A/N

So, you might've noticed that I am posting this on Friday (in US time) instead of Saturday like I said I would. Well, from now on, I'm updating my story today. It's just easier for me, and I think I won't change it again, this time.

Also, summary change! Sorry, Foxy, your summary rocks—like, it really does, you have no idea—but I like mine better. It fits more with the mood of this story. Then again, I might change it back to yours again. Who knows?

Speaking of this story, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

CHAPTER 2

"Heya, Glynda." Smirking, Yang clears her throat. "Sorry, what I meant to say was; for what do I owe the pleasure?"

Wow. Too Remnant-sounding. Not that she'd notice. She'd think she was imitating the Medieval English accent. Which is true, in a way.

"If you keep this up, you're not gonna pass." Cold sweat breaks from her skin. Glynda doesn't sound mad, she sounds tired. Oh, shit. I'm in real trouble, aren't I? "You have not once passed any of your tests. You never turn in your assignments, and in the rare chance that you do, you never turn them in on time."

This is insane. She shouldn't be worried. Three hours ago, she was training the rookies on close combat. She wasn't simply another experienced soldier, she was Dragonheart.

After they were done, they'd shoot up their hands and ask them questions. "Was it true that you could breathe fire from your lungs?"

"And what about your armor? Did you really hunt down a hundred dragons to forge it?"

"That, kid," she said, even though they're around Ruby's age, "is for me to know and for you to find out."

They "ooh"d and "aah"d, not knowing she didn't come up with the phrase herself. But still. She was royalty. A literal princess. More than that, she was Dragonheart. She was a hero.

This shouldn't scare her.

But when Glynda's eyes flicked onto her, goosebumps slither down her spine. "What," she says, "would your uncle think?"

Yang snorts. "Bold of you to assume he can think at all."

Her snark doesn't faze Glynda. "What would your parents think?" Well, first, they'd freak out over the idea of another world existing, and the idea of me existing in both worlds, then they'd—"You can do so much better than this, Yang."

Now, why does that sound familiar? Could it be because, yesterday in Remnant, Ruby told her the same thing regarding her soldiership? Not in these exact words, but close enough. Close enough for Yang to want to grab Glynda's expensive-looking nameplate and bash them against the wall.

"Are you ready to put in the effort, Miss Xiao Long?"

A demand phrased like a question.

"Yes, ma'am."

Glynda nods a curt nod, and Yang thinks that she would fit in too well in Remnant.

She grabs a notebook and starts writing. "I'll talk with the teachers, tell them to help you get passable grades, but you have to promise me one thing." She halts, the tip of the pen a hairbreath away from the paper, and meets Yang's eyes. "Do better."

#

"Don't you think you should take a break?" Blake halts, then continues her sword practise. Take a break? They can't afford the luxury of a break, not here in Remnant. She slices the wind in moves as graceful as a dancer's, her shoes never making a sound as they step onto grass. "Truly, Blake. It's exhausting me to see you like this."

She catches Illia's eyes, then looks away. Heat creeps up to her cheeks. Illia's words—the ones spoken from a different world—echo throughout her mind as soft as the wind's breeze. "What, you didn't know? I thought it was obvious."

That Illia's despondent, which is a contrast to this Illia. This Illia has no reasons to be anything other than neutral. Sure, they're on another mission to fight against the Valeers, but that's not new.

"If it exhausts you so much, look away, then," Blake says, closing her eyes, dropping her fighting stance, and placing her blades in front of her.

If she focuses hard enough, she can sense something more than sharp metal and leather handles. Something familiar. Something an awful lot like—

"What are you even doing?"

Concentration broken, Blake sighs, lowering her swords into the hilts on her hips. "Nothing." And that could be the truth, as well. Remnant may be a world of magic and Grimm, but there are limits to its possibilities.

As if on cue, a herd of dragons fly out from underneath the leaves of trees, swooping down and circling around Illia. Illia grunts and swats them away. It makes some of them mad, who cough out tiny sparks of flame in her direction. "Oh, they've got it now!" Illia unhilts her own sword, then flails it around as though she's attacking Valeer soldiers and not pesky flying little lizards. "I swear," Illia says, "the more we don't bother them, the more they bother us."

Blake snorts, and Illia blinks at her, a fond smile tugging her lips. Heat returns to Blake's cheeks. She tries not to think about how softly Illia's lips were pressed against her. Just because Illia has a crush on her on Earth, doesn't mean she has one here, right? To distract herself, Blake asks for her report.

"The Valeer are to our northeast, and marching. They will arrive within our territory when the sun sets. There are more than twenty of them."

Blake's brows crease. Twenty Valeer soldiers, that she can handle. Her soldiers are 15 in total, but she has Illia on her side. The problem is the timing. After the sun sets, she'll have three to four hours to attack before she has to go back to Earth—five if she wants to be late for her first day of school, which she doesn't.

Illia senses her distress, and frowns back. "We have to wait, Blake. I understand that sleep is—" she hesitates "—important to you, so, if we want to, we can attack tomorrow."

"We have to strike while the iron's hot."

"I'm sorry?"

"It has to be today," Blake amends, cursing herself. Earth expressions should stay on Earth. "We can't keep sending scouts. They'll notice. And I'm afraid we might lose them if we wait." Illia purses her lips. "What is it?"

"I've heard rumours. Rumors, mind you."

If that's all they are then Illia wouldn't bother telling her about it. "What about?"

"The scouts say that they spotted an armor bearing the color of… yellow," Illia says. "But only in passing. And they weren't sure if it was even an armor. It might've been something else, such as, er…"

She trails off, but after "yellow", Blake hasn't been listening to a single word she's said. There's only one person arrogant enough to brand their armor with a distinctive color; Dragonheart.

Worries dissipate. Cautiousness fades away. Blake meets Illia's eyes, and Illia stops talking.

"We're attacking."

Because there's no other choice. Not if Dragonheart is involved.

#

Yang would say MD is barking orders, but that would be an insult to dogs.

She's been under the leadership of many, and this is not one of them. MD is no leader. All of the "orders" he's given his soldiers are things that they should be doing anyway. They've travelled from 6AM to 3PM—or, in Remnant term, from the third to the sixth bell—with short breaks. And now, here he is, "leading" his men into building tents for the night.

He's worn them out for no reason.

"That could be you, you know," a voice says from her right.

Yang sighs, but smiles. "Good to see you too, Weiss."

If there's one silver lining to this, it's the fact that she won't be tortured alone. The girl is pale, her hair a blonde bordering on white—contrasting to Yang's own darker, more saturated blonde. And her eyes. They're an even lighter color.

If this were Earth, people would call her an albino. But this isn't, and they instead call her a ghost. Not that Weiss minds what others think. Yang's not sure she even minds what she has to say, most of the time.

They excuse themselves, saying they need to fetch firewood. After squinting his eyes at them for 10 awkward seconds, MD lets them off the hook.

Yang walks through the woods, stopping to observe the setting sun. She'll have to go to sleep soon. Ironwood was kind enough not to give her shit for it, but Yang doubts MD will give her the same courtesy.

They pass by a small dragon, who blinks its tiny eyes at them and blows out a small puff of smoke in greeting. Yang resists the urge to do the same.

Then, out of the blue: "What would you do differently if you were in his position?"

Yang's steps falter. "Weiss…"

"Answer the question."

I'd separate the troops into groups of threes, she refuses to say. A large group may equal better strength, but they can be easily surrounded.

Instead, Yang stares straight ahead, trudging onward, ignoring Weiss' eyes. Beneath her boots, grass squishes and branches crunch. "You'd make a good leader."

"We both know you'd be the better leader between the two of us, Weiss."

It's Weiss's turn to stare ahead. Up above, stars are becoming visible. "A leader needs to be strong."

"You're strong," Yang says, because it's true. Weiss may be petite, and she may be horrible at close-quarter combat, but she's an amazing support.

"Not like you are," Weiss says. "It's a miracle I'm even allowed to be here, to fight by everyone's side." Yang grows silent. Weiss has a weak aura, even by the standards of regular citizens. It's one of the reasons why her parents were hesitant to let her into the army. "I don't know what Ruby sees in me."

Yang's about to answer her when the sound of a branch snapping echoes from her far right. She and Weiss exchange a glance, then place themselves between the trees, lowering themselves into a half-crouch, using the bushes as cover.

"Could be Grimm," Weiss whispers.

Yang's eyes squint. "No. It's not."

There, near the small pond, Menagerian soldiers stroll. They're armorless, but that's no surprise. Menagerian prefer stealth over strength, silence over chaos, swiftness over damage. No words pass between them. They halt, then scan their surroundings. Yang and Weiss duck. Luckily, they go undetected. There must be five of them.

"We should tell the general," Weiss says, echoing her thoughts.

"You go on ahead," Yang tells her. "I'll stay."

Weiss nods, then disappears, trying to make as little noise as possible, which is an incredible feat considering how heavy their armors are.

Yang waits, watching, but the more she does so, the more convinced she is that something's off. These Menagerians keep walking around, stopping to murmur to each other, before walking again. Slowly, they inch closer to her direction, but they never once spot her despite her yellow armor.

From behind are footsteps, and Yang's heart skips a beat. No. No way. She twists back, holding both hands, palms forward. "Stop," she mouths to her fellow soldiers. "It's a trap."

Too late.

From the trees, arrows shoot in their direction. Weiss is the only one to dodge it—the rest either block it with their weapons or let their aura take the brunt of the damage. Yang pushes herself off, activating her own powers, when the sound of a sword pulled from its hilt rings out from her right.

She dodges down to her side, avoiding the horizontal slash. Her hand delivers a hook in retaliation, but the figure dissolves into black smoke.

Yang grits her teeth. "Of course it's you," she says.

Her only true equal, and her greatest enemy for years. The only one who can keep up with her endless supply of aura. The only one who's ever, ever broken through it.

Shadow.

A/N

Oh, boy. Whatever will happen next? And who is this Shadow person Yang hates so much? Oh, wow! Such mystery! Very hard to solve!

Spoiler alert: next chapter will have some Bumblebee. Well, not Bumblebee as in the ship, but Bumblebee as in Yang and Blake interacting with each other. Like I said, this is enemies to lovers. Not that there won't be any Bumblebee at all...