It had been a long time since I hadn't walked the path to the Academy. When I was a Private soldier, I used to do it every morning before sunrise, and walk down again when I was done at the military for the day. Most of the other soldiers lived in the quarters, but I decided to just rent a flat. They sometimes asked me the reason behind that decision, because it was much more convenient if I moved into the quarters. If I did, I wouldn't have to cook breakfast or dinner, or worry about rent; besides, it would take way shorter to make it to the military if I just lived there. "I don't want to feel trapped." I used to say – it was true, but only in part. As I grew old and moved up the ranks, I began to question the real reason behind my choice, but it wasn't until I became the headmaster of Atlas Academy and spent my very first sunset in my office just staring out of the window in awe that I didn't realize.

Turns out… I simply liked being able to see the sky.

I traded the cold of the breeze and the sound of my steps echoing into the night as I walked down back to the city center for the still silence and pleasant quietness that reigned over my office. I liked them both, but it had been long since I hadn't experienced the first one again. Tonight, walking silently under the moonlight with Weiss by my side transports me back to those days once again; however, her company makes it feel warmer than I remembered. I look at her from the corner of my eye, but she is just staring at the floor as she walks, lost in thought.

I review the last twenty-four hours in my head. From the strange piercing ache on my heart I felt at the charity concert, to the accidental summon, going through Weiss' failed attempt to make herself something to eat and the stunning sensation I felt when she stepped out of the store with her brand new clothes. Her voice, soft at the sight of my steeled limbs when she said they were not scary, although I feel like, for many, they are. However, the memory of her hardened voice back at the Academy hallway when I made a commentary I shouldn't have makes guilt erase that nice feeling in my chest as it falls upon it once more.

"Miss Schnee." I call her. She turns her head to look at me, but this time I am the one staring at the floor. The moon behind our back casts moving shadows as we walk.

"Yes, General?" She asks.

"It wasn't my intention to question your choice about Beacon Academy earlier today." I say.

"What do you mean?" I can't see her face, but I can tell in the tone of her voice that she is frowning.

"When I said that you would have made for an excellent Atlas student. I didn't mean that you would have become a better Huntress if you had studied here – in fact, I consider you an excellent, outstanding one. You more than proved it at the Battle of Beacon. I think my choice of words could lead to a misunderstanding, so I apologize for that."

"Oh."

Her whisper makes me raise my sight from the floor and look at her again. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, just like the tip of her nose; and the moonlight, now shining on her left profile, makes it look as if she was glowing. I wonder how she can look and like a fragile porcelain doll and a fierce ethereal being, both at the same time.

"Please, don't worry, General. It's just…" She takes a deep breath, only to hold it for it a couple of seconds and exhale it with a heavy sigh. "Belonging to one of the most important families in the kingdom, if not the most, makes us Schnees be forced to meet certain standards, and they are above the moon. You have known my family for years, so you must know." She says with a sad smile, and I simply nod. "I grew up thinking that if I didn't meet the expectations then I would be useless. The shame of the family, a disgrace to my name. However, when Winter left our home, I realized I had the power to do the same. I realized that I had the power to break the chains my name had kept me in for years and to be free for once, although it meant that I had to leave. I longed for liberty, and the only way to do it was to move out of the city, far from father's influence, so I couldn't stay at Atlas Academy."

She goes silent for a while; however, I can tell that she's not finished, but looking for the words to keep going. I don't dare speak and interrupt her thoughts.

"Do you know how I got my scar?" She finally asks. I look at her with an inquisitive look, surprised by the change of topic, and I shake my head. It suddenly appeared on her face a couple of months before she left to Beacon, and even though I questioned its origin back then, I never asked Winter, nor Jacques, and, evidently, neither did I ask her. It would have been rude of me if I had.

"When I told father I wanted to leave Atlas and study at Beacon Academy, he disregarded it, but I wasn't going to give up that easy. As months went by and my insistence grew, he decided to arrange a special training session to prove that I was strong enough to leave, that I wouldn't just go and make a fool of our family name. I agreed: if defeating Grimm was all it took for father to let me go to Beacon, I would be there in no time. The first ten enemies were easy, and I was even having fun, but… then it came the Arma Gigas." She sighs.

Weiss must see the disconcert in my face, because she hurries to explain:

"The Arma Gigas is something like a ghost knight, but corporeal. It's a medieval armor that has been possessed by a Geist." I slightly nod in understanding, and then she keeps going. "The armor I fought was a replica of the one that's at the Schnee museum, which belonged to my grandfather, but three times bigger. It was huge and terrifying, and it moved way quicker than anyone would expect it to."

I know that armor she's talking about. I have seen it a few times, and Nicholas Schnee is wearing it in one of his portraits in the manor.

"Its eyes, as red as blood, peeked through the metal helmet. Its sword was as high as the armor, and its hits were brutal – they slammed the floor with an echoing sharp noise every time I dodged it. I fought well for around ten minutes, but after battling with so many other monsters, I was starting to get tired. I let my guard down for a second and…" She sighs, and points at her scar with a sad smile.

"That… That is terrible, Miss Schnee." I murmur. My words are barely audible, because my voice is drowned by the tight lump in my throat.

"In the end I managed to beat the Arma Gigas, and father had to finally accept that I was more than ready to leave, even though he wasn't remotely happy with my choice."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all of this. I should have known."

There it is, once again. The guilt. I know, I do know it's not my fault, and I know I couldn't have done anything, but I feel responsible nonetheless. I have known Jacques for many years, and I knew he was merciless, but forcing his own daughter to fight against a giant deadly armor only to allow her to leave is just take it way too far. He overstepped the line, and I didn't know. Why didn't I know?

"Your words didn't offend me, General. I know I would have made an excellent Atlas student, especially with you as the headmaster of the Academy." She smiles. "However, that uniform made me wonder what kind of person I would be now if I had just given up and stayed here; if I had resigned to doing whatever father commanded me to. It seems that nothing would be very different, since I agreed to sing at the charity concert because he asked me to, and that's the reason why I'm here. Knowing that I would be the exact same person… it somehow hurts me."

"You wouldn't. You aren't." I declare. "The Miss Schnee I knew wouldn't have confronted Lady Eira because she'd be too afraid to make a scene in front of Atlas' high spheres, and that's the real reason why you are here – precisely because you are brave, and because you dare speak up for yourself. Only by leaving Atlas have you realized that you are more than your family name, and you must be proud of the person you have become."

… Because I am.

"Because I am."

She looks at me with crystal eyes – her irises seem to break in the same way the moon behind us has been doing for ages, and the mere sight of them pierces through my heart; for a moment, I wonder if I've said something wrong, but the thought vanishes when she speaks again.

"Thank you for saying that, General Ironwood." She says in a tiny voice. "I… Would it be okay if…" She babbles. "Would it be too much to ask that you called me just Weiss?"

Oh.

A sudden wave of electricity spreads through my chest.

Weiss.

It pumps through my veins and makes my fingertips tickle – all of them.

Weiss.

I silently thank Pietro for not allowing me to remove my nerves from my prosthetic arm, because even my shaking hands seem a worth price to pay if I'm able to feel this, too.

Weiss.

"Only if you call me James." I respond, making a superhuman effort so that my voice doesn't tremble even though I feel as if my heart was going to explode.

"Deal." Weiss murmurs with a smile.

She blushes, and so do I.

We finally make it to the Academy, and Weiss, who has been with her back to the moon the whole way up to the Academy, finally turns around, and so do I. It's a clear night, and the moon's broken fragments look like shattered glass covered in silver powder. There's barely any light pollution up here, so all the stars are clearly visible – I can even spot some constellations up in the sky. I could swear that it's one of the most beautiful nights ever, but when I turn my head to Weiss to look at her, I can't take my eyes off her anymore. Moonlight illuminates her skin and makes her glow in the exact same way the spotlights did at the concert, reflecting on her new cape's sewed pearls like it did on her dress' crystals.

It feels strange that, after so much time, my heart is now awake.

"I could get used to that view." She says after a while.

Right now, looking at her, I can't help but think: "Me too."

"You could come to my office one day, if you would like to see the stars. It's warmer up there than it is here outside."

She turns around and slightly nods with a smile: "I would like to."

I get distracted into the light abyss of her shining eyes once more, and it's her soft voice what brings me back to earth.

"Shall we go in? I… I'm a bit hungry." She admits.

"Of course." I say with a wave of my arm, inviting her to enter the Academy. "After you."

When we are about to cross the doorway, I see that there's a package in the middle of the hall waiting for us. I frown, puzzled, because I wasn't expecting any correspondence, and an unsolicited package is one of the most suspicious things ever. Weiss intends to enter the hall, but I put my hand on her shoulder and stop her before she does.

"Get behind me."

"Is there something wrong?" She asks, worried. I don't answer, but slowly pull her back until I'm standing between her and the package. I can feel that my hands are starting to tremble again, but I deliberately ignore it and approach the box slowly. When only a meter separates me from it, I bend down, and I spot a white label on the side of the box. I get a bit closer; when I strain my eyes, I'm able to distinguish the letters.

Weiss Schnee.

Is this package for her?

At first, I thought that it could be a … special present from someone from Vale – someone who could have been affected by the fall of Beacon and had decided to take revenge on Atlas Academy – or on me. With Weiss as the recipient, however…

I slightly turn my head to look at her. She's standing on her tiptoes a couple of meters behind me, trying to see what I'm doing.

"It has your name on it." I say.

"What?" She asks, frowning. "Who sent it?"

"It has no sender. However, given last night's events… I think it could be from Jacques."

She rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Of course."

"Do you want me to open it?" I offer, still bent down.

"No. No, I will."

"Alright. Let me check it first, okay?"

I bring my ear closer to the box – no suspicious beeps, no strange noises; nothing to be worried about. I grab it carefully and shake it gently. Everything seems correct. I get up again with the package on my hands and Weiss finally approaches me; when she makes it to my side, I hand her the box. She seems a bit indecisive, but when she finally makes up her mind and lifts one of the lids, her hesitation vanishes and her face suddenly lights up.

"Myrtenaster!" She exclaims in joy as she takes the rapier out of the box - the empty carton falls to the floor when she starts swinging her weapon gracefully. "Father sent me this? How weird."

I pick the box from the floor – there's a little envelope inside that she didn't see, wax-sealed with the Schnee emblem, and I turn it around: there's a name on its back.

"It's not from Jacques. It's from your brother."

"From Whitley?" She stops the swinging to look at me, tilting her head to the side when I show her the envelope. "What does it say?"

I open it, carefully breaking the wax seal, and I pick the letter from inside. Then, I start reading out loud.

"Dear sister:

I took Myrtenaster from your room before father could; I am sure he thinks that you took it with you. I assume you're with the General, but if that is not the case and it's General Ironwood the one reading this note, would you please take the trouble to forward the package to my sister Weiss? Many thanks.

Whitley Schnee."

"I didn't know he knew my weapon's name." She smiles, running her fingers along the gleaming blade of the rapier.

"Whitley is a good young man. I'm sure he loves you very much."

"Well, he barely shows it."

"You Schnees look harsh on the outside, but you have a caring nature for the ones you love, even though you have difficulty with showing it. Your mother used to be like that, and your sister is the vivid image of what I just said." I smile. "Your brother took your rapier and had it sent to you behind your father's back despite the consequences if he finds out, so I think he can fit the description."

She goes silent for a while, still absent-mindedly examining the rapier's sharp blade.

"And father?" She finally asks.

"Jacques doesn't have Schnee blood running through his veins."

"I see." She simply says.

I pity the Schnee family, if it can be called that. I don't know much about Winter's relationship with Jacques because she has always been very discreet about it, but the effort she makes to keep the formalities and hide an eye roll every time I mention him doesn't pass unnoticed to my eyes, and delates the hidden truth beneath the façade. I hope he didn't go as hard on her as he did on Weiss – nobody deserves that.

"I will text Whitley to say thank you."

"Maybe you could ask your brother if he would like to come here, too?" I suggest.

"I will." She responds. "Father must be very angry. I hope he doesn't take it out on him."

"I hope so, too."

After having dinner, I accompany Weiss to her room before leaving to mine.

"I will call Winter tomorrow to say that I'm taking a couple of weeks off." I say, standing at the doorstep. She heads to her bed and gently places her rapier over the mattress. "I'm afraid it might slow down your training, since your sister will be busier than usual, but…"

"It's okay." She responds, turning around to look at me. "Taking a rest every now and then is necessary. Besides, Winter loves working. I'm sure she won't mind."

I just nod.

"I'll be leaving, then."

"Alright. Goodnight, General I… James." She corrects herself in a very soft voice.

Not many people call me by name. Pietro and Jacques always do it — the former as a friend, the latter as a way to subtly tell me I'm not more important than he is, even though I consider (or at least, considered) him a friend. Qrow, Glynda and Ozpin do it too, but only in private; and then there's Winter, who barely ever calls me James, but she's always frowning when she does. Never had the sound of it in any of their voices made me feel anything at all; in Weiss', however, it gives me goosebumps.

"Goodnight, Weiss." I say gently. "Sleep well."

When I make it to my room and take my clothes off, I stay still in front of the mirror for a while. Even though my robotic parts have no tactile memory, I could swear I feel the ghost of Weiss' touch on my metal shoulder. I place my fingertips where she placed hers, and I close my eyes trying to remember her face when she saw my prosthetics. There was no terror in her pupils, nor disgust; only kindness and understanding. I don't get that kind of looks quite often, and it feels… nice.

Once I get in bed, my heart calms down little by little, and soon enough, I fall asleep.

I don't have nightmares tonight.

Days pass by, and the silence that reigns over Atlas Academy -which feels a bit less overwhelming, I must say- is sometimes broken by the voice of the snow angel that lives here now. She looks way more comfortable in my presence now, since we spent a big part of the day together. Her occasional morning singing brings a soft smile to my face and stays there for the rest of the day. I missed company, and I couldn't have desired for better. Young Whitley refused to come too, though. As I was told by Weiss, he said that it wouldn't be an intelligent idea to upset Jacques anymore, so he would rather stay at the Schnee manor, but I made sure that he knew Atlas Academy's doors are always open for him in case he needs a place to stay.

When I called Winter and told her what Pietro said about my prosthetics, she seemed more than receptive to take charge of some of my responsibilities. She said that she thought I needed a rest, but would never dare to meddle in my life, so she was glad I decided to take some time off. However, I still try to do some paperwork in my office every now and then, just so I don't lose track of everything that's happening at the military quarters. She sometimes visits us at lunchtime, but she still hasn't managed to make some spare time to train Weiss. She's so busy that she always leaves before dessert.

"I'm sorry that you have to deal with all of this, Winter. I will be back in no time." I say once we're done eating, one of the days she comes to visit.

"Please, sir, take as much time as you need. I can manage for now."

"Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you."

"It's my job, sir." She says, and she gently taps her white uniform slacks to shake out the breadcrumbs before getting up from the table.

"It's not. It's mine." I declare.

"It's my job to assist you with your duties, and that is what I am doing, sir." She responds.

I nod and smile softly. Winter's stubbornness is comparable to mine.

"I have to go now. Enjoy the rest of the day. Goodbye, Weiss. General." She slightly bows her head.

"Bye, Winter!"

"Goodbye." I say.

Then, she leaves to the military quarters.

Pricking my last piece of steak with the fork, I suddenly remember about the conversation we had in this very same table the day after Weiss arrived.

"By the way, Weiss…" I begin. Her name spoken in my lips still trembles a bit in my voice, but I manage to conceal it almost every time. "Would you like some cake for dessert?"

"Is there any cake?" She asks, raising her sight to look at me – her voice is full of excitement. "Did you hire a cake butler?"

"I'm afraid there's no cake butler, nor cake, either –" I smile, and her face shifts from excited to disappointed. "– Yet. Since you said you hadn't eaten any since you were at Beacon… I thought that maybe we could bake one? I can guide you, if you would like to learn."

Her cheeks light up again, and so do her eyes.

"It would be nice."

"Perfect." I respond, and I get up from the table. "After you."

We head to the kitchen and start looking for all the ingredients we need. Weiss finds the flour, the vanilla extract, the sugar and the baking powder in one of the cabinets over the ceramic stove, and I find the oil and the salt under the cutlery drawer. Butter, milk, and eggs are in the fridge. I take a small scale and I roll my sleeves up so as not to stain my suit before weighing the different ingredients.

"Okay. That would be everything we need." I say, once everything is distributed over the counter in different bowls and plates.

"You say it as if they were few ingredients." Weiss says, frowning. I don't know when her happiness shifted again and turned into frustration, but I find it quite amusing.

"They aren't that many."

"It's the most complicated thing I'm ever going to cook." She declares, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

"I thought you couldn't cook." I say, holding back a smile and slightly leaning my head to the side.

"I can't! That's the point! I'm going to accidentally set the oven on fire again! This is a bad idea. I shouldn't have agreed."

Incapable of anything else, I finally start laughing.

"Weiss, that's not going to happen." I assure, still smiling. "I'm here too, and there's no way I'm going to leave you alone with the oven turned on after what happened the other day. But if you want me to do it myself, I will, okay?"

The wrinkle between her eyebrows deepens, but she finally gives up and takes the initiative.

"I will. Where do I start?"

"Put five eggs in a big bowl and add the sugar – oh my, Weiss, not like that!" I say, bursting into laughter when I see her placing a whole egg inside a crystal bowl instead of cracking it. "You have to crack them!"

"You said put." She grumbles, and then she starts cracking every egg one by one and throwing the shells to the bin. When she is done, she pours the sugar into the bowl.

"Okay. Now you have to whip it with…" I search the drawers looking for a whisk. "… this, until the mixture thickens. I can do it, if you want."

"No. No, I'm good." She insists, and starts to whip the eggs and the sugar vigorously. It takes some minutes, but when she is finally done, she murmurs: "I can't feel my arm."

"Well, we have to keep whisking." I smile. "But I can do it while you add the flour, okay? Do it slowly."

"Okay." Weiss concedes with a sigh, rubbing her arm. She takes the smaller bowl where I weighed the flour and starts pouring it gradually, stopping every now and then until I carefully mix everything together again, and then she keeps adding. Her hands so close to mine make me a bit nervous since I'm not really used to this kind of proximity. I think I have never baked a cake with anyone, I have only made it by myself. However, I manage to keep focused. I instruct her to pour the baking powder and a pinch of salt, too. Then, two tablespoons of vanilla extract.

"Isn't it too much?" She asks.

"I like vanilla." I smile. "Could you melt the butter in the microwave, please? Medium temperature, twenty seconds."

She does as I say, and in the meantime, I preheat the oven. When the microwave beeps, she takes the cup with the melted butter out and to add some milk and blend them together. Weiss pours it back into the whipped eggs, and I gently mix it all until everything is perfectly integrated. We pour the mixture into the cake pan, and then it goes straight into the oven – when I close its door, I say:

"Now we wait. Did you find it very difficult?"

"Not at all, but I couldn't have done it all by myself." She sits on the floor right next to the oven, and wraps her arms around her knees, tilting her head to be able to see the cake pan.

"I'm sure you could have if you had known the recipe. It's not very hard."

"You underestimate my chaos power when I'm in the kitchen, James." She laughs, looking back at me. I smile back in response, and I head to the sink in order to wash every bowl and plate that we used.

"Wait, let me help you." She makes as if to get up, but I prevent her from doing it.

"There's no need to. Besides, you have to see how the cake rises."

"They rise?"

"Yes. That's what the baking powder is for: it makes the cake soft and fluffy."

"Oh. I understand." She smiles, and then looks back at the oven. Her presence right next to it, with her face illuminated by the warm light that comes from inside, is somehow comforting.

It takes me around half an hour to wash the bowls, clean the counter and put everything back in place again, but the moment I place the last plate on the cabinet, the oven beeps.

"Look! It has doubled its height!" She exclaims, pointing at the oven window. I smile before I put the kitchen mittens on –I love their floral pattern– and I take the tray out; then, I manage to separate the cake from the pan and I turn it upside down.

"We have to let it cool."

"But I want to try it!"

"Okay." I concede. "Be careful not to burn your tongue."

She picks a knife and cuts a small cake portion. Her cheeks blush when she tastes it.

"It so good!" She exclaims, smiling. "We have to put some cream over it when it's cool, but I love how it turned out."

"I'm glad you like it." I smile. "Let's leave it here for now, okay?"

"Okay. We can have some for dinner."

"As you wish. Just… don't tell your sister I let you do that."

And with that, we leave the kitchen.

I thought I had forgotten what happiness was, but these days, with Weiss and I keeping each other company, I'm starting to remember how it is to not feel crushed all the time.