Author's Note:
In the words of Ozpin, "I'll keep this brief." This Prologue is an experiment, a short read that grew from a story idea I've had for a while now. If it's well-received I'll continue writing, and actually publish full-length chapters. There's a lot of questions here, and I do have answers planned. But good writing is time-consuming, and if I start I don't plan to stop, so let me know by favorites/reviews/follows if you really want to read more!
The Brothers Fell
Prologue - Introductions
Ozpin stood silently in the quiet elevator, the dull hum of electronics in the background interrupted only by the infrequent chimes that denoted each floor. His grip tightened on the head of The Long Memory, eyes narrowed in silent determination. Inside, his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. Who were they? How had they gained access to his office? How long had they been there? What else might they have found, might they have learned? Was She making a move?
Glynda stood just to his side, noticeably tense as the elevator continued to ascend Beacon Tower. Her customary riding crop was clutched in her right hand, her left clenched in anticipation. In all her years at Beacon, Ozpin's personal sanctum had never been breached. Now here they were, with no warning, en route to confront a threat that was entirely unknown. Green eyes glanced to the right, where her leader – her lover – remained stoic, his own gaze fixed firmly ahead. She opened her mouth, a question already on the tip of her tongue, but stopped herself before she could ask. Ozpin wasn't omniscient, she knew that; he had no answers for this. She took a deep breath, eyes briefly closed as she steadied herself, the powers of the Summer Maiden seeming to breathe in turn within her. Whatever they faced, she was confident they could handle it; or at least, anything short of the Queen herself. One way or another her answers would come.
A final overhead chime announced their arrival at the top floor: The Headmaster's office. Ozpin moved for the first time since the doors had closed, right foot sliding back into a fighting stance as he readied his cane in his right hand. His knees bent slightly as the double doors in front of him slid slowly opened, prepared to spring forward, before he found himself momentarily frozen in confusion, which quickly turned to shock.
To the right the light of the setting sun shone through the glass of the full-length window, small particles of dust visible through the soft golden trail in the air. The surrounding metal columns seemed to shine in the dying light of the day. Directly opposite the elevator, his chair stood empty behind his glass desk, the gears beneath the surface rotating regularly. Beacon's iconic clockface continued to tick, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room, until the silence was broken by an audible slurp. Before his desk, in the chairs normally reserved for guests and misbehaving students, sat two men; boys really, barely old enough to be students at his school.
The young man on the right was reclined lazily, one leg thrown casually over the arm of his chair as he fiddled on a scroll. With one hand he brushed a strand of bright white hair to the side, the bangs having escaped the messy foxtail he sported. He tucked the strand behind one ear, his long feather-shaped earring waving gently from the motion. Crimson red eyes hadn't even looked up at their entry, instead occupied with the text on the small holographic screen. He would have looked like your typical teenager, were it not for the black leather-like armor that covered his form, the monochrome coloring contrasted only by the blue cloth sashes and silver accents that matched his several facial piercings. Ozpin's experienced gaze also spotted the handle of a large mechanized dagger barely visible from the small of his back, as well as half a dozen other throwing knives on his person, tucked into sleeves, boots, and visible with the slight shifts of his long blue coat.
On the left was another teen, maybe slightly older, his own snow-colored hair cut short and styled upwards into deliberate disarray. Black armor like his companion's bore fewer accents, the only noticeable color coming from the crimson jacket he wore over top, with sleeves rolled to bare his forearms and the hem of his coat falling just below his knees. A handful of silver piercings filled the lobes of both ears, though unlike his counterpart his lip, nose, and eyebrows were spared. He leaned back in his chair, angled halfway between the desk and the elevator, one leg crossed elegantly over the other as he took another audible drink of the Headmaster's best coffee – from his own mug no less. The handle of a sword – Mistralian in design – was visible from the sheath on his left side, while the quiver of dust-imbued arrows at his feet was a clear giveaway for the collapsed mecha-shift weapon on his back. What struck Ozpin however were neither their choice of attire, nor the weapons visible at their hips. Rather what gave the old soul pause were the eyes – crimson was a rare enough color as it was, but as the figure on the left looked towards him, it was shining silver irises that seemed to lock onto his.
The large clock continued to tick steadily in the background, the deep clicking sounds accompanied by the subtle grinding of the large gears set in the wall to the right and the glass ceiling above. Ozpin relaxed his stance, once more folding his hands over the handle of Long Memory as he planted the tip into the floor.
"Well good evening." Beside him Glynda stood with wide eyes, riding crop half raised as her eyes flickered from him to the uninvited guests before them, ready to move at an instant's notice. A subtle gesture with his index finger conveyed his message – not now. As Glynda slowly lowered her weapon, Ozpin's customary half-smile was at odds with the sharp gaze directed towards the teens, his voice perfectly calm as he adopted his typical soothing tone. "I'm afraid we weren't expecting company. I do hope we aren't interrupting anything?"
The long-haired teen sighed, shaking his head in weary resignation as he closed his scroll. "Afraid not. This fanfic was promising, but the author is so far up his own ass it ruins the narrative. Total letdown." Red eyes rose to meet first the Headmistress' glare, then the Headmaster's calculating stare. The youth's casual posture belied the intensity of the gaze, which flickered from their weapons to their posture before finally locking onto Ozpin's own eyes, a hint of a challenge within them.
"Actually, we've been waiting for you." The older seen sat upright as both feet settled on the floor, the empty cup set carefully on the desk beside him as he slowly stood, causing Glynda to tense from her position. "Apologies for arriving unannounced. We had… well, I suppose we were curious." The red-clad teen had yet to take his eyes off Ozpin, silver gaze both calculating and anticipatory as a slight smile – a smirk really - graced his features. Ozpin took note of the nuanced expressions – the boys were assessing them, sizing them up, but somehow underneath both facades he sensed… excitement? Nervousness. An almost tangible tension filled the air, but the slight facial tells seemed off – they were clearly bracing for something, but they didn't seem to be preparing to fight.
The older one seemed to steel himself as he shared a brief glance with the younger, who was still seated. In that look passed a dozen emotions, too fast for even the experienced Headmaster to decipher, but after a full second's silence it was rewarded with a slow but definitive nod. The standing youth nodded in turn, before his gaze returned to Ozpin, eyes now appearing determined.
"My name is Aurius. Aurius Rose. This is my brother – or half-brother, rather – Jathiel Branwen." As Oz felt his eyes involuntarily widen, the man – the boy – before him didn't slow down. The words came out one after another, as final as the chimes of the clock that rotated around them. "It's nice to meet you… Father."