The coffee was scalding, black and unsweetened and so bitter she nearly choked. Pyrrha drank it anyway. Too quickly—it burned her tongue. It went down hot, searing her throat, and doing nothing at all to ease the icy feeling in her stomach.

She was hungry, too, hungrier than she could ever remember being in her life. It had been there when the transfer first ended. When she woke up this morning the empty aching had intensified, like a freezing void had opened up. So she attacked the cafeteria buffet, hardly tasting any of it, and starting to feel heavy and uncomfortable, but never full. Then she bit into a dish she didn't recognize in the slightest—some kind of stew from Vacuo with flecks of red in it—and felt heat blooming on her tongue, in her throat. It hurt, but it was hot, and warmed her insides almost as much as the hot chocolate had last night. She finished it in a near-frenzy, but it wasn't enough, and without really even thinking about it she reached out and snagged something else she remembered being close to it, a few cubes of meat and vegetables speared through with a stick and covered in a bright green glaze. It was spicier than the stew, and her nose was starting to run. She'd eaten half of it before she noticed the bark of startled laughter and realized she'd just stolen something right off Yang's plate.

She froze, dropping what was left of it with a tiny clatter. "I'm sorry!" she blurted out. Everyone was staring at her—all three teams had gathered for breakfast, and she flushed dark red under all the attention. It was easier to focus her attention on BRYN and ABSW. They all seemed surprised or amused or mildly disgusted, rather than anxious.

Yang blinked at her a few times, then chuckled again. "Geez," she said. "Did you not eat dinner or something?"

Pyrrha frowned. "I... oh. No, I didn't. I'm so sorry!'

"Nah, it's no big deal." Yang smiled warmly at her. Without even breaking eye-contact she made a grab for Russel's plate.

He smacked her hand away. "No. Shoo. Go steal from Ruby. She's your little sister, that's what they're for."

Pyrrha tried for a smile, but didn't quite manage it. Her fingertips were tingling, and the cold feeling had returned with a vengeance now that the hot food was gone. She thought about going back to the table for more, but stopped—more out of an obscure sense of embarrassment than anything else. Some of the others were staring, and her teammates had already been on high alert for any odd behavior. So instead she got more coffee and drank it without letting it cool—fantasizing for half a second about fire, the raging molten heart of a volcano, burning.

"Hey."

She jumped when Ruby spoke, then turned around and smiled apologetically. "Look, um... if you're not feeling well, we don't have to go to the arena."

"I might be called up," Pyrrha pointed out.

Ruby shrugged. "Meh."

"Meh?" Yang crossed her arms and mock-glared at her. "Did you just meh the Vytal Tournament? Who are you and what did you do with my little sister?"

Jaune grinned. "Meh," he echoed.

Russel threw his hands up in disgust. "Does anyone except us understand how important this is?" he demanded. But, since it was Russel, everyone only laughed. He cracked a smile seconds later. "However shall we guard the peace if we don't try to kill each other in friendly sport?"

Dove snorted. "Who fed you that line?"

"Excuse you, I can be witty if I want!"

"With old-fashioned phrasing?"

"I read trashy fantasy novels, okay?"

They devolved into bickering, and Ruby tugged gently at Pyrrha's sleeve. "Seriously, though. We can skip it if you want—it's just a game."

"No." Pyrrha's hand twitched, and the tingling spread all the way up to her forearm. "It's... I can do it, I'm alright." She wasn't, but she couldn't say that. Couldn't act like a freak, or they would shut her out of the tournament.

She shook her head, then poured herself some tea. She might've just drank the hot water, but there was Chamomile there and she'd heard it was soothing. Mostly from Ren, who she considered an authority on soothing.

Pyrrha sat between him and Ruby fifteen minutes later as they settled into the stands and watched the beginning of the one-on-one fights. She didn't recognize either of the first pair called up, which made it hard to focus on them. Ren left his hand on the armrest they were sharing, an open invitation. At one point she touched his arm, letting him wash away her nerves for a moment before withdrawing. She'd hoped it might ease the empty feeling in her stomach.

Ruby's cloak was back with its rightful owner, but her partner had tweaked it so that it lay across her shoulder, and already Pyrrha understood why she wore it everywhere—it soft, thick with the smells of earth and grass stains and rose petals, and the weight of it made it feel warm and solid. She watched the fight without really seeing any of it, scrambling for an equilibrium. Whatever she'd expected, it certainly wasn't this. It didn't feel like something had been poured into her—more like something had been hollowed out.

The crowd broke out in cheering. Pyrrha glanced at the winner—a boy in green with a feather in his cap—and then let her attention wander. That was, she let it wander until she heard Professor Port call her name.

Pyrrha blinked a few times, then stood up. She moved towards the arena and took deep, calming breaths. This, at least, was familiar. But she noticed something in the announcer's box. A flash of green, and a muffled voice coming on over the speakers for just an instant, the words indistinct. Ozpin. She hurried forward. He was going to pull her out of the fight, she just knew it, and she didn't want to give it up. Once she was in the ring the crowd erupted. There was nothing he could do—they'd feel cheated now that they'd heard her name and seen her arrive, there was no excuse he could give them that she wasn't feeling well or—"

"Hello, Pyrrha!"

It was only then that she realized who her opponent was. Across from her, Velvet was smiling warmly. It shook her. Opponents were never friendly in the ring, always solemn or cocky or frustrated. This felt more like sparring, if she ignored the crowd.

It's just a game.

"Er. Yes, I suppose that is odd." Port's voice returned. "You're sure that she was remo—"

"Peter!" Oobleck interrupted him. "My apologies ladies and gentlemen, it appears we're having some technical difficulties."

More muffled conversation, and Oobleck coughed. "Yes, well. If we might have a moment to readjust the microphone—" Feedback rang out, and Velvet cringed and put a hand to her ears.

"Well," she said, her lip quirking into a bashful grin. "This is awkward."

They were standing nearly fifteen feet apart, so she had to raise her voice to be heard above the crowd. Pyrrha smiled back. She was glad it was Velvet—a familiar face, but not someone who would know something was wrong with her. It felt safer here, under the eyes of all the thousands of people watching the event. She could let herself melt away, have her body take over while her mind rested. There was no need to worry, because it was only a game.

Finally the microphone came back on for the third time. "Our sincerest apologies." Port spoke with his usual bluster, but Pyrrha thought he sounded a little unsettled. "Ladies, are you ready?"

They both stood to attention, Velvet taking a step back and holding her hand out. Pyrrha's eyes narrowed. As far as she could tell, her opponent was unarmed—and after the incident with PSEL, that made her instantly suspicious. She'd watched the doubles fights, though she hadn't been as much attention as she normally would, and knew that Velvet usually fought hand-to-hand, never so much as touching the box on her hip. It was a matter of wild speculation amongst audience members as to what exactly was inside.

Pyrrha stood there for a few heartbeats, tensed, feeling real for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Then, Oobleck called for the fight to begin. She charged, savoring the thrill in her blood and wishing she could keep running forever.

Velvet swung her arm. Midway through the motion lines of a pale ghostly light sketched out an outline—a familiar outline. Pyrrha caught the ghostly copy of Nora's hammer on her shield, deflecting it sideways. The impact made her forearm go numb. It might be made out of light, but it had all the weight and force of the real thing. She looked over her opponent's outfit, her eyes catching on the armor on her shoulders and wrists. She had always liked the challenge of fighting without her semblance to depend on, and it was vanishingly rare to find someone who wore this little metal and had non-metallic weapons.

With the hammer knocked far out of line, she tried for a jab at Velvet's chest. She caught that on a shield Pyrrha recognized as Jaune's, ducking backwards a few paces before letting it dissipate. His sword was still in her other hand, and she brought it up to block the next blow from Miló. They dueled like that, back and forth, and Pyrrha realized with a thrill that this mimicry had to be Velvet's semblance. So with hers tied up in summoning weapons and Pyrrha's ineffective against the hard light constructs, this would be a fight based mostly on skill. Her grin widened even further. She really ought to spar with Velvet more often.

Velvet soon dropped Jaune's sword—maybe because her style had become oddly boxy and a bit too predictable when she picked it up. That, and Pyrrha knew it intimately. As she should, she'd taught him quite a lot of it. She allowed herself a small smirk. You won't win with that.

It seemed like her opponent had thought the same thing. She backed off a little, then flicked both hands and materialized a pair of daggers. Russel. Pyrrha had fought him before, too. Sure enough, Velvet began to bounce on the balls of her feet, circling, looking for openings. Miló shifted into its sword form and she slashed at her feet. She hopped nimbly over the attack, just like he might have done. And if this were Russel, he'd want to get in close—

Pyrrha leveled her spear into the predicted charge, only for a trident to thrust towards her chest. She blocked it on her spear, then flinched away when her arm jolted painfully, as if she'd touched a doorknob in the wrong part of winter. Her brow furrowed—that had been the first hit. She hadn't taken the first hit in a long time. Her aura wasn't down far, though. She shoved past the long weapon and aimed a kick for Velvet's stomach. The blue outline shifted again, becoming Yang's gauntlets, and she caught the blow and knocked Pyrrha into a spontaneous backflip.

There was no time to adjust, that was the problem. Every time she got into a rhythm the weapon would change and disrupt it again. Pyrrha marveled at it, she really did—Velvet was practically the perfect counter for her. It irked her, just a little, and what was even more frustrating was the realization that she would have relished this so much more on any other day. Right now she wanted to get lost in the fight, forget herself, let her mind go numb. That wouldn't work when her opponent was this skilled.

Velvet didn't wait for her to come back into striking distance. Instead she reached over her shoulder, and a smooth blue arc formed in her hands even as she drew back, the arrow extending into existence pointed straight at her chest. Pyrrha's stomach lurched and she exploded into motion, knocking the bow away with her shield and aiming straight for her enemy's throat. It was too fast for her to change this time, and she took a glancing blow right at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Pyrrha was breathing hard, now. Something about that image...

She shook her head, looking up just in time to realize that Weiss' rapier was inches away from her eye. That's a touch morbid, she thought, ducking behind her shield once again. Her frantic heartbeat slowed. It was just Lily's bow, the archer RSPR had fought in the team rounds. Only another contestant.

It had jarred her. For a second everything had stopped being a game, and now the frustration was building. She wasn't fighting at her best, she could feel it, she was too distracted and off-balance and it was so hard to think why she cared so much. A glance over her shoulder at the stands revealed her team, looking tiny from this far away. Ruby was jumping up and down, both fists in the air, while Sky cupped his hands around his mouth to cheer and Ren waved serenely.

She swallowed, rallying, and fired her rifle a few times. Velvet dodged them instead of summoning Jaune's shield again. Interesting.

Now she was pressing in closer, and Velvet danced backwards with the help of a long falchion that Pyrrha didn't recognize. It was fairly standard for a Hunter's weapon, and she got the sense that this was a holding tactic. She didn't know what to use, so she burned something mediocre while she got a better idea of what she was doing. It seemed like she didn't get to use a weapon twice—or if she did, she needed a recharge time.

Pyrrha knocked the sword back with her shield and stepped in close. This time she wasn't even surprised when the weapon shifted, becoming two long blades held along Velvet's forearms. She was even quicker with these than she had been with Russel's daggers, and there was a strange quality to how she used them—usually her style felt patchwork, borrowed from whoever the weapon belonged to. This time she was more fluid, as if she'd practiced.

She's using her better ones, now. As she should—it wasn't like she'd ever have another fight like this one.

Pyrrha stumbled, thrown, and one of the blades grazed the underside of her arm. She was still distracted, and frustration was turning to anger. Why did it have to be today, when she couldn't enjoy this? When she couldn't focus enough to win cleanly? Her hands shook, and for a moment she felt as though she'd been punctured and her soul was leaking out, expanding, and she was looking down on her body as the tiny husk it truly was.

Velvet scored her cheek and she snapped back to herself. The crowd had gone mad with jeering. She gritted her teeth. It was beneath her, letting something like that happen.

Another shiver. She could feel the wind picking up, whipping through the stands and blowing hats off some of the civilians. Velvet paused, glancing around in confusion, and Pyrrha aimed for her face. A long blue shaft appeared in mid-twirl, and she shoved out with both hands and drove Pyrrha back. She recognized Sky's halberd and felt something twisting inside, molten hot, and for a second she was thawed, warmed to her toes. Then it slipped away, and she was attacking in a sudden frenzy.

Stupid. If there was one thing that Sky's style had become well adapted for, it was being suddenly bombarded with rapid attacks. Velvet, Pyrrha soon realized, was influenced by the flaws of the fighters she borrowed from but not limited, exactly. Sky was slower, for one thing, and still a little timid in the ring. Velvet wasn't, and she smoothed out the rougher edges of his defenses with her own instincts.

Pyrrha knew how to counter him, though. He relied on momentum just like Ruby did, using both ends of his axe to deflect blows. She stopped it cold by jamming her shield into Velvet's chest, then landed a long slash across her hip. The axe vanished from Velvet's right hand and was replaced by one of Ren's twin guns. She fired with the other, and Pyrrha had to twist back and out of the way.

The wind was still going. It stirred her hair, bringing with it the smell of decaying leaves, sharp and musky. She was larger than life, now, extending into the wind. She wanted to feel it against her skin, snapping madly at her clothes, catching her in its teeth and driving her back, full of shards of ice. Something stirred, and she could feel the temperature drop. Slowly, steadily, nothing someone who wasn't looking for it would notice.

Except, perhaps, for Velvet. Her eyes widened a little and she backpedaled immediately, the blue light transforming again. It was a crossbow—Pyrrha couldn't help flinching again, and this time she was too far away to lash out with her shield. An arrow bounced off her shoulder.

It wasn't frightening, not now that she could feel the weather bending. Clouds were gathering overhead and a light misting of rain was falling. It would come down harder if she pulled, drench her to the bone and leave her shivering and exhilarated. Velvet was so tiny, Pyrrha was so tiny, but she could feel something massive pressing down on her from all sides. Now she knew why they called Dust nature's wrath. The pressure was enormous, pricking at the inside of her skin, wanting to come out and crush this creature in front of her.

Pyrrha shook her head. Suddenly she was adrift, being carried forcibly out to see by an unpredictable current. It's just a game, she told herself, again and again. Only a game, we're sparring, that's all...

A quiet, thin, splintering sound. She looked down, and realized with a shock that there was frost spreading around the soles of her boots. Instinctively she knew that fire would come if she called it, too, white-hot, and soothe away a little of the coldness inside. Or else she could let the rain fall, let lightning come down on her, freeze herself to the bone and laugh with icicles forming at the tips of her fingers like claws. The wind would carry her up, and she would look down on this petty arena and—

Something smashed into the side of her head, sending her reeling. When she could focus again she saw Cardin's mace in Velvet's hand. She was wide-eyed, as if she hadn't actually expected that to work. Pyrrha stared at her for a moment, those warm and trustworthy brown eyes. Then she glanced at the aura readouts and realized that hers was nearly gone, whittled down, and Velvet was only just in the yellow.

She could win. She could lift herself into the air and call unbridled destruction from the sky, but it was only a game. Just a game. Pyrrha breathed out slowly, her breath misting in the air in front of her, and let go. She tried halfheartedly to block the next attack, but was secretly glad when the mace turned suddenly into the massive curved blade of a scythe and collided with the side of her neck.

Pyrrha was knocked flat on her back. She lay there, gasping, listening to the sound of the buzzer going off. Her whole body felt numb. Velvet reached down and offered her a hand.

Like that's some kind of favor. Like a lamb should offer a starving lion a place to sleep...

She didn't take it. Her fingers were trembling, itching, and if she touched Velvet she might do something without even meaning to. Instead she got up on her own, dizzy and confused, and lifted her head towards the stands.

The Invincible Girl is dead, she thought distantly. The arena was far too exposed. The crowd went on forever, crying out in betrayal and rage and dismay, and some were cheering for Velvet, and still others were snarling at each other. The fight broke out somewhere Pyrrha couldn't see. There was a subtle change in the din, anger turning to pain and hatred, and when she looked around a civilian section of the stands had erupted into a sea of flailing hands and feet.

"That is enough!" Ozpin's voice snapped, reverberating through speakers all through the stadium. Pyrrha flinched at the sound of him, fighting down a mad impulse to charge at the commentator's box and... what? Some of the crowd froze where they stood—he had that effect on people. Others kept squabbling, but they lost momentum and the fight died down almost as quickly as it had started.

"Congratulations, Miss Scarlatina," Ozpin said, now speaking calmly and evenly. "And to Miss Nikos—well fought, as always. Your judgment is impeccable."

She whirled around, and a snap of wind hit the box side-on and blew a sheaf of papers straight out the window. They fluttered down like snow, landing in heaps among the jeering spectators. Pyrrha felt her lip curl—were they mocking her?

"Pyrrha!" She turned towards Velvet, and relaxed a touch at the sight of her small, nonthreatening smile. "Um... that was a really good match!"

"Thank you," Pyrrha said, though it came out dull. Her mind was whirling, and she barely even registered her own mouth moving. Everything was on automatic, and she started marching towards the exits. She didn't go back to her team. She kept walking until she was out of the coliseum, took the ferry to Beacon, then curled up somewhere in the woods, her body blanketed in snow as a blizzard writ in miniature raged just ten feet over her head.


Dove and his teammates sat alone in the stands the morning after Pyrrha's loss. RSPR had understandably chosen to avoid the crowds, since some fans were still frustrated and disappointed and expressing such at inappropriate moments. ABSW were supposed to be there, too, but none of them were anywhere to be found. Odd, but they ought to arrive by the time the matches actually started.

It was strange. He hadn't expected his team to get farther than RSPR in the tournament—Yang was tough, strong, and skilled, but... Pyrrha Nikos. She'd been acting strangely ever since, though no one wanted to suggest that she was a sore loser out loud for fear of upsetting either her or Ruby. Or, in Russel's case, because Nora had snapped at him when he brought it up in their dorm the previous evening. It was the most chastened Dove had ever seen him.

The loss alone didn't explain it anyway. She'd seemed ill the morning before, and she definitely wasn't sulking. She was irritable, to be sure, but she also seemed nervous, like she was half-expecting someone to jump out at her. Perhaps being eliminated had a bigger impact on her than it might anyone else. She had a whole public persona based around being the Invincible Girl, and that had to have taken a hit yesterday.

"Brine." Dove looked around and noticed Winter standing in the aisle beside them. Her head was held high, her posture very deliberately straight even in the face of the crowd around her muttering and giving her hateful looks.

"Oh, hi!" Yang waved. "Looking for Weiss?"

"Yes, actually."

"Sorry," Dove said, "but we haven't seen Alabaster yet. I think they're sleeping in."

"Or they ditched the tournament," Russel added, making a face. "No one treats these things with the proper gravitas these days."

Dove stared at him. "Where did you get gravitas from?" Russel stuck his tongue out.

Winter cleared her throat pointedly. "And their dorm? Where is it?"

"I'm not sure if we should—" Dove started to say, but before he could complete the thought he heard Oobleck's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be beginning today's festivities with Penny Polendina—a member of the very first two-person team ever entered into the Festival! She hails from Atlas, and seems quite excited to be here." Sure enough, Dove could see her heading for the ring, bouncing on every third step.

"And for her opponent," Port continued, "representing Beacon Academy, though she has strong ties to Atlas herself—" Oh, no... "—Weiss Schnee!"

Silence.

Port cleared his throat. "Er... I can't quite see her just yet."

"Weiss Schnee?" Oobleck repeated. "Will someone—ah, yes, thank you."

Port's voice returned, this time on a loudspeaker Dove knew would be transmitting to the fairgrounds as well. "Will Weiss Schnee please report to the arena?"

Seconds turned to minutes. Still nothing. Dove glanced at Winter and winced—she was gripping the back of his chair rather hard.

"Well," Oobleck said, after a long, tense silence. "I suppose we'll have to find another opponent for Miss Polendina."

"Where the hell is she?" Winter hissed, going for her scroll. Dove got to his feet, thinking perhaps he might check at ABSW's dorm. They might have just overslept, but...

Russel sighed. "Well, there goes the neighborhood. Anyone have Alabaster's ids?"

"Ruby has Jaune's," Yang said, "but I think that's it."

In the arena, the fight had begun. Dove only caught snatches of it, since his mind was elsewhere, but he found himself goggling in dismay when Penny picked up an entire pillar of ice and upended it over her opponent. He rolled away, popped to his feet, and then had to duck as several floating swords slashed over his head.

"Oh, man!" Yang turned to him, eyes shining. "I can't wait to fight her!"

Winter slammed a hand down on Dove's chair, and he nearly startled right out of it. "Where might they be?" she demanded.

"Uh... dining hall, dorms, courtyard, fairgrounds, they're not allowed in the Emerald Forest but that never stopped us," Russel listed, ticking each item off on his fingers. Winter snarled disgustedly and turned away. Her scroll came up to her ear.

"Weiss."

"You were just called up for a match—they already sent someone else."

"No, listen. Where are you?"

"That's not an answer!"

"Stay put, and don't do anything."

She hung up, pausing to give BRYN a steely look. "If I'm not back in twelve hours, tell Sky to take his theory to the General."

Russel snorted at her retreating back. "That wasn't ominous at all."


Winter caught them at the airfield. There was only one way into Vale, and she had managed to beat them there—Cardin wondered if she'd jumped off the floating coliseum and used glyphs to hop her way down like a demented white bunny rabbit. Either way, he wasn't pleased.

"We can explain?" Weiss wilted under her sister's glare.

"Do."

They all looked at each other. "Well, we wanted to... um..."

Winter's expression hardened. "Don't bother lying to me."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were."

Weiss looked down. "We're trying to go to Mountain Glenn. We think we might be able to find a lead about who set you up, and why it seems like the matches are being fixed to cause tension between humans and faunus."

Winter blinked a few times, taken aback. "You... why Mountain Glenn?"

Blake and Weiss both turned scarlet. Cardin snickered, then stopped when Weiss gave him the Evil Eye—he really wished she'd keep that damn thing covered up, but it wasn't like he could tell her that. She'd burn the eye patch out of spite.

They launched into their second explanation of what they'd done on the team missions, along with a summary of the other research they'd done at one in the morning while holed up in the team bathroom. Winter took it better than Jaune—she didn't even react until Weiss admitted to having been cut by a chainsaw, at which point she pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose and declared, flatly and with no room for argument, that she was coming with them.

"But..." Weiss hesitated. "You aren't going to..." she trailed off.

Winter grimaced. "What am I supposed to do, bring your suspicions to the General? You're convinced it was really the White Fang who caused my... outburst." Her lip curled a little. "I'd sound like I was trying to pin the blame on other faunus, it doesn't take a genius to see how that would go."

"Are you?" Neptune asked coldly.

Winter raised an eyebrow. "I personally have no idea who might have orchestrated this," she said. "One of your classmates seems to think it involved an illusionist, but I haven't seen any proof of that. All I know for a fact is that I saw him there."

"He wasn't," Weiss said. "I'm certain of that."

"Are you?"

"Yes!" Weiss huffed, looking annoyed. "He helped us fight them at the docks. And, honestly..." She glanced at Sun. "I can't even picture him joining. It doesn't work."

"Uh, thanks?" Sun's tail flicked back and forth.

"You need discipline to join a terrorist cell," she joked, tossing him a smirk.

He rolled his eyes and swatted playfully at her arm. "Yeah, yeah. I still say it's more of a cult." Blake winced.

"So, wait." Jaune held up a finger. "Are... uh, are you letting us go?"

"I haven't decided yet." Winter looked them all up and down, her eyes narrowed. "Why are you doing this, rather than reporting it?"

Blake glanced at Weiss, then said, "We'd get frozen out. I know more about them than most, and... I need to know if they're a part of this. I have to see it for myself."

"We were going to ask Brine and Raspberry," Jaune added. "It's just that... I'm not sure what's going on with Raspberry but it seems like they already have way too much to deal with, and we couldn't bring one without the other."

Winter tapped her fingers against her hip, this time looking directly at Weiss. "And you want to try and fight them again? Even after..."

"I'm not useless." Weiss folded her arms. "Besides, I... I don't think you did anything wrong. Not on purpose. I want to prove it."

Her expression softened a little. "I appreciate that." Then she touched her hip again. Cardin noticed that her saber was gone. "I'm not letting you go alone, but... I've been suspended."

Weiss' eyes widened. "What? But—" Then she stopped. Scowled. "Right. I suppose... if we don't have proof you were set up, that does make sense."

"It's the right thing to do, if he really wasn't there," Winter admitted grudgingly. "I can still use my summons, and..." She made a face. "I suppose I can empathize with you wanting closure of your own."

"So... you'll help us?"

"Yes."

Weiss' face lit up. "That's great! I mean, um..."

"Okay, whatever." Neptune threw his hands up and turned to Sun. "If you don't care—which is insane, by the way—then I don't care."

"More supervision definitely sounds like a good idea," Jaune agreed. "But, uh... we did run into a snag."

Weiss winced. "Right. We... aren't sure where to go. We need to get into the tunnels between Vale and Mountain Glenn, but we don't know where the entrance is."

"The tunnels were closed," Winter told them. "There shouldn't be any way in."

"But there has to be." Blake frowned, running a hand through her hair. "We saw them moving things onto the tracks, and there's nothing in Mountain Glenn. The only way it makes sense is if they're planning on coming back to Vale."

"We can look, I suppose," Winter said, doubtful. "I know where they used to be."

She led the way onto the next airship. Cardin stared out over the city, frowning. This was completely insane. His team was completely insane, BRYN and RSPR were completely insane, Beacon was completely insane, and it looked like the Haven students weren't much better. Not for the first time, he wondered just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Still, he wasn't some kind of wuss and he wasn't going to back out. He followed after Winter, along with the rest of their group of seven—not bad odds, even if one of them was unarmed and therefore probably mostly useless, and another was Jaune and counted as only about half a fighter. She lead them to a particularly decrepit building in a part of Vale that was shabby but not nearly as rundown as Woodacre had been. The place was sealed off and locked up tight with several rusted padlocks, with no sign to indicate what it used to be.

They went inside anyway. It turned out Blake knew how to pick locks, and Cardin only stopped himself from asking where and why exactly she'd learned how to do that because he knew Jaune would whine at him about it for ages afterward. Still—if she'd never burglarized a human's house or shop, he'd eat his mace.

The inside was worse than the outside. Cardin realized with a start that, despite its old and abandoned appearance, its outer wall had been painted over. It must have been, because there was graffiti on the inside from floor to ceiling. Some was fresh, and there were indications of more hidden under coats of paint, like graffiti was put up and then painted over and then recreated again. Things like Never Forget, and, the Price of Greed were written huge and spiky in angry reds, inky blacks, and stark whites. Grimm colors.

There was a staircase set into the back wall, descending down under the earth. It got too dark for the humans among them to see, but Jaune had brought four flashlights that they shared amongst themselves. Another iron gate, locked again, and this time when she tried to open it Blake just shook her head and said that it was welded closed. Shrugging, Jaune swung at the chain and broke it in two clean hits. Further inside there was more of the graffiti, and it got... eerie. Hyper-realistic renditions of Creeps, Taijitu, and Deathstalkers were painted on the tiles. At the end of the staircase, where it turned into the first subway platform, an entire wall was taken up by one word, scrawled in an unusually messy way in eight-foot-tall capital letters—HELP.

"I can see why they locked it up," Weiss said quietly. "This is just the sort of thing that would draw more Grimm."

"Why'd they do it, if it's only going to make things worse?" Neptune asked.

"Catharsis." Winter led the way further in, holding up one of the flashlights. "The people who painted these likely lost family to the fall of Mountain Glenn, or are survivors themselves. No one else will see them, and these paintings release feelings they might otherwise have bottled up. Net positive."

"Or dwelling on it like this only makes it worse," Blake added. "And the fact that the city buried the murals adds more fuel to the fire."

"Or that, yes. I've never approved of the way Vale handles the darkest parts of its history, but I suppose Atlas isn't much better."

Blake snorted. "No, it isn't."

"It's fucked up, whatever they did it for," Cardin said, kicking at a painted Creep with his boot and scuffing one of its legs. Jaune grabbed his shoulder and gave him a look, to which he rolled his eyes.

The platform itself wasn't much to look at, if you ignored the Grimm on the walls. Dingy, oppressively dark even with the four flashlights, and full of bits of trash and cigarette butts that must be decades old. The only clear difference between it and any other subway was the fact that all four tunnels going in and out of the station had been bricked in with massive cinderblocks, nearly as wide as Cardin was tall. On those bricks, the graffiti artist or artists had painted a crowd of people, standing with their hands at their sides, their expressions solemn. Accusing.

Weiss looked around. "There's no way through, then?"

"There shouldn't be," Winter replied.

"Wait." Blake pointed into one corner, where the darkness was thickest. Sun followed where her finger was indicating and perked up. "I think there's something there."

They approached and found a hole in the wall. It was tiny, probably not more than three feet square, and covered over with a steel grate with bars thicker than his biceps. It was attached to the concrete with screws designed to be impossible to remove.

"Well, that's just great." Cardin folded his arms across his chest. "Why the hell would anyone bother?"

"There are some people with clearance to visit Mountain Glenn," Winter replied. "Historians and archaeologists, mostly. There must have been an actual door here that was sealed off after the most pressing academic questions were answered."

"Could we bust it open?" Sun asked.

"No." Winter paused. "Well, yes, but we'd then be leaving an opening for Grimm to enter Vale, which is unacceptable."

"How about unscrewing the bars?" Weiss fidgeted a little. "I mean, I don't think I have enough control with my glyphs, but..."

Winter sighed. "I could, yes."

"Will you?"

She thought about it for a minute, her eyes narrowed. "You really think this is connected with what happened at the Festival?"

"Yes."

"Fine, then."

That was all well and good for Weiss, who was small enough to ride around in a damn duffel bag, but Cardin couldn't even crawl through the opening. He had to squirm on his stomach, with Jaune on the other side pulling on his arms and Blake grabbing his ankles and pushing him. When he finally slithered out into an even darker, dingier tunnel, this one with more normal graffiti that probably predated the fall of Mountain Glenn, he was covered in grime and ready to kill something.

Then, once Winter had finished replacing the grate, they walked. For hours. He'd gone in expecting either a boring trip that ended quickly or a dangerous trip that took the whole day. He hadn't thought it would be boring and take forever.

"We have to be like halfway there by now," Neptune said, looking around in bafflement.

"Not quite," Blake replied. "The halfway point is around where that base we found was, and... we'd notice if we passed it."

"You might have mentioned that earlier," Winter gritted out.

The tunnel eventually curved so that they could only see about thirty feet ahead of them. It went back and forth, snakelike, which Winter explained was because it sometimes had to veer around natural cave formations like the ones that had opened up and doomed the citizens of Mountain Glenn who hid in these same tunnels.

That was why neither of the faunus saw it. No one heard it, either, because they had started talking so that none of them would go completely insane with boredom. Their warning finally came when Blake's head snapped all the way around, and then Weiss pointed her flashlight down the tunnel. A train came hurtling around the bend, nearly silent except for the clacking of the wheels. It was weird seeing a train and not hearing the iconic whistle.

In half a second it was almost on them. The others leapt out of the way, but Cardin didn't—if it were supposed to be there, it would have had a light on. Since it wasn't, it was probably the thing they were coming to stop, and it was going way too fast for them to board.

Cardin crouched down, set his feet, and held both arms out in front of him. His semblance locked him in place instants before the train hit. There was a crash, the shriek of metal, and the next thing he knew he was lying on his back, staring upwards at the underside of the train, with wind howling around him and the sound of the wheels on either side deafening him. Searing pain spread through his arms, from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. Someone was shouting, or screaming, or maybe there was more than one person. It was hard to tell, he was still trying to process what he was seeing. Then the last car rolled over him, and he realized that he'd ended up in between the tracks.

"Cardin!"

He sat up, and someone grabbed his hand. They were moving a lot faster than they had any right to, and he was dragged backwards for several feet, swearing at the top of his lungs as the pain his left arm doubled. Then he was in the air, and a moment later he was being pressed against the back of the train. Blake was next to him, throwing an arm out to keep him from falling off again, balancing with one foot on a narrow ledge and her hand clasped in one of Jaune's.

Sun pulled him by the collar onto the roof of the car where he collapsed bonelessly. Jaune laid a hand on his back, and he felt his aura returning in a languid wave. That, he realized, was the fastest it had ever been fully depleted. The agony in his arms became a sharp pain, then a dull ache, and then vanished entirely.

"You're okay!" Jaune panted.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I hate you so much. Seriously. Who jumps in front of a train on purpose?!"

"It worked, didn't it?" He lifted his head and scowled at his leader. Jaune muttered irritably under his breath, then rested his hand on Cardin's shoulder. He blinked, startled.

"What's up with you, anyway? I'm fine."

"You jumped in front of a train and then disappeared under it," Weiss snapped. "It was a little unsettling."

He blinked a few times, then sat up. Looked around. Smirked. "What, were you idiots worried or something?"

Weiss kicked him in the shin, which was basically a yes.

"Aw, that's adorable!" he continued, in mocking falsetto.

"Hate you," Jaune repeated. Blake scowled and threw his mace at his head. He caught it one-handed, satisfied that at least there weren't going to be any embarrassing waterworks.