The trek up to the ash and soot stained ruins was rather...mundane. A previous fork in the road had caused Ozpin to decide to take Glynda back to Mistral for some of the standard tourism attractions. He said he owed it to her to at least let her try the food (despite her protests); this was Ozpin's personal business after all. They all agreed to meeting up at the Mistral main transportation center eight or so hours from now. The actual arrival of the passenger ship wouldn't be until late at night, giving Kazan plenty of time to gather what he'd need, at the cost of giving him no companion to chat with. Although, he will admit he isn't complaining.

Kazan stepped through the burnt archway, before glancing up towards the main building atop the hill in front of him. Although some ways away from the main district, the compound was technically still part of Oniyuri, just more so on the city outskirts. The stench of burnt wood and bamboo drifted past his nose. The rain last week helped the smell permeate throughout the general area, helping nature reclaim the ruins. Vines grew over the walls and roof edges, while the grass had overgrown close to Kazan's hip. It would clear soon, though. Most plants tended to avoid growing around the general vicinity of the main building, but that didn't stop the vines from crawling up the walls for some inexplicable reason. How long had it been since his last visit, five years? Maybe seven? It was hard to tell. The years had become hazy and melded together, like some fever dream. The explosive roar of thunder brought Kazan out of his mind, back into this gloomy weather. Gray clouds loomed overhead; last week's rain was back. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor and headed up the hill. But as he approached the main gate, he felt something was off.

The first warning signs most apparent to the Yamaoka heir were the front gates, the doors were left wide open. They were supposed to be locked from the inside, Kazan usually entered through the rear entrance, whether out of caution or paranoia, he wasn't entirely sure. But putting that aside, his mind was swarmed with frantic, almost fearful questions

What did they want? Were they thieves? Grave robbers? Had someone come back to "finish the job"? Kazan felt his blood boil, he could feel his rage reaching the tips of his hair. He shoved his way past the doors, hardly paying attention to the pitter patter of raindrops splattering on the floor. He could faintly make out the sounds of two hushed whispers. Kazan's hand tightly gripped the sharpened bamboo stick at his side. The light he had seen from outside, presumably from a candle or lantern, had been put out. He walked further into the dark hallways and corridors of the complex. "Whoever is there, please leave," Kazan announced to the unwelcome guests. He closely watched his corners as he continued to stalk the complex's rooms, ever paranoid of the shadows formed by light that slipped through the cracks of the building. The scattered books, furniture, and bamboo floor mats were still caked in dust, and evidently had not been moved. The vases and ornaments, untouched.

Snap

Kazan's head whipped around to where he heard the sound come form, his hand tightly gripping his makeshift sword's handle. His mind eased as he saw a rat scurry from behind a bookshelf in the sound's direction. He sighed exasperatedly, his grip relaxing as he lightly shook his head. He came here to attend to some personal matters before leaving. Given the current circumstances, he couldn't afford to wage his time. Might as well get what he came f—

Why couldn't he breathe?

Kazan panicked as he felt two arms ensnare themselves around his neck in a vice-like grip. He felt like his neck getting dragged down. The attacker was shorter than him, using his body weight to hopefully bring Kazan down. Kazan gasped, the air escaping his mouth and suffocation afflicting his lungs. He uselessly grasped at the arms around his throat, hoping to pry them off Thinking quickly, Kazan shot himself backwards, slamming his assailant directly against the wall behind him with whatever strength he had left.

He heard the sound of something snapping behind him, followed by a cry of pain. Giving him no time to react, Kazan quickly doubled down on the counterattack, grabbing his stick and striking the assailant's head. His hand gripped and dug itself into the assailant's neck, before lifting him up and beginning the pulverizing of their face. Kazan threw brutal punches relentlessly, caring not for the cries of pain that emanated from his victim. Seething eyes met scared, frightened ones as Kazan attempted to (metaphorically) burn a hole into the skull of the man in his grip. "What, come here to finish things, did you? Couldn't stand the idea of having one loose end?! You filth! You greed-ridden, festering plague!"

Kazan's breathing hitched and became more erratic. He almost grinned, giddy with anticipation. But something stopped him. His eyes widened as he took a closer look, but then softened into their usual stern and cold form. "You have no idea, do you?" Kazan said, his voice barely above a whisper's volume. They'd never admit anything to anyone outside of their little circle. Was he hired help then? Some street rat hoping to get lucky and strike it rich?

The man before him appeared to be middle aged, with clothing of equal quality to Kazan's tattered gray shirt, sleeveless gray jacket, and equally tattered pants. A beggar, maybe? His hair had long since grayed fully, and he quivered in fear. "P-Please sir, I'm sorry. I-I just want some food, that's all. I-I'm not a thief, sir."

Kazan's cold gaze had not left the man's face. "Lying is of no use now-"

"But I'm not lying!" The man cried out, begging for his life. "I took nothing!"

Kazan's hand reached for a small sheathed short blade on a nearby corner table. He had never taken a life before, but nevertheless the fact that someone had the audacity to trespass on sacred grounds, let alone the former home of his clan, he could not stand for it. His honor wouldn't let him. Holding the man's head firmly under his grasp, Kazan muttered under his breath a small apology as he aimed the edge of the short blade at the man's neck. "Know that your death brings me no pleasure or peace."

"PAPA!"

Kazan's plunging stopped just short of the man's throat, as he felt a small amount of pressure emanating from the lower half of his leg. The small sobs that reached his ear found their origin coming from a small, quivering girl. She uselessly pummeled Kazan's leg, choking on her own tears. "D-don't take Papa away from me." The small girl begged. She was just as impoverished as her father. Her hair, whatever color it was, was covered in a thin layer of grime and dirt and her clothes had multiple holes in them.

Kazan felt something, an emotion that he had long since forgotten: shame. He glanced between the two, the man and his daughter, before pinching his brow and easing the grip on his throat. He stepped away, sheathing the short blade away to his side and looking back over his shoulder expectantly at both the girl's fearful expression and the confusion on the man's face. "Well?"

"Um…," The man gulped between gasps for air.

"Your wounds won't heal themselves," Kazan growled frustratedly.

-x-

"Quit squirming!" Kazan barked, wrapping the last bandage around the man as he laid on a mat in one of the more "untouched" bedrooms so to speak. A small oil lamp dimly lit the room around them, providing a miniscule amount of warmth against the cold, rainy backdrop. As the man rested with his daughter beside him, Kazan broke the uneasy silence that they were sharing the room with. "Who are you?"

With a wince, the man painfully sat upright. "I...I'm Germain, this is my daughter Lydia. I am...I was a carpenter and lumberer."

Kazan gazed into the small flame of the lamp. "You're not from here, are you?"

Germain shook his head in the negative. "Not originally, no. I was born and raised in Atlas for...most of my life I'd say."

"I thought as much. I figured you were either born to foreign parents or moved from another kingdom."

"The latter would be correct. My family and I moved here at the insistence of my wife. She was born here, in a small town some ways away."

"And where would she be? I doubt she'd be proud of bringing your daughter into an abandoned clan complex," Kazan remarked. "Especially with how...weak you are and how young your daughter is."

Said girl was hiding behind the back of her father. Germain gingerly held her hand with warmth, before letting it go. "Lydia, be a dear and find your father a pillow please?" Germain smiled kindly. "My head is hurting."

Lydia nodded, leaving Kazan and Germain by themselves. "My wife...she died during the rioting that happened some nine years ago. My shop was burnt to the ground by some mercenaries claiming to be samurai after we refused to pay for their 'protection'. She was caught inside after they found out her family had ties to a servant family to some big family. Kill two birds with one stone, I suppose. My daughter was out with her friends at the time. She doesn't like hearing about her mother's death." Germain paused, silently reminiscing. "After the fire, we couldn't stay in our village anymore. We ran, looking for work. I had hoped to find a job in Oniyuri. Imagine my disappointment when I come here and find out that the city was abandoned and that the old posters I based my plans around were years old."

"Then why skulk around old ruins? Wouldn't you be better off looking for work in Mistral? Plenty of opportunities there."

Germain sighed. "If only it were that simple. With nowhere else to go, we ended up looking for food, and in this case, shelter from the rain. I thought we could make something of this mess. It's no place for a young girl to be sleeping in, but I can't afford an inn. Honestly, I had no idea this particular place was something of importance. I figured since it was in such disarray, no one would be here."

Kazan's face became pensive, his eyes looking towards, and yet past, the flame of the oil lamp. "And where would you go? After here, I mean." The pale haired Yamaoka inquired.

Germain looked towards the door Lydia left through. "I'll find something. I know a few camps that rent tents out for extremely cheap. I might go back towards the city outskirts. There was a nice old couple that let us sleep there for free one time."

"And then what? Wait around and die?" Kazan asked.

The old man shrugged, wincing in pain as he did so. "Damn, that smarts," Germain cursed. "We'll do as we've always done; keep moving for the past nine years. It's not like we've much else to do."

Kazan said nothing, except giving a brief, "I see."

He stood up from the mat as Lydia returned with a dusty old throw pillow. "There's a stone hut a ways away from here," Kazan began, causing Germain to look up at him. "It's mostly barebones save for very basic furniture. Head down the hill from the front gate and keep walking until you leave the city walls. Once you're greeted by a dirt path, follow it. It should lead you to a forest where the leaves are still in their autumnal colors. Head west at the forest entrance, past the hill and you'll see it. It's not much, but it's empty, which is much better than stalking the halls of my clan's sacred grounds."

Germain gulped, wide eyed at the prospect of finally being able to sleep under a proper roof for the first time in a long while. "Why?"

Kazan looked back, stopping just before the doorway. "Why what?" He asked.

"Why are you helping me? You just met me. I tried to kill you!"

Kazan crouched down right to Germain's eye level. "Make no mistake," he whispered, his hand rushing to grip Germain's throat, ignoring the cry of Lydia. "The attempt on my life has not been forgotten."

Kazan's grip relaxed, leaving Germain to gasp for air once again. "But I am not without mercy. For your daughter's sake, your transgression here will be pardoned. Once this storm is over, I expect you to be gone."

Kazan looked over his shoulder just before leaving. "And get yourself a job. An unemployed man serves no one but himself," he reprimanded.

-x-

Kazan shook his head as he walked deeper into the compound. So much time wasted, and so little to show for it. He knew not what compelled him to help the old man and his daughter, much less give them his old house. At the very least it was mostly empty of valuables, albeit he didn't own many.

He slid one of the panel doors aside, the oil lantern's flame illuminating his surroundings. The remains of tapestries, maps, and more importantly, a fairly intricately designed rug, it's once vibrant colors darkened and dirtied with black soot and gray ash. Although it pained him to do so, he had dug a hole underneath the rug to protect the items he deemed necessary for himself. He gripped the nearest corners and pulled the rug aside. Staring back at Kazan was the silver of a standard long katana bearing the crest of the Yamaoka clan on its guard, alongside a basic segmented cuirass made of a mix between iron and leather, a basic black long sleeve turtleneck, equally black pants, and a menpō, a standard facial mask. This was the culmination of his scavenging throughout the compound ruins some years ago. Unfortunately, he didn't find any boots or new footwear in general, so his current sandals would have to suffice. At least he found new socks, so there was some triumph to be had. But above all stood a black cloth covered and gold bounded manuscript, aged and withered by time and weather, its papers visibly cracked, and yet somehow maintained its integrity. The gold binding had long since lost its sheen.

With armor donned, sword sheathed, and book in possession, Kazan made his way to the back entrance. The rain had long since finished, and Germain, much to his daughter's fervent protest, took her and began the trek towards Kazan's old home. The clan compound, which had re-experienced a brief spark of life, no matter how grim it had been, was now silent once again. Oh, how the rot beckoned Kazan to stay, to fester and decay with the rest of the compound, how it gnawed on his conscience. "Haven't you done enough?" It whispered. "Aren't you tired? Wouldn't it be wonderful to rest with the ones you love, in the place you love?" But he held no love for this place, not anymore. The feeling of warmth this place brought him, the comfort and endearment, replaced by a cold, perverted sense of honor and obligation. He was far from tired, and he had not "done enough" by any stretch. His work had just begun. Kazan wordlessly shut the door to the back entrance and began the trek towards Mistral city.

-x-

Ozpin sighed in annoyance as he sat in his chair, watching Glynda frustratedly paced back and forth in one of the more empty halls of the airport. "Glynda, getting angry won't make him come any faster," he said exasperatedly.

"He wouldn't have to come any faster if he was here on time!" Glynda exclaimed, her pacing still going, the heel of her boots clacking against the tile floor. "We shouldn't have left him by himself. Now we're going to miss the flight!"

"The inter-kingdom flight doesn't take off for another fifteen minutes. He'll make it."

"Ozpin, he's walking! It took us more than an hour to get here by donkey!"

Ozpin merely waved off her argument's (admittedly valid) points. "You worry too much. If I know him like I think I do, Mr. Yamaoka will be here fairly soon." The sounds of footsteps approaching the pair caused Ozpin to turn around. "Ah, speak of the devil."

Kazan nodded in greetings, before reluctantly giving an apology. "I'm sorry for the delay, I had underestimated how much time I would need there. Are we late?"

Ozpin shook his head in the negative. "Thankfully, we're fine. But we might as well board while we have the time."

As the trio walked through the terminal, Kazan couldn't help but ask Ozpin what the plan would be from then on. "The 'plan' so to speak," Ozpin said, waving air quotations with his hands, "isn't really that complicated. This passenger airship is flying to Vale. Once we land, you'll have around a week or so to familiarize yourself with the city. Once that week is over, you'll take another airship ride to the academy. And from there, I can't really disclose any information. Due to my position as headmaster of the academy, I have to withdraw my status as a patron."

Seeing Kazan about to object, Ozpin interrupted him as they boarded the airship. "However, room and board will be provided free of charge. Spending money, unfortunately, will not be given."

Kazan huffed in protest, taking a seat beside Ozpin and Glynda (the latter had been oddly silent during the entire discussion). "That's ridiculous! That basically nullifies the entire reason I agreed to come to your little academy!"

It was then Glynda decided to speak up, sighing as she readjusted her glasses. "Mr. Yamaoka, while I can understand your apparent frustration, please be mindful of the opportunity you've been given that not many people have. I won't question Ozpin's judgement. Although I may not share his views, he thinks you have potential. Whether or not that holds true remains to be seen. Please, for the sake of all parties involved, have patience."

Kazan reluctantly silenced his complaints, opting instead to rest his head to the side. Admittedly, he was a bit excited. A bit. Years of isolation from anyone outside of violence or disgust had only reinforced his desire for human interaction. It disgusted him to think that he would desperately crave something so...base. And as Kazan's eyes began to close themselves out of drowsiness, he could only wonder what lay in store for him in the coming future.