Author's Notes: Since we don't know everything about the first Headmasters of the Academies after they were founded, I've gone ahead and made some original characters, but don't expect to see much of them outside of a few flashbacks here or there. These are the Headmasters at the time that Ozpin had just taken over at Beacon:

Shade Academy: Headmaster Theodore - he's described as being older than Oz, so I imagine that he took his position a few years before Ozpin took over at Beacon, since we haven't been introduced to him in the show and I haven't read the novels yet.

Haven Academy: Headmistress Sabiline Fuschia - she is the one who was replaced by Lionheart a few years after Ozpin took over at Beacon. Not a Faunus, but considered to be one of the best Headmasters any of the Academies have had - surpassed only by Ozpin and one or two others in public opinion.

Atlas Academy: Headmaster Albert Brass - the first one to integrate the Huntsmen and Huntresses with the Atlas military, a trend continued by and more emphasized by James Ironwood. Ironwood studied under him before enlisting in the Atlas military and becoming part of the Special Operatives unit and eventually rising to the rank of general.

Beacon Academy: Headmaster Jasper Moyen - Ozpin's predecessor at Beacon, and the one he studied under, before bonding with Oz during his third year at Beacon.

Chapter Seven: Ramifications

Headmaster's Apartment… Beacon Academy…

It had been a broken night of sleep for Ozpin as he dragged himself out of bed before dawn on Sunday morning. It had taken much longer than he had expected to calm his thoughts enough to be able to sleep. Even after taking his cocoa down to his apartment and settling into his favorite armchair to finish it, his mind had raced with possible explanations and probabilities to understand Oscar's theory and try to find out how he could either prove or disprove it. When – after several hours of brooding over his cocoa – he'd finally managed to calm his thoughts enough that he felt he could get some sleep, he'd found his rest interrupted by dreams that were not quite nightmares and not quite memories.

What ifs and thoughts of what could have been as they applied to some of the darker memories of his past lives had manifested, in some cases with potentially better outcomes, but also with even worse, darker outcomes in others. Memories he tried not to dwell on – though he remembered the events perfectly, of course – surfaced, causing him to shake himself awake just enough to banish them before dropping back into sleep to be confronted with the next one, whether for good or ill.

As a result, by the time he gave up on the idea of getting any further rest, he was still more than a little exhausted. Between spending all of Friday night sitting at Oscar's bedside in the hospital and now a night of half-formed nightmares, he was just barely functional. Hot cocoa - a pot and not just a single cup – would be necessary for him to make it through the day as he tended to his responsibilities. He was no stranger to burning the candle at both ends, but he usually made sure to get enough sleep to keep himself functioning without risking true physical exhaustion.

He rolled over beneath the blankets, his eyes falling on where Long Memory was propped against the nightstand. Not for the first time, he found the name that he had given his weapon to be particularly apropos, but especially when events occurred that reminded him so clearly of everything that he had been through since he had made his agreement with the God of Light. The cane was one of the few things that he'd been able to hang on to throughout all of his lives, even if it had been changed from his original staff. It was both comforting and a constant reminder of all that he'd experienced – but one that he couldn't let go of, just as he couldn't let go of his mission to reunite humanity.

Somehow, he managed to get out of bed and get ready for the day. A hot shower, clean clothing, and a mug of cocoa in hand, he made his way up to his office, where he immediately set to work making a full pot of cocoa before he settled behind his desk and tapped his terminal to life. He set to work on tasks for the upcoming Council meeting the next Friday – the first of two full meetings that would be held this month. He started by reviewing pending proposals that had been placed before the Council by various individuals and interest groups, reading each one carefully along with the accompanying documentation. He made notes of people he wanted to contact to clarify details that he had questions about before the Council meeting so that he could arrange meetings or scroll-calls for later in the week.

Glynda walked in several hours after he'd begun his workday as he was finishing the final proposal – one he was fairly certain he was going to oppose, even if there were a few elements worth considering on their own merits further down the line – her eyebrow arched above the edge of her glasses as she got her first look at him. He saw her green eyes flick over to the silver teapot of cocoa sitting on his desk, within easy reach. "You're here earlier than usual, even for you."

He nodded. "I woke early and couldn't go back to sleep. All of the time I spent dealing with Oscar's situation yesterday put me a bit behind on Council matters, so I decided to come in and get these proposals reviewed before my first meeting today." He closed out the proposal he had been reading, making a final note on his agenda.

"Speaking of Oscar…" Glynda ventured, stepping closer to his desk. "Is there anything more you can tell me about what he told you last night? You seemed shaken when you came back from the hospital."

Ozpin sighed and steepled his hands. "I think I'm closer to coming to an understanding of some of what he said, particularly about his claim of being my next incarnation – but I'm still not fully convinced by what he said. If he's telling the truth however… it has the potential to change so much."

Glynda's lips pressed into a thin line. "For good, or ill?"

Ozpin hesitated, wondering how much to tell. He trusted Glynda absolutely – possibly more than he'd trusted anyone in many, many years. Which was a risk in and of itself, given his previous experiences with trust. Her loyalty was absolute – but like the rest of his inner circle, she had her own expectations of him as the leader of their brotherhood. Telling her about where – when – Oscar was from could shatter some of that unshakable faith. It wouldn't be the first time that someone he'd viewed as absolutely trustworthy had turned on him after learning that he wasn't infallible.

"You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse - than you intended."

Oscar didn't know just how accurate that statement was.

Keeping the information about Oscar's theory to himself would have benefits and consequences. He didn't want to risk shaking Glynda's faith in him by speculating on Oscar's theory of time travel and the fact that he didn't have an explanation for it, but he also didn't want to offend her by implying that he didn't trust her enough to share his theories with her.

How was it that – even though he had taught hundreds of students since taking over the post of Headmaster and seen so many powerful, influential Huntsmen and Huntresses rise from skilled students – one teenager had the potential to shake the foundations of everything he'd been building throughout his many lives?

"I'm still uncertain," he finally prevaricated, although he saw her eyes narrow as she recognized the deflection. "I don't want him to feel like my only interest in him is the information he's brought about the potential attacks on the schools. If he remains too defensive, it will be harder to get the information we need – but I also want to make sure that Salem cannot touch him again."

Glynda remained quiet for several moments. "The boy has already earned some of your care and concern, hasn't he?"

"I'm concerned over what he represents, and I will not see her harm a child if I can prevent it," Ozpin agreed. "Children are innocent and should not be pulled into my war. It's bad enough that so many choose to enroll at combat school so young, but..."

"No, not like that," Glynda disputed. "I've worked with you long enough to know that you have a soft spot for all children, regardless of how they impact our war. You have the instincts of a father, even if the child isn't yours."

"I –" he couldn't really refute her statement. He was – had been – a father. His daughters – Ozma's daughters – had been the first victims in this war. They were one of many reasons he kept fighting – in their memory. It was why he'd decided in the spur of the moment to grant the bulk of his power to the first Maidens – their unsought, unasked-for kindness to him had inspired him and made him wonder if they were what his daughters could have been, had they grown to adulthood.

Oscar wasn't one of his daughters obviously, and equally as obvious he wasn't Ozpin's son, but at the same time he couldn't help his innate reaction – forged over millennia – to seeing an injured child and wanting to do nothing but protect him.

He sighed. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "As I mentioned yesterday, children being in danger is a sensitive topic for me. But my first priority is still the warnings Oscar brought. I feel the need to earn his trust before he'll tell me everything he knows, however, I also need to be sure I can trust him before I act on what he has to say." He allowed a wry smile. "James wasn't wrong about that much, after all."

"It isn't just about trust," Glynda said quietly. She fell silent for a moment, her eyes distant as whatever she was thinking ran its course. "Oz… I don't know how the others feel about this, but it's always been obvious to me that you are extremely cautious about who you trust." At his flinch, she shook her head. "It makes sense – Salem, your ability to reincarnate, the Maidens and the magic… these are things that would shake the foundations that Remnant is built on. The closer you keep your circle, the better for you and for our brotherhood, because there are fewer variables for you to try to account for. You're the general on our side of the war, even though it's a shadow war that most of Remnant will never know about."

"But…?" he asked, carefully.

"But, as a result you don't ask for help as often as you should. I know you have the burden on your shoulders, but you chose all of us for a reason – for more than to just assist in guarding the Relics. You wanted us to be your sounding boards as well as your lieutenants. We're willing to listen if you need us to as well as offer advice… but we can't give you good advice if we don't know all the details."

She wasn't wrong, Ozpin knew. He had chosen his lieutenants in this incarnation for a reason – because he'd felt he could trust them with the truth – or part of it at least. But given the number of betrayals he'd experienced over the years, he had never been able to trust anyone with the full truth. If those he had considered friends and allies would betray him when they only knew part of the truth…

"Talk to me, Oz," she said softly, stepping forward and resting her palms on the surface of her desk, leaning forward to meet his eyes. "What did Oscar tell you that disturbed you so much?"

Vale General Hospital… Sunday morning…

Out of all the traits that he could have inherited from Oz during the time they had begun to merge, Oscar found it ironic that it was the incessant need to pace when he was deep in thought that had come through so prominently already. He'd first noticed it at Brunswick Farms after Oz had locked himself away, and it had only become more pronounced during the time that he had been at Atlas Academy, especially once tensions started to build after the debacle at the election.

He'd never been one to sit idle to begin with, even before bonding with Oz – the life of a farm hand didn't lend itself to idleness during the daylight hours considering the number of chores he'd had to do since they hadn't been able to afford extra help. Sometimes during harvest, they'd been able to get some neighbors to help if they'd had a larger yield than they'd expected, but they'd had a small farm, so most of the time it was just he and his aunt to do all the work. Oz's inclination to pace when he was deep in thought or worried about something only contributed to Oscar's natural resistance where idleness was concerned.

Of course, his current injuries didn't allow him that level of freedom to move, which had resulted in him feeling twitchy and the confines of his bed contributing to a feeling of mild claustrophobia, like a buzz just under his skin, especially since he still tended to wake before dawn out of habit. Too many more days of being stuck in bed would drive him to distraction – he was just hoping the doctor would let him start using his aura soon and then he could move around a little more, even if he still had to stay in the hospital for a little longer.

In the meantime, he needed to think up a cover story for his injuries that would be believable, and it needed to be good enough that he could give it to a police officer without arousing suspicions. He hated lying, so it was important that he tell as much of the truth as he could, while keeping the important parts to himself. How much could he believably tell and still remain convincing? Clearly, he couldn't mention the attacks on Beacon or Haven, or Salem and her invasion of Atlas – he'd only brand himself as a crazy person if he did.

He shifted uncomfortably, wincing again at the pain in his muscles as he moved. He was in less pain this morning than he had been the day before, but he still hurt all over and finding a comfortable way to sit or lie down was difficult because of the strain on his breathing it caused. The half-reclined position was the most comfortable, but still not ideal. For the discomfort alone – and not even touching the pain – he wanted to give Hazel's name to the authorities.

Although – could he even mention Hazel? He knew about Hazel's grudge with Ozpin, of course. He wasn't sure exactly when Gretchen's death had happened, but Oz hadn't exactly treated it like it was a great secret either, after Haven. On the one hand, giving Hazel's name now would be telling the truth, and if the police could catch up with him and arrest him, it would remove him from the board as one of Salem's pawns, which would only be good in the long run.

But on the other hand…

If he had truly travelled back in time – which Oscar was coming to believe was more and more likely – Hazel hadn't done anything to him yet. It was true that arresting him would probably save the lives of many of the Mistral Huntsmen, but they would have difficulty proving that Hazel had been the one to attack Oscar now that he was in Vale.

Maybe he could describe Hazel, without actually giving his name? Make the attack seem like a random mugging? Oscar thought that he might be able to sell that story, since it would be harder to believably convince anyone that he'd been targeted for a reason when he couldn't explain what the reason was. Surely Ozpin would recognize the description of Hazel and understand what Oscar was doing.

Was this what it had been like for Oz? Constantly jugging various stories and covers in order to keep the secret of Salem's existence safe? He'd told Ironwood that Oz had lied to him because he didn't want the general to lose hope, which Oscar knew to be true… but he'd never really thought about what the burden of so many lies would feel like – and he only had to tell one small one. Just enough to convince the police that his "attacker" had targeted him randomly.

Of course, that led to the further question of why. Why him? For Lien, perhaps? Oscar had never had much in the way of pocket money, but he had been able to purchase some nice Huntsman gear with money that Qrow had given him at Haven, and he hadn't used until they'd reached Argus. He hadn't felt right about using money that didn't belong to him until after Oz had disappeared and he'd realized he would need better clothing if they were really going to Atlas. But his clothing had been good quality – maybe that would be enough to convince the police that he'd been targeted because his attacker thought he must have had more Lien?

He wasn't sure where his gear was – maybe Ozpin would know? Or one of the nurses? He made a mental note to ask the nurse the next time she came in to check on him. He at least wanted to know where his belt pouches were, since what little Lien he had was there, along with the few small possessions he'd accumulated in Argus and Atlas. Nothing valuable, of course, or his "attacker" would have taken them, but small things – a tool kit for cleaning the gears on Long Memory, a shell he'd found during the hours he'd gone walkabout to try to figure out what he was going to do after the fight at the Cotta-Arc house, and a few other little trinkets from Atlas. His scroll had broken when he'd fallen from Atlas after Ja- the General had shot him, so he didn't have to try to explain why he had a more advanced model than should currently be available.

It was the best story he could come up with, considering the circumstances. Now he just had to convince himself that it was true, so he could sell it when the time came –and that might be harder than coming up with the story in the first place.

Oscar sighed heavily and winced again at the pull on his chest. The doctor had seemed pleased with his progress earlier that day and had promised that when she came back in to check on him before lunch, he could begin working with his aura. He would be glad to at least try to heal his black eye. He was tired of squinting to focus and feeling his face throb every time he blinked. He'd been tempted to just try to pull up his aura without waiting for the doctor's go-ahead, but decided that it would be better to wait, since he still didn't know the full extent of the damage, and the last thing he wanted to do was prolong his recovery and lengthen his stay. He'd had more practice in generating a defensive aura for the purpose of fighting than in learning to heal with it – an oversight he intended to rectify as soon as he could.

Eventually, he would heal enough to be released – but what came after that? He couldn't go back to Atlas – the rest of his friends wouldn't be there, except for maybe Weiss, but his chances of getting in to see her when she wouldn't even know him were less than zero. He couldn't walk up to the front door of Schnee Manor and request to see her by claiming friendship with her. He wasn't entirely sure where the rest of RWBY and JNR were at right now, and the same problem of them not knowing him would apply.

He supposed he could go back to the farm – but he didn't really like that idea, no matter how much he wanted to see his aunt again. After everything that had happened to him in the past year, knowing that he would once again end up bound to Ozpin if they couldn't stop the Fall of Beacon, knowing about Salem and the Relics… he couldn't just sit back passively for two years and wait for Oz to come back to him again. It would just put them right back where they had been and make it that much harder to change things – even if he convinced Oz to tell everyone the truth from the beginning.

Assuming that he could convince him that he was telling the truth, would Ozpin be willing to help him get into one of the Vale combat schools? Being a Huntsman wasn't something that he'd ever considered before he'd bonded with Oz, but now – it seemed to be the best path to take, especially if he wasn't able to change anything. To get the training now, make himself better and stronger so that if – when – he ended up becoming Oz's partner again, they'd already be further ahead of where they'd been back at Haven. It would make things easier from a purely physical and combat status at least.

It was something to consider, at any rate, although he knew that it would feel weird to have to go to combat school, since he would be two years older than most of the students, and already have some training, thanks to Oz and his inherited muscle memory. It would also mean that he might not be able to meet up with team RWBY and team JNR again right away – and he missed his friends already, even though it had been less than a week since he'd seen them. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been held by Salem, or how close they had been to staging a rescue for him.

Other than returning to the farm or getting into one of the combat schools, Oscar wasn't really sure what options might be open to him. He was from Mistral, after all, not Vale. Whatever he ended up doing until time caught up to him, he knew it needed to be something that would forward Oz's mission of peace and harmony.

Oz had been working towards that goal for longer than anyone could comprehend. How could Oscar do anything less, now that he knew what they faced?

Atlas Academy… Headmaster's Office…

Gazing out the window of his office at Atlas Academy always filled James Ironwood with a sense of pride – pride in his Kingdom and its people, pride in his military, pride in his Academy and its Huntsmen and Huntresses. Atlas was the greatest Kingdom in the world – the most technologically advanced, with the strongest military, and the brightest future. They had carved out a thriving civilization in the coldest part of Remnant where no one else had dared to tread – and they had succeeded in forging a Kingdom that would endure anything that the Grimm or their Master could throw at them.

Below his window, Atlas gleamed like an array of perfectly faceted jewels – diamonds and sapphires, each one unique in its beauty – hard and unyielding, no matter what challenges or obstacles they faced. Atlas had risen from the ashes of war stronger than Mantle could have ever dreamed of when the first settlers learned to survive on the frozen tundra of Solitas. From up here, he had a perfect view of his Kingdom and had long ago resolved that he would do whatever it took to protect it.

The son of a career, high-ranking soldier and the socialite daughter of one of the new Atlesian companies working on integrating Dust into technologies that had risen in the wake of the Great War, he had been drawn to both the military – being raised on stories of the Great War and the fighting prowess of Mantle's army would do that – and to becoming a Huntsman to protect all of the people of Remnant. Both careers were honorable and would allow him to do what he wanted most to do with his life.

After long debate and careful consideration, he'd finally decided on being a Huntsman – until word came down from the Council that those who had graduated from the Academy could also join the military and become a member of the newly established Special Operatives branch. It had seemed like the perfect combination that would allow him to fulfill both of his dreams, so he had dedicated himself to his Huntsman training before enlisting in the military. Despite his age, he rose quickly through the ranks, boosted by his status as a Special Operative until he reached the rank of General, and head of the military by the time he was thirty-five.

He had never expected to be named the Headmaster of Atlas Academy – he had always planned to devote his life to being both Huntsman and soldier, sworn to defend Atlas from enemies within and outside her borders. Popular opinion never mattered much to him – his duty came first and foremost in his life. But when he'd learned that the previous Headmaster – Professor Albert Brass – had floated his name as a possible candidate to replace him after his pending retirement, it had come as no little shock. But he saw the benefits of such an arrangement immediately. As general, he had command of the army, but as Headmaster of the Academy, he could ensure that the next generation of Huntsmen and Huntresses were molded into the best fighters possible, the possibility of high rank within the military encouraging them to stay to safeguard Atlas instead of going out to the other Kingdoms. With the best fighters defending Atlas, there would be less threat from the Grimm, because the people would be comforted knowing that the best of the best were their protectors.

"General Ironwood?"

Ironwood turned away from the window behind his desk, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of his name, his arms folded behind his back as he did so, seeing Winter Schnee standing near the door, arm up in a salute. He raised his own arm and returned the salute along with a nod, and she moved into a light parade rest stance. "Winter, good. Come in." She was one of the ones he had high hopes for – one of his best fighters, and absolutely loyal to him. He was already considering grooming her to be his replacement one day, although that was still some time off, and he had a few other plans for her simmering in the back of his mind. It was a matter of waiting to see how events played out and finding the role that best suited her skills.

"You requested to see me, sir?" she asked after moving into the room and stopping precisely six steps from the front of his desk.

"Yes, I did," he said. "I have a task for you. I need you to make a tour of all of our bases in the other Kingdoms and collect any reports they may have on unusual criminal activity."

"Unusual, sir?"

"Yes. I'm not looking for reports on Grimm activity. I'm interested in the human element – thefts, murders, kidnappings…"

A delicate, barely perceptible frown crossed her face. "Just for clarification, sir, can't we just request a secure transfer of the files from each base over the CCTS?" the white-haired Huntress asked.

"I'd like you to collect them in person, Winter," Ironwood said. "I have my reasons for wanting physical copies."

"Yes sir. How far back would you like me to go?"

"At least a year. Every case you can find, from each base in every other Kingdom."

Winter snapped off a sharp salute. "Yes sir. I'll have my ship prepared and leave immediately. I'll report back here as soon as I return."

He returned her salute. "Good. Make sure you keep the files safe, Winter."

"Of course, General."

"Dismissed."

She turned sharply on her heel and strode out of his office, the doors sliding closed behind her with a quiet hiss, cutting off the sharp staccato of her boots.

Ironwood turned back to the window, looking back down at Atlas as his thoughts resumed their previous course. His appointment to Headmaster a year after rumor first indicated he was up for consideration had changed everything. Initially, there had been skepticism and outcry from some of his rivals over the fact that he now held both unelected seats on the Council due to his military rank and appointment as Headmaster. It had caused enough concern that the Headmasters from the other Academies had met to discuss the situation, even though the matter was really an internal issue for the Kingdom. It had also led to his first in-person meeting with Ozpin.

"Good afternoon, General Ironwood," the cultured Vale accent coming from the young man standing in the doorway of his new office at Atlas Academy was not unfamiliar, even though he'd only had occasion to speak to Beacon Academy's Headmaster a few times since he had taken his seat on the Council as the General in charge of Atlas' military forces.

"Professor Ozpin," Ironwood rose from behind his desk and came around to the front of it. "A pleasure to speak to you, as always. Please, come in."

Ozpin entered the room, the door sliding closed behind him as he strode across the stone floor towards the stairs leading up to Ironwood's desk, his cane clicking firmly with each step. A curious object for a Huntsman as renowned as Ozpin to have, especially at such a young age. Ozpin didn't have any sign of a limp in his stride, so the cane wasn't a compensation for an injury sustained in the line of duty. Surely it wouldn't be his weapon? A cane would have limited uses on the battlefield, having no range and only being able to serve as a blunt object.

Ozpin took Ironwood's offered hand before shifting his stance, folding his hands over the white dome of the pommel, and resting the cane in front of him. His brown eyes were warm and friendly. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Of course. I'm honored that you and the other Headmasters are willing to help settle this issue," Ironwood replied. "Would you like a seat?"

"I'm fine, but thank you," Ozpin assured him, one long finger tapping lightly against the handle of his cane as Ironwood returned to his place behind his desk. "I don't want to take up too much of your time, so I'll get straight to the reason that brings me here. As a rule, the appointment of the next Headmaster would be an internal matter for Atlas' Council, but I hope you understand the concerns that we – the rest of the Headmasters – share about your appointment as Headmaster. You already have heavy responsibilities on your shoulders as the head of the military and your obligations to the Council. But the role of Headmaster comes with burdens of its own – and considering everything that happened during the war, the Huntsmen and Huntresses are Remnant's first line of defense against the Grimm. The future Huntsmen and Huntresses of Atlas need a Headmaster capable of training them to their full potential, for the betterment of all of humanity. Headmaster Theodore, Headmistress Sabiline, and I are primarily concerned with making sure that Atlas continues the work that our predecessors began to ensure the safety of the Kingdoms and outlying villages – especially considering that Atlas is the newest capital of this Kingdom and not as established as Mantle."

"Of course," Ironwood assured him. "The protection of Atlas – of Remnant – has always been my primary goal. It's why I attended the Academy myself under Headmaster Brass before enlisting in the military. My father was a career officer and he instilled in me the importance of protecting those who cannot fight to protect themselves."

"I'm glad to hear that," Ozpin said, a small smile flicking over his face. "I just hope that Albert made sure you understand what you'll be facing as a Headmaster. Training a Huntsman or Huntress isn't the same thing as training a soldier, and as Headmaster, you'll also be in charge of coordinating everything related to your Kingdom's Huntsmen and Huntresses. I have no doubt that, should a battle come to Atlas or Mantle you would be able to issue orders to coordinate the defenses – your reputation and successes as Atlas' General is obvious enough – but molding young minds into being the best they can be and instilling that same desire to protect is a different type of challenge – and a heavy burden to bear."

Indignation flared for a moment. Was the other Headmaster insinuating that Ironwood didn't have the ability to train Huntsmen and Huntresses? He was about to say something in response but was suddenly struck by the look in Ozpin's eyes. The brown irises were warm, yes, but for a moment it seemed as if they flickered with a look of ageless sorrow and pain. It was a look that shouldn't be on the face of someone so young, and it made him pause to reconsider what he had been about to say. "I see your point," he acknowledged after a moment. "I've trained soldiers, but it is a different mindset." He offered a smile. "I would hope that I could consult with you and the other Headmasters if I have questions or concerns."

Ozpin's lips turned up in another smile, the pain and sorrow in his eyes vanishing as if it had never been there. "Of course. The goal of the Academies is to help unite humanity through the protection of the people. That implies cooperation and coordination. I know I drew on assistance from my predecessor in my first few years as Headmaster." He tapped his finger against his cane again a few times. "I will also admit to another – more personal – concern, and that is the fact that as both General and Headmaster, you will hold two seats on the Atlas Council."

"Why would that be a concern?" Ironwood asked. "The consolidation of power –"

"- is precisely what the last rulers of the Kingdom wanted to avoid when the monarchies were abolished and the Council system was established," Ozpin interrupted. "I may still be young, but I do know my history. The goal of the Vytal Treaty was to ensure that the people were represented, that power would not be invested in one person any longer. But at the same time, they did not want the ruling of the Kingdom to be bogged down in bureaucracy so that nothing gets done. A few representatives, elected by the people, was deemed to be the best solution to both problems."

"Couldn't the Huntsman and the military both be considered part of a Kingdom's defenses?" Ironwood countered. "If so, wouldn't it be better to have a single leader in place to coordinate efforts regarding defense of the Kingdom rather than having both branches operating under conflicting orders from different leaders?"

"Perhaps, but the founders did intend the Huntsmen and Huntresses to have the right to choose the work they would take on and who they would ally with," Ozpin pointed out. "Having a single commander in a time of strife isn't a bad idea, but during times of peace – which I hope will last much longer now that the Vytal Peace Treaty is in place and designed to help prevent the sort of conflicts that led to the Great War in the first place – it may result in one person having more power than was intended and could lead to more trouble than it would solve on the surface."

"I assure you, Professor, my only goals are the safety and security of Atlas and the rest of Remnant. My loyalty is to my people – to their protection and well-being." He chuckled. "To be honest, I don't know how the last monarchs of the Kingdoms did it. That amount of power and responsibility… it exceeds anything that I will have to handle as General and Headmaster – and I would never want to be in their place. I'm glad that there are other representatives on the Council to divide the responsibility and workload."

Some subtle tension that he hadn't realized had been in Ozpin's stance and face eased at that, softening his features, and making him seem taller somehow. "I see. I'm glad to hear that, and I do understand the position that you're in. There was doubt about my ability to serve as Headmaster when I was first appointed as well. I'm grateful to see that Albert chose someone to succeed him who is both strong and understanding of the weight of responsibility. Power can be a heady draught, and the position of Headmaster is too important to trust to someone who doesn't understand the weight of it." He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly deep in thought, hand tightening on the handle of his cane before his eyes flicked open behind his shaded lenses and he smiled, this time with genuine warmth. "I believe that it will be a pleasure to work with you, General."

"Call me James," Ironwood offered. "I'm looking forward to working with you as well, Professor. Your reputation precedes you, and I believe this could be the start of a great friendship."

"I agree – and you may call me Ozpin," the other Headmaster stated.

After that meeting, Ozpin had been the first to speak up in his favor, convinced that Ironwood was capable of juggling the responsibilities of Headmaster along with his existing duties as General and Councilman. Whatever he'd said had apparently been enough to convince Theodore and Sabiline, as Ozpin had openly thrown his support behind Ironwood. Having that support from someone who had faced his own share of scorn and skepticism over being appointed to Headmaster at Beacon had meant the world to Ironwood. Of course, in Ozpin's case it had been due to his age – or lack thereof – at the time he'd taken the reins at Beacon.

At first, he'd been somewhat surprised when the other two Headmasters backed down after Ozpin publicly put his support behind Ironwood, but he'd chalked it up to Ozpin's status as a prodigy and the respect the man had engendered since he'd taken up his post. Ozpin's support had also gone a long way to soothing the icy demeanors of the other members of the Atlas Council as he played mediator between Ironwood and his rivals while Ironwood worked to prove himself during the first few years of his tenure as Headmaster. Of course, when – after several years of success and proving to the Council that he was capable of juggling both positions – Ozpin had inducted him into his inner circle, a lot of the questions that he'd had about why the young Headmaster had so much power and respect among the older Headmasters made a great deal more sense.

Learning about Salem, about Oz's reincarnations, including the fact that in a previous life he had not only established the Huntsman Academies and the Council system, but had been the last King of Vale, who had defeated the alliance of Mantle and Mistral during the Great War in a final decisive battle at Vacuo – had shocked him to his core. It had also filled him with pride – Ozpin trusted him. The roles of the Academies and the Headmasters as guardians of the Relics was too important to entrust to just anyone, but Ozpin had seen something of worth in James Ironwood, something worthy enough to back him as Headmaster before he'd been entirely sure that he could be trusted. Ironwood's track record since that moment had won Ozpin's trust and eventually made him a valued part of Ozpin's inner circle.

Since then, he genuinely believed that he not only had Ozpin's trust, but his friendship. It was why he was so cautious when it came to matters involving Ozpin's war with Salem. The other Headmasters thought that he was just being paranoid, but Ironwood knew differently. For all that Ozpin presented the appearance of an academic to the world at large, his eyes were haunted by past traumas, no doubt endured at Salem's hands. He'd seen it during that first conversation when the wizard had mentioned the burden that teaching children to become Huntsmen and Huntresses would bring although he hadn't understood the reasoning behind it at the time. That sort of trauma didn't come from nothing, and Ironwood was not going to allow Salem to inflict more trauma on his friend. He would protect his Kingdom, his friend, and all of Remnant – no matter the cost to himself.

He didn't trust this boy. Ozpin's office was one of the most secure locations in Remnant, yet the boy had been able to portal into a secure room. That level of security breach could mean devastating things for Beacon and Ozpin – and Ozpin cared too much about children to take the threat as seriously as James would if he were in the same position. The fact that they couldn't find any record of the boy from any of the combat schools was equally suspicious since the boy also knew about Salem and the Relics – something that no common child from any of the Kingdoms should.

It was why he wanted crime records from the rest of the Atlas military bases – while Salem and her forces might think to alter the digital records since so much of Remnant relied on the CCTS now, he was hoping that she wouldn't think about the fact that many local villages and even the Kingdoms themselves also kept paper archives in the event that the CCTS was down for maintenance or upgrades – records still needed to be kept for such instances so the reports could be digitized and uploaded once the system came back online. Once Winter returned with the physical copies, he could compare them to the digitized records and see if there had been any alterations made that could indicate the boy was in league with Salem and her forces.

His cybernetic hand clenched into a fist behind his back. "I'll protect you Oz," he murmured. "Even from your own kind heart if I must."

Ozpin's Office… Beacon Tower…

"It's a rather crazy theory, and I can't fully explain it," Ozpin warned, feeling the need to temper any expectations that Glynda may have formed based on the few hints Oscar had already given. When she nodded, her eyes never leaving his, he took a deep breath. "Oscar believes that he may have travelled back in time."

Much as the theory had shocked him the day before, the same shock settled over her features. "He… what?"

"He believes he may have travelled back in time," Ozpin repeated. "I'm not sure exactly how far, but based on what he said, I would guess it's at least two years, since he claimed to be fifteen years old and born in 66 AW."

"But…" It wasn't often that he caught Glynda at a loss for words. She had one of the quickest tongues he'd ever seen, and her ability to deliver a scathing dressing down without raising her voice was invaluable to him when dealing with unruly students who wouldn't respond as well to his gentler approach in matters of discipline. "Is that even possible? Magic…"

"Until now, I would have said no," Ozpin admitted. "Magic can do many things, but time travel is not one of them. The gods designed our world to have balance – time travel would cause chaos, which is the opposite of what the Brothers sought for humanity. If it were possible, either Salem or I would have already tried to change things."

"Then…how?"

Ozpin shook his head. "I don't know. If it is the boy's Semblance, it would be a frighteningly powerful one, no matter how limited in scope it may be – perhaps the most powerful Semblance I've ever seen."

"That says a lot, coming from you," Glynda murmured.

Ozpin could see her thoughts racing as her expression flickered several times in quick succession – shock, disbelief, awe, thoughtfulness, and finally to shrewd calculation. The last both amused him and made him wary. He'd seen it before, usually when she was attempting to get to the truth surrounding a discipline-related issue amongst the students. What it could mean in this particular situation, he almost dreaded to find out.

"If he's really from the future, then he would have knowledge of what is coming," Glynda said.

"Yes, and I fully intend to question him at more length," Ozpin agreed. "It would explain what he said yesterday, the anger you saw. At some point in his future, he and I must have had a disagreement." At her skeptical expression, he shook his head. "Being like-minded doesn't guarantee instant compatibility, or acceptance," he reminded her. "The initial period after I bond with my new partner isn't easy on anyone, but resentment can also build up over time, especially if we experience a setback."

Glynda nodded slowly before her expression turned to one of dismay. "Oz – the boy is only fifteen. If he's your next incarnation, then…"

"I don't have much time left," Ozpin finished, understanding where her thoughts had gone. "The same thought occurred to me last night when I was thinking through everything that Oscar said."

"But – he's only a boy. What happens if you're not here?"

"The same thing that always happens. I reincarnate and pick up where I left off," Ozpin said.

"Oz…" There was genuine fear and distress in Glynda's face.

"Now that we have the Academies and the Relics are secure in the Vaults, I will be relying on all of you to keep order and maintain the status quo," Ozpin continued. "That was one of the purposes behind my decision to establish the Academies after the War. It may actually be easier this time if Oscar is my next incarnation – he already knows that he's next, and he knows something of what to expect." He sighed. "The greatest obstacle to overcome will be his age, though. I've never incarnated into a child before, and even knowing what to expect, it will take time to retrain my – Oscar's – body to peak fighting trim, and it will be many years before Oscar is old enough to gain the degree of respect that I hold now."

"Oz – how are you so calm about this?" Glynda demanded. "You're talking about your impending death."

He gave her a sad smile. "I've died before, Glynda," he reminded her. "More times than I care to remember most days. I don't fear death anymore. I may not actively seek it or welcome it, but I don't fear it – and this time I not only have warning that it's coming – a chance to prepare – but if Oscar is right, we also have a chance to change it."

"I – you…"

"For now, I want to keep this between us," Ozpin said. "If it becomes necessary, I'll inform Theodore, Leonardo, James, and Qrow, but I still want to try to verify if it's even possible for Oscar to have travelled back from the future at all. The ramifications of what that possibility represents – I can't even begin to imagine the potential outcomes that may result."

"O – of course."

Vale General Hospital… early afternoon…

Oscar looked up as Doctor Ashburn and a nurse entered his room. "Good afternoon, Oscar," the doctor said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Oscar admitted, "but it still hurts to breathe."

"That's not surprising," the doctor said with a nod. "Your ribs took a beating – I'm actually rather surprised you didn't puncture both of your lungs, so many of your ribs were cracked or broken." She consulted the monitors surrounding the head of the bed. "Your aura finally seems to have recovered nicely. Would you like to try healing yourself?"

"Yes," Oscar said eagerly, before he coughed and had to pull on his oxygen mask for a moment. The ache in his chest eased a bit and he dropped the mask.

"How much training have you had in aura healing?" Ashburn asked.

"Not a lot," Oscar said honestly. "Most of what I know was focused on maintaining my defensive aura during a fight. My friends and teachers were careful never to take a fight far enough that I would need to heal. But I know the technique, I just haven't had a lot of reason to practice it yet."

"Start small," the doctor ordered. "Maybe concentrate on your bruises or black eye first."

Oscar nodded and concentrated on the feeling of his aura, remembering everything that Oz and Ren had told him about tapping into the energy of his soul.

"It takes intense concentration at first, but in time it will become second nature, allowing you to deflect attacks and gradually heal your wounds." Ren's explanation had made sense at the time and had assured him during the months of training at Haven that it wasn't something he would master overnight.

"Aura is a physical manifestation of your soul," Oz had coached him during more than one individual training session, teaching him to meditate and to tap into his own energy. "You are a vessel for it – and while the amount that you can tap into at first may be limited, with time and practice you will strengthen your aura, increasing the number of hits you can take before your aura breaks, increasing the speed at which you heal, and enhancing the power you can put behind your actions and blows. I find it is easiest to think of yourself as a perpetual fountain where the water – in this case, your aura – flows steadily through you, from your head to your feet. What you want to do is tap into that flow and redirect it towards the area you need to heal."

Keeping those memories in mind, Oscar closed his eyes – wincing a bit at the ache in his black eye and concentrated on the image that Oz had painted for him. He already knew that his aura was green, so he pictured cool green energy flowing through him from the top of his head down to his feet and then back up to his head. He concentrated on his eye, imagining the flow pulsing outward in a tiny stream, surrounding his eye, and soothing it in the same way that cool water could ease the pain of a burn, or ice could ease an aching muscle.

It took several seconds before he felt the sensation of his aura pulsing just beneath his skin, but with each pulse the pain around his eye and the rest of his face began to ease. He kept his attention focused on that sensation until the ache had faded entirely, then he released the tap into his aura and opened his eyes. There was no more pain in his face, and he could open both eyes fully.

"Excellent!" the doctor said, her gaze moving from his face to the monitors. "You have a surprising amount of control over your aura for someone of your age – a deft touch if you will. But your black eye and bruises are gone, and your aura hasn't depleted too much. If you think you can continue, then you can pick something else small and work on that. Don't try to do a major injury like your ribs or lung without having full aura and either myself or a nurse here to monitor you, since those are more delicate injuries and it could be easy to make it worse if you're not careful."

Oscar nodded. He still felt okay, so he figured he could concentrate on the rest of his bruises and make himself a little more comfortable. "Can I get up and move around some?" he asked. "I'm starting to feel a little stir crazy."

Doctor Ashburn glanced at the monitors again. "I think one more day in bed," she decided after a moment. "I'm still concerned about your lung. The more rest it gets, the better."

Oscar sighed. "Okay." Remembering his earlier thought, he looked up at her. "Do you know what happened to my stuff?"

"We had to cut your coat and the rest of your clothes off of you in order to treat the burn on your chest," the doctor said apologetically. "We locked up your belts and pouches and their contents for now to keep them safe, but if you want them back we can bring them to you."

"Yes, please," Oscar said.

"I'll have someone bring them in shortly," the doctor promised. "Your lunch should also be in soon, so make sure you eat and don't overtax your aura."

Oscar nodded and concentrated on the bruises on his arms and legs next as the doctor left after making a final note on his chart. At least he was getting some much-needed practice. If he was going to change things, he needed to continue his training as soon as possible.