the old man. "Don't you need me to help open the store in the mornings?"

In response, Wok simply waved his hand.

"Well, yes, I suppose I understand you've been running From Dust 'til Dawn by yourself well before I came into the picture…" Vincent trailed off. "But still, I'd feel bad leaving you without help like this."

Wok then shook his head, before gesturing out the window, pointing down to the ground before extending his finger toward the horizon.

"Oh my god you're so right!" the white-haired teen realized. "How could I have not seen it before?"

"Vincent, would you care to translate, because, I didn't catch… any of that," Glynda stated, having honestly not caught any of what the old man was saying. Glynda didn't even know who this was apart from how apparently he worked behind a counter and cash register for his day job, yet was on good-enough terms with Ozpin that he would receive preferential treatment.

"Oh, well, Wok said that pink-collar labor is great and good and all, but that at this point in my life I need to be making friends and other forms of acquaintanceship with people my own age, and that this isn't something I can do in a little family-owned Dust Shop away from all the young folk shaping the future of Vale here at Beacon," Vincent translated. "He then went on to say that there's a whole world for me to venture out and see, and that if I don't go out and see it while I'm young, I won't be able to grow beyond the person I am right now if I spent all my time standing behind a counter checking out groceries, Dust, and magazines from eight to four every day."

"How did a shake of the head and a finger-point translate into all that?" Glynda asked incredulously.

"Well, it was all in his expressions," Vincent shrugged.

'Expressions?' Glynda pondered as she gave the old man a once-over, wonder just what his connection was to Ozpin. First time she'd ever met him.

"Anyway, if that's what you really want for me… I'll accept this kindness you've given me… and pay it forward," he said clapping his hands and bowing to the older man, who returned the sentiment with a small smile on his face. "Oh, um… Miss?" he asked turning to Glynda.

"Yes?"

"I… want to apologize for not introducing myself properly. That was very rude of me."

"Don't worry, I don't hold it against you," Glynda waved off. "I didn't really make an effort to learn your name beyond what Ozpin told me either, so we're both at fault here."

"Well, yes, but… I still feel really bad about it," Vincent said scratching the back of his head.

"How about we reintroduce ourselves?" Glynda suggested. "My name is Glynda Goodwitch. It's a pleasure to meet you," the woman said giving a small curtsy.

"And I'm Vincent. Vincent… Valentine," he returned with a formal bow, Ozpin and Wok's brows rising at the teen's declaration. "It's an honor to make your acquain…tance…"

"Vincent…? Vincent, are you alright?" Glynda asked worriedly as the teen trailed off.

"My name… Holy cow, I remembered my name!" Vincent yelped excitedly. "Quick! Ask me something else!"

"Oh, um, okay… What's the name of your hometown?" she asked belting out the first thing that came to mind.

"It's… uh… It is… um…" he rattled off trying to think of something. "…Drat, I've got nothing," Vincent tsked with a snap of his fingers. "I thought I really had something for a moment there."

"Well, look at it this way," Glynda consoled with a hand on his shoulder. "You can tell people your full name now. You're not stuck at the scary square anymore?"

"Hmhm. Scary square?" Ozpin asked with a chuckle, the blond shooting the man a look before she turned her attention back to the amnesiac teen.

"But… I don't get it… I've been trying all month to remember what I remember forgetting… So why am I remembering this now?" Vincent wondered as he stroked his chin.

"Maybe you just needed a feminine touch," Glynda offered with a smile.

"Huh… I guess I did…" Vincent hummed. "Thanks mom!"

"Mo-Mom?!" Glynda yelped with a red face as Vincent smiled brightly at her.

"Hmhmhm. Oh this just keeps getting better and better," Ozpin chuckled as he drank from his beverage.

"V-Vincent, don't you think calling me "mom" is a bit much?" Glynda asked embarrassingly.

"Hm? Oh! Sorry, I meant to say ma'am. Don't know where mom came from," Vincent replied unashamedly. "Hey are you doing okay? You're looking a little red," he said stepping on his tiptoes, the back of his hand going to the woman's forehead. " . . . Yeah, I can't read temperatures like this," he said after a moment. "Wok, a little help, please?"

"Vincent, aren't you embarrassed by this?" Glynda questioned as she schooled her features.

"Hmmm… Nope," Vincent shrugged causing Glynda to tilt ever so slightly. "It was just a slip of the tongue is all. Why? Should I be embarrassed?" he asked. "Was it one of those fox pass things?"

At this, Wok made a gesture with his hand in front of his mouth.

"Faux pas? But there's an X in it," Vincent returned.

Wok returned with a gesture as he pointed to his cheeks.

"But what's there to be embarrassed about accidentally being called "mom" for?" Vincent asked with a tilt of his head. "I think she'd make a great mom!"

"Well, she does love working with children," Ozpin chuckled.

"I know, right? I just feel so safe around her," Vincent said with a bright smile.

"Okay, I think that's enough of that!" Glynda said as she lifted the two off the ground with her Semblance. "If you've got work tomorrow, you really need to start packing," she said as she hurried them along to the elevator.

"Right, of course, how could I forget," Ozpin chuckled. "I will of course leave his orientation in your capable hands, Glynda."

"W-What?!" Glynda yelped as she dropped the two. "Why me?" she demanded as she rounded on him.

"Well, why not you?" Ozpin asked. "After all, Vincent just feels so safe around you. Mom," he said with a grin.

Glynda angrily raised a finger as she glowered at Ozpin, inhaling sharply through her nose. Before she could let out a deluge of choice vernacular on the eccentric headmaster, she was reminded of the presence of a somewhat innocent amnesiac teen, and decided to save her verbal tirade for another time.

"Hey Glynda? What was that Ozpin was saying earlier about me filling in holes?"

"Later!" the woman said hurriedly as the door closed behind them, leaving the headmaster to his own devices.

The headmaster adjusting his spectacles, the man finished his beverage before rising from his chair. Walking over to the window, the man let out a sigh as he closed his eyes, the sound of clockwork washing over him. Basking in the familiar hum he'd grown accustomed to, the man slowly opened his eyes as he looked out to the school below his tower.

Over the decades, Beacon had gone on to shape countless lives, who in turn would go on to shape countless others beyond Beacon's reach. Each and every individual attending the school now was a small mote of light against the darkness, and he hoped beyond hope that what was to come could be stopped before it swallowed them up.

Looking out into the distance, beyond Beacon and even beyond Vale, Ozpin felt the ripples and the waves that no-one else could see. A storm was coming, one that was decades in the making waiting for its moment to strike. And yet, despite how uncertain the future ahead of them looked, regardless of all the unknowns that awaited them, the man could only bring himself to smile fondly.

"It looks like things are shaping up to be an interesting year," he hummed, thinking back on the numerous, vibrant souls he'd taken under his wing.

*GIANT-SLAYER*

WHAM! That's the end of Giant-Slayer, but definitely not the end of the story as a whole.

At 55 Chapters strong and well over 650,000-plus words, it just seemed like a good place to end this story since, after this, it'll be all-original content until the tail-end of RWBY Volume 1. The Stray and Black and White from a narrative standpoint appear to occur "a few months after" the events of Forever Fall, Pt. 2, events that are only vaguely elaborated upon, so all-original content will be dominating the bulk of the sequel until the events of The Stray and Black and White take place in the narrative.

In light of the fact that Giant-Slayer will be entering new frontiers, both in Beacon itself and abroad, the Sequel will hence be named Giant-Slayer: New World. "New World" comes from how I'll be going a little off-the-rails in the months preceding Volume 3.

I'm not sure how long it'll be until the Sequel to Giant-Slayer is out, but I do know I've been pushing my other beloved works onto the back burner, and I desperately want to get back to Young Justice: The Hunter, Teen Titans: Two of Four Elements, and Jackie Chan Adventures: The Child of Prophecy just to name a few. So... Keep this story on your Follow list. When the first chapter of Giant-Slayer: New World is finally posted, there will be an AN posted another chapter of this story.

All this considered, for both my other stories and my real-life commitments, I feel it appropriate to take a "one-year" Hiatus before posting the beginning of Giant-Slayer: New World. That being said, the delay may be subject to change. I don't know. I'm not making any promises.

Still, man oh man has this been a long time coming. Between the literal thousands of PMs exchanged between myself and my Beta/Chief of Research Spaceman in the process of hashing out this story's plotlines and such, all the Reviews, and all the PMs sent my way by the readers, the world of Giant-Slayer has grown larger than originally planned.

Of course, I'm not upset about that, I'm actually quite thrilled to look back and see how much my story has grown. Sure, at first I began publishing earlier-than-intended as soon as I'd learned of Monty Oum's passing, but with time, Giant-Slayer grew beyond its initial purpose as an homage to my favorite CGI animator, branching out into its own vibrant world; a fairy tale in its own right.

That being said, for those of you who've read Giant-Slayer from the very beginning, I hope you're all satisfied with the ride. For those who're new to it, I hope you're equally satisfied. New or old, I'm looking forward to hearing from you again in the sequel.

Oh, and before I put a close to "Volume 1" of Giant-Slayer, a special shout out to all my long-time Readers and Reviewers who've shown their support, whether it was saying what they liked, or what they didn't, as page by page of Giant-Slayer came to be. Special thanks go out to...

KitsuneDragon

0-Tengatsu-0

guisniperman

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GammaTron

ultima-owner

ChiefD3m0n1c

Linkonpark100

Theboblinator

Conman1

Orchamus

Psykotic101

The Sparking Brain

Greywing44

supergifford

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supergifford

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P.S.

Be sure to stay Following for Announcements of future attractions. One-Shots, Off-Shots, and of course, the Sequel you'll all be waiting for.

***THE END***