The Past

"So what happened next?"

Ozma made a point to read to them every night. Salem would normally be up late seeing to the administration of their kingdom; communing with their servants through her spells and keeping track of who submitted to their rule and who still needed to be quelled… but she did enjoy listening in to her husband reading to their girls. She could enjoy just passively observing it, as the four huddled together in one bed around their father, resting on his thighs and hanging on his words…

He'd indulge in theatrics, too. That was always worth witnessing…

"...then -Father- the dream was over. You taught me that "evil" is just a word: under the skin-"

This was one of their favorites: the spectacle of the underwater city, the dangerous experiments of the arrogant and reckless… but more than that, the unshakeable bond between a father and daughter.

"For you, mercy was victory. You sacrificed… you endured… and when given the chance: you forgave. Always."

Salem found herself stepping inside to finish the story with them. Her daughters actually interrupted their father's character work to bid her join them, and in a rare moment of indulgence of her own, Salem joined them there in that bed.

It was a rare thing, to simply… not focus on her lofty ambitions, and stay beside her children in something so… ordinary. But once she was there, the thought of ruling a kingdom was the furthest thing from Salem's mind.

Ozma waited for the girls to settle in once more, now split between himself and his wife. "Mother believed this world-"

Salem no longer heard his words. She knew the story well enough. She understood the concepts of sacrifice, of devotion… of mercy. Though she could easily set such virtues aside, in the presence of her children, those seemed the actions to take and the lessons to teach.

The girl and her father reached the surface on an escape craft, a fantastic machine like none the world -this world, anyway- had seen. The father, battered and broken in his efforts to save his child, gave himself up, gave his life to her… to forever be on her shoulder, a whispering conscience that would guide her whenever she was led astray.

A promise Ozma reiterated to each daughter in turn with each goodnight kiss.

Salem followed suit, shuffling the girls to their beds. She tucked them under the covers and rubbed their backs and sat with them a few moments before joining their father.

She could've returned to her work and foregone sleep this night… but that moment with her children was all she'd needed to remember she was still human and still capable of something so… simple, and so ordinary as to be impressed by the mere existence of lives not her own.

Salem turned her eye to her husband. Tonight, she thought… tonight she wanted to remind herself further… and feel alive so long as their fires burnt, and sleep beside him as she so rarely allowed herself now… and wake to the sounds of her children and never once dwell on what waited for her outside these walls or what conquests remained. It was all too rare for the immortal to feel truly alive.

Ozma joined his wife in their bed. His hand felt warm against her cheek, and even her red eyes turned soft and sweet when he looked upon her…


The Present

Salem saw her soft eyes in the reflection of the steel. A momentary softness… her resolve shattered -if only for a moment- by memory. By the feel of a warm hand upon her cheek, of the sounds of her children calling her name as daylight pierced her room.

She quickly pushed the thought aside and returned to crafting her new pauldron. Armor was meaningless to her -whatever harm her foes could inflict would be mitigated one way or another- but she wanted her appearance to be fitting for her declaration of war… if such a thing were to be necessary. She wanted the world to see a conqueror, and not mistake her for a mere conjurer.

Her forces were massing, protected from the harsh winds of Mantle by her black storm. Watts had already set in motion disabling the long range sensors for her attack, so she was content to wait a while longer before arriving on James Ironwood's doorstep. It gave her time to steel herself for such a public appearance… and more than that, to let her Grimm move slowly, and mask her hand just a while longer.

She didn't fear revealing herself; she only appreciated the gravity this change would bring. Unless Atlas was subdued quickly, before they had time to reveal the truth of her nature, then her plans would have to accelerate even faster. And while removing the world's greatest standing army would ideally cow many who might oppose her, there were always fools willing to fight, and the advantage of surprise was not one Salem was eager to give up.

But in her army's slow march towards Atlas, Salem found her mind wandering again. The memories would not leave her now…

They hadn't since Hazel told her Ozpin had returned, and reminded her that no matter how long she lived, no matter how many times she killed him… he endured. He lived, and her children were gone.

Salem did not allow herself to feel such simple, ordinary things very often. She did not indulge herself in carrying out her grim mission. But here, away from the eyes of her followers and unable to put Ozpin from her mind… memories of her daughters returned, and Salem could not concentrate on fashioning her armor and proceeding on to the slaughter.

It was a weakness her Grimm would sense, one she needed to set aside. But for the moment she could not take that step…

Salem summoned a Nevermore to her and set down to the surface. She could mask her emotions long enough to leave the storm she had gathered, and let the monsters continue their slow pace while she moved further ahead.

At first it was simply to distance herself, to try and clear her head in the sound of rushing wind. But she made it all the way to Mantle before the torturous thought had left her, and when she finally commanded the beast set her down she was not sure she could simply return and not draw the rest of the horde to her, so swimming were her thoughts with that despair and loneliness.

When it burned beneath the surface and swelled into hatred and anger, that Salem would let the Grimm feast upon. But so long as they recognized a distinction in the flavor of her thought, so long as they knew it was sorrow and not rage that tinted her feeling… she needed to compose herself, and swiftly.

Salem did not bother with vanity, but in the presence of a human settlement, she knew her appearance would be… off-putting. When she stepped through the barrier into the streets of Mantle itself she affected upon herself a glamour; a disguise close to the one she wore in life, of a young woman with eyes as blue as the sky and hair as golden as the sun's light… and a… healthier shade for her skin than a pale moon.

A mask she hoped to wear only a short time… however long it took for a wound to scab.

She had no illusions about giving it time to heal.


Salem could not be bothered to carry the currency of this modern crop of men, but Mantle was caught in a web of surveillance and interactive devices running off the same system… a system Arthur had helped to craft, and through his machinations Salem found accommodation. He did not inquire why his queen wanted to take a room in a humble inn; he did not doubt it was some small, but integral step in her grand plan. Salem did not see fit to divulge to Arthur her intentions. She thanked him for efficiently carrying out her orders, and nothing more.

When she stepped into the inn and was guided to her room, she mused not much had changed from one rule of humanity to another: just a different way to transfer wealth for services, one that occurred without the typical haggle or exchange of coin. Though Salem did sometimes long for the familiar, she did not miss the trivial.

She stepped into the room she'd rented and lay upon soft sheets again, allowing her glamour to fade and recalling what it was again to sleep…

To sleep, perchance to dream…


But Salem was haunted by memory, at least on this night. A small mercy to see her daughters again… her dream went unimpeded until morning, until she heard the chirp of young voices, excitedly gathering together. When Salem opened her eyes and reached out to them and saw the ceiling above her head... then the sting of her past drove right into her chest, the familiar feeling of anticipating her daughters coming to wake her… and quickly remembering why they never would again.

The sound continued to draw her attention, and Salem emerged from the sheets to follow, searching for the source of the noise. She peered out the window of her room, down to the streets of the city below…

Children, gathered beside their mothers, all bundled up in winter coats… Salem took a moment to observe. It wasn't a sight she'd ever been overly familiar with, but she had some frame of reference.

"Single file line, you know the drill."

Salem's eye turned to the deeper voice. A young man stood at some sort of crosspoint, holding a red sign and guiding the children across the paved street. The mothers waited on the curb, giggling, casting flirty winks… again not something Salem knew well, but something so blatant even she noticed their… interest.

One of the mothers was so bold as to present a gift. "Oh…" the young man began "Another casserole… that's… that's too kind." He tried to politely refuse it, but the woman insisted. When she finally convinced him to accept the gift, she couldn't manage to look him in the eye; she was blushing so much. Salem's eye turned to one of the children in the street, shaking her head in embarrassment at (what Salem perceived to be) her mother's antics.

Her daughters were much the same; never keen on seeing their parents be overly affectionate. But sometimes the passion slipped through, even in their presence.

And this woman… the boy was clearly younger than her, but Salem understood why he might please her senses. Aside from the features of his form, he was doing something noble… and paternal. And he'd barely had time to thank the mother for her gift before trotting off to catch up to the children, escorting them from this gathering place to… a schoolhouse, perhaps? It had been so long since she last lived among them to remember how humans scheduled their days.

Salem cursed her luck. She had hoped some time to herself to rest might rid her of unpleasant thoughts, not endlessly remind her of them…


Salem waited some time in her room, trying to sleep, or rest, or recuperate… whatever was necessary to lift her from this strange paralysis of her emotions. Time wiled away, and she tried to make the best of it: of replaying the memories of her children and to dwell on each moment before she lost them, to try and hold fast so the memories were not all tinted by pain.

It worked to a point. Inevitably she returned to the night Ozma tried to abscond with her children, and her rage boiled over…

And they…

She could not bear to think it. She did not dwell on it. They were gone. Nothing could change the past, nothing could heal the wound… she just had to press on, to finish what she'd begun so many centuries ago. Revenge was all she had left.

But even as Salem felt herself returning to the cold focus she so desperately sought to recapture, the sound of children's laughter struck her, and once again Salem turned her head from the darkness of her room to look into the city, to children returned to their mothers by the same young man. He returned an empty pan… whatever food the woman made for him, he ate it graciously… though even from this distance Salem could see him fake his smile, trying to be polite. Either the woman didn't realize this or didn't care… she once more seemed quite focused on catching his attention. Salem imagined whatever changes had befallen humanity since their first incarnation, young men had not changed all that much… few refused beautiful women all but throwing themselves at their feet.

But to Salem's surprise, the boy did just that. He was as polite as he could be, but Salem could see the woman was devastated… and Salem had the strangest desire to know why this boy would pass on such an opportunity.

Even in her past life she did not engage in gossip nor seek to understand her fellow man all too well. But now… now, something about this boy drove her curiosity.

The children, she mused. The way he cared for the children reminded her of better times.

But no, that wasn't what made her curious. What made her wonder about this boy was that single moment where he accepted one gift and refused another.

Salem donned her disguise and -in a moment she had no intention of before- emerged from the darkness of the inn into the world of men again.


She watched him for a time, gauging if any of the other women caught his eye instead: if there were a simple explanation for his refusal. But when the young man in armor left one beautiful woman he passed by five others without sparing them anything more than a friendly wave. Salem strode after him, keeping him in her sights for the most part… though she did spare a glance back to the children he'd escorted. None of them resembled her girls… fortunately. The memories were vivid enough, but this new curiosity had managed to quell those recollections, if only for the moment.

The boy was heading for a transport: a ship out from Mantle towards the city hovering in the sky. If Salem were to follow him, she'd be walking right onto Ironwood's doorstep without her army at her back. Though Salem doubted she'd have any reason to fear walking into the general's house, she still thought it best to be more discreet.

A subtle wave of her hand and an old trick learned in another life, and the ship he meant to take could not rise from the ground. The pilot swore up and down the vehicle should've worked, but had no means to perceive the source of his woes. Salem's quarry pulled out a device -a Scroll, if she recalled correctly- to inform his friends he would be delayed. Salem waited to see where he'd go when forced to adjust his plans.

What better way was there for a young man to pass the time, than to entertain a beautiful woman?

If those mothers had not drawn him in, then perhaps…

"Delayed?" Salem inquired, doing her best to sound nonchalant. It had been a while since she last spoke to anyone without any air of authority, as befit someone of her stature and regal office. It took considerable effort to be… subdued.

The boy nodded. "Yeah, I was planning on going back to the academy after my mission was over… maybe see if my friends were interested in taking in a movie. So much for that..."

The academy. He was still a student… one of James Ironwood's little toy soldiers. That bode ill for their future, but if nothing else, it should've made him quite malleable and open to instruction from a superior. If there was one thing the General favored, it was blind obedience he could deceive himself into proclaiming as loyalty.

"Well, if you need some way to entertain yourself, I'm sure a few of those women have… ideas." Salem watched him carefully to see how he'd handle her implication.

He betrayed nothing, only smiling and saying: "They're very nice."

A deflection could reveal a great deal about a person, but this hadn't told Salem enough to sate her curiosity. She pressed on. "Do you not see that they're… interested?"

At this, the boy… faltered. Only for the briefest moment, but Salem saw it all too clearly: doubt spreading across his features and swiftly batted down by a practiced, controlled disguise. "I… yeah, I'm not very good at reading the signs… I guess."

Modesty suited him, but these words were tainted by regret. He was not so oblivious as to miss something so blatant, but he had been once, and based on his reaction… it had cost him.

"Oh, someone else?" Salem asked, allowing a bit of genuine curiosity to color her words without letting herself become too demanding. "Is that why you hold back? Because you're so loyal?"

A long silence was her answer. Salem read his expression as he tried to compose his response: she had cut deeper than she meant to. It wasn't that he belonged to someone else, or that he would refuse every such opportunity…

He couldn't move from the spot he was in. Something had hurt him, something that robbed him of the little bits of his heart that allowed others in, and the vapid and flighty affections these women were offering would not fill that void. The wound… it wasn't fresh, but it hadn't healed in him, and he could not respond to such atavistic designs, though she was sure the thought must've crossed his mind…

Salem interjected before he could finish thinking. Catching him off guard would yield better opportunities, but she couldn't allow him time to think: she wanted to see more of his thoughts, and while he'd yet to be so open with her, Salem suspected that… if she pressed on this...

She took hold of the boy's arm. "Come here; tell me more about this girl… as long as you're waiting for your ride, I mean."

"I… I'm not sure you'd want to hear-"

"No, no, I insist," Salem pressed. A bit of her authority laced her tone, and Salem quickly moved to cover it with formality and flattery alike: "After all, you took the time to see to those children; shouldn't someone show you the same courtesy?"

She had him there, and he was too polite to refuse. Salem thought perhaps if she gave this boy some attention and satisfied her curiosity, she could move swiftly on…


She kept the spell going far longer than intended. Something… about this conversation, about this boy… about… something they had in common.

"Pyrrha," he said again. "She… I'm not sure when they made the statue for her, but seeing it just brought it all coming back to me. It… I always knew it was real and that she was gone, but I never got to see it after she went up the tower. Seeing the statue, it all just fell on me that she was gone and it all just flooded back to me. And… well, I guess some part of me still hasn't dropped all that weight."

Not for the first time in their conversation, Salem was given pause. The most wisdom she could conjure produced: "You never know when the regrets will hit you."

Regrets were hard enough to live with for mortal men like him. For those living a hundred lifetimes like herself, knowing the memories of her children were all she'd ever know of them again… more and more eternal life seemed the cruelest shackle. And for centuries, Salem had spoken to no one of this pain… shared with no one these thoughts…

Salem had a better understanding of him and his loss now. He was not one of Ironwood's soldiers, but once a student of the man -the thing- she hated most in the world. They were victims of Salem's own the girl had died a willing slave to Ozpin's schemes. That should've been enough to reawaken Salem's anger and steel her resolve. And yet…

"Is it something you mean to carry with you?" Salem asked. "To… not answer when given the chance?"

"Not forever," Jaune -Salem now thought of him by name- replied. "I know that eventually I'll have to keep going. My friends have been patient, but they can't keep waiting on me forever. It's not fair to them."

"And how long is forever?" Salem asked. It was a question she'd be genuinely curious to hear a mortal answer.

"Maybe when all that we have to do is finished," Jaune answered. "Maybe when I feel like somewhere in the world is safe… maybe then I'll think about the nice ladies offering me casserole."

Salem had to suppress something in herself… some… mirth, some laughter from escaping. This boy…

"The world will always be dangerous, you know," Salem told him, after swiftly composing herself. "So maybe you shouldn't wait so long. Maybe you can move forward… slowly. Just a few steps… or…"

"Or…?" Jaune repeated.

Salem had enjoyed her time being subtle. But she did not spurn opportunity.

"Or maybe a big step."


He said nothing when she led him back to the inn, or when she closed the door to her room. When Salem waved her arm to her bed, he stammered something she could not discern… but it wasn't an attempt to flee. Just an offer to stop, if she had thought better of her course.

Salem's goal had been not to be bothered by her thoughts. She didn't allow them to impede her here.

She would continue to wear her glamour, lest he be frightened by what she was. But when he pressed his palm against her cheek, Salem could clearly feel the warmth of his hand. When she ran her fingers over his chest she could hear the beat of his heart.

Hate and despair both seemed far from her, if only for the moment. But for an immortal, the joys of life could only be measured in moments. And when his eyes met hers', the glamour matched the appearance of what lay beneath it: what would be fierce turned soft and sweet, if only for a moment.

Salem bid him to hold her. Like her, he was no longer troubled by thought. He never noticed the light extinguish with but a wave of her hand.


She slept, again untroubled by dreams. She woke before the daylight, but her lover still slept, and Salem mused on how to proceed.

He was once Ozpin's student and she should've simply disposed of him. Even if she did not do so now, he'd die with the others when her Grimm attacked. There'd be little difference in his fate if he died now or died the next day.

But he was hurting too, just as she had been, and in the moments they'd shared he'd brought peace to a restless mind… and a familiar feeling untainted by bitter memory.

Salem took a moment to shed her glamour. Whatever thoughts she may have had now, if he saw her as she was he would flee. Whatever he thought of the woman he took to bed, he would scorn the monster he'd woke beside.

Unless… all that she suspected of him, all that she'd seen of him that had not matched her expectation… maybe there was still something there that would not run from her.

Salem had never been one to be paralyzed by indecision. But right now, she did not want to yet return to her army and carry out her task. And nor did she wish to deceive him further. But if he was cleverer than he appeared, if she had misread him, if she was wrong for even a moment…

Salem looked down at her skin, gray and clammy, stained black by the ichor of the Grimm… and thought he might not be so keen to feel this hand upon his skin. And yet…

She couldn't help but wonder…

Salem looked out the window to the orange light of the sun creeping over the tundra. She would have to decide soon whether she would stay or go, and what she would say.

She tried to remember what it was to make the choice only by what she wanted rather than what she'd believed was necessary…


The Past

"And then -Father- the dream was over," Ozma read to the girls. "You taught me that "evil" is just a word. Under the skin: it's simple pain. For you, mercy was victory. You sacrificed. You endured. And when given the choice- you forgave. Always."

Salem knew she had much to do; so many other matters to attend to that she could've easily entrusted this responsibility to her husband and let her daughters give him all their attention. But responsibilities were never further from her mind than when surrounded by the ones she loved… the only ones she loved.

Salem sat on the bed with her children gathered around her and their father. She did not bother to hear the words, focusing only on the sight of her loved ones and the feel of small heads nestled to her lap. "Mother believed this world was irredeemable. But she was wrong, Father. We are utopia, you and I. And in forgiving- we left the door open for her.

"The dream is over - but in waking I am reborn. This world is not ready for me, yet here I am. It would be so easy to misjudge them… you are my conscience, father, and I need you to guide me." Ozma continued. He described the actions the daughter would take, the sacrifices her father made for her, as they waited atop a broken and failed world and emerged into a new one… "You will always be with me now, father: your memories, your drives… and when I need you, you'll be there on my shoulder… whispering."

Ozma finished the tale, as the girl stepped forward, leaving her father's body behind… but carrying him with her, always. He kissed each daughter good night and Salem tucked them all into bed. No doubt they'd have interesting dreams of their father's vivid tale…

But Salem had no such thought in mind. She wasn't ready to sleep just yet.

She and Ozma carried thoughts of their children with them everywhere, and waited just long enough for them to succumb, one by one. When they were certain they would not be disturbed…

It was all too rare for an immortal to feel truly alive. When unburdened by the weighty tasks he'd assigned herself, when alone with those she loved… only then did she truly feel unshackled from time's grip. Only in moments like these could she push aside the despair that once ruled her and remember what it was to grow, to find love, to live.

Ozma joined his wife in their bed. His hand felt warm against her cheek, and even her red eyes turned soft and sweet when he looked upon her…