Whitaker Ash, even in his youth, was never one to make a rash decision. But when he told his parents that he wanted to become a Huntsman, both of them took it rather differently.

"Esmond. You can't seriously be thinking about this!" His mother, Aurelia Ash cold blue eyes glared daggers of ice at her husband. "You know better than all of us how dangerous it is to be a Hunter. He could die! Do you not realize that? Our baby boy could die!"

"I know!" Esmond slammed his fist on the dinner table. Whitaker heard a crashing sound as the table seemed to shatter beneath his father's strength. He let out a deep breath. "Have some faith in him, love. Have some faith in me. I'll take care of him."

Aurelia sighed. "Do you really think he'll be okay?"

Esmond nodded. "I'll make sure he is."

After that, Whitaker Ash tip-toed to his room, his heart incredibly heavy. The wood stairs creaked beneath his weight.

"Whitaker? Is that you?" his mother shouted.

Whitaker stood stock still, hoping to whatever gods were out there that his mother would not think to approach him.

"Whitaker, I know it's you," she said. "Come here."

The boy pouted and walked into the kitchen. His mother's cool blue gaze met him, and she smiled at him. Aurelia strode over to him and ran a hand through his stark white hair.

She mirrored his pout and then cupped her son's cheek. "I was just worried about you. You know how dangerous Dad's missions are."

"I know," Whitaker murmured. "But I can be as strong as him! I know I can. I'll become strong so Mom doesn't have to worry anymore."

Aurelia smiled softly, her thumb carressing Whitaker's cheek. "You're so sweet. Thank you, Whitaker." She stood up and rubbed the top of his head. "You can go now."

Esmond observed from the other side of the kitchen as he filled a cup of water and sipped at it. Whitaker grinned at both of his parents and darted up the stairs.

Aurelia Ash was always the type of person that was hesitant to dip their toe into the water, even if they knew the water was warm because they were afraid of the possibility that it wasn't.

Whitaker was… glad for it, but he also hated it sometimes. His mother, due to her upbringing as a member of the exuberant and powerful Schnee family, was sheltered. She hadn't seen much of the world, and it took Esmond Ash several years to finally convince her to marry him, to see the world. The marriage was done in secret, of course, as Nicholas Schnee would no doubt outright refuse to give his blessing to Esmond Ash, a Huntsman with little renown at the time, to marry his daughter.

After marrying his father, Aurelia effectively ran away from home. But none of it was from his father's machinations, if anything Esmond would rather that Aurelia simply asked her father if she could leave.

Nevertheless, Aurelia made for Vale, and after the two bought a house, they had Whitaker.

The Ash household was stern but warm. It didn't mince words, nor did it enforce weakness. Whitaker belonged to a family of strong independents. His father instilled Whitaker with strong morals, and his mother taught him what it meant to be independent. Both Esmond and Aurelia had fruitful careers, and Whitaker had to do his best to not interrupt them when they were working. So, he walked home (after his mother taught him what roads to travel on and what roads to avoid), cooked and fed himself, did his own laundry, and studied by himself, all before he hit ten years old.

To say that Whitaker was responsible would be selling him short. He was more than responsible, he was reliable, independent, and the best child that Esmond and Aurelia could have asked for. But having so much independence caused problems, problems that went unnoticed by the busy-body parents that were Esmond and Aurelia. He kept his nose between the pages of a book or his eyes on a worksheet. He finished quizzes the fastest, his projects were always scored to perfection, and he was held to the highest standards. Whitaker, during his time in grade school, never gained a single friend, rarely interacted with his classmates, and spent most of his time with his teachers and administrators, but when the white-haired boy was mentioned by his classmates, he was accompanied only by jealousy, harassment, and anger.

He was called a "suck-up," a "pussy," a "nerd." Those were the lightest of the jeers that Whitaker received, but he didn't dare tell his parents. Eventually, even that fell to the wayside as some teachers caught some students that were bullying Whitaker and called his parents.

The cool air snuck underneath the window of the principal's office, causing Whitaker to shiver in his chair as he waited for his parents to arrive. His bullies sat to his left, the three boys shivering as well. The principal, Mr. Pray, filled out three white forms on his table, the rhythm of his pen movements against the black table pad soothed Whitaker.

A few minutes of complete silence later, the door pushed open. The principal's assistant stood beside the door and ushered five other adults into the room.

Aurelia Ash was the first into the room. Once she locked eyes with the three bullies, her blue orbs grew exponentially colder. Esmond followed after her, his own coffee brown eyes staring daggers into the students beside Whitaker. The bullies' parents filed in, taking seats on the opposite side of the room as Aurelia and Esmond.

Mr. Pray cleared his throat when his assistant shut the door, he clicked his pen closed and methodically placed it on his desk. "Thank you for coming as soon as you could, parents."

"Of course," Aurelia said, her voice stern. She kept her eyes on Mr. Pray as she smiled slightly. "If only some parents taught their children respect and kindness, then we wouldn't need to be here."

Mr. Pray nodded and steepled his fingers. He motioned to Whitaker. "Young Mr. Ash here has been an absolute pleasure to have at our school. His grades are all perfect, he raises his hand often in class. He is essentially our school's model student."

"I am well aware of Whitaker's success, but I don't get the chance to speak with him as often as I would like," Aurelia explained.

Whitaker mumbled something underneath his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Ash?"

Whitaker's ears slowly turned red. "Nothing."

"Well," Mr. Pray continued, "I have called you parents here today because this is the largest case of bullying we have ever had on our campus. Three students all picking on one child is completely unheard of."

"It wasn't just us!" Adam Velasco shouted.

"Yeah," Kyle Ollie continued, "it was a lot of other people too."

"It was, like, all of Mrs. Brynn's class," finished Nera Thread.

"Can you give us names?" asked Mr. Pray, eyeing each of the kids.

Whitaker mentally smiled. He'd taken advantage of his intellect and committed each of his bullies' names to memory. Fortunately, the list was short, and after months of ostracization and name- calling, Whitaker felt that revenge was deserved. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by his father.

"It's alright, Mr. Pray. Punishing these kids will be enough," Esmond said, with a slight shake of his head towards Whitaker.

"I see," Mr. Pray said. "Mr. Velasco, Mrs. Ollie, and Mrs. Thread, does this seem fair to you?"

The three parents nodded.

"Very well," Mr. Pray picked up his pen and clicked it. "Adam, Kyle, and Nera will be forced to come into school early and stay at school late for community service, and they will also have to take remedial courses until the end of the year. Additionally, this shall appear as a strike in their permanent record."

Once the meeting was done, Whitaker was free to go home.

"What did you whisper in there?" Aurelia asked as she took Whitaker's backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the seat beside him.

Esmond started the car, looking back at Whitaker, waiting for him to answer. Aurelia climbed into the front passenger seat.

"You guys work too much," Whitaker mumbled, looking out the window as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

"We have to," Aurelia attempted to explain.

"And you also have to take care of me," Whitaker shot back.

"Don't talk back to your mother like that—"

Whitaker grew angrier at his father's scolding. As if he had any right to tell him what to do. "I'll talk to her however I please, and you can't tell me what to do either, this is the first time I've seen you in weeks, Dad."

"Kid," Esmond began, his knuckles white against the wheels of the car, "don't ever talk back to us."

"Parent," Whitaker spat, "don't ever tell me what to do."

Esmond slammed on the breaks, sending Whitaker and Aurelia keeling over. He whirled around to face Whitaker, his eyes ablaze with unbeholden fury. "Get out. You're walking home."

Whitaker scoffed and shoved the car door open. "As if it's any different from what I've been doing the last five months." He slammed the door shut, a loud bang echoing throughout the neighborhood.

His father and mother drove off. Whitaker sat down, his back against one of the house's fences. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away. When they didn't go away, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and furiously wiped his eyes. The tears eventually receded, and Whitaker continued walking home.

After that day, Whitaker and his parents warmed up to each other. His mother and father realized the error of their ways, and decided to spend more time at home. And while it was still far from resolving all of the problems that spawned as a result of spending so much time alone, Whitaker appreciated his parents' willingness to change.

Shortly after grade school, Whitaker decided that he didn't want to pursue academics. He wanted to become a Huntsman. Whitaker knew his limits. He always did, and he always would. He knew when he was ready for something, and when he wasn't. And he knew he was ready to pursue being a Huntsman, even when he was ten or eleven years old. But it took his parents two years to fully grasp that idea, especially his mother.

However, once he began to train with his father, Aurelia came around to accept that he was ready.

[;]

On his first day at Pharos Academy, no one knew who he was, and he knew no one as well. Pharos Academy, unlike Signal Academy, was of a more modern architecture. The campus was essentially a single, massive, multi-floored building located south of the Forever Fall Forest. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the open spaces. All of Pharos' facilities were located in the building; classrooms, training rooms, an amphitheater, a gym, a cafeteria, and even a weapon forge for the students.

Whitaker already familiarized himself with the campus. While the other first-years struggled to locate all of their classes in the nearly identical halls, even when referring to a map of Pharos, Whitaker maneuvered through the hallways as though he'd been attending the academy for three years.

Whitaker's first year at Pharos was only marginally memorable. He attended classes, performed excellently in every one of them— Aura Theory, Creatures of Grimm, History, Weapon Theory, and Combat Class—, and had his Aura unlocked by his father during the second week of combat class.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality," his father murmured with a hand on Whitaker's shoulder. "Through this, become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all; infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee."

An impossibly thin red barrier formed around Whitaker's body.

No one knew for sure how Aura worked. Not even Mr. Lionet, his Aura Theory teacher, had irrefutable proof of the systems of Aura. If anything, Aura Theory was closer to a fiction writing class than a science class. Regardless, Whitaker Ash had the complete opposite level of Aura that his father had. Esmond Ash was renowned in Vale as "The Tank" because of his massive aura reserves, and his ability to take a blow from an Ursa without even flinching.

Whitaker, at first, was concerned. But his father eased him.

"Having a large Aura isn't everything," Esmond began. "It makes the job only slightly easier. Being able to evade an attack is much better than letting your Aura take the hit. You can save those reserves for your Semblance. You just need to be good at dodging, Whitaker."

And that's exactly what Whitaker became. In tandem with the sparring matches that he got in class, he also sparred with his father at home.

During his first year, Whitaker found it difficult to grow steadily. His father, being a fully-realized Huntsman, was someone he knew he wasn't going to beat any time soon, but his classmates were all incredibly weak compared to him. However, there was only a single spar that he remembered. It was against Coco Adel. The girl that everyone thought was the strongest and could possibly win a match against Whitaker.

Esmond Ash stood off to the side of the arena, Scroll in hand. "Coco Adel and Whitaker Ash. Would both of you come to the stage?"

Whitaker followed behind Coco as she stepped up onto the platform. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"You will spar against each other. Obviously neither of you have forged your weapons, so this fight will be done hand-to-hand. The fight ends when one of you yields, when one of your Auras falls into the red, when I call the match, or when you yield. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Ash," Coco and Whitaker said simultaneously.

"Good. Take your places."

Coco stuck out a closed fist in Whitaker's direction. "Good luck, Whitaker."

"You too." Whitaker fist-bumped her. But in the back of his mind, he knew that luck didn't win battles, skills and strategy did. He took his place on the opposite side of the arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to loosen up. He took in a deep breath and then looked at Coco.

She stood still, her hands to her side, and her entire body at ease. She matched his gaze evenly and the two began to circle around each other.

Whitaker mentally grinned. Of all the things he'd studied in his short life, nothing excited him like a fight. To him, a real fight and a dance were one in the same. Two people, partners in a complicated series of steps, actions, reactions, and motions. Whitaker brought up his hands and closed them. In a fluid motion, he stepped forward and jabbed experimentally at Coco. Her hand came up and swatted it aside.

She raised a brow at him. He shrugged.

The dance continued, both partners on equal footing as they traded blows. They tested each other's strength, looking for any signs of an exploitable weakness. This wasn't a furious battle, or a race to see who could pummel the other the fastest, as it often was when Whitaker's classmates fought, this was a careful, calculated duel.

And Whitaker savored every second of it.

About thirty seconds into the fight, both of their Auras were in the yellow, perfectly even with one another. Whitaker dashed forward and threw a one-two punch at Coco, who parried aside both blows and cocked back her arm for a haymaker. But that was exactly the window that Whitaker was looking for. As her punch came through, Whitaker stepped inside her guard and grabbed the wrist of the haymaker arm with his left hand.

He twisted it around so her arm was bent at an ungodly angle, and brought his right arm around her neck, he held her in a chokehold.

As his grip tightened, Coco began to struggle against it, driving her elbow into his side. But every strike grew weaker and weaker.

"I yield," she gurgled, tapping on Whitaker's arm twice.

Whitaker released her, and she fell to the ground, gasping for air. Once she finally managed to draw in a breath, Whitaker helped her up. "Good fight," he said.

Coco nodded. The two stared at each other for a time, and both knew exactly what their gazes meant.

This isn't over.

"Well done, Whitaker," Mr. Ash said. "And you did excellently Coco." He looked out to the rest of the class. "Hopefully all of you learned a valuable lesson from this. Not every fight is meant to be won in the fastest, most brutal way possible. As Whitaker and Coco showed today, skills and strategy should come before strength." He turned to the two fighters still on stage. "You two take it easy for the day. Head to the locker rooms to shower and change, if you want. The rest of you, pair up, and start practicing."

After the fight, he and Coco went their separate ways. Whitaker smiled to himself as he turned on the shower. He would have to find her again and talk to her about becoming sparring partners. Their spar was, by far, the most productive spar he'd had. The tales of Coco Adel's ability were mostly true, and that impressed Whitaker. No one else in his year had managed to stand that long in the arena against him.

Warm water sprayed out of the showerhead and onto Whitaker, relaxing the boy's tense muscles and skin. He remained in the shower for a few more minutes as the heat of the water embraced him. Once he finished showering and drying himself, the bell for lunch rang.

Fortunately, lunch was the perfect time to find Coco. Whitaker wasn't sure where she would be though, as he spent his lunches in the library. The Pharos Academy cafeteria was located on the south-side of the campus building, and was likely the largest singular space in the Academy itself. It was like any cafeteria Whitaker had seen; long,white tables occupied the central area of the cafeteria, with benches that rested length-wise on either side of the table.

While a majority of the students lined up for their food, trays on their hands, some students sat on the benches with their packed lunches unpacked before them.

Whitaker scanned the cafeteria for Coco, standing on the balls of his feet and narrowing his eyes as if it granted him better vision.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Looking for someone?"

Whitaker turned around and came face-to-face with Coco Adel. He stepped back in surprise at the close proximity. He smiled sheepishly. "Uh, yeah, I was. How'd you know?"

"You talk to yourself," she pointed out, and when Whitaker still appeared confused, she continued. "And you forgot that the showers are communal."

"Oh. Right." Whitaker glanced away, then looked back at Coco. "Anyways, did you want to train together after school today?"

"Of course, I think it would be a great opportunity."

"Great opportunity?"

Coco grinned. "Well, to kick your ass, of course."

In that moment, Whitaker knew he made the right call.

After that day, Whitaker and Coco began to consistently spar outside of class. The training rooms at Pharos were available and open for use to all students, but strangely enough, they were always unoccupied. The duo eventually settled for room 5-C; a spacious room, and the only one that had attached but separate showers.

"Do you think that—" Whitaker ducked underneath Coco's high kick. "They'll let us get out weapons early?"

Coco hopped back and shrugged. She dropped one hand to her waist. "Any reason you're so eager to skip ahead?"

Whitaker realized they were taking a break and dropped his own hands. "What do you mean?"

"Well, last week you mentioned wanting to go on missions with your dad, and now you want to get your weapon early," Coco explained. "So, why?"

"I feel like— I know that I'm ready for it."

"The missions, or your weapon?"

"The weapon," clarified Whitaker. "Going on missions seems like a little too much right now; especially because I still don't know what my Semblance is."

"Exactly," Coco said. "What's wrong with taking it a little slow?"

"Why take it slow when I know I don't need to?" Whitaker countered, crossing his arms.

Coco sighed. "Witt, there's a lot more to the world than just training, researching, and exercising. Live a little, y'know?"

She was beginning to sound like his mother before she accepted the reality that Whitaker was going to Pharos. Whitaker could understand her perspective, of course, Coco was correct; Remnant was a world of beauty with so much to be seen and experienced, but Whitaker wasn't that kind of person. He wasn't sentimental, nor was he eager to see what the world held for him. He had a simple goal, and he would do anything to achieve that goal.

Maybe if Whitaker ever grew tired of being a Huntsman, he would follow his mother's and Coco's advice; but he knew that was unlikely, impossible, even. Sure, Whitaker had other skills and interests, but being a Huntsman was the only thing that felt rewarding to him. Academics hadn't granted him his first friend, being a Huntsman did; so why stop?

Whitaker put up his hands and adjusted his stance. "Stop delaying to catch your breath. We have a spar to finish."

Coco rolled her eyes.

[;]

Eventually, Whitaker's first year at Pharos Academy came to a close. As he told Coco, Whitaker spent his entire summer training, exercising, and studying up on Grimm. The most exciting moment during his entire summer was when he unlocked his Semblance during a spar against Esmond.

"Try and keep pace with me, kid." Esmond kept his weapon, Black Sun, in its compact form: a black band around his wrist with a circle at its center. "We'll be doing hand-to-hand. Rules are exactly the same way they are in class."

"I know, Dad. We've done this before."

"No harm in making sure you perfectly understand everything." Esmond brought up his hands. "Ready?"

Whitaker did the same, adjusting the positioning of his feet. "Ready."

As the bout began, the two fell into a rhythm. His father would attack, Whitaker would defend, and then the pace would increase. Slowly, but surely, Esmond increased the pace until Whitaker was moving faster than he expected. It was a perfect way to train for Whitaker specifically. His speed was the greatest advantage he had, and eventually even Esmond found it difficult to keep up with the pace that his son was moving at.

Then, Whitaker's Aura spiked. The entire world slowed to a crawl, his father's incoming jab looked as though he were moving through a pool of molasses. Whitaker parried aside the attack and stepped into Esmond's guard. As quick as lightning, Whitaker jammed his fists into his father's chest.

The blow sent Esmond sprawling back and the world returning to its normal speed.

"What the hell was that?" His father asked, slowly standing.

"I… I think that was my Semblance."

"Well, shit." His father put his hands on his hips. "That's pretty stupid."

Whitaker pouted. "I'm sorry?"

"No, no, don't apologize. Some Semblances are just stronger than others. Yours is definitely better than mine," Esmond said, mumbling the last bit.

It dawned on Whitaker that he didn't even know what his father's Semblance was. "What's your Semblance, Dad?"

Esmond Ash flicked his left wrist. Black Sun spiraled out from the circle of his black wristband. It was a shield made of black metal, with a burning orange sphere protruding from its center. Esmond held Black Sun up to his chest, using his other hand to strengthen the block. "Black Sun allows me to channel my Aura into it, expanding its size. With my large reserves of Aura, I'm able to create a shield big enough to shield over fifty people."

"From one side?"

Esmond shook his head. "My Semblance is being able to manipulate the dimensions of the shield. Dome, circle, wall, blockade, whatever space I need to cover, I can."

Whitaker had the perfect face of awe. "What do you mean my Semblance is better? You can protect so many people with yours!"

"At the expense of myself."

"But Dad—"

"I know, it sounds selfish. But if I lose my life, I won't be able to protect more people." Esmond sighed. "It's kind of impractical to think of it like that, but it isn't necessarily wrong either. And I'm not saying you need to think the same way as me, but I just want you to understand how I see things."

"I think I get it." Whitaker sat down. "What about my Semblance?"

"What about it?"

"What do you think it is?"

"Well, from what I saw, your eyes glowed for a second, and then you moved incredibly fast. You parried my attack and then punched me before I could even react." Esmond sat across from Whitaker. "What did it look like from your end?"

"Everything became a lot slower. Like you were struggling to even move. It was weird."

Esmond chuckled. "Of course it would enhance your reflexes."

Whitaker's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Your paper thin Aura means that you can't take that many hits. But luckily for you, your Semblance allows you to avoid nearly every attack that is thrown at you."

"Oh…"

Esmond smiled. "I think you should hide it."

"Hide it? Why?"

"Because your Semblance is exceptionally powerful," explained Esmond. "The more people that know about your Semblance, the more abusable it is. But if you use it sparingly…"

"Then no one will know about it, and I have a trump card against them."

Esmond grinned. "Exactly."

"So how do I master it?" Whitaker asked.

"It should be second-nature to you since it's so similar to how you fight already," Esmond explained. "You should train your base reflexes, so we'll do some dexterity and reflex training along with the usual stuff."

With his Semblance unlocked, Whitaker grew exponentially stronger that summer. But Esmond reinforced the idea that he shouldn't be a "one-trick pony," or someone that relied purely on the strength of their Semblance.

[;]

Once summer ended, second year rolled around. The warmth and hot air of summer became the cool, crisp of autumn. Whitaker and Coco sped ahead of the other students, quickly becoming the strongest by a sizable margin, with only Velvet Scarlatina being mentioned as a competitor for third strongest. However, it was still a tossup on who was the strongest between Whitaker and Coco. While Whitaker won their first match, all other matches between them seemed to be complete coinflips. On some days, Whitaker won, on others, it was Coco. But Whitaker had yet to reveal his Semblance to Coco. Only his father knew of it. And Whitaker preferred to keep it that way. At the same time though, Coco was a friend. He didn't exactly want to keep secrets from her.

Anyways, their second year was the year that students were meant to forge their weapons. Whitaker was uncontrollably excited. And so was Coco.

"Do you have any ideas for what kind of weapon you want to make?"

"Nope! Do you?"

"I have a few ideas." He'd worked with his dad on a few drafts and sketches of some possible weapons.

"Always a step ahead, huh? Let me guess, you unlocked your Semblance too?"

Whitaker chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head. "Definitely haven't done that."

Coco leaned forwards, the tip of her nose almost touching Whitaker's. Then she pulled away. "I'm not sure why you're hiding it from me."

Whitaker shrugged. "Because it's fun.

"Alright, you two," called Mr. Ash as he held open the door to the forge. "Save the couple stuff for later." A smirk slowly grew on Esmond's face as Whitaker and Coco loudly protested against the idea of being together. Both of them stepped inside the forge, following the rest of the class.

The room was easily amongst the largest in Pharos. It was a single, long hallway with its width divided in two by a black divider. Placed along the walls were computers, complete with a mouse, a keyboard, a tablet, and a pen atop the tables.

"All right everyone. Follow me." Esmond guided the class through the room, and towards a central computer with a large, see-through attached to it. "Have a seat."

Everyone sat on the floor, noticeably excited.

"Now, I'm sure that each of you have dreamt about this day. But we won't be forging anything today. Today, we will be reading."

There was a collective groan.

But Whitaker knew why, so he didn't complain.

"I understand that it might sound boring, but it is incredibly important that you know how weapons work." There was some mumbling about the class. "Which is exactly why you have a weapons class."

Coco raised her hand, and Esmond called on her. "Are we going to be forging in this class? Or in weapon's class?"

"Good question. You'll be forging in this class." Esmond smiled. "All right. First, we'll do research on weapons as famous as the Huntsmen and Huntresses that used them."

That didn't sound too bad.

"Pair up, and use the computers to answer the questions to this worksheet." Mr. Ash held up a two-sided paper full of questions. "And yes, it will be due at the end of class." He began to pass out the paper to the pairs, letting them go once they told him who they were partnered with. He reached Whitaker and Coco, and sighed. "You two are really inseparable, huh."

Coco grinned and threw him a thumbs-up, while Whitaker beamed.

Whitaker and Coco sped off to a computer. As it booted up, Whitaker wrote down what he already knew.

What was Maria Calavera's weapon called? Life and Death.

What are the known forms of Maria Calavera's weapons? Kama, Double-kama, and a Walking Stick.

The rest of the worksheet continued as such. It contained many questions regarding legendary silver-eyed warriors.

Whitaker tapped Coco's shoulder. "How strong do you think Maria Calavera was?"

"Probably super strong. She had silver eyes. You know, Huntsmen with those eyes could—"

"Kill Grimm with a single look." Whitaker sighed.

"What?"

"It's not fair."

"What do you mean?"

"People with silver eyes are so powerful that it feels like all the work that we put in doesn't matter."

Coco shook her head. "The last known silver-eyed warrior was Summer Rose, and she was reported missing a few weeks ago. They're not un-killable, they're still human. Like us."

"I guess."

Coco smiled. "Let's finish this up."

The day flew by, and he and Coco met at a training room to begin their daily spar.

Coco stretched her arms, extending them over her head. "So, did you discover your Semblance?"

Whitaker sighed. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"You can try, but I'll figure it out eventually."

"Fair enough."

"So what is it?" asked Coco.

"Spar me and you'll see."

Coco scoffed and brought up her hands. "Don't get too cocky."

"Trust me, Coco," he said, grinning. Whitaker brought up his own guard. "There's a reason why I'm so cocky right now."

And she soon realized why. The moment she threw the first punch, it was only a split second before Whitaker parried aside her attack and jabbed her twice in the gut before wheeling around and delivering a kick straight to her cheek.

The attack sent the girl back and rolling onto the ground. One hand rubbed her cheek and the other the back as she spoke."Gods, that was…"

"Fast?"

"Your Semblance is speed, isn't it?" Coco asked as Whitaker helped her up.

"You could say that." He leaned closer to her. "But it's actually enhanced reflexes," he whispered.

"That's stupid."

"That's almost exactly what my dad said."

"So you can avoid anything?"

"Yup!"

"Wow. What if my Semblance is awful?"

"If you keep thinking like that, it will be." Whitaker grinned. "C'mon. I'll be sure to not use my Semblance this time."

"Sure, whatever," Coco grumbled. "You give a man some power…"

The two friends continued their spar.

Every day at school was mostly the same: going to class, eating lunch, doing weapons research, exercising and sparring with Coco. He and Coco trained so extensively, that they sometimes stayed an extra two hours after classes ended. The days they did spend those extra two hours were on the days that Esmond was forced to stay at school for teacher meetings and assessments.

One day, during a drive back home, his dad asked him something.

"Whitaker."

"Yes, Dad?" The teen looked up from his Scroll, his gaze flickering between his father, the Scroll, and the road ahead of him.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Coco."

"Well, I am friends with her." Whitaker powered the Scroll down, placed it on the dashboard, and sat up.

Esmond rolled his eyes. "You do realize the entire school, including most of the teachers, think you two are dating."

"Really?" Whitaker looked stunned. "But I'm just friends with her!" As if on queue, his Scroll buzzed, revealing a text from Coco asking him if he was home yet. He groaned and flipped the screen face down.

His father laughed heartily. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. I get it. I'm rooting for you two."

"Dad!"

Esmond laughed again. "Anyways, are you going to attend Beacon?"

Whitaker stared silently at him.

"Huntsman academy of Vale? Big tower in the east?"

"I know what Beacon is, Dad. But…"

"You're not sure if you want to go."

Whitaker nodded.

"Why not?"

"I want to go on missions with you. I'm tired of sparring." He looked up at his father. Icey blue fire seemed to burn brightly behind his eyes. "I want to fight Grimm."

"No."

"No? But I'm ready! You know how strong I am. I—"

"Have only been training for half a year! You don't even have a weapon, and you've only recently unlocked your Semblance! You are not ready, Whitaker. You are far, far, from it!"

Whitaker flinched. He nodded, turning away from his dad and looking out the window. The street suddenly became very interesting, and tense silence filled the air. Whitaker opened and closed his mouth numerous times, trying to form the correct sentence.

He understood why his father responded the way he did. Dad was only trying to protect him. But…

"So," Whitaker began after a long silence, "when I've mastered my Semblance, built Lightning, and gotten stronger, you'll let me come with you?"

Esmond took in a deep breath. And then he let out a long sigh. "Sure. But I'll be the one to determine that, alright?"

"You swear?" Whitaker asked, glaring at his father.

"I swear on my life," Esmond said with finality.

[;]

In the months that followed, Whitaker trained intensively. Day-in, day-out, he was either exercising, sparring, studying up on all manner of Grimm, sketching designs for Lightning, or doing classwork and homework. And he still wanted to train more. He created a petition to waive his attendance in class so that he could spend time in the training room. It was declined, of course, but only because his father stepped in. Esmond scolded him heavily for it too, reminding Whitaker that a Huntsman was not a warrior of pure muscle and speed, research and knowledge was also an important factor of succeeding on any given mission.

Even Coco was bothered by how much he was training.

"Take a break, Witt."

Whitaker shook his head in the middle of a pull-up rep. Sweat from his mop of white hair sprayed everywhere. "Not a chance."

"You're dead-set on going on a mission, huh?"

"There's no experience like it." He let go of the bar and dropped to the floor. "Even at an academy like Beacon."

"Gonna leave little old me to fend for myself?" Coco asked, leaning more weight on one leg and sticking out her hips. She pouted and leaned towards Witt, giving him a momentary glance at her cleavage. "Who's going to protect me if all the guys keep hitting on me?"

This was a more recent development. Coco had recently turned on the charm. Despite having only known her for a year, Whitaker noticed how much she… grew during that year.

Her hips had gotten wider, and she had a well-sized bust. Not to mention her long, smooth legs which looked absolutely gorgeous when she wore spandex. And it wasn't just her legs that looked great in spandex, it was her a—

"Should I be worried, Witt?" She asked. There was a ghost of a smile on her face. "You're spending an awful long time looking at my boobs."

Whitaker rolled his eyes and stood up. "The Coco I know will be fine. She can protect herself. And don't call me out on staring at you just put yourself out like that."

The girl— Whitaker wondered if she even classified as that— pouted like a child.

"Well," she said, watching as he began to jog around the room. "I'm going to miss you."

"It'll just be a year. And then I'll be there at Beacon."

"If you convince your dad to let you come."

"It's a matter of when, Coco, not if."

"Someone's confident."

"A wise man once said, 'Self-doubt breeds self-destruction.'"

Coco looked at him incredulously. "What man said that?"

Witt smirked. "Me."

[;]

The temperature grew colder as orange and red leaves fell from their trees. Fall became winter, but Whitaker Ash continued his regimen of non-stop training, exercising, practicing, researching, and studying. Even over winter break, Whitaker did his best to come up with excuses to not attend familial festivities and instead spent that time training.

Coco was beginning to get seriously concerned.

"Whitaker," she said over the phone, her voice laden with quiet fury.

"Today's the day," Coco bubbled. "Are you excited?"

Whitaker grinned. "Yup! Finally get to put Lightning together."

"Like Lightning will be any match against Gianduja." Coco beamed.

Coco discovered her Semblance during winter break when she found her father's stash of Dust that he took from when he was assigned a mission. Coco could amplify the effects of Dust, so it made perfect sense that her weapon would be a gun. However, Coco hadn't told him anything else other than that.

The duo followed the rest of the class into the forge.

There was an air of excitement. Weapon-forging day was basically one of the most important days in a Huntsman's life. It was the day that a Huntsman earned a part of their identity. As Whitaker understood it, the weapon you held in your hands could have a greater reputation than you, it was a part of who you were, what you stood for. A sword meant you were an attacker, unafraid to charge forward and take blows, but also to deal damage and be rid of the problems ahead of you.

"Alright!" Mr. Ash shouted. "Everyone get on a computer and upload your designs to the central computer. You should have been working on your designs the whole term. And if you haven't… Start now."

Whitaker and Coco rushed to an open computer, and uploaded their designs.

"Whitaker Ash, and Coco Adel. I have your designs. Do either of you care whose gets forged first?"

The two looked at each other, then at Esmond, and shook their heads.

"Ladies first then." Mr. Ash uploaded Witt's design.

Coco giggled.

Both Whitaker and Coco watched Whitaker's weapon be forged.

The central computer uploaded the designs to the forge, and the forge whirred to life. The large black box in the center of the room next to the computer slowly lifted. It revealed a black table and several thin, metallic arms with numerous tools on their ends.

As the arms began to shave down the metal and shape Lightning, Coco watched as Witt's weapons were revealed to be two swords that curved back slightly, with only a single, sharpened edge.

As the forge finished creating the weapon, it painted the side of the blade that curved inward a dark shade of blue. And the cutting end of the blades a blue the same color as Whitaker's eyes.

The machine pinged, and indicated that the weapon was finished.

Esmond nodded to Whitaker.

The white-haired teen grabbed his weapon and grinned. He brought both swords together, and they snapped together. There was a whirring sound, and the blade extended from its tip and pommel.

Coco whistled. "Nice."

Whitaker winked at her.

The rest of the class followed. When Coco's weapon was finished, he couldn't help but sigh. Of course, it was a golden minigun trapped in a designer handbag.

Once class was over, Whitaker and Coco sprinted to the training rooms. With their weapons only having just been made, they were ineffective with it. They wanted to get a head start.

As the second year came to a close, Coco and Whitaker began to prepare for their third and final year at Pharos.

[;]

"You know," Coco began, "you'd think that our last year at Pharos would be something grand. But I'm sad."

"Just sad?" Whitaker asked. He and Coco sat next to each other in the training room, completely covered in sweat, taking a break from the exercise. "I thought it'd be more bittersweet."

"No," she interjected, glancing at him. "Just sad."

Whitaker smiled sadly at her. "Don't miss me too much."

"Idiot."

"You know, the offer still stands."

Coco shook her head, her coffee-colored hair that she'd put in a bun atop her head wiggled. "I know I'm not ready. And I want to get through Beacon first."

"Whatever you say," Witt said. He didn't buy it. She was still as strong as he was. But… it was her decision. The white-haired teen stood up. "C'mon, one more round."

Throughout the year since he'd unlocked his Semblance, which he'd affectionately called Reflex, Whitaker changed the way he used it. Initially, he used it as a form of retaliation, a counter-attack when an opponent made a fatal mistake. But now he used it as a method of avoidance. He used Reflex sparingly, only to save himself from a truly unavoidable attack, or a mistake on his part. Fortunately, his base reflexes were already fantastic, no doubt a result of his Semblance.

Until the end of the year, Whitaker trained harder than ever before. The only moments he rested was when he slept, or when Coco told him to.

"Witt," Esmond called at the end of combat class during the last week of school. "Meet me in training room B-7 at around 3:30."

"Okay." Whitaker watched his father leave. He grinned at Coco. "Wish me luck."

"Luck doesn't win fights," Coco began.

"Skills and strategy do," finished Witt.

"But…" Coco glanced around, and after seeing that she and Witt were the only ones left in the room, she stepped closer to him.

"Coco?"

The young woman stood up on her tippy-toes and met Witt's gaze. Amber locked with blue. She grabbed both sides of Whitaker's face and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Lightning rushed through Whitaker's brain, sending him on overload. He attempted to kiss back, before quickly realizing that he had no idea how to kiss. He also realized just how soft and full Coco's lips were.

Coco pressed herself against him harder, before pulling away.

"I—"

She slapped him. The resounding crack echoed in the room. "Idiot."

"Why did you do that?"

Coco raised her hand again and Whitaker flinched. "Are— are you serious?!" Coco stomped towards him. "I like you! I've liked you as more than a friend for almost two years now!" She emphasized every word by poking her perfectly manicured finger into his chest. "I'd have half the heart to lock you in a training room with me and tell you to just sleep with me right then and there."

Whitaker's pale face suddenly became as red as a cherry. His mouth had suddenly become very dry, and another part of him suddenly became very— Down boy!

Coco's face soon followed after realizing what she'd just said. "I— I just wanted to express how I felt before you went off with your dad for a year." She looked away. For the first time in years, Coco looked nervous. "Do… do you feel the same way about me?"

Whitaker stared at his nervous, fidgeting friend. Almost every day spent in the training room, exercising, sparring, relaxing, chatting. He'd learned so much about her. She was confident, proud, driven, and strong— characteristics that she prided herself in greatly, and what she knew the rest of the students saw her as. But she'd also told him of her insecurities. She never liked her body, she hated her father and his family, that he was the first one to make her truly feel accepted, that she knew exactly what she was doing whenever she made boys stare at her.

Whitaker had no idea what being in a relationship entailed. "I don't know."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not sure. I've never dated anyone. I wouldn't know what to do." Whitaker bit his lip. "You deserve someone better."

Coco flinched. "What?"

"Coco… you don't know me," Whitaker continued. "And there's nothing wrong with that, but I think the Witt you have in your head is better than the real one." He chuckled mirthlessly.

"And how would you know what I'm thinking?" Coco muttered. "Can you read my mind, Whitaker? No? I thought so." She stepped closer and leaned her head against his chest. "I want to know you better. I want to understand you. I like you, Witt. A lot. More than you realize."

"But—"

She put a finger on his lips. "But nothing." She looked up at him, her bright amber eyes shimmering. "You have a year to think about it." She kissed him again and hopped away from him. "I'll be waiting." And without another word, she left him alone in the classroom.

[;]

"You look distracted," Esmond said once Whitaker entered the training room.

"You've only seen my face for less than ten seconds."

"You're my son. I know you."

You don't know me. Witt shook his head. "Yeah. Let's just get this over with."

Esmond raised a brow, but didn't say anything. He activated Black Sun and motioned for Witt to stand in front of him. "Sync your Scroll."

"I know, Dad." Whitaker synced his Scroll to the Aura tracker.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

Esmond lifted Black Sun and motioned for Whitaker to come at him. Whitaker sprinted towards him, and in one swift motion, unsheathed Lightning and slashed at Esmond.

Whitaker immediately knew that he was out of his league. His father was a well-trained, experienced, and skilled Huntsman. And he was a fool to think that he could stand a chance against him. But he fought on. Utilizing his Semblance, Reflex, to its maximum capabilities, dodging nearly every attack his father threw at him.

Yet his mind wandered to his beautiful amber-eyed friend.

You have a year to think about it. I'll be waiting.

Her words echoed in his mind like a bell. And the electric sensation of her lips against his—

Black Sun rammed straight into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending Whitaker fifteen feet back.

"You're distracted," Esmond said.

"I…"

Esmond approached his son. He extended a hand to the grounded boy. "Whitaker. You won't be able to fight me if you're losing track of yourself."

Witt growled, but accepted the hand nonetheless. With his father's help, he rose to his feet. He walked to the edge of the arena and sat on the stands. He sheathed Lightning. "There's a lot going through my head."

"Coco?"

"I… Yeah."

"Did she kiss you?"

"How do you even—"

"I was a teenager once," Esmond asserted. He collapsed Black Sun and took a seat beside Witt. "Your mother was a particularly difficult catch, but she was definitely worth it. It took me years to—"

"Finally convince you to marry her," Whitaker finished. "I know, Dad. You've told this story so many times."

Esmond chuckled. "What did she say?"

"That she'd wait for me to figure it out," he recounted. "And then she left."

"She left?"

Witt nodded.

"Gods, she must be pissed at you."

"Dad. That doesn't help. At all."

"Sorry." Esmond lost his smile. "What'd you say to her?"

"That I didn't know. I wasn't sure. I've never dated anyone before." Whitaker sighed. "I also said that she 'deserved better.'"

"You never say that. When a woman wants you, then she wants you," Esmond explained. "Let me give you the most important lesson you'll ever learn about a woman. If she knew she deserved better, then she wouldn't have chosen you."

"Wish I'd known that before I told her."

Esmond chuckled. "Life's all about learning from your mistakes, kid. So, do you still want to go on missions with me?"

"I didn't think the offer still stood."

"You're strong, but I think it's best for you to go to Beacon. But if you want to come, I won't stop you."

"I can't tell if you're a terrible parent, or a great one."

"Then settle for a little of both." Esmond stood up. "I'm going to the car. Message me on my Scroll when you want to go home."

"Yeah." Whitaker leaned back.

He wasn't sure what to think. The situation with Coco sent him sprawling mentally. He didn't want to choose between his friend and his future.

What if she could be a part of that future?

Whitaker shook his head. He was only sixteen. It was way too early to consider that sort of thing. Whatever feelings Coco bore for him were likely only a result of her hormones. It made sense. He and Coco had spent nearly every day of the last three years together. To not harbor feelings for someone seen and spoken too that often would be hard.

Whitaker couldn't help but feel that Coco was more emotionally mature than that. Regardless of what he felt, he still had to choose.

Spend a year in the field with his father, training and getting firsthand experience of life as a Huntsman, or go to Beacon with Coco.

He weighed them heavily.

Then, the white-haired boy stood up and pulled out his Scroll. He called his father.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to go with you."

There was a pause. "And you're sure?"

Whitaker's blue eyes hardened. "I'm sure."


A new story I've been kicking around in my head for some time. Thank you for reading. If you had any thoughts, leave a review. I reply to any non-guest reviews in the next chapter.

This story is likely to receive weekly updates. So expect a new chapter some time next week.