Progression
He knows where he must go next. With Ozpin gone, there really is only one logical location to attack following Beacon; with the difficulties of getting to Solitas and with penetrating the constant sandstorms of Vacuo, Haven Academy- the home of the Spring Maiden's Relic, the Relic of Knowledge- will be the next target. There is no reason for Salem to strike elsewhere.
However, the fact that Haven is the easiest target does nothing but grip his heart with a dull, dreadful fear; it sinks its claws into his flesh, grasping for control as he attempts to push it away. He is unsuccessful each time, though. How can he possibly win, after all, when Leonardo Lionheart, the headmaster of Haven Academy, hasn't responded at all?
I know the CCTS is down, he thinks bitterly, stalking through the makeshift Huntsmen's barracks formed at the edge of the safe zone, his hands in his pockets as he looks ominously through the screen-filled windows to find the person he is searching for, but there's other ways to stay in touch. Oz is gone. We can't be divided like this- we've gotta go find him. What the hell is Leo even thinking?!
At the same time, however, he cannot blame the man. Leonardo is responsible for so many civilians that having to deal with the inevitable Grimm attacks, all caused by the negativity surges following the CCTS' destruction, would have been utter madness. The man likely had had to do his best triaging the situation, spreading Huntsmen thin between escorting students off the campus, ensuring the tiered city was safe from Salem, and then making sure the outlying villages littering Anima were kept safe in the immediate aftermath.
He shudders, his head and shoulders hunching even further. Bile rises into his throat as memories of the forests of the continent of Anima flood his mind; gnarled, ancient trees, shrine-like villages, religion and racism and despots around every corner-
He hates Anima. Too many demons linger in Anima.
He loves the liquor there, though. There's something about a good rice wine after a long mission that gets him going every time. The mere thought of his last good trip there brings a smile to his face unbidden, the memory of crisp, sweet notes dancing upon his tongue.
And yet, he doubts he shall be able to sit down and enjoy a drink even if he does end up venturing into the heart of the city. Even imagining what chaos Mistral had endured during the live broadcasting of the Fall of Beacon fills his heart up with an anxiety he does not care to face. Cold, clammy hands clench into fists as he tries to fight back the urge to merely fly away, to avoid it all.
His rings dig into his palms- Summer's ring digs into his palm. He pauses. The cane hanging from his belt clinks in its holster, reminding him of its constant presence, its unyielding, eternal quest.
He cannot run away. He has a job to do. Where is she, though?
Thankfully, he is not kept searching for long. He hears Glynda before he sees her, her sharp heels clicking down the ragged floor with a ferocity that refuses to fade, even in times such as these. The thought brings a smile to his face; Glynda Goodwitch's presence in Vale truly is what is keeping everyone alive as they rebuild the city and establish the barriers that shall keep the people safe. She is a force of nature on her own.
"You know," he murmurs gently as she pauses in front of him, crossing her arms, "you're too good for Jimmy."
Glynda's eyes, despite being ringed by days of sleepless, tiresome toil, do not even remotely react at this jab. Her riding crop does, however; she cracks the leather clutched in her hand so fiercely against the nearby wall that it elicits a yelp of fear from the rooms lining the rest of the hallway. "Any intel, Qrow?" she replies, voice mildly hoarse and dry as she pointedly ignores his comment.
He opens his mouth to throw another quip out, hoping to lighten the air. As he sees the fatigue lining her mouth, the hairs all escaping her bun in a level of dishevelment he has never seen in the senior Huntress, he bites his tongue. "…Atlas will be fine," he says confidently. "James and I don't get along, but he's one of us, right? Have some faith." Then, he straightens up, holding out his Scroll for her to inspect. Upon the holoscreen, her eyes flit over message after message sent to Leonardo Lionheart's private address, all upon the separate line only used by Ozpin's followers. Qrow does not know whether it is still in working order, but the attempts to reach their comrade have been made, and that is worth something. "No messages from Leo. He won't respond. Didn't send back anything from messengers sent in-person, either."
"And there's no point even trying with a traditional phone," Glynda murmurs, her brows furrowing to show the first bit of emotion she's worn that encounter. "Professor Oobleck has done a phenomenal job at managing to provide each of us with local communication, but nothing would be able to transmit that far."
Qrow snorts, raising a brow and leaning against the wall. Immediately, he pulls away; just that mere weight had caused an audible crack to resonate through the wood. Glaring at the wall behind him, he stands properly again, hooking his thumbs into his pocket. "Those old bricks won't last long, Glynda," he mutters. "We've gotta get working on a solution, and fast."
Without worldwide communication, they are divided. Salem needs them to be divided.
The cane shifts. Not for long, Oz. I won't let it continue for long.
The blonde sighs, gesturing for Qrow to follow her. He obeys, traipsing behind her as she winds her way through the halls. Finally, they arrive at an empty room; she closes the door behind them, letting out a small groan once they are in private. Her hand lifts to her mouth, the woman biting firmly down upon her nail for a long, quiet moment, clearly lost in thought.
Qrow steps back, giving her space. He already knows what his next step shall be, after all. The weight of Ozpin's cane hanging from his belt is his constant reminder, urging him onwards silently. They cannot allow Haven to fall, after all.
All he needs is for Glynda to agree. Then, he can set off without any doubt upon his conscience.
After what feels like an hour, Glynda's eyes lift, glinting through her round spectacles. "Theodore has already contacted us, so we know that Shade Academy shall be safe for now. All that remains is Haven. If he does not attempt to make contact on his side within the next month," she says at last, "then we need to go after him."
Immediately, Qrow's hackles raise. The protests fly out of his mouth before he can even think twice about them. "That- you can't seriously be asking me to wait, Glynda! He needs to know that we survived, and that we're going to be working on finding Oz-"
"He is dealing with his own tragedy right now," Glynda says firmly.
Qrow shakes his head. "We're all dealing with the Fall, okay? What matters is that we don't separate-"
"And we won't," she repeats, not giving an inch of breathing room in her tone. "As long as he keeps the vault hidden and safe, we'll be fine. And," she adds, crossing her arms, "when do you think the best time to stage an assault would be on the school?"
Qrow gulps, closing his eyes. In his mind's eye, he can visualize the courtyard and main hall of Haven Academy, perched high atop the tallest peak within the city of Mistral, dead at the heart of the kingdom proper. He can hear the whistling of the wind, feeling the mountain waves push his wings upwards, giving him too much altitude and no room to do anything with it, carrying his avian form helpless on strong currents too powerful even for him.
He shakes his head, focusing. The school is almost as large as Beacon. "During the summer," he intones wearily after a moment. "All the students are gone. Staff'll be spread thin, supporting relief efforts."
"And if they manage to get their hands on the Spring Maiden-"
"They won't get their hands on the Spring Maiden-"
Glynda's lip curls in disgust, a rare display of spite from the normally-stoic woman. "You say that every time, Qrow Branwen, but we have no guarantee that Raven's got the Maiden locked up somewhere-"
"And you don't know her, Glynda," Qrow practically spits, vitriolic acid oozing from every syllable.
The moment the words die in the air, however, Qrow realizes his mistake. He takes a step back and sighs, holding up his hands peacefully. "Sorry. Sorry, I-"
Glynda places her hand upon his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Qrow," she says slowly, "go to Ruby and Yang. Your family needs you right now. In a few weeks, come back here, and we can see if Leonardo's sent anything."
Qrow's hand strays behind him, tracing the curved, floral engravings upon Ozpin's cane absently. "I- alright," he replies, looking away. "I will start preparing for a trip to Haven, though. Something's not right about all of this."
To his surprise, the Huntress smiles, strangely soft despite every sign of broken weariness emanating from her form. "For now, all we can do is wait. Go back to Patch." Before Qrow can follow that order, however, the woman adds, "Oh, and do tell Ruby and Yang that their friends miss them? Nora Valkyrie and Jaune Arc won't stop asking about them. They're worried."
Anything Qrow could say dies in his mouth. Dryly, he swallows a few times, attempting to formulate a response. Nothing comes to mind, other than the recollection those names stir up in him amidst a sea of already-brewing guilt. "…how are they?"
Glynda shrugs. "They're strong," she murmurs, brow furrowing, her smile wry and pained and pitying and laden with naught but a thick, heavy sorrow. "They… they'll move on."
"Not like they've got a choice."
"We all do."
"It's our job."
"It's our duty," she chides him. "And they're doing well by theirs."
Qrow walks over to the window, popping open the screen. He had already finished up his other errands in Vale before coming to see Glynda; there is nothing else keeping him here. "You say that as if any of us know how to move on, Glyn."
There is a grim satisfaction which blooms in his heart, erasing the fear for just a breath, as he watches Glynda's calm fall away into nothing but pure, unadulterated grief, the woman's pale eyes glazing over as her attention is drawn to something in the recesses of her heart. 'Glyn' used to exist on a team of four, just like all other children who entered a Huntsmen Academy.
Glynda Goodwitch is all alone. Only the strong survive.
He does not know if she has choice words to share with him after that grim reminder of her own loss. He has already transformed before she can respond, his body streaking through the air. The concentration of ash and char has gone down immensely since the initial terrorist attack upon Beacon, making flight a lot easier for him.
His heart still fears, however. He fears for Ruby and Yang, and Leonardo, and Glynda. He fears for the children who still fight to protect Vale. They all have too much to lose, still.
He doesn't, though. He makes a mental note to begin packing supplies. There are many things to take care of before heading to Haven, and he refuses to forget a single one. There is too much at stake for the world, if not himself.