For Want Of A Nail

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

1. The Nail

"For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of the shoe, the horse was lost; for want of the horse; the rider was lost. For want of the rider; the battle was lost. For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost - and all for the want of a nail."

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Prologue : The Nail

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A single blue eye blinked slowly, looking out upon the horizon. His fingers flexed back and forth in the sand, absently listening to the crunch as he crushed it beneath his fist. The ocean tide lapped at his feet, though he paid it no real mind, passively watching each wave overlap another, the bubbling ivory crests masking the shoreline with the fading water.

The sun, now little more than a distant golden orb, gradually receded into the waters below. The skyline consisted of an endless assortment of shades, of crimson, oranges and hues of yellows. The waters below mirrored the kaleidoscope of the heavens, with the lapping waves, tinted vermilion, with underlying streaks of blue that clashed softly with it in the distance.

The contrast created between the dark waters and the luminous sky gave the far-flung horizon the look of a meeting of two parallel worlds – a great divide between the familiar and the world beyond. A breathtakingly peaceful sight, for those with the presence of mind to behold it. Yet despite the unmatched natural beauty before him, despite the fact that there was no other soul with him, the tranquility of his surroundings did little to quell the chaotic storm within himself, refusing to allow Adam to truly enjoy the twilight radiance as he wished.

His personal reflection had brought him to this place, as it had so many times before. He often came here when he wished to be alone, to dwell in silence and contemplate. Kuo Kuana had always been a lively and loud place, and there were precious few places he could go where he could find true peace of mind. This beach was a hidden treasure. Almost completely masked by a wall of trees and shrubbery, just outside of the city limits, virtually no one ever came here out here, or perhaps even knew of its existence.

He himself had discovered it in what felt like a lifetime ago, and it was one of the few commodities he had possessed. He hadn't even brought Blake here, despite all the years he had shared with her in their childhood. It was somewhere he went where he could truly be himself, somewhere he could go when the world became too much for him to bear and truly feel happy. And now...now, even this place was tainted.

What he had deduced of his miserable little existence had crushed his soul. He had nothing left to fight for.

His despair overcame him for an instant, and the young man's mind began to wander once more. Much like the horizon before him, he stood at a crossroads. Between two paths, both uncertain, with none he could truly trust to ask for genuine counsel or guidance.

Running a hand backwards through his crimson hair, Adam Taurus looked down at the sheathed sword in his lap. Gingerly, he withdrew it from its ebony sheath in part with a soft click, observing the impeccable craftsmanship of his weapon. 'Wilt'.

A crimson, single-edged curved blade with a circular guard, the katana was perhaps one of the few things to his name, and an inheritance from his late mother. Created from the smelting of ironsand in a method of smithing known as Tatara, that had been lost since the Great War, to hear her tell it; it was a weapon infinitely more durable than standard steels and composites, requiring very little upkeep or maintenance. It had passed through several generations of her family as an heirloom, seen countless conflicts. Twin symbols, carved into the base near the hilt. Ancient Mistrali tenants of his mother's people. His mother….

He had few memories of his father. Adam had heard he was a good man, but he had died in a cave-in, while Adam himself had still been an infant, deep in the dark cavernous Dust mines of Mantle. His mother, bless her soul, had raised him alone, as best she could. It was she who had taught him to fight, who had seen to his training in her hopes that he might one day take up his sword in the name of justice and equality. And then she was killed. By them. All because of that bastard and his grand delusion of how the world should be. Adam fought down the surge of vitriolic bile that welled in him whenever he thought of her fate, attempting to take deep slow breaths.

In the early days after he had laid her to rest, he had desperately wanted vengeance. It was disturbing for one so young to carry so much hatred on his heart, or so some would say disparagingly when they thought themselves beyond his hearing. Like they could ever understand.

He had no way of knowing now if it had been her intention, but her training him over the years had imparted on him a deep love for combat. From the moment he had first held his weapon, he had grown addicted to the challenge, the sheer wild thrill of it. He was not, nor would he likely ever be, afraid to fight, no matter the odds, whether he won or lost.

It was the motives that were expected of him now that gave him pause. He'd blamed the humans at first. And why not? That was what was expected of him. They had tormented him all his life, taken his father, his dignity, his eye and now they had murdered his mother.

They wouldn't...they hadn't even given her the right - the mercy - to die with dignity. That great woman, his guiding star, had died because she cared, was beaten and trampled into a slow and painful death...

But was it really so simple? Adam held his head low. He had only ever known humans as a relentless and unforgiving evil. How many times had they done this? Gleefully tortured and tormented for no reason at all, only for their evil to be handwaved by both human sympathizers and faunus activist alike? At a certain point, didn't their actions stop being their fault? They were what they were. Everything they did, they did because others allowed them. Because he allowed them. He spared himself a moment as his hatred for Ghira Belladonna swelled inexorably, the sudden surge of uncomfortable heat sinking into his pores before being chased away by grief again. Was there any honor in fighting under the banner of a man who had led his only kin to the slaughter to serve his ego?

He withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper from an inner pocket and stared at it for what must have been the umpteenth time. The same elegant script stared back at him.

"White Fang."

Sienna. At the thought of her, Adam's mind calmed somewhat, though the internal storm still swirled and raged for slightly different reasons. She was one of the handful of people he had even known that he could even halfway call a friend, though, even that lately had been called into question by recent events. It had been nearly three weeks since he had met with the ambitious woman during his mother's funeral. A quiet affair, she had approached him while he was alone at her graveside , to offer him her condolences… and a chance to "continue her work.' There had been… something, in that conversation, and in the piece of paper she had slipped into his hand as she left him to grieve. Unspoken, perhaps, but the promise of a more active resistance, rather than the passive acceptance of the evil done unto their kind that Belladonna preached.

The kind that had cost him his only remaining family, that stood aside and allowed such a kind and gentle woman to be slain so violently by humans at what was supposed to be a "peaceful" protest. Though he had to admit, as she left him there, staring at the cold stone that marked his mother's remains, that thought, the idea of carving a bloody swathe into humanity, who had branded him a beast and put out his eye, and claiming vengeance in the name of his mother definitely sounded... appealing.

But the more time had begun to pass, the more he thought on the matter, the more being offered the "honour" of avenging his mother and fighting "for the Faunus" began to feel less of an honour and more and more like a slight. It was something he had first noticed at the funeral, something that he just couldn't shake. Adam had taken care of a good deal of the funeral arrangements himself. They had no other family, but his mother had friends within the White Fang; and he'd reluctantly allowed them to be present at her funeral, though he drew a firm line at Ghira's attendance in no uncertain terms. It was there, watching them speak, laugh and reminisce, that he came to an epiphany.

They had murdered her. Not the humans.

Each and every one of them had stood by, watched her killed, then acted as if it were a noble sacrifice for their sake, that by loving 'her' memory the mourning became a wholesome and wonderful thing, instead of what it was. They were cowards at best, vultures at worst; none of them willing to see the difference between honourable self sacrifice and murder. Parasites.

It had never been just the humans at fault, had it?

It had been a hard thing to accept, with everything his mother had tried to teach him, but this had been far from the first time the faunus had shown him their true colors. He'd learned that harsh lesson at eight years old, and at his mother's behest, had done his best to unlearn it. And now, she'd paid for his stupidity, and they thought to ask of him a price that he didn't know if he could pay.

He was tired.

In the time since that day, he had done little else but consider it, turning it over through countless sleepless nights, and insufferably long days. He could not deny that he had hated humans, long before his mother's demise. He loathed them since he was a small child, beaten and disfigured in the dark by the malevolent demons that thought themselves his superiors, who thought he and his mother were little more than property for their entertainment. Despite her wishes, and his own best efforts, he had never been able to forget the torment they had faced at their hands, for no other reason than simply being what they were. He would be lying if he said he didn't want to make them suffer in turn.

'And yet.'

Would it even be worth it? Was there even a point, now that he had nothing left to lose?

He could not escape that treacherous feeling that walking that path, as cathartic and righteous as it might sound to him in his most private moments, would be a mistake. Memories of those days hung over his head and a revelation had occurred to him, amidst those sleepless nights he had endured so often, and even now, in this place of calm tranquillity, it refused to release its hold over his mind. Despite everything that he knew, and everything that he had once believed, the candour of the matter remained unchanged, an old truth he had thought buried so long ago.

The tropical island of Menagerie could not be described as a small settlement, and to call it such would certainly be a disservice. In theory, it should be a dream come true for someone like him. A kingdom where faunus could live freely, safe from human persecution and oppression, and be free, as the undisputed masters of their own destiny. It would seem honorable, just even, to join an organization that professed to desire to grant faunus across the world the same freedoms that Menagerie had. More importantly, at least to some, to protect them from the same fate he and his mother had suffered.

It was what his mother had wanted for him, and a part of him believed that the greatest way to honor her memory was to help fulfil what was once her dream under the Fang. Furthermore, there was once a time in the not too distant past where he would have leapt at the opportunity to be a part of something like that. Of making her proud.

So why then, did he now feel as though he was being offered one yoke in place of another? That he was casting aside his pride,his dignity to the same swine he so thoroughly despised? Was it just something he told himself? A way of coping? Adam slowly ran a finger over his still bruised knuckles, attempting to dispel the cursed memory of receiving the news of her death, and the right hook he'd given Belladonna, to little avail. Even now, weeks after the event, they were sore to the touch, and he winced whenever he flexed his fingers, but he hadn't broken anything at least. Nothing physical, anyway.

The grief often came in waves and threatened to consume him entirely. It was his undisputed master. He was at the mercy of it's whims and at times it attacked him with such ferocity, he feared it would leave him an empty shell.

Perhaps it already had.

She was dead.

He'd burned through the denial, the frustration, the pain, and what was left at the wick was a heavy grief. But destruction was no catharsis for it, and thinking just made it worse. He'd already spent his violence, and without the distraction it offered, he had little to do but think. He hoped, perhaps, that the impact would fade – that if he examined the words enough times, they would begin to lose their bite.

They didn't.

The memories haunted him relentlessly, never once letting him forget the horror he had felt on the day he had learned the news. Even the positive things that he had so dearly loved and treasured like her laugh and her voice were day by day becoming little but distant whispers, almost barely recognizable in his mind, leaving him barren and resentful.

He wiped the tears on his sleeve, letting their moisture dribble down into the sand soundlessly. The flames of his rage died in his chest, as despair welled within his thoughts once more. What was the point of dreaming? What had dreams brought him, but pain? The one person he would have wished to share that dream with, was gone, and his world with her. Why fight at all, if he didn't even know if there was anything still worth fighting for?

All Adam could do as all of these questions tormented was hold his head in his hands, feeling the only love he'd ever known drain right through his boots and be replaced by ice. Tormented with what could have been, what should have been, words and regrets taunted him with a savage intensity, and blinded by his tears.

He didn't like how this felt, and not for the first time, he sincerely wished he had it in him to end it all.

A hand brushed his shoulder, and he jerked violently, only to see he was no longer alone.

"Lien for your thoughts, young man?

The stranger had appeared as if from nowhere, the sudden baritone of his voice startling Adam, who very nearly leapt out of his proverbial skin, before schooling his instincts to hide his alarm. Alarm which quickly became annoyance.

The first thing Adam noticed, was that the old man had a head of silver-white hair with pointed canine ears perched atop. He had a wizened face and a back slightly hunched. With each movement there was the near inaudible creak of old bones. But what stood out most to the younger faunus was the hollowness behind his eyes. He had the resigned look of one who knew life had given all it had to give, and all it did now, was take away. It was a look that he was incredibly reticent to discuss even in his own mind, but the sheer emptiness of his gaze invoked in him just the slightest sliver of fear.

It was a face he didn't recognize.

His hackles rose in response, his grip tightening around the handle of his blade.

"And what concern are my thoughts to you?!" A snarl left the bull faunus' throat. He had no idea who this stranger was, and in the back of his mind, he knew full well that the newcomer had done little to draw his ire. All the same, he wanted him to leave him in peace to his sorrow, and his frustration at his current dilemma quickly boiled over. In a flash, the blade was flicked free of its sheath and pointed squarely at the man's jugular.

"Leave." Adam hissed venomously, the demand ripped from a dark, acidic place in his soul, the word all but burning in his throat. "I will not ask a second time."

The stranger simply laughed, an act which confused and angered the young man.

Did he not see the sword at his throat? The sharp edge of his blade was barely a hair's breadth from the elderly man's neck and yet he seemed entirely unconcerned by his imminent death, merely rapping the cold steel with the handle of his cane.

"I see in you, a soul of a warrior. Always looking for a battle to fight."

The man spoke slowly, and deliberately, his eyes never leaving his. The eerie calmness in his tone and stance caused the young man to involuntarily shudder.

Refusing to show yet more weakness before his unwelcome companion, Adam savagely gnashed his teeth, wiping away from his face the remains of tear streaks with his free hand, and tightening his grip on his favoured blade all the while.

"But you are rash. Quick to anger. Your wrath, your pain, will consume you if you do not learn to direct it. It will become all that you are."

"And what would you know about pain, old man?"

He almost snarled acrimoniously, as he began to smolder with resentment, desperately trying to control and choke down the fresh surge of anger that bubbled like magma in his veins. The old burn scars, a painful reminder of his early childhood, burned with an ever familiar phantom pain, as he glared at the man at the end of his blade, who merely stared back at him, impassive. Who in the hell did he think he was? He didn't need his speeches or his damned pity, and he sure as hell didn't know the first thing about him. And yet that empty look in his eyes burned and touched somewhere deep within his soul still.

"I know enough. Enough to know that keeping your pain to yourself will just make it hurt all the more."

Adam sank back to the ground, defeated, and sapped of his fire and strength, withdrawing the blade from the older man's throat as he did so. His eye burned from the tears threatening to spill, destroying the mask of anger that he wore so comfortably. His head sunk into his knees, as his face burned with shame and grief.

There was silence between the two for a few scant seconds, the soft rise and ebb of the ocean tide all that could be heard as the the two stared out at it, one standing one sitting.

Finally, the elder spoke.

"Would you not share your troubles with me?"

Adam didn't know why it was that he started talking. He didn't even know this man. His paranoia flared, as it so often had, and he was half tempted to tell the old man to get the hell out of his face, before storming off angrily towards somewhere he might actually get some peace of mind without being bothered, Maybe he was an idiot. Maybe it was because he was just so damned tired. He didn't know which.

Even less sure that he still cared.

So Adam spoke. He poured out the troubles of his heart to the strange man, not cognizantly aware of precisely what he was even doing, he talked and talked, exposing his fears, his woes, his grief, and finally his irreconcilable disjunction between his kin, the Fang, and humanity.

He didn't even bother keeping the bitterness and resentment out of his voice as he regaled his new associate; the emotions he held felt forced to curb around the people of Kuo Kuana and their false sympathies but the old man nonetheless gave him his ear, focusing on his every word. When he had finished, he averted his eye to the ocean, wordlessly staring once more into the horizon. Perhaps now his curiosity was satisfied, he'd leave him alone. Would that he were so lucky.

Surprisingly, the mockery he expected for his troubles never came.

"My advice," The elder party remarked , using his cane to steady his own descent into a seated position next to him in the coarse sand, "would be to think on, what it is that you truly desire. Focus on your feelings. In short. What is it that you want?"

Adam groaned.

Without necessarily meaning to, he had inadvertently touched on the very core of the matter; what did he want? What was he supposed to do?

The question for the older man had seemed an innocent one. But Adam felt, no, knew it meant so much more. The answer, when it did come to him was somewhat unsatisfying to him at first.

'I want to be free.'

Free of the nightmares that plagued him night after night. Free of the pain that met him every morning as he awoke to an empty home, and the feeling of betrayal, paranoia and rage that gripped him every time he saw the White Fang's emblem. Free from being looked down on and pushed around for what he was. Free of the damned promises he'd made that tore his soul apart.

But, as he began to truly consider what it was that he was being asked, there was something else he felt. Something growing in power by the minute, but he couldn't quite identify, and it frustrated him to no end. He let the matter drop, at least for the time being, and focused on his first answer. There had to be something worth examining there. He was sure of it.

He hadn't been sure how long they had been sitting there in the sand, in silence before he finally broke it, his voice shaky and hoarse.

I can see it in your eye." The man said, his gaze sharp, waiting for his answer. "Go on. You know the words."

"I..." He was trembling, the man's words echoing, the strength of his desires consuming him from within. "I..."

"Say it."

"I want...to..."

"Speak!" The man slammed his cane into the sand. "Shout it to the heavens themselves!

"Freedom!"

Adam screamed, the words falling unbidden from his lips before he could even process what they were. He felt almost a physical relief upon the utterance, as if the truth of the words were a heavy anchor he had pushed from his chest. He creased his brow in the effort of accurately categorising the sensations .That, he was sure he wanted. But it wasn't everything. Was it?

He noticed then that the man was staring at him, quirking an eyebrow, with a look resembling surprise.

"Freedom? Not vengeance? Interesting."

Adam's breath caught in his throat.

He had said that, hadn't he?

The old man continued, either ignoring or unaware of the internal struggle he had instilled in the other faunus.

"What that means is entirely in your hands, my now, you're looking back, dwelling on the past. But, the thing about the past is, you can't change it. What has happened, has happened. Dwelling on that only stops you from living in the here and now. It's slowing you down."

Adam, coming out of his haze, looked down at the sword in his hands. That was kind of useful, but… "Does that mean to just forget about it? The past? Because...I can't just do that."

He chuckled lightly at Adam, drawing lines in the sand with his cane. "Nor should you. Forgetting the past is the surest way to repeat it, and anyone who would try to tell you otherwise is a contemptible fool. You remember the past, and it's lessons, you keep it with you, but you don't spend your life looking back on it."

"How?" He asked. How do I not look back? How do I just ignore everything they've…. I can't forgive the humans. Or Belladonna. I don't know how. I don't even know if I want I know she would want me t-"

"Then don't."

The answer was swift, brisk and certain , as though he was telling him that the sky was blue, or that the moon was broken. The speed of the answer surprised Adam, who could only stare at his bemused companion open mouthed. In a utterly stunned tone, he responded.

"Don't I have a responsibility to them?"

Even as he said the words, he knew them to be hollow. Hating the humans for what they had done to him, what they had stolen from him and rejecting the White Fang and Belladonna for sacrificing the person he loved most on the altar of their self righteous crusade were not so diametrically opposed. He felt stupid for even asking the question.

But he got an answer nonetheless.

"Responsibility doesn't mean placing yourself at the whims of the world, Nor does it mean that you must accept a life that you feel is unworthy of you. It is a spiralling path to madness, to live your life solely the way someone else would live theirs. The only things you are responsible for, my friend- He paused. -is yourself and your own path."

The younger man barked; a short, disbelieving laugh and shook his head sadly. "Most would call that selfish.."

"Most are hapless fools." Came the quick reply. "Is it selfish to desire freedom from the chains of a dream not your own?" Adam didn't answer. "A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. Rather, it would be demonstrably so if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses. By the same measure, selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is demanding that others live as one wishes to live."

He started tracing lines in the sand again.

"Fate has made you suffer much at the hands of a world that is neither fair nor kind. It's people have taken from you, crushed your spirit, and left you hollow. These things are immutable; you cannot change this. However, who is to say that you must always be a slave to it? To always live under another man's boot and serve their whims? Perhaps you are too young to see it now, but part of the reason you suffer, is because you hold the views and opinions of others too far above what you need. And in doing so, you grant them the power to bind you, and keep you from your destiny. But you must understand that they are chains of your own making."

The bull faunus was still silent, averting his gaze shamefully to his weapon. The symbols at the base of his blade stared back at was a war going on inside him. So many emotions clashing for dominance, some he couldn't even begin to describe, new thoughts rising in his head that tried to overpower the misery-ridden ones that had clouded him, making it impossible to think straight for even a moment. But through it all, he felt something else. That feeling again. Something that he had been feeling, that he had felt the day he lost his eye, when he saw how his "brethren" had treated him. Something that rose the more the man had spoken. It was something he felt he should recognize, something that anyone else would recognize for what it was, but for some reason eluded him still.

He felt a deep sting in his chest as the veracity of the stranger's words spilled over him. Hearing them felt like lacerations to his soul, despite the fact that the man's voice had held no ill intent or malice. If anything, that simply made him more ashamed.

Taking his silence as license to continue, the man followed Adam's gaze to the blade, inquisitive as to what was on his companion's mind.

"You fear leaving behind what is known. You fear the truth. That is a fear many men have," The man began. His gaze lowered, and the boy once again found himself avoiding those hollow eyes.

"Indulge an old man's curiosity for a moment. What do those marks mean?"

It took the intended effect on Adam, the young faunus looking up into the horizon with a wistful gaze . That at least, had been a happier memory, if the wistful look in his exposed eye was to be taken as evidence. He held the blade up to the dying sunlight in silence , examining it with the beginnings of a genuine smile. His companion merely watched patiently, allowing the young man to reminisce in the joys of his past, however briefly.

"Meiyo." Adam finally answered, tracing the grooves nearest the hilt reverently, the ancient Mistrali falling easily off his tongue. "She told me once, that it means 'honour', in the tongue of her ancestors. Only one judge of honour and character matters, and that's yourself."

He recited the words with a practiced ease. From the moment he had begun his training in the art of combat, she had drilled these principles into his head, as they had been passed onto her from her own father. For all of her belief in the ideal of peace, she never stopped taking pride in the legacy she'd been born into. 'Better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.' He smiled.

Tracing his finger along the blade to the second symbol, he continued. "Gi. Integrity. A warrior must always commit themselves to honest decisions. So whatever my path, whatever actions I take, they represent my very soul. My true self as it were. Whatever that is."

He'd never quite understood that second principle, now that he thought about it, and even less so now.

He'd glanced sideways to meet his companion's gaze, not knowing if his answers were satisfactory.

And then the man burst out laughing.

Adam felt a cold line rush down his spine, warmth leaking away from him. It was one thing to interrupt his mourning and his sorrow offering unsolicited counsel. But to mock the very memory of her teachings? It was tantamount to sacrilege in his eyes, and he swiftly rounded on his companion to show him exactly what his opinions on such flagrant disrespect were.

Only for him to be met with confusion at the response he received.

"Do you not see?! The very answer to what you seek is right before you!"

The mad old man cackled, serving only to bewilder his horned companion all the more. Adam wanted to curse, shake him until he started making sense, but he knew full well by now it would get him nowhere. Instead, summoning every shred of patience he still possessed, he raised an eyebrow and waited for his companion to explain himself.

"Apologies, my friend. Allow me to rephrase. Do you honestly wish to join this White Fang?"

Adam frowned.

No. No he did not. He was certain of that now. But he didn't really see how that changed anything. Was the old man going senile?

His interest piqued, Adam shook his head wordlessly, trying to see where his companion's thought process was traveling.

"Does doing something against your own desires sound like an honest decision?"

At that, Adam had no answer. It wasn't that he could not conjure a response , more that he could see full well where the old man was going, and that he knew silence was the only wise answer. Realization, or something close, to it crossed his face. "So what would you have me do then?" He looked exhausted, the weight of his dilemma finally taking its toll on his body. The tension left him as he slumped further in defeat.

"You realize it, don't you?"

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder.

"The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself, my friend. If a man is to find peace in this world, he must know himself , even if it is not the self that he would desire. Trust your instincts. If you truly believe that serving under the White Fang and Belladonna is unconscionable, then do not join. Life is too short to live by the influence of others. Trust me, in the long run, you'll either be looking back with regret of your choices or with satisfaction. And I highly doubt you're enamoured with the former."

He rapped the blade with his staff. "Just some advice from an old man."

He landed a solid punch on Adam's arm and set a content smile.

The man's smile was infectious, and Adam could not help returning it, despite himself. A thread of relief unravelled up through his body, loosening some of the hard knots clenched in his chest.

"Who are you?"

The emptiness that loomed in his eyes when Adam had first met his gaze, returned in force at the question. Momentarily forgetting his plight, he was at least partially intrigued, though wary all the same. His instincts told him he would do well not to pry too far, and there was no sense in ignoring them , especially not now.

"Me? I'm just an old fool. A traveller that's tired of life these days. Many things really. But above all else, I am a man."

Adam huffed, though the older man noticed that it was surprisingly more good natured than his previous outbursts.

"Thanks for clearing that up."

The stranger began to rise to his feet, propping himself on his cane once more, before Adam stopped him, gently grasping the base of his cane. His words came slowly, but the old man was patient, allowing the younger man to catch his breath.

"I think...somewhere, deep inside, I already knew what you said is true. But I needed to hear someone else say it. So, thank you. For telling me what I needed to hear, and not being afraid to be blunt about it. That helped."

And he meant that.

Because the truth was, he couldn't do it. Not if he was ever going to live with himself.

He couldn't throw what remained of his life to the vultures who had given the only family he had ever known to the wolves. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life on his knees, desperate to appease humans who wouldn't hear him. He was tired of the warm breeze that aggravated the brand underneath his bandages, and the constant reminder that he had nothing. That those who tried to claim him as kin had stood back and let her die. As much as he desperately wished he could, he simply wasn't capable of taking the high road, answering callous transgressions with diligence and servitude.

If he did, if he forced himself to serve a cause, a people that he resented, then those memories, that hatred he held for them, would burn his way into his soul. They would grow like a parasite, wearing his flesh and using his voice, but ultimately they would rule him. He would become little more than a wounded mad beast, lashing out at everyone and everything in the hope of easing his own pain. And he had no intention of letting that be his life. He just hoped his mother would understand, wherever she was.

"I wish you the best then. Just live for yourself, young one, and do not be chained by the past anymore. For as easily as you placed those chains over your neck, you can take them off just as easily. May we meet again."

The old man nodded and smiled, and for a briefest moment, Adam swore he could see galaxies burning behind his bottomless eyes, before the man began to make his way along the beach with a wistful grin. His sole eye watched him depart, until he was little more than a speck on the horizon.

"Damn old man."

He muttered under his breath before sighing deeply, pursing his lips into a thin line.

The stranger's words had rooted themselves deeply into the young faunus. Living solely at the whims of others was no way to live. He had to find his own path, and move beyond the chains of his tragedy, or allow it to enslave him for the rest of his days. Tomorrow was promised to no one, and after his encounter with the stranger, he could no longer stomach the idea of living and dying in the name of a lie, even if it was in his beloved mother's memory. His newfound comprehension served as both an astringent and a salve, burning in his chest and helping, a line drawn between what he feared and what he so desperately wanted.

A simple inescapable truth had finally revealed itself: He had to leave this place behind.

But how? How could he do it? How could he go on, knowing that he was alone? He took a few moments to marshal his thoughts. "I...I want to believe. I want to. But, how can I be sure that I won't..." Memories began to play again, of hopelessness, of fear. He could already feel those chains gripping tighter, his emotions rising, corrupting his convictions like a plague.

In the fullness of time, he looked to the stars, and smiled from ear to ear, for what may have been his first in weeks. What other way was there? He had horns for a reason, didn't he? He laughed. He'd commit himself to his path the same way he did with everything else.

Head down, charging forward.

Like a bull.

With that final thought, he slowly stood to his feet once more, watching the waves.

Resolve settled over his shoulders like a warm cloak, shielding him from the cool evening air. Adam still held the piece of paper with Sienna's handwriting and details in his fist. Twilight had begun to arrive, and now the first visible stars had begun to appear, but the remains of the sunset could still be seen far on the western horizon, if only barely.

It was a good deal darker now, and there was very little sound , save the sound of the waves still crashing into the beach. The unbearable veil of darkness and indecision which had occluded his senses and subsumed his mind for the past few weeks had been cast aside and for the first time in days he was able to see the faintest glimmer of a future for himself.

His fingers uncurled, gifting the note to the wind. The breeze carried the paper high into the air where it twirled, skimming the sand for an instant, and into the frothy waves of the ocean. He watched it bob for an instant at the edge of the shore, before being dragged away by the receding tide and out of his sight.

The White Fang could find someone else to fight their battles.

But it wasn't going to be him.

---

Two weeks. Two weeks, he had waited for the next ship off the island.

Days had felt like eons, as he counted every second until the vessel was due in port.

The preparations for his departure had largely been made. He had worked diligently, but it had still taken some scrounging and elbow grease to get the lien for passage off the island to Anima. He'd checked in with the port a few nights after he had first made his decision to leave, for two main reasons. Firstly, he had wanted to leave as soon as possible, and knowing when the next ship to the island arrived into port, was very much a factor in the speed of his planned departure. Secondly; he needed to know how much time he had to garner the aforementioned lien and set the last of his affairs in order.

However, one of the workers at the docks had informed him that there wouldn't be another ship stopping at Menagerie for at least a fortnight, due to the vessel having engine trouble in Mantle. Adam had initially been disappointed bordering on outright upset, and he was certain that it must have shown on his face, because despite him holding his tongue, the worker's face had softened at his expression, and had told that he would receive guaranteed passage on the incoming ship upon the man seeing his urgency.

This placated Adam somewhat as he walked away from him, even giving the man his heartfelt gratitude. The long wait also gave him more time to think, which he was both grateful and resentful for. Being alone with his own thoughts was a dangerous thing, especially in this place, armed with what he now knew. Nonetheless, he'd made a decision, and afterwards, part of him had even felt slightly better. It was at the least, a solid plan, and something to give his focus to, other than the ever downward spiral that had been the fruits of his life.

It hadn't taken long to pack everything.

He and his mother had never been particularly wealthy, and didn't have a whole lot to their name to begin with even before they had fled to Menagerie from Mantle years ago. It was also true that what few possessions and keepsakes he did possess, held little monetary value, but even if they had, he didn't know if he would have been able to part with them.

Perhaps it was foolish, cowardly even, to cling to the mementos of a past tainted as it was by self delusion and shame, but the road that lay before him was long and filled with uncertainty…. And part of him knew he needed all the comfort he could get.

He was far too proud to resort to something as pathetic as stowing away in a ship's hold, and thus, he was forced to resort to various odd jobs over the course of the past fourteen days to secure lien for his travels, a task nor made any easier by having to dodge that woman at every opportunity. The work was largely menial labour, helping the fishermen near the coast with scaling and gutting fish for the food market, moving supplies and produce and work of the like nature. He may not have been as strong as a fully grown huntsman, despite having the benefit of aura, but his childhood in the mines had taught him endurance, and he had little trouble keeping up with the demanding work, despite how much it would take out of him over the course of the day.

The pay was rarely good, so more often than not, the end of each day found that all Adam could do was drag his tired corpse across the threshold of his family home and collapse into his bed most days, even with having his aura unlocked. The missed messages and calls on his cheap second-hand Scroll numbered in the double digits by the time came near for his departure, but he was acutely aware that his overdue discussion with her, was a conversation he had no desire to have at any time in the near future, at least while he could still avoid it.

Though he was also aware that he could not hide behind the excuse of work indefinitely, he still found himself doing his level best to ignore the continued attempts at contact, even if there was a modicum of truth to the reasoning he had prepared in his head. Alas, time waited for no man, and in his heart of hearts, he knew he would have to inform her of his decision eventually.

And that moment had arrived, whether he wanted it to, or not.

The scorching Menagerie sun seared onto the boardwalks of Kuo Kuana's coastal stilt-house district as he trudged up the hill to his destination. He had only visited the Belladonna home on a few occasions. Ghira made no secret of his distaste for the young man's presence here in the past, and Adam did not particularly care for him either, even less so after the death of his mother. He supposed that no father particularly enjoyed the idea of young boys around his only daughter, to say nothing of one who had grown so volatile around his "peers".

Perhaps that animosity between them had had some effect on Adam's ultimate decision. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He was here now, and his mind was made up. He stood outside the large oak doors, at his destination. He raised his hand, inches from the silver knocker, then hesitated.

The journey itself had very nearly sent him spiraling into an irrational temper, even though the things he saw and heard were nothing he hadn't expected to see. Listening to some proud mother promising to cook her children a huge celebration dinner only reminded Adam that he had no-one waiting at home and not a soul standing to care for him. No, his portion would instead be solitude, disgruntled mutterings and servitude to ingrates, if the people here had their way.

"Home," Adam muttered under his breath, the singular word tasting all too bitter on his tongue, "Ha. Right."

Menagerie wasn't home to him; it never had been, and he had long since doubted that it ever would be.

The very realization multiplied his anger.

The mirrors that had blinded and influenced him had finally shattered before it, allowing for him to see everything as it truly was. He hated himself for not seeing it sooner, for ignoring the obvious until it was too late. This was his chance to make up for lost time.

Silent contempt as he might hold for nearly every one of the people on the island for their betrayal of his trust, his friendship with Blake was another matter. She was perhaps the closest thing he could call to a younger sister, and despite his unmatched hatred for her father, he felt a great deal of affection for her. He had hoped she would understand, even if she didn't agree with his decision. But as he neared his goal, the doubts he had thought dispelled began to creep back into his mind with a vengeance with every step. What if he had made a mistake? What if he ended up with a life of regret?

And just like that, his good mood had soured.

Expelling his doubts from his mind, he growled in frustration. If he threw away his courage now, how could he ever hope to finally be free to find his own happiness? His conviction returned, a fire lighting behind his eye and he felt a warmness that hadn't been present before. Taking the knocker with a firm grip, he rapped on the door resoundingly with a confidence he did not completely feel, the silence of his surroundings serving only to magnify the sound of metal on wood. He stepped away from the door, mentally preparing himself for the trial to come. 'Be polite.' He recited to himself.

He need not stay for long, and there was no sense in making things more complicated than necessary. Say his piece, turn around , and leave. Simplicity itself. He soon heard footsteps approaching the door, and schooled his face, into what he hoped was a neutral expression that at the very least hid his dissatisfaction with his current location.

To his surprise, and slight horror, it was not Ghira Belladonna who would come to open the door.

"Adam?"

Kali Belladonna observed him in near complete silence, shock evident in her tone. He internally winced. He had not anticipated seeing her, which he had silently admitted, was foolish on his part. She did live here, after all.

He had remembered her being at the funeral, but he had also remembered making a point to avoid her. Not least because of the altercation he'd had a few days prior with her husband. He wrung his hands, half tempted to turn and flee, but standing his ground through sheer force of will. He would have been surprised to know, in this moment however, that his fears regarding the matriarch of the Belladonna family were somewhat unfounded.

In truth, Kali had worried about the young man.

The death of a mother at any age was bound to be traumatic, and he had been no different. He had always been a rather solitary boy; or at least, she could not recall him speaking more than a few words to anyone other than his own mother and Blake. He was polite, at least when you could get him to speak in words that had more than a single syllable, yet by all reports, he was a man of few words, preferring to spend his time training his swordplay, or having his nose in a book somewhere, the latter a habit her own daughter had adopted in quick succession.

No one had seen hide nor hair of him for weeks, and their last conversation had been less than pleasant.

She'd even visited their home countless times since the funeral, but no one had ever answered. Shaking the memories loose from her head, she took a moment to observe his new attire, only now at the beginning of a growing awareness of the radical change he had evidently undergone since the last time she had laid eyes on him.

Gone was the asymmetrical black, stylized high-collared blazer, along with the sigils and motifs he had once begun to decorate it with. As were the long black dress trousers and black shoes with red soles that he so often wore with such seriousness.

In their place, a skull themed buckle, plain black trousers, and matching knee high boots, which were comfortably attached to two fastened black straps with golden buckles.

The blazer had been replaced with a battered black leather windbreaker with a crimson outline at the collar, the sleeves now ending at his elbows, and marked with far deeper scarlet sections than his former attire. In place of his red shirt, a black sleeveless patterned vest lay, engraved silver buttons pinning the material shut. Finally, Kali took notice of a harness attached to his waist, well fitted to the blade she had so often seen at his side, the hilt now resting under his palm.

Above all else, clad in his new attire, Adam Taurus, she noted, ultimately carried himself in a completely different manner than he did the last time they had spoken. The barely restrained anger that he carried with him in his stance for the past few weeks had gone, or had at least been buried, and in its place, was an almost unreadable young man. She doubted that it had simply evaporated. All in all, something had changed. And only time would tell what it was.

"Mrs Belladonna." The voice was cool and clipped, tinged with equal parts awkwardness and purpose. It took a significant amount of willpower to restrain his ill placed vitriol. It's very presence served as yet another reminder that he needed to leave this island behind. He continued. "May I speak to Blake for a moment? I have no intention of intruding on you for long. I'm just here to pass on a message."

There was something so very vulnerable in his unusually formal tone that stood out to her as he said the words and for the briefest of instances, the young confident warrior he presented himself as disappeared, and all Kali Belladonna saw a boy standing at a graveside, with nothing and no one in the world, and despite herself, the part of her heart that was a mother ached for him.

She collected herself quickly and gave him a gentle smile that made him uncomfortable. He had great trouble attempting to define his feelings regarding her, as he took a cautious step inside. She was the wife of the man who had stolen his world, and yet, she made an effort to be kind to him. Was it guilt? Genuine empathy for him? He wasn't sure, but at least for the time being, he gave her a chance. She was Blake's mother after all, so there was always the chance that she was the source of Blake's more noble qualities.

Adam silently observed the palatial home as he followed Kali to the meeting room, his resentment flaring with every step. The sooner he was done here, the better. The older woman walked in silence ahead of him debating whether or not to strike up a conversation. Passing a series of marbled green pillars and cedar walls in varying shades of brown, the young man felt a deep sense of disgust, wringing his hands again in an attempt to keep them occupied. He hated being here; he always had. His mother had told him stories, of how the structure represented the strength of the faunus, of how it was possible to achieve great things even in spite of those who would crush you underfoot. All it showed Adam now, were the excesses of a man who thought greater of himself than he deserved. Ghira had all of this, flaunted even, yet had the temerity to pretend he had any understanding of the suffering the less fortunate endured? The gall of that self righteous parasite…

He wanted to rant, but he clenched his jaw, holding it would have been easy to point to her husband, to call him out for his callousness and his cowardice. The extent of what he'd done to Adam's last family went beyond forgiveness. It went beyond his ability to forgive.

But not beyond his ability to comprehend. Not completely. This wasn't the time for a fight. Being near her...it just seemed to flare his temper despite his attempts otherwise. 'Not here...' He reminded himself forcefully.

"How are you?" The question was out of Kali's mouth before she had a chance' to reign it in, and she swore internally. The last thing he wanted was questions from her about something so personal and it was none of her busine-

"I'm not sure." Adam admitted finally. He took a very keen interest in the ground, unable to look her in the eye.

It would have been one thing had she simply refused to broach the topic, and treated him with a cold shoulder, but no; she was all comforting words and platitudes and even though it wasn't her he held responsible for his loss, he despised her all the more for it.

She was just trying to help, he knew that, but hearing the pity in her voice just caused him to grow more furious. It reminded him of all the other faunus he'd ever known, all open smiles and comfort before the rug was pulled under him. There was a catch, there was always a catch.

What difference would it make if he told her the truth? About the flashes of uncontrollable anger? The feelings of betrayal by those he was expected to call "his people"? The overwhelming sense that he was choking, surrounded by enemies on all sides and the fact that he could scarcely close his eyes without imagining his mother, crying out for help as Belladonna abandoned her to those filthy-

He looked up to see that Kali had stopped walking ahead of him and was giving a look of genuine concern on her face. His emotions subsided once more. It wasn't fair to unleash all of the anger and resentment he had been plagued with in his heart on her, just because she happened to be married to the single most contemptible being in Adam's universe. He exhaled slowly. "I'm fine, Mrs Belladonna." He paused to amend his statement. " Or at least, I will be." He hoped.

She seemed unconvinced, and after staring at him a little longer, with an aura of suspicion, she continued to lead him through the house. Neither of them spoke on the matter again.

"Ada-" she began, her tone worried, before beginning anew. "She's been worried sick about you, you know."

At that, he stopped, his own suspicion raised. He wasn't so stupid as to depend on the word of a woman whose interest it was to deceive him.

"Does she… does she know?" He asked slowly, carefully trying to keep his voice even.

She shook her head.

"I'll send her down, and give you kids some privacy."

He nodded in affirmation and the door of the meeting room closed behind him.

Adam paced the room, hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders pulled up around his ears and perused his new surroundings. Some of the windows were open, as well as the sliding door to the deck, and a pleasant cool breeze blew into the room. He could just make out, from where he was standing, that the deck itself looked out onto what appeared to be a lavish, traditional garden. A low table was situated in the centre of the room, with comfortable cushions for receiving guests.

On top of the table stood a single terracotta pot with a Mistrali Camellia in full and vibrant red bloom. He scoffed. The idea that Belladonna of all people had an interest in flowers was laughable to him, and he wondered with morbid curiosity just who it was who had procured it for him. The flower was one of the few spots of colour that stood out in the room, amidst shades of brown and green and he could not help but examine it further, before finally tearing his eyes away. It wasn't smart to get distracted in the den of the enemy.

Time drew out like a blade. His heart threatened to burst in his chest as his agitation grew within. The feeling of the walls beginning to close on him like a cage amplified with every step, as he once again began to debate fleeing. He wasn't sure how long he had been pacing back and forth like a caged tiger across the small room. Minutes at most, but it felt to him like an eternity. So lost to the passage of time was he, that he easily missed the light footsteps and gentle groaning of the cedar floorboards behind him, signaling that he was no longer alone.

"Adam?"

This near silent gasp was his sole warning before a black missile shot into his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around his back. At the sight of her, the mask that Adam had tried so carefully to construct, the disguise for his true feelings, began to produce cracks. She smiled up at him and rested her head on his chest, still hugging him fiercely. He could not bring himself to return her embrace, instead awkwardly patting her on the head. She giggled childishly. It was so him. He had no idea how to display affection, but always managed to be so endearing to her without even trying to be.

"What are you doing here? Not that I'm not happy to see you..."

"I'm just visiting. That's alright, isn't it?"

There was something in the tone of his voice, in the sudden stiffness of his jaw, that told her not to press on the notion just yet. Something dangerous flashed beneath the surface of his expression. Before Blake could identify it however, the emotion disappeared, pushed away by the wind.

She reached up and tightened the embrace. The smell of leather filled her nose, tracing the tips of her fingers back and forth along the raised embroidered rose marking across his back.

'Wait..'

Blake released him, instead taking him by his shoulders and stepping back to appraise him. "What happened to your usual outfit?"

"Ah, right. I got this the other day." Adam allowed himself a small smile, as he recalled how he'd come across his new look. He'd burned his blazer the night following the one on the beach, watching the flames devour the fabric, sending clouds of ash into the evening sky. It had reminded him far too much of the White Fang uniform he had once hoped to don. The similarities between the two had tainted it, and he knew that he could not bear to wear it again.

He had been taking a walk through the market stalls after a long day of hard labor and had come across the jacket. The thin cowhide leather had been well worn , fraying and virtually falling apart at the seams in some places. The inlay had begun to come loose, and he could tell at a glance that it would need replacing.

He wasn't even sure why the man was even bothering to sell it, instead of just throwing it out, but Adam was glad he did.

He guessed he could say it spoke to him, as strange as it was to think of it that way. All and all, it hadn't looked like much, and the stall owner had looked at him as though he was mad for asking to purchase it, before breaking into a manic smile at the idea of finally being able to be rid of the 'accursed garment', insisting that he take it, all but shoving it into his arms. The man barely gave Adam time to enquire about the price before the material was in his hands, without lien even changing hands.

It took him several nights, not least because of how little time he had while earning the funds for his departure. But with patience and perseverance, and a liberal usage of his late mother's spool and thread, he had slowly but surely managed to repair the holes and tears to his satisfaction by the end of the first week. Still, though, he had felt that it was missing something, though for the life of him, he couldn't place it at the time.

Then at last, sometime midway through week two, he'd realized it. After a trip to a seamstress,(He freely admitted he lacked the talent necessary to perform the task himself) his pet project now sported an simple embroidered wilting rose emblem of his own design across his back. He was very impressed by the seamstress's handiwork when he had arrived a few days later to retrieve his order, though he hadn't said so in as many words.

She'd also, somewhat to his embarrassment, corrected some of his misplaced stitches to the crimson inlay of the jacket, at no extra charge. Part of him bristled at that, but that was more his ego than any real anger talking. He'd already earned just enough for his main goal, so it wasn't like he'd put himself too far out of pocket with his indulgence. Besides, what it meant, was something more important than money, at least to him. It was difficult to find the words to explain to someone else, but if he had to put it in its simplest terms;

It was more than a new look to him. It was a symbol. A symbol of a fresh start. The blank canvas that he wished to, that he would be, once he left, and the growth from that canvas into something, while not perfect, would be vibrant and full of life once more.

He sighed wistfully in his head. Perhaps he did have his mother's sense for poetry after all.

She always did love roses.

The thought of her saddened him, but he clamped down on it with overwhelming violence and threw away the key. Those were thoughts for another time.

Instead of saying any of this, knowing that Blake could never understand what was going through his mind, or what his new attire meant to him, he just gave a simple smile, doing his best to re-summon an emotional mask.

"Can you believe that they were practically giving it away?"

"Yep. Cause that's got to be the tackiest thing I've ever seen." She smirked at his mock wounded look. "I think the blazer was way cooler. It suited you better." She wrinkled her nose in what may have been slight disdain, fiddling with the jacket's collar. "Besides, this? It's just not you, you know?"

At those seemingly innocuous words, it felt like Adam had been dragged right back into a stark reality, as his peace vanished in an instant. He remembered that he was deep in the lion's den. The carefree atmosphere between the friends had been broken, as he recalled in perfect, painful clarity, the very reason he had come to this place.

"Not me, eh?" He raised a sleeve, as if to examine it, suddenly feeling more self conscious for an instant before shrugging the jacket back onto his shoulders. "You might be right. But from here on out, I think I'm going to decide what "me" is."

She furrowed her brow at that. "Well, fine! Don't take my advice! Look like a dweeb all you like! Just don't come running to me when every girl you meet thinks you're an idiot."

Adam rolled his eye and snorted, waving his hand in a gesture both dismissive and defensive. "I'll take my chances. Someone'll understand it eventually." A small note of bitterness played in his voice, a trace of a rueful grin etched on his face as he averted his eyes.

He couldn't stop a small smile from crossing his lips, as he glanced at her, resisting the temptation to simply shrug his shoulders at her critique.

At that, Blake stilled, fidgeting with her hands for a moment, in an incredibly futile attempt to hide her blush.

Adam barely noticed.

He raised a brow, a smirk still playing on his lips. "And anyway. Do you really want to go there? Last I checked, your fashion tastes were- questionable at best."

"I have impeccable taste, thank you." she replied, nose in the air, with an exaggerated upper class accent. "That green and yellow kimono was a one off."

Recalling the memory in question, Adam's smile grew wider.

"You looked like you were wrapped in a cloak of vomit, Blake. At least I can colour coordinate."

He chuckled as her ears flattened against her head and she gave him a rather rude hand gesture in response to his jab.

He held a hand over his chest mockingly.

"Tsk Tsk. That's rather unladylike…"

"Fuck off, Taurus."

She smiled.

The awkward humor of their exchange had somehow managed to re-establish a degree of fleeting comfort between them, in a way that neither of them could have anticipated.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he shuffled to the table and took a seat, letting a sigh leave his body. Blake joined him on the other side of the meeting table.

Neither party seemed able or even willing to speak for a few minutes. They shifted in place in their seats, stole glances at each other, and then both tried to speak at once—but they stopped themselves.

"Ada—"

"It's alrig—"

Their voices died down and they once more avoided each other's gaze.

Finally, it was Adam who broke the uneasy silence, smoothing his hair over his horns as he began to stumble on his words.

"How have you been, Blake?"

A wry smile was his reply.

---

The two eventually slipped into what should have been easy conversation. It felt to Adam, at least for a brief time, almost as if nothing had changed in his weeks of absence. He deliberately avoided anything relating to her father, or what he'd been preparing to do over the past few days, save telling her that he had been in dire need of lien, and had thus been very much devoid of free time. His own cowardice irked him immensely, but the part of him that still wanted to see Blake as a sister, wanted to at least cushion the blow he had come here to deal.

Thankfully, she also asked him very little about his disappearance over the past fortnight for the most part, instead speaking animatedly of books she'd read, of several Mistrali manga series she had discovered, and even the ever accursed Ninjas of Love that she so adored.

He nodded along, absently. He had little to say in rejoinder, and it was easy to relegate the sound of her voice to background noise. Adam, in the past, being the reserved person that he was, often found that at times, Blake's habit of rambling when she got too passionate about a particular topic, quite frankly, got on his nerves, friendship be damned.

But today was different. Today may be the last time they saw each other for a long time, maybe ever, and he wanted to at least be somewhat civil. So he listened. Perhaps not attentively as she would have wanted to, but he made no attempts to interrupt her.

Attempting to pick a speck of dust irritating his eye, he raised a palm to his face, temporarily blocking his vision entirely. He moved it away and returned his attention to Blake, silently lamenting his lack of depth perception. He took a sharp intake of breath, as his stomach dropped to his boots.

Blake wasn't there.

Ghira Belladonna sat in her place, chuckling in his deep baritone, a mocking Cheshire grin on his face. Smiling. Laughing. Mocking him. Adam blinked his eye hard, trying to will the vision away, and all of the vitriol that came with it. Under the table, his fists clenched and shook in his lap, attempting to throttle an imaginary enemy.

The corners of his mouth drew downwards in anger, emphasizing the harsh lines in his youthful face. He lowered his head and closed his eye, desperate to focus on something, anything that wasn't that. His eye found a coffee stain on the table and zeroed on it, examining the circumference of the errant mark.

He could hear someonein the background, talking, but he didn't know who. His mind was racing, as he fought to reassert control over himself. The blood began to boil in his veins and he felt a deep, voracious and growing hatred inside his heart that entwined with his soul.

And then he made the mistake of looking up.

Adam knew, fundamentally, that there was nothing he could ever do to that man that could begin to cause him the agony he had brought to him through his actions. But with all of his training, everything he had ever been taught, he figured he could come close.

He could push his ribs right through his lungs and watch him choke to death on his own blood. It would be over in seconds. He'd die before he had the chance to call for help or throw up his Aura. By the time that two-bit con merchant realized what was happening, it would already be too late.

He could crush his windpipe and sever the oxygen from his brain.

He could grab him by the beard and pound his skull into the edge of the table until it fractured into so many pieces that his brains would spill out over the furniture.

Or he could just gut him and leave him to desperately— It was then, that briefly, the haze of raw malignancy lifted for a second, and he couldn't help but feel the nose-holding quality to his inner thoughts.

He felt sick.

He needed to stop thinking about it all.

But he just couldn't.

He couldn't.

The only thing he could see, the only thing he could even think of, was that desperate overwhelming, uncontrollable desire to reach forwards, and end him.

And it terrified Adam to his core.

Blake's voice finally broke him from his reverie.

Her low murmur was laced with concern. He realized then that she had been repeating his name for some time, her words unheard, occupied as he was with his own thoughts. Blake was sitting up now, next to him. Her eyes looked up into his, those amber irises reflecting her worry, and he cast his gaze downward, doing his level best to disguise his revulsion.

It never truly occurred to him just how much she resembled her father. Even now, as she attempted to stare at him with what he thought was concern, all he could see in those yellow eyes was her sire, and all that he had taken from him. Adam fought down the urge to scream. He was losing his mind. How could he have thought of doing any of that? To Blake, of all people? He had to get away from here, the sooner the better.

The thought came unbidden, with guilt and self-loathing following swiftly behind.

"Hello, Remnant to Adam?" She snapped her fingers loudly, craning her neck in an attempt to meet his eye.

"Hmm?"

Have you even been listening to me for the past fifteen minutes?"

She sighed dramatically.

Adam tried to smile apologetically, but all that came out was a half hearted grimace.

With one hand she reached out to cover one of his. He looked pale, as though he had seen a ghost. He could have killed her. That realization was finally setting in. And she was trying to comfort him.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

Adam didn't answer, his thousand yard stare still pinned to the wall behind her head. Blake didn't know what to do. And then it came to her. "Oh, I meant to tell you." She lit up again, her ears perking up in excitement. "Sienna's been asking after you. She says she visited you at home' but you never..." She trailed off.

He could only assume she had mentioned that news in order to lighten his mood, but all that did was make his disposition worse. But of course, she could never have known. He rationalized, trying to keep an edge on his calm. She still thought of him as the fool he had been a matter of weeks ago. He hadn't told her of the changes he had undergone, because he was too afraid of what the look on her face would be when he told her the truth. All of this, he knew intellectually. Emotionally however, he could feel his soul frosting over, a cold contempt for her words creeping up his spine. In spite of his best efforts at civility, his best efforts, it would seem the damage was done.

"Is that so?" He remarked softly, his arm becoming rigid with discomfort.

He withdrew his hand from hers, returning it to his lap with a stony face. A small note of bitterness played in his voice, a trace of a rueful grimace etched on his face as he averted his eyes.

"Adam?" Her voice was tentative, inquisitive with a hint of confusion at his unfamiliar behavior. He had never particularly enjoyed being touched, but he had always tolerated her holding him whenever she'd tried to. Now, he seemed more on edge than ever, almost retreating into himself. He was hiding something from her.

"I had something more important to take care of."

His voice was cold, but he found himself not caring as much as he thought he would. 'Why should he?' Some strange part of him muttered, deep within. Why should he apologize for prioritizing his life? Wasn't he allowed to attend to himself? Didn't he deserve to make his own choices without having to answer to her?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

There was an edge to her cadence now, and he'd regretted his words for all but a fraction of a second, clarity blossoming as he reminded himself that he was talking to Belladonna the younger, as opposed to the senior. He shook his head viscously, pushing out his hand as if to dismiss her statement. Nothing good awaited down that road.

"Forget it." He snarled, taking her aback for an instant, before she narrowed her eyes further, matching his hostility with her own.

"Stop avoiding the question!"

"I'm not avoid-"

He finally looked up to see a crestfallen Blake on the other side of the table.

Adam grimaced. He hadn't meant to be so harsh with his dismissal, but her resemblance to her damned father refused to leave his mind. He'd expected she'd be less than pleased with his actions, but the unfiltered disappointment in her voice cut as deep at the blade on his hip. He was almost tempted to lie, and say he had merely forgotten, but she knew him better than that.

He was sorely tempted to unleash everything upon her, vent and tell her everything, and at the same time he was tempted to flip the table and flee from the room—though he was of course, well aware this would only delay the inevitable. It wasn't as though Blake wouldn't eventually notice his departure after all, and in retrospect, she did at least deserve to hear it from his mouth. The girl in question was staring at him widened, her mouth hanging slightly open, as he struggled to find a way to form a tactful answer. A battle he was fated to lose.

"Blake, I… don't…"

"I thought you wanted to make a difference? Be a hero?" Her voice grew hot with anger. "Or are you a coward now?"

Of all the things he had endured in recent memory, that remark had cut Adam deepest of all.

He really had, hadn't he?

He'd wanted to be a hero once. The fantasies of a wide eyed child, red hair covered in soot, playing swords with a wooden branch on the outskirts of a mining town settled over his vision. A legend, even. A great liberator, righting all the wrongs of the world in the name of the faunus. He'd since convinced himself, or, he realized, allowed himself to be convinced, that he had those same lofty ambitions, glamourised ideals from watching others far more devoted than he, and had allowed himself to fall so deep into the pit of self-delusion, that he genuinely believed that it was what he was too. A child with delusions of grandeur, desperate to throw his skills and devotion to people who would plant knives in his back the moment he outlived his usefulness without so much as a backwards glance. Part of him blamed his mother.

But now, all he felt for his past self, for that stupid boy with that equally stupid hope in both of his blue eyes, was disgust. Disgust at his childish naivety and for the very people he once wanted to save. It was regrettable, almost pitiable to some minuscule part of him, until the memories of his conversation with the old man flowed back to the fore of his mind, and the very apparition he had seen not a few moments ago, and his response. There was no turning back now. He could not unlearn what he had realized about himself, and to toss aside his new convictions so easily would serve only to dishonor his mother's memory more than he already was.

His voice was low when he finally spoke, so low she almost didn't hear him despite the silence in the room.

"I'm not joining the White Fang. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I'm leaving Menagerie, and I'm not coming back. On the first boat off this worthless rock."

It was as if he had shot her in the chest with buckshot. She stumbled backwards, shock evident in her eyes and her grip tightened on the edge of the table to steady herself.

"What?"

"This will be the last time we speak, Blake."

Adam had nearly flinched at the venom in his own voice, before pulling himself under control.

"It's something I have to do." The words uttered were tinged with unspoken regret, but spoken with finality. "I don't expect you to like it, but… I hope you'll understand."

He fought even harder to keep the desperation from his voice.

Blake looked at her companion with horror.

They're partners; they should be together. It was something she just accepted, since the moment they'd met. He'd always been there. He'd looked after her. He'd promised her they'd join the White Fang together. And now he was leaving, and wouldn't even tell her why. Anger swelled in her chest.

"No! I don't understand! So you're just going to abandon me? Abandon us?"

She hit his shoulder with her fist, at first once, then over and over again, reigning blows down on him. She grit her teeth together and smacked and smacked with all the might a young girl could muster. "That! Is so! Stupid!" she hissed between each hit, tears of frustration bubbling in her eyes. "So! So STUPID! You idiot! How could you be so selfish?"

She looked up at him then, meeting his eye.

"What changed, Adam?"

He almost wanted to laugh. What hadn't changed? Where did he even start to answer that question?

Ignorant of his internal discussion, Blake continued to rave, lashing out desperately trying to get him to see the error of his ways, but he heard nothing, save one repeated word.

"Selfish."

The thin membrane that sealed Adam's anger came dangerously close to rupturing.

His decision was none of her business. His life was none of her business.

"Selfish?" His quiet interjection cut through her ranting in an instant, rooting her to the spot. "Is that what you think?"

He hadn't been able to place that feeling, that day. It wasn't that he hadn't known what it was. More that he hadn't been willing to admit it, either aloud, nor to himself. He'd chalked it up to mere resentment of Belladonna, and the "cause" that had cost him so dearly, to the rage he feared would consume him if he stayed. But here, at this moment, he finally understood the true cause of his pain.

He didn't care anymore. Or rather, he couldn't care. Fighting for "the faunus", fighting for the rights of people who had abandoned him in his own times of need, who had abandoned her to a grisly and painful fate, despite everything she had done for them? It meant nothing to him now. He felt nothing. As far as he was concerned, they and the humans deserved each other. Any drive to defend them, his empathy, had been washed away, drowned in a sea of all encompassing hatred. Deep down, in his heart of hearts, Adam knew that his mother would oppose his stance, that she would never approve of how he really saw the world. She had always believed in helping others, bettering the lives of the faunus, even at the cost of herself.

She meant it, when she spoke of selflessness, and poured nearly every ounce of her being into the mission; bringing about equality for her 'brethren' across Remnant. She was altruistic, and always strove to see the best in others, in spite of all the pain that she and her only son had endured at their hands. She would want him to do the same. The dichotomy had been ripping him apart.

But in his heart, he knew the truth. He wasn't a good enough person to be like her. He had never been selfless, he had never truly cared for the good of other faunus, outside of his mother. He wished to the heavens that he was different, that he was kind, as decent, and as forgiving. Perhaps he'd be able to live with himself if it were so. Maybe if he was, the hatred and agony in his chest would abate, and he could stay here on the island with Blake and fulfil his mother's wish in her stead. But he could only be himself. She was all he had, and with her gone, there was nothing left to hold up his delusion of altruism. He was, at his core, selfish. And it was time he came to terms with that.

'Gi.'

As much as some deep dark part of him hated himself for it, he had to be honest with himself. It was with that final thought in mind, that he once again began to speak, struggling to contain the wroth and pain in his words.

"You want to know what changed, Blake?"

His voice could almost be mistaken as mirth, with the way it wobbled, as if he intended to break into peals of laughter. For the faintest instant, she had hope. It was all a bad joke. He wasn't really going to leave. He was just indulging his sense of humor and messing with her. She didn't find it funny. Nor did she find the way his tone set her even more on edge any more amusing. Hoping to find the truth, she made the mistake of making eye contact. There was an element of madness there, and her anger was, however briefly, interrupted by concern, and perhaps even fear. Whether that fear was of him or for him… she couldn't tell.

What little control he had over his emotions was rapidly unraveling as he embraced his rage, allowing it to permeate every syllable he spoke with an almost exhilarating rush.

"The 'cause', and your father," he bit out, savagely, slowly making her away from him towards the nearby wall with his impossibly tall, imposing, looming body, "have stolen everything that ever had any meaning to me." But at the same time, I owe them both my thanks. They reminded me. Reminded me of a lesson I've tried for years to forget."

It was then that his words turned bitter, seething words finally shattering the dam he had tried to construct to protect Blake from his rage. "That you spineless, two-faced, conniving rats are every bit as twisted and vile as the humans feasting on this carcass of a world, and I must have been a complete jackass to ever think you were anything different. But you know what they say. Fool me once..."

She was stunned. He had never looked at her, never spoken that way before, and it was beginning to frighten her. "Good." Some part of him snarled, delighted that she felt even a fraction of what—

No.

A sliver of guilt wedged into his heart, expanding with each swell of his chest. That wasn't fair either. He didn't want to hate her, he really didn't. She was fourteen for crying out loud; she couldn't help who she was, no more than he could help what he felt, what he knew, about her father. Didn't she deserve to keep her innocence? For the briefest moment, he considered apologizing, before thinking better of it. All that would do was leave mixed messages, and that was the last thing he needed right now. He'd ripped the band aid; there was no point in trying to control the bleeding or corral the horses back into the stable. Masking his ire or the truth wasn't doing her any favors, it was just postponing the problem again. If he laid out his feelings clearly and concisely right here and now he could finally make it clear where they stood- and how he felt about her. He paused, using the brief silence to compose himself, stepping away from her to calm down before continuing.

"Look. You want to save the world, play the hero, be my guest. But you'll be doing it on your own. I need to do what's best for me. And what's best for me..." He looked back at her then, maintaining fierce eye contact with her as he did so. "Is to put all this behind me. So yes. I guess I am 'selfish.' He made air quotes around the word, his tone of voice taking a sarcastic tilt, before returning to a more subdued inflection. "But I have just enough of my soul left in me to admit it, instead of wasting what's left of my life fighting for parasites who've done more to harm me and mine than the humans ever have, in some pathetic play at nobility. You both deserve each other."

Adam glared at her for the briefest of moments, then closed his eyes and sighed, unable to hold onto his anger any longer. Or perhaps, unwilling to hold onto it. The bitterness he'd held in his heart had at last turned to clarity. This discussion was pointless.

His eye was flat. Cold. The molten fire she had briefly seen in the beginnings of his speech had faded, and there was no more heat to his voice, merely a hollow, but firm resignation.

"You can see it however you want, Blake. Call me every name under the sun, curse my name from now till forever if you want. That's your right. But I need you to understand that nothing you say can change my mind."

"This isn't who you are!" Blake growled indignantly, despite everything, exasperated."You're not—,"

"You don't know who I am." Adam responded coolly. "You never have. And at this point I'm understanding that you never will, because you don't want to."

After all, he hadn't known who he truly was. He'd spent so long deceiving himself, and so successfully, that everyone around him believed in the lie too. And it was past time to correct that mistake.

"Tell Sienna to go cough a hairball. I'm not interested in your little parade."

He had done what he came here to do, and whilst it had upset her, and he still felt that little sliver of guilt, the hard part was over. Adam cast a passing look at Blake as he began to walk away

Panic clutched her breast as her mind finally registered that he was leaving, compelling her toleap to her feet and push against him desperately; reaching her hand out until her fingers touched the stitching of his collar. her eyes glued to his face, to the one good eye he had, to his expression.

He stiffened, but otherwise didn't not respond. His eye snapped right back to her. She clung to it with her own, and her hands blindly reached for his.

"You can't leave. You can't."

She insisted, tears in her eyes, holding his hands tighter, as he tried once more to pull them free. Her voice caught in her throat. She needed answers. She needed him.

"Don't…"

She pleaded with her eyes; 'Think, Adam! Don't abandon us.

'Don't leave me.'

The words were unspoken, and she yearned to scream them until she was blue in the face, but she couldn't. Couldn't form the words in her mouth, much less say them. She willed him to stay with all of her might, begging him to see into her mind and see how she truly felt.

His rejection was swift and succinct, made perfectly apparent in three words, and ripping the young ravenette's heart open in the same breath.

"Are you finished?"

He sounded tired. Too tired to continue with trying to convince her to accept that he'd made his choice. That his departure was for her good as well as his own. It was better for him to leave now, while he was still himself, than stay, and let himself turn into a resentful monster, fighting for a cause and a people he didn't trust, or believe in.

The words he spoke weren't intended to be as cold as his tone, but they were a definitive end to their dialogue. He had nothing else to say, and she obviously had no intention of listening. She must have understood this, because she didn't resist as he tore his hands free violently, ignoring hot tears that burned in her eyes.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left her behind at the table. Walking briskly out of the room, he paid no heed to a shocked Kali, who had no doubt appeared in the doorway to see what had brought about the raised voices. She'd probably heard every word, but he didn't feel like explaining himself. He'd said his piece. Whatever feelings he may have had for her, and those were damned complicated; he could not let her stop him. It wasn't until he had slammed the door and stepped into the sunlight that he once more allowed himself reprieve.

That… had not gone to plan. At all. He hadn't envisioned anything in his head, but he thought he'd be calmer, more tactful. He hadn't been at all prepared for the sheer depth of the hatred he still felt, how close he'd been to….

Well. He supposed it didn't matter much now.

He wanted to laugh and cry all at once. His heart wanted to claw itself apart, while his mind desperately tried to reign in and process the chaotic emotions that flowed through him. His first instinct was to lash out in violence, but another part -a far more significant part of him- told him that this would be something he could live with. It was like that damned man had said.

There was no price too great to own oneself. And if that meant becoming embracing and being intimate with suffering for his folly, and learning to stand triumphant over it, then so be it. And this choice was unmistakably his, the way very few things had been his for most of his life. It was his fate to author, and anyone who didn't like it could bite him, as far as he was concerned. In the end, the ability to choose was the last thing he had left to him. The instant he allowed somebody to take it from him, was the instant he ceased to be alive at all- just an extension of something else's will.

She might well think him a coward, a monster or even a traitor. Sienna might think the same, to just disregard them all and abandon them to fate. But even if he ignored that "his kind" had betrayed him long ago, repeatedly, he still knew the truth now. He did not belong here, in this place. This wasn't his path. And if they, if Blake couldn't accept that… then he'd really had been right about them, that day on the beach. Maybe they were never worth fighting for. If the "Great Revolution" couldn't survive the absence of a single man, then it deserved to die. It was that simple.

For better or for worse, he had changed, and she had no right to push her dreams or her idealized memories of his past self onto him.

To hell with all of them.

In many ways he was grateful, for choosing to visit her today, for in hindsight, it had been a crucible. Where once there had been seeds of doubt, there remained now only a cold truth and resolve. He was alone now, and all he had was himself. There was no turning back from here. He'd burned his last bridges, and he doubted Blake would ever want to see him again.

But it was a price he was willing to pay.

The dawn of a new day came, and it found Adam on the deck of the cruiser in the light of the early morning sun. Duffle slung over his back, the stench of seawater wafting into his nostrils, he found himself more and more cavalier about the whole affair. His sorrow had not left him, and he had come to believe it never truly would, but he felt other powerful things now, more than he had before.

A tinge of excitement had crept upon him in the night, whispering to him of adventures yet to be had, new opponents to face, and most importantly of all, a distant yet fervent hope of a chance to finally cast himself free from the shackles of his memories. Blake hadn't come to see him off, but he'd anticipated that, and found himself less upset about the prospect than he had thought he would be.

Strangely, he didn't feel as sad as before. It had been a heavy weight in his chest, in his lungs, that made him sigh and slump. Now it was gone. Replaced by something else. A tentative lightness, that almost made him want to smile. One that he couldn't help but nurture.

'Have I lost my mind?'

The question hung in the forefront of his mind. It was a question he had asked himself before, with increasing frequency, but in the abstract; now, it seemed much more relevant.

And yet, strangely, he did not feel it to be the case. As he cast his eye towards the distant sea, there was a strange certainty in his mind that he was doing what he needed to – not only for himself, but in a larger sense. Now that the decision he had avoided so long and so desperately was made, he felt an oppressive weight lifted from his spirit. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, tasting the rain-freshened air and the mingled scents of the beach and sea in a way he had not in all the years he had lived there.

'Maybe I've gone sane…'

Maybe she thought he hadn't been serious. Or maybe she truly meant the words she had spoken to him. Or maybe she was as hurt by his departure as he was by her refusal to even entertain his rationale. Whatever the reason, he supposed it hardly mattered now, and he found her absence made his departure that little bit easier.

For now he wanted nothing more than to put the Belladonnas, their daughter, and the rest of his sycophantic followers out of his mind. This damned island, the humans, the faunus, the Fang. They could all rot. None of them mattered anymore.

Adjusting the harness that held his blade, he allowed himself a smile.

One thing was absolutely certain. Adam Taurus' purpose lay far from this island, from these people, in that world beyond the horizon. He made a deliberate point not to look inwards, towards land. It was clear to him that there was nothing there for him anymore. If he was to start again somewhere else, this was his biggest chance at finding out. No matter how many miles it would take to achieve it.

A loud klaxon broke him from his thoughts, startling him, and sending stumbling over his own feet backwards onto the cold wet deck. Within the next hour, the ship had finished loading up, the ropes were tied off, and after one final supply check, the enormous vessel slowly but surely set sail from the port.

Standing out on one of the ring decks and taking up a position directly next to the railing, the traveler used whatever daylight hours he still had to gaze out over the wide expanse of seas in front of them and admire the sight of the horizon line far beyond their reach.

Even though it was vast and empty for the most part, the faunus could see the touch of clouds on what looked to be the very edge of the ocean. The colors of orange and purple stretched out over the forever sky, extending from one point to the other.

"Going back was out of the question. But going forward? That just might have some possibilities."

And as the island of Menagerie shrunk at his back into the distance, he could never know that by his one choice, destiny had changed forever.

All for the want of a nail.