I'm genuinely considering go back and editing to make Atlas a floating city like it is in canon. It's too cool an idea to let go to waste.

I guess it'd be a retcon, but only a small one; there wouldn't be any massively consequential changes to the story thus far: basically just some slight revisions to JNR/Vengarl's journey there and one or two lines regarding the layout and aesthetic of the city. Most of the V4 Atlas stuff took place in Irithyll anyway.

Obviously none of this will matter going forwards until we get back to Atlas (which is a long way off), but would it bother y'all greatly if I make that change even with those chapters already being published?

"Here." Sirris stopped, crossing her arms. "This is where it happened."

How she could tell was anyone's guess. There weren't any distinguishing landmarks. The vague shape of the ground was almost completely hidden, made flat and uniform by the snow save for the odd shoot of greenery defiantly pushing up through the white. The tundra stretched endlessly from horizon to horizon.

Still, Winter supposed, it seemed that Sirris had been living out here most of her life, if not all of it, and as curious as she was she didn't need to understand her methods to trust her judgement.

Sirris sighed and wiped at her forehead with the back of her arm. "I guess there's not much to go on, is there?"

"That's fine," Gilderoy said. "You said it was during a storm, didn't you?"

Sirris nodded.

"There's no way we'll find prints, then, but if Hodrick was conscious he might have left a trail for us to follow. Which way did they go?"

It was a long shot. Even assuming he'd been alive—which Winter still wasn't entirely convinced about—and conscious, most civilians wouldn't have the presence of mind to leave breadcrumbs.

Regardless, if Hodrick had left anything at all behind they'd have a chance. One of Winter's summons could track it. Grimm relied more on following emotion than traditional tracking methods like scent and sound, but they still had the capability.

Sirris pursed her lips. "I don't remember, exactly," she said. "It all looked different in the blizzard."

"But you're sure we're in the right place?"

She nodded. "We take the herd to graze over that ridge," she said, pointing to a shape some twenty, thirty metres away. Winter hadn't even realised there was a ridge there. It was hard to judge distance amidst all the snow; until it'd been pointed out it looked as far away as the rest of the horizon. "I think…" She stepped past Gilderoy and scuffed the snow with her foot. "He was here when I saw them. And I was coming back from the herd—they didn't want to move in the storm—and it took Grandad directly away when it saw me, so… they started off in that direction. I don't know where they went from there."

Gilderoy knelt down where she'd indicated, running a hand through the snow.

"Wouldn't you be able to see better without the helmet?" Sirris asked.

He gave her a look—unreadable, but Winter didn't really need to read it to guess he was irritated—then moved forwards a few paces. "There's something here."

"How can you tell?"

"Just help me dig."

They hadn't brought shovels, but it wasn't hard to shove the snow aside with their hands and they didn't have to dig very deep to find what they were looking for. Cold and dark, it was no larger than an egg, and its surface reflected the light.

"Is that Grimm blood?" Sirris asked, holding it up.

"It must have frozen before it even hit the snow," Gilderoy said. "Seems like it was quite the storm."

Or a very strange Grimm, Winter mused, but it was pointless to ponder either point. It only meant only one thing for sure. "Hodrick put up a fight, at least."

It wasn't what she'd expected but it would do fine. It would be a stronger scent to follow than that of any of Hodrick's personal effects, unless he was particularly pungent.

She raised her hand and called a glyph into being, summoning a beowolf from it a moment after. Sirris, surprised, reached for the sword hanging from her belt before realising it wasn't hostile.

"Let it smell it," Winter said.

Sirris held up the blood cautiously. It was already beginning to melt from the warmth of her hand, sweating droplets and releasing an odour like tar mixed with sulphur.

The beowolf sniffed at it, then raised its head to sniff the air, then down to snuffle in the snow. It wandered for a moment, searching for the trail.

Then its tail started to wag and it set off, nose still to the ground, towards the storm cloud that brooded on the horizon.

/-/

Artorias was still gone.

It wasn't surprising. It wasn't even disappointing. It was a relief.

Quelana knew they'd have a long and difficult conversation about what had transpired, but it wasn't a conversation she wanted to have first thing in the morning.

Or first thing after waking up, rather, because it was hard to tell what time it was underground. Her scroll informed her it was seven-thirty. She had no missed calls. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It meant he probably hadn't gotten drunk, but she also had no idea where he was. It was an unfamiliar city to them both, and for all she knew he'd slept in a dumpster.

Sighing, she composed a message to him, deleting it and starting over a few times before settling on one that seemed right.

I'm sorry about last night. Please let me know you're safe.

Hardly a minute after she sent it, her scroll rang. She answered.

"Arty? Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah." He sounded tired, and the speaker was crackly. Local comms had a much more limited effective range underground. "I got your message. Well, I saw that you sent one. Couldn't read it: screen's all cracked. Thought I should call in case it's important."

"Where are you?"

"I'm crashing with Neo and Roman. He says he managed to get us that airship ride, which is good, I guess. We're supposed to meet them at a hangar up on the cliffs at nine tomorrow. Have you spoken to Lara?"

"Not yet."

"Alright. I'm going to stock up on supplies. Neo says the dust refinement here sucks, so I could skip the powder and just get a few more crystals instead if you'd like. Or I think that's what she was saying, anyway. Hard to know."

"Arty…" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can we talk? In person?"

For a long while he said nothing. Then, his voice as flat and measured and empty as it had been before, he said, "I'll see you this afternoon, maybe. Or tonight. Or tomorrow morning. I don't know. Good luck with Lara."

He hung up before she could respond.

Suddenly talking with Lara didn't seem quite so intimidating. At least with her the other party would be willing to have the conversation in the first place.

She took a moment to gather herself before leaving her room. Lara and Oscar were already out in the inn's common room, empty plates before them, chatting idly.

Quelana sat with them. They both fell silent.

She stared at her hands. "Hey."

Lara responded in kind. "Hey."

Silence again.

Oscar broke it. "Is Artorias—?"

"He was gone when I woke up," Quelana said. "He's picking up supplies. You might be able to find him at a dust shop or something, if you're looking for him." Really she just wanted Oscar gone again so she and Lara could talk in private. Why Oscar would want to look for him was beyond her. But he'd been the one to bring up Arty in the first place.

Oscar nodded and stood. "I guess I'll see you two later."

After he was gone, Quelana glanced up at Lara. "He's strange."

"You don't know the half of it."

A long pause. Quelana looked back down at her hands and tried to find the words to apologise.

Lara spoke first.

"You know," she said, "the last thing our mother ever said to me was that I was a 'vicious little mistake'. I remember wishing you were there to hear it."

"It doesn't make me happy to know she finally turned on you too," Quelana said.

Lara shook her head. "That's not what I mean. I just thought you would have really liked to hear her admit, for once in her life, that she'd screwed up."

Quelana snorted. "Yeah. I guess that would have been nice. I'm sorry about what I said last night. I was angry at Mum and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

Lara nodded. "I forgive you."

Quelana blinked. "It's… that easy?"

"Yeah."

Quelana didn't know what to say.

"Just don't do it again."

Quelana's mouth opened as she tried to speak. "I… what?"

"And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too," Lara said. "Not for last night—I stand by everything I said last night—but for all the years before. Mum was terrible to you and I enabled it. But I'm better than that now. Or I'm trying to be."

She supposed that by 'everything' Lara meant when she'd said Ana was free to hold a grudge against her, just to stay away if she did.

"I don't hate you, Lara."

"Good." Lara sighed. "This is probably going to sound callous, but I actually used to be jealous of you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Because Mum didn't care about you. You could do whatever you liked."

Ana snorted. "I used to be jealous because she loved you."

"She loved certain ideas about me, I guess. But it felt like a lot of pressure. She always wanted me to be a huntress. I still don't know what I want to do with my life, but having had a few recent brushes with danger I don't think it's for me. I don't know why she couldn't just be happy you were living that life instead."

"Maybe it was an ego thing," Quelana said. "Some people are weirdly obsessed with firstborn kids. And you look more like her than the rest of us do."

"Gods, don't remind me," Lara said. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about her. She's not pleasant conversation."

"Agreed."

"How long are you staying in Wind Path?"

"Not long. Arty and I are heading up to Halgot tomorrow morning."

Lara tilted her head. "Halgot?"

"Huntress business."

"One of the lunatics talking about the weird-special-eye-powers was headed up there. His name's Hazel. Big guy, seven foot maybe. Lots of scars on his forearms. Be careful up there."

"We'll be alright," Quelana said. "We've trained for this."

"Right."

"What about you? Where will you go?"

Lara shrugged. "I might stick around here for a bit. Find some work. Guess if you're leaving tomorrow that can wait until later, though. I should probably head back to Vacuo once I've saved a little. I miss our sisters." She sighed. "I don't know if they'd be happy to see me, though. Arty said they never mentioned me."

"That's because I asked them not to," Quelana said. "Arty and I had just started dating and I didn't want them to scare him off with family drama."

"You two are dating?"

"Not anymore." That was something she didn't want to talk about, especially after what had happened last night. "They miss you too. Trust me."

/-/

Despite Roman and Neo having two sleep-worthy couches and a blow-up mattress, Neo had still made Artorias sleep on the floor, pushing the couches together and balancing the mattress on top to take for herself. The couches were different heights, leaving the mattress on a slight tilt. It couldn't have been comfortable for her either.

He admired her dedication, but it was small comfort for how stiff his neck was.

Apparently it was only the dust at licensed stores that was low quality, and the stuff sold at the black market was fine. That, however, was harder to find—Roman had said it moved around the lower deeps—and likely out of Artorias' price range besides, so he found himself at some dingy little store just inside the north-road gate.

Neo was with him, though why was beyond him. As far as he knew she wasn't buying anything, though he suspected she'd lifted cash from a few people's pockets on the way. What bothered him most about that was that the store's security guard was watching him very closely, while Neo was wondering around completely unsupervised.

Not that there was much to steal in the dust shop. Nothing of great value, anyway. Behind the counter were a dwindling number of vials and cases stamped with the SDC logo, all being sold for exorbitant prices. Everything else was unbranded. The powdered stuff looked to have sawdust fillers in it. Almost all the crystals had obvious—and probably volatile—imperfections, and a few were even unpolished. The dust rounds looked to be made from recycled casings.

He picked out a dozen crystals that didn't look like they'd blow up on contact with each other, all of them burn dust, and took them up to the counter.

The cashier was just some kid, maybe still in high school. "You didn't want to mix it up a bit?" he asked jokingly.

Artorias glared at him.

"...never mind."

The cash register beeped, and the cashier barely managed to turn his muttered curse from fuck to frick. "Sorry. I put something in wrong. This is like my third day here."

Artorias looked back to him as he tried to undo the error. "It's fine. Didn't mean to be so hostile. Just having a bad day." He leaned in. "Am I your worst customer so far?"

"Not by a long shot. Been yelled at seven times already. I told the first two I have no control over the dust shortage, but they didn't really care. Stopped trying after that."

"What's going on with that?"

"The SDC stopped exporting recently. There's a dust mine under the city, though. Nothing like the ones up in Atlas, but still, somehow we're not getting any of it up here. All this stuff here is being imported from down south, pretty sure. But then some idiot blew up the train tracks and now they've gotta ship everything in by air. Half the damn dust gets used in transit." He shook his head. "I get that it sucks that prices are so high, but what am I supposed to do about it? I haven't even gotten my first paycheck yet."

The cashier kept on about how the dust shortage was leading to tram and elevator outages between the second and fourth deeps, and how annoying it was that he had to walk to university now, but Artorias tuned most of it out, glancing around for Neo. She must've left the store when he wasn't looking. Looked like she'd pocketed some dust too—the grav dust section was looking emptier than when they'd come in. Shock dust too.

The security guard hadn't noticed, naturally.

Once payment had been sorted out Artorias stepped outside, and was about to call Neo's name when she emerged from a side tunnel, dragging some kid behind her by the arm. It took Artorias a moment to realise it was Oscar.

"Hey! Let go of me!" Oscar protested, then was promptly deposited at Artorias' feet.

He sighed. "Neo, if you want to steal the odd wallet or two I'll turn a blind eye, but I'm not going to help you kidnap small children."

"I'm fourteen!"

"Oh, well that changes everything. Which kidney are you least attached to?"

While Oscar protested, Neo gave Artorias an indignant look and made a walking motion with two fingers of her right hand.

Artorias tilted his head.

Neo rolled her eyes and repeated the gesture, this time with both hands, one after the other.

"Oscar, why were you following us?"

"I wasn't! I was just looking for you."

"Is something wrong?"

Oscar climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. "I don't think so." He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we talk in private?"

Artorias glanced around. It wasn't a particularly busy part of town, but they were far from alone either. "Come on." He grabbed Oscar by the shoulder and pulled him over to the service tunnel for the district's lighting systems.

"I was more talking about her," Oscar said tilting his head towards Neo meaningfully.

Neo crossed her arms and huffed.

"Neither of us are getting rid of her. What's going on, Oscar?"

"Fine. Fine. Qrow filled you in the whole Ozpin thing, didn't he? Or June did?"

It took Artorias a moment to work out which specific 'Ozpin thing' he meant. Reincarnation. Specifically of the body-hopping variety rather than June's rebirth kind. "I really don't like where this is going."

"Well, he doesn't like that you're in cahoots with her," Oscar said, jabbing a finger at Neo, "and I think I understand why."

Neo rolled her eyes and made a pinching motion. Artorias didn't quite understand that one, but it didn't seem important.

"I have to say, I like that we're calling it 'cahoots'," Artorias said drily. "So. You're the new Ozpin."

If looks could kill, the look Oscar gave him would have at least poked at his aura. "She didn't need to know that."

"Seemed kind of obvious."

"She probably thought I was just a spy or a messenger or something!"

Neo made a so-so gesture leaning towards a thumbs up.

"If it makes you feel any better, I trust her. More or less," Artorias said.

"And Ozpin says he thinks you're very stupid."

Neo nodded in agreement.

"Whatever. What does Ozpin want?"

Oscar gave Neo another look.

"Like I said," Artorias said. "We're not getting rid of her. You're welcome to try."

Oscar shrugged. "Apparently you're supposed to be in Vacuo."

"Been there. Now I'm here. June agreed that somebody needs to take care of Adam and the White Fang."

Neo gave him a sharp look, but didn't try to communicate anything else.

Oscar pursed his lips and nodded. "What about Qrow? Vengarl? Team Ruby?"

"Haven't heard from them since I left Vale. Qrow and Team Ruby were going to pick up Cinder's trail in Mistral. Vengarl and Team Juniper were going to Atlas."

Oscar nodded slowly. "I don't even know who half these people are. I'm just saying things Ozpin tells me to."

"Is that weird?"

"A little."

"Can I talk to him directly?"

"I'd… rather not."

"You'd rather be a very awkward messenger?"

Oscar sighed. "Fine. But I'm taking over again once you're done, okay?"

He slumped for a second. A strange glow passed over his eyes before fading, and he stood upright again, posture much-improved.

"This ought to be much quicker, I agree," Ozpin said, then looked to Neo. "I still don't approve of the company you keep."

"Well, you kinda died, so I wasn't really going out of my way to look for your approval."

"Hm. I suppose she has information on Cinder, then?"

Artorias narrowed his eyes. Frankly he had no idea. He'd never thought to ask. He glanced to Neo.

She shrugged.

"It doesn't matter," Artorias said dismissively. "What do you want with Lara?"

"She's not a fighter, perhaps, but she's not entirely without talents. Her eyes—"

"You can stop at 'she's not a fighter'," Artorias said. "This isn't the life she's chosen." She seemed really rather against it, given the general disdain she'd shown towards her supposed 'special eye powers'.

"Mr Nym, this is not a trivial matter. Were she informed—"

"Informed? You'll tell her just enough to get the outcome you want but not enough to scare her away."

"Mr Nym—"

"Pyrrha wasn't 'next in line'. She was chosen by you because you knew she would accept."

"She was chosen because she could handle the—"

"Really? She died the next night. Doesn't sound like she was ready to me." He scowled. "You played me too. The only reason I was there was so she'd feel like there was a student on your side. Like there was someone to look out for her. Maybe I could have if I hadn't been just as confused as she was."

"You were there at June's insistence, not to—"

"Don't lie. Glynda told me the truth."

Ozpin pursed his lips. "Mr Nym, I've been at this a very long time. Miss Nikos' death was unfortunate and it grieves me greatly, but I did not mean her harm. I didn't mean to manipulate her. Or you. You must trust me: the decisions I made all seemed right at the time."

"An awful lot of them turned out wrong. Pyrrha's dead. Penny's dead. Gil and a whole score of civilians are dead."

"I didn't know about Penny."

"Bullshit." Winter had said she'd known and she hadn't even been specifically assigned to watch over Penny, so it must've been fairly well-known among the military, at least among those stationed at Beacon over the tournament. There was no way Ozpin hadn't at least caught wind of it, even giving him the benefit of the doubt that Ironwood hadn't outright told him.

"I'm not lying," Ozpin said. "I didn't know. I've made mistakes—I'll admit to that—but not once have I lied to you."

"Haven't you? I spoke to Raven, you know."

"And? Raven has many opinions about many things."

"And most of them are idiotic," Artorias agreed, "but she did mention the name Patches."

It was a stab in the dark. It was the only thing she'd talked about that had seemed like nonsense to him, and from that he'd assumed it was either a bluff or some great secret. But now fear crossed Ozpin's face, and it confirmed the latter: that whatever else Raven thought, she was right about Ozpin.

Because, whoever Patches was, it wasn't a name Raven was supposed to know. And if she knew this secret—whatever it was—then she very likely knew the rest. The source of Ozpin's immortality, for instance, that Ozpin himself had insisted was a mystery even to himself.

Artorias now doubted that very much.

"Some secrets are best left unspoken," Ozpin said weakly.

"Then don't speak them," Artorias said. "But don't expect me trust anything you say either. If you try and drag Lara—or any other silver-eyed innocents—into this, I'll—" He cut himself off, scowling.

Ozpin's eyes glazed over, and a moment later he slumped. "He's gone up here again," Oscar murmured, tapping the side of his head. "My head hurts."

Artorias' bad mood was getting worse, but he pushed it down as best he could. "Sorry."

"Were you going to threaten to kill him?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want you to kill me. Don't want to die at all, really. At least not for a very long time."

"I can imagine."

"He hides things from me too, you know. And all the… thoughts that he has about Lara. The plans. I don't like it either. It feels wrong."

"Do you think you can keep him in check?"

"He doesn't always give me a choice. And sometimes I don't really know which thoughts are his and which are mine." He took a deep, unsteady breath, then let it out. "I didn't want to work on a farm for the rest of my life, but this isn't what I had in mind."

"I wish I could tell you it's not too late for you, but honestly I don't know what'll happen to you with Ozpin in your head. I've never seen this reincarnation thing before."

"Yeah. Figures." Oscar sighed and gestured vaguely at the mouth of the tunnel. "I'm going to go. Clear my head for a bit." He wandered away, rubbing at his temples.

Artorias let out a long breath ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at Neo. "How much of that made sense to you?"

She marked the top of a scale with one hand and the bottom with the other, then gestured somewhere between thirty and forty percent.

Then she made a circle around her ear with a finger.

Artorias supposed it must have seemed that way.

"Would you tell me if you knew anything about Cinder?"

Neo shrugged.

"Any other accomplices? Aliases? Addresses?"

She looked at him incredulously—as if Cinder just handed out a home address to her frankly untrustworthy subordinates—then sighed. Her semblance flashed through a few faces, most of which he already knew. Roman first. Then Mercury, Emerald, Sulyvahn, Raime, Lapp—that one was a surprise—and finally Adam.

After that last one, she made a claw shape with three fingers, then pointed to him and mimed a throat being cut.

"He's that bad, huh?"

Neo rolled her eyes but offered no further comment.

Artorias adjusted his grip on the pouch of dust. "I guess I should get this back and… well." Ana would probably be waiting. "You coming?"

She made a so-so gesture.

"It's a yes-or-no question. Do you want to come or not?"

She nodded confidently, then made the so-so gesture again.

"I'm confused."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, dragging him back towards the inn.

/-/

The storm was moving away, but the beowolf followed it.

Sirris could see the signs of its passing, though Winter couldn't. Apparently it was in the density of the snow. A thick layer of it had settled only recently. Early on, Winter considered turning back and catching up to the storm by air, as it was very clearly their destination and after a certain point the tracking was only a formality. But she dismissed the thought. The storm was moving slowly enough that they were gaining ground on it, and it'd be too hard to land close by besides. They'd only lose time turning back.

They were on edge of the storm, the wind dragging at their hair and clothes, when Sirris dropped back to fall in step next to Winter then nodded in Gilderoy's direction up ahead just behind the beowolf. "What's his deal?"

Winter didn't respond. What Gilderoy chose to tell people about his condition was his own business, not hers.

"I thought huntsmen and huntresses were supposed to be friendly. Uplifting."

"It's advisable, but not required," Winter said. "Neither are we required to be dispensers of any and all personal information."

"So you know. You just won't say."

Winter glanced sidelong at her. "If you want to know something about somebody, ask them yourself."

"If I'm going to argue for him to attend the equinox, I'd like to know something about him. And he doesn't seem especially talkative."

"You'll argue for him regardless. That was the deal."

"I'm young. My word alone doesn't have much weight, so having a few positive things to say would be a very good idea. My grandad's word would be a huge help, if he's still alive, but..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"You think he's dead."

"No. He's alive. I know it here." She pressed a hand to her chest through her furs, clasping at a metal talisman shaped like tree roots. "But something feels off. Maybe it's just what Gran said." She shuddered. "Spring's a bad time for it."

They drew closer. The wind grew stronger, and the once-clear air became thick with sleet. At one point they almost lost sight of Gilderoy up ahead through the haze. Winter wasn't concerned—she could sense her summoned beowolf up ahead—but Sirris called out to him, and when he stopped to glance back all they could see of him were two white lights emitting from his eyes, piercing through the storm.

"Some helmet," Sirris muttered, unsettled, then continued on.

It wasn't long afterwards that Winter lost the beowolf.

She heard Gilderoy shouting up ahead, and, telling Sirris not to come too close, she summoned a glyph to propel herself forwards.

Her head hurt.

In the eye of the storm, a headless shadow stood. Bony wings protruded from its back, and darkness dripped from its form like feathers. Six red eyes set in its chest and shoulders peered out like the gemstones of a necklace.

The shadow spoke, though its words were unintelligible and its voice was more a sensation than a sound, like the feeling of nails on a chalkboard. Something resembling a man rose out of the snow at its feet. Its right arm was missing below the elbow, replaced by a serrated blade of bone. A pointed gold helmet sat on its head, but his face was covered by the furs he wore to ward away the cold.

The shadow retreated, pulled backwards by hands with long fingers into a dark and cold hole in the very fabric of the world. It—and the portal—disappeared, and the storm too began to recede.

But the thing with the golden helmet remained, and raised its right arm as if to challenge them.

"Grandad?"

"Stay behind me," Winter hissed, moving between Sirris and Hodrick. Gilderoy began to circle, bident couched under one arm.

"What happened to him?" Sirris asked.

"I don't think this is the best time to—"

Silently, Hodrick moved.

Bone met dust as Gilderoy intercepted. His bident slid up Hodrick's blade and sliced along his upper arm, causing a pale red aura to crackle and spark angrily. For good measure Gilderoy caught Hodrick's shoulder between the blades of his weapon and pulled the trigger, blasting him away and almost tearing the entire arm clean off if not for his aura.

Hodrick staggered away, and Gilderoy stepped back, adjusting his footing in the snow. Winter followed up, launching herself from a glyph to strike from above, swiping at his chest. He was wearing furs to guard against the cold, but her sabre cut through it and struck something beneath it, something hard. A metal breastplate, perhaps.

She landed on her feet, planting one in the snow and anchoring herself with a glyph to stand her ground against Hodrick's clumsy but powerful retaliation, locking blades for a moment. Gilderoy was rushing back in from the side now. The head of his bident caught on the back of Hodrick's calf, and he dragged the length of the blade up it.

Black blood spilled. Then Hodrick's aura slammed into place to crackle and spit like a severed power cable. It lashed out at Winter, striking her on the shoulder and breaking her guard enough for Hodrick to score a blow across the chest. Her own aura shimmered as she reversed the grip of the glyph to throw her backwards out of reach again, kicking up snow in her wake.

Hodrick didn't pursue, turning to parry Gilderoy's follow-up strike. The wound on his leg was beginning to heal, red sparks dancing about it.

Winter winced. Her aura felt weak already.

"That's him; that's his semblance," Sirris said, stuttering a little. "His aura is… volatile."

Winter was about to snipe that perhaps Sirris should have mentioned such a semblance sooner before remembering that this was the girl's grandfather, and she was probably in shock and perhaps it would be kind to cut her a little bit of slack.

It was still irritating.

It hadn't hit Gilderoy, though. Not even when Gilderoy had been the only one close enough it had done nothing, and now as the two traded blows it did nothing either.

"Does his semblance only target aura?" Winter asked.

"I… maybe. I've never seen him do it against Grimm."

"That's convenient."

Sirris' eyes widened. "Gilderoy doesn't have his aura?"

"Focus, Sirris." Winter rolled the shoulder that'd been hit. Despite her aura blocking it, it was a little sore.

If it didn't target Grimm it was possible that her summons were immune, though they themselves were constructed entirely of aura. She didn't waste the effort to summon anything large: only a single nevermore to test her theory. It flew in and was quickly zapped to nothingness as Gilderoy slammed the butt of his bident into Hodrick's chin, powered by a grav-dust blast. It gave Winter a good idea of the semblance's range though. About two metres. Maybe a little more.

Winter didn't carry much dust on her like her sister did, but she always kept a little freeze dust in the hilt of her sabre and grav dust in her parrying dagger. In her experience they were the most versatile. She raised her weapon and summoned six glyphs in the air around her.

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

Winter glanced sidelong at Sirris. "Ideally, no. But in all likelihood, yes. If you're satisfied knowing that this is what has become of him, then we can retreat and leave him unharmed. But I can't guarantee he won't hurt anyone in this state."

Sirris pursed her lips, then shook her head. "Do what you have to do."

Winter nodded. "Keep him still, Gilderoy," she called.

Hodrick had other designs. His movements were erratic and wild, wielding the blade that had once been his arm more like a hammer than a sword, crashing it against Gilderoy's defences. Winter was sure she could just about hear the joints creak in the metal man's arms as he met force with force, catching an overhead blow on the shaft of his bident for a second only to slip out from under it to try and trap Hodrick's blade against the ground. But the snow was too soft a surface for the other side of the vice and he was moving again before Winter's summoned glyph could find purchase and hold him in place.

Gilderoy shielded his optics with an arm as Hodrick put space between them once again, kicking snow up towards him. In the brief pause before Hodrick came charging recklessly back in, Gilderoy reached for a pouch at his side and loaded a dust shell into his bident.

Then Hodrick was on top of him again, leaping back in like a man possessed. Gilderoy backpedalled and fired a round at the ground where he'd stood. A gout of fire and smoke erupted, turning a patch of snow to a slurry.

Hodrick landed in it foot-first.

Winter wasted no time in channeling a little of her freeze dust through a glyph, turning the slurry into ice. It wouldn't hold him long, but it didn't need to: from the other glyphs she launched icicles, one after the other, their points sharp and glinting in the fading light. The first volley shattered against Hodrick's aura. The next broke it.

Hodrick pulled his foot free, shattering the ice. But now Winter charged in too, unbothered by the threat of his semblance, and pressured from two sides he gave ground quickly, though still he showed no desire to surrender. Seeking to disarm him—not necessarily literally, but she didn't see much other way—Winter aimed for his right arm just below the shoulder, cutting through the furs, then the metal armour beneath, then flesh.

Black blood sizzled and hissed as it struck the snow. The arm followed shortly after. Still Hodrick did not give in, rushing towards her shoulder-first, but Gilderoy stopped him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there.

Hodrick kept struggling.

"What do you think is wrong with him? Is he sick?" Sirris asked, approaching cautiously. Hodrick noticed her seemingly for the first time and screamed.

It was the first sound he'd made since they found him. Sirris flinched.

"I don't know," Gilderoy said, pressing Hodrick's head into the snow with his knee to muffle the sound. "But I don't think he'll recover."

Winter crouched down next to the severed arm and cut away the furs with her sabre to inspect it. Between the plates of his metal armour she could see the skin: overgrown, swollen, and completely black. When she tried to pry the armour way, it stayed put as if fused to his flesh.

It took her a moment to work out why it seemed familiar: they'd found Vordt in a similar condition.

"We won't be able to contain him," she said, rising to her feet again. "Not in Eleum Loyce. Even if we could get him to Atlas I don't know if he could be cured."

Doctor Polendina hadn't helped Vordt, though without having read his notes Winter couldn't say for sure if it was for a lack of time, technology, or ability. Still, Eleum Loyce had its rites and traditions regarding burial, and if Hodrick were brought to Atlas he would be studied and experimented on until he was either cured or he died. And, on his death, he would be dissected. Autopsied. Pulled apart and put back together again.

Desecrated, by Loyce standards.

"It's up to you," Winter said, "but I think it would be kinder for him to die now."

"Gods…" Sirris murmured, then sighed and drew her sword. "I should be the one to do it."

Gilderoy nodded, then moved aside, still pressing his knee into Hodrick's back to keep him down.

Sirris slipped the tip of her blade through the back of her grandfather's neck. His struggling ceased.

"What do you think that Grimm was?" Gilderoy asked quietly, so as not to disturb Sirris as she knelt, grieving.

"It doesn't matter," Winter said. "It's gone now." Though as she remembered it, Vordt too had had a companion with him in Forever Fall.

It was possible Sulyvahn was alive: he'd last been seen facing Raime—and later Solaire, Hawkwood, Flynt, and Winter herself—at the Church of Many Faiths.

But Sulyvahn was a human. Not a Grimm.

Winter tugged her coat closer around her. "We should get back to the ship before dark."

/-/

Neo accompanied Artorias as far as the entrance to the inn before parting ways. He didn't know why and she was far from forthcoming with an answer. She seemed distracted the whole way. Artorias supposed she was mulling over what Oscar had said.

In hindsight he probably shouldn't have trusted her with that much information. Gods only knew what she'd do with it. Still, he figured that they were friends enough that she'd at least give him a heads up before she screwed him over, if that was her intention.

He put that out of his mind when he spotted Ana and Lara in the common room. He was about to sneak past back to the room to stash the dust away when Lara spotted him.

"Arty!" Lara greeted him with a warm smile. "We haven't been ignoring you too long, have we? When'd you get back?"

"Three seconds ago, more-or-less." He didn't sit, only leaning back against the table. Ana occupied herself by very carefully inspecting the stonework.

"Did you see Oscar? He went out looking for you—gods—four hours ago. Have we been sitting here that long?"

"Apparently so," Ana said quietly.

"Explains a lot." Lara tilted her head to the side until she heard a pop in her neck.

"Oscar found me. Not sure where he is now. Said he was going to clear his head."

"Maybe literally," Lara said. The thought seemed to amuse her. Apparently Ozpin hadn't been shy.

"Maybe," Artorias agreed. He gestured vaguely with the pouch of dust. "Alright. I'm gonna put this in the room, then I'll…" He trailed off. He didn't really know what he was going to do after that, and he felt too exhausted to think up an excuse to avoid a lengthy conversation with Ana.

"Actually, could we talk for a second, Arty? In private?"

Lara seemed to pick up that something was off. "I'll make myself scarce for a bit," she said. "Should eat something anyway. Want me to bring you anything?"

"No, thanks."

Lara departed towards the counter. Artorias sighed and sat in her place.

For a while, she said nothing. Artorias broke the silence. "Got you some dust."

"I see that."

"You and Lara worked things out?"

"Yeah. Sort of. It felt… weird. I just said I was sorry and it was like that was the end of it. And maybe it is. I really want it to be."

She glanced up at him. He couldn't hold her gaze and looked away.

"Can you forgive me?" she asked.

"I don't want to answer that," he said.

"I suppose that means 'no'."

"I just want to pretend it never happened."

"Well, I can't do that," she said. "I do still love you, you know. I mean, obviously there's something or I wouldn't have…" She sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"If I'd told you last night that I wanted to get back together, would you have stayed?"

"Would it have been the truth?"

"Maybe. Do you remember that field mission where the pilot crashed and I got back a week later than expected?"

He nodded.

"You were asleep on the couch when I finally got back to Izalith, but you woke up when I came in. I probably smelled like hell. You kissed me anyway. You didn't say much. You just… kissed me. Made me dinner and drew me a bath. Held me close when we went to bed. And I remember thinking, before I fell asleep, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. A week later, when I asked you about our future, you were awfully flippant about having much of a future at all. And that hurt, Arty. That really hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Maybe if we'd stayed together you'd have changed, but deep down I think you're too stubborn to admit you deserve happiness, no matter how much you tell yourself you want it. It shouldn't be too much to ask you just to want a long and happy life, really, but… I guess it is. And apparently I'm not the person who can make you want that. I'm not sure that person exists."

Artorias felt empty inside. He stared through her, trying to find the lie in her words. But he couldn't. It was the whole reason they'd broken up. He'd said that he'd likely be dead in a ditch in the next five years and hadn't been entirely joking. Nor had he been upset much by the thought of it.

She was right. It hadn't been too much to ask. She wasn't even asking him to want a long life with her specifically. Just to want it at all. He hadn't even been able to do that.

And right now he couldn't say he felt any different.

"I just wanted you to pretend, for one night, for my sake, that you could want that life, and that we could have it together. I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry for… pushing the matter. I really hope you can be happy, Arty. And I hope you can forgive me."

He nodded slowly, not really in response to anything she'd said. "Can we just act like nothing happened?"

Ana sighed. "I've said my piece. I guess that's all I can do."

"Yeah. I'm going to bed."

It was still early, but he was too tired for anything else.

Guess who's back, back again. Suly's back, tell a friend.

Ana is bad at apologies. "I'm sorry for asking you to pretend you're not depressed and apathetically suicidal. I'm trying not to emotionally invest anything more into our relationship for those exact reasons, but I had a moment of weakness. My bad." Oof.

Wish I could tell you that this is Arty's rock bottom but we've still got a little bit further to go yet.

Most of the Wind Path stuff this chapter was dedicated to highlighting the differences between Artorias and the sort of person Artorias could be, embodied by Lara. Lara is one of the most emotionally mature characters in the fic. She still has baggage, but she's trying really hard. She's willing to forgive people who ask for it, but she's also willing to cut people out of her life for her own mental well-being.

"Some idiot blew up the train tracks" – a minimum-wage worker's condemnation of Vernal. He should count himself lucky she didn't hear it.

For Hod I wanted to include his use of the Warmth and Power Within pyromancies into his semblance somehow, but both ideas got scrapped in favour of something that conveniently puts most of the pressure on Gilderoy at a time when he's trying to build himself back up (though he's isolating himself more and more in the effort). It still fits thematically in that it only targets auras: Hod's semblance frames him as a madman more dangerous to friend than foe, like any good Mound-maker. And Power Within was preserved in the colour of his aura.

Next chapter will definitely wrap up the V4 stuff. Probably won't touch on Raime or JNR until a couple of chapters into V5, but Arty and Ana will be leaving Wind Path (though I'm not quite done with this city just yet), Gil and Winter will be leaving Eleum Loyce (one way or the other), RWBY + Qrow will be reaching Mistral, Solaire will get wherever it was he was going.